Private Tales The Fool You Need

[Cullen]

Cullen chuckled at Nadya's exasperation. "True, Kalyss is going to do whatever he wants. If he thinks racing is a good idea, who are we to stop him?" He glanced toward the imposing Storm Dragon, the low rumble echoing through the air like thunder, and he couldn’t help but smile.

As they approached the dragons, he felt the familiar flutter of excitement that always came when he was about to fly. Nadya's words about the new cadets struck a chord, and he shook his head with a grin. "It sounds like they need to learn the hard way. Maybe a little competition will get them motivated. Or scared enough to take things seriously." He gave her a teasing nudge, trying to lighten the mood again.

With a quick glance back at Nadya, he felt a rush of nostalgia for the days they spent together in training, the friendship they built, and the way they pushed each other to be better. "Too fucking right." he smirked.

Meala lowered herself to allow Cullen to mount up, feeling the familiar connection between them, the rush of anticipation coursing through his veins. He glanced back at Nadya, ready for the challenge before he kicked his dragon into motion, soaring into the sky. The wind whipped past him as they took off, the exhilaration of the race taking over.

The ground fell away beneath them, the world blurring as they soared higher. He could feel the energy of the race pulsing through him as they twisted and turned, diving through the clouds.

 

[Nadya]

Nadya's climb to her saddle was a longer process than Cullen would on Meala. Although Kalyss did not seem upset that his bonded had taken her time. He knew the skies well, had terrorised them and soared through them since he was able to fly. The clouds were his domain, and so he allowed the other dragon to gain some distance before he shot up to the sky.

Nadya was excited for a race, but her heart wasn't in it entirely. "Keep competition close." She communicated through her bond, and a rumble of acknowledgement shivered beneath her. It was unclear if he was amused at her human thinking, but the Storm dragon indeed toyed with Meala and kept things close. He was skilled in the way he could match the pace of the others, and this had her grinning over to Cullen.

For old time's sake, she lifted both hands and flipped him off, grinning wickedly as Kalyss gave a powerful beat of his wings and shot forward that small distance to keep things interesting.

Maybe... maybe they could do it. Be a squad again... Of course, Danika lost an arm, and Jensen was to be a Prince, and Cullen only worked with his close and trusted. A small squad was not one the Thunder may allow to exist, they probably try to pawn off a number of cadets their way. And Nadya was to be a Wing Leader.

She missed her friends, their dragons. Of course, she was sick of seeing them as they were out drinking all the time, but to be in the skies with them, working as a tight unit...

One day...

Kalyss dropped back his pace, allowing Meala to wonder if he was going to surge forward again or not, but left the race to her to win.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen caught Nadya’s wicked grin, the double middle fingers, and his laugh was swallowed by the sound of beating wings. The wind whipped through his hair as he leaned into Meala, urging his dragon to keep pace with Kalyss, but he knew well enough that Nadya’s Storm Dragon could overtake them in an instant. It was the game they had always played, pushing each other to the edge, keeping it close enough to feel like they had a chance, but knowing full well that Kalyss would win if he wanted to.

"She’ll always find a way to make me work for it, huh?" Cullen muttered to himself, grinning. Meala rumbled in amusement, sensing his rider’s joy, and responded with a short, sharp beat of her wings, surging forward to keep pace.

Meala’s wings beat in rhythm with his heart, and Cullen felt the pulse of the dragon beneath him.
Just as Kalyss allowed Meala to pull ahead, Cullen glanced back at Nadya, giving her a wink and a middle finger of his own before he tightened his grip on his saddle, and fell into a dive.

"Come on, Meala," he whispered, urging his dragon to keep the lead for just a few more moments, knowing full well that Kalyss could overtake them whenever he wanted. "Let’s at least give her a good show."

A burst of flame poured from the dragon's mouth, and Cullen ducked low as they flew through it.

"Not that kind of show! I'm fucking FLAMMABLE!!"

 

[Nadya]

Nadya had tears in her eyes by the time they both had landed and out from their saddles.

Cullen's close call was not the only one, and after a series of three near accidental burn incidents, Nadya had been unable to keep herself from laughing, over and over. When it appeared she would settle, she made the mistake of looking to Cull and seeing that sullen face. Of course, it only made her cry with laughter some more.

Laughter still lingered in her smile, snickering as she looked to Cullen as their dragons landed in a large open area in the middle of the lower cities where Rosita's was located.

"I think a bit of your hair got burned. Can smell it from here."

And like that, Nadya was back to her usual self beside him. Her arm wrapped around the lower of his back, as she expected him to drape his arm over her shoulders like they had done many times over the years. "If anyone ever messes with your hair and changes it drastically, they're going to need to have a word with me."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen slipped down from Meala when she finally landed, his heart still racing from the thrill of the flight, but the laughter spilling from Nadya brought warmth back into the moment. He shook his head, running a hand through his tousled hair, which now had a faint smell of singed strands. "Looks like I'll be needing a hair cut." he said, attempting to scowl but failing miserably as a grin broke through.

He turned to her, feeling that familiar ease settle in as she wrapped her arm around his lower back. It felt right, as if the bond they shared could bridge any distance life had thrown between them. Cullen draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in slightly, relishing the comfort of their friendship.

He paused, his gaze shifting to the bustling streets of the lower cities surrounding them, alive with vendors and laughter. The smell of roasted meats and spiced rum wafted through the air, drawing him back to the present. “How about we get that drink you promised?” he added, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Maybe it’ll help me forget how I almost got barbecued.”

As they started walking toward the tavern, Cullen felt the heaviness of their earlier conversation lift just a little. There was a sense of belonging, of shared history, that could chase away the shadows of doubt. For now, they were just two friends enjoying the thrill of the sky and the warmth of good company. And as long as they had that, maybe everything else could wait.

 

[Nadya]

Nadya snickered, but said nothing else to tease her oldest and dearest friend. They entered their regular haunt, vying for the table they and their friends often occupied. It was a slow time, meaning there were plenty of other options available to them, but Nadya liked holding court at this table. It was close to the bar, meaning she had perfect view to flirt with the many pretty faces Rosita hired to tend the bar. She often scored free drinks more than heated kisses in one of the backrooms, but the power she held made Nadya feel invincible.

It also made her different to what was expected of her and the name she bore. The last time Nadya acted like a lady, she could not remember, but her freedoms she was living now was all because of her dragon.

And Cullen.

Her eyes fell on him, staring at him a moment before clearing her throat and calling out their order of drinks and meals.

"I have a question." She did not ask permission to ask it, rather telling him before continuing. "Will you be escorting Lady Malennis to the Royal Wedding?"

To Nadya, it said a lot about the Princess to encourage Jensen to invite his friends, even though Cullen's status in society was highly protested. Jensen had told her once in passing on the Wall that the Prince--- Orissa, was not happy with the punishments and meaning of Marking a family of traitors. In fact, the Princess had reached out to Nadya with an invitation to tea, but finding free time was hard to plan for when her schedule had been a constant as of late.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s dark eyes widened, and before he could even process the words, his drink nearly shot out of his mouth in a sudden cough. He wiped his chin hastily, spluttering for a moment before managing to croak out, “What?”

He stared at Nadya, disbelief written all over his face. “Nadya, I... I very much doubt that I'd be allowed to attend a royal wedding. In case you haven't forgotten..." He gestured vaguely at his face, where the marks of a traitor marred his skin. “These," he said with a bitter smile, "are a little hard to overlook.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair, setting his drink down with a little more force than necessary. His eyes scanned the room for a moment, as if he could find some escape from this conversation in the flickering candlelight.

“I’m sure Jensen won’t expect me to be there. And even if I could be..." He paused, his gaze flicking to the table, brow furrowing as he thought about Eira. His tone softened. “Eira has enough to contend with without me ruining her reputation. Her family would no doubt have me murdered or arrested. Or both.” He shook his head, his lips curling into a rueful grin. "I think they'd rather throw me into the dungeons than let me walk through that kind of door."

His gaze lifted to Nadya again, his voice quiet. “I can barely even show my face in public without a guard on my tail. The last thing I need is to be dragged into royal politics. No, that’s a mess I’m better off avoiding.”

 

[Nadya]

Nadya fixed him with an unamused look.

"I would start looking at what to wear at the Royal Wedding if I were you. If you will not be at Eira's side, then you may as well accompany me. The princess is in the process of having you attend, and by what Jensen is saying, the princess holds a lot of sway with her family."

Drinks were placed before them, and Nadya was quick to smile up at the handsome bartender. He was older, and Nadya was sure he was attached to someone else judging by the band on his finger, but her smile widened as she witnessed the man blush from her thanks.

As he left them to it, the Storm Rider pouted at Cullen. "It isn't everyday a friend of ours becomes a Prince, Cull. Go, and I will keep you company and spit in the faces of anyone that says anything bad your way. Let me use my Caliar privilege to horrify the uppercrusts of this city."

And so she reached for his tankard, holding it out from his reach as if holding his drink hostage would have him say yes.

"Mother is having a seamstress take my measurements tomorrow in Ōmeyōcān. Just come by my room for an hour so she can get your measurements too and have something made for you. Do not worry about the cost, my grandmother left me a disgusting sum of an inheritance that is not family money." All of which she would happily put towards her sisters' dowry should they wish it, or even donate it to the many organisations that were to benefit others in need.

Judging from her expression, Nadya was not going to let Cullen leave here without agreeing to attending their friend's wedding to a princess.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening at Nadya’s words. He set his tankard down with a heavy thud, the cheerful clink of drinks nearby contrasting sharply with the growing tension in his expression. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the table between them as if he were seeing something far away—or perhaps something he’d spent years trying to forget.

“Nadya,” he said at last, his voice low and firm, “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking me to do.”

He looked up at her, and the bitterness in his eyes was unmistakable now. “You want me to sit in the same room as the people who murdered my parents? Who took our dragons, and put a leash on everything I was, everything I could’ve been?” His hand clenched into a fist on the table, his knuckles white. “They took everything from me. They left me branded like a piece of livestock, spat on in the streets, and you want me to dress up like some kind of fool and go toast to their happiness?”

His voice had risen slightly, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables, but Cullen didn’t seem to care. His fury wasn’t explosive—it was cold, simmering, the kind that lingered long after the words were said. He shook his head, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “The only thing I have left is my pride, Nads, and I won't let them take that too.”

"You might have the luxury of playing games with the nobles, of using your ‘privilege’ to horrify them, but I don’t. They’ve already decided what I am. I’ll die before I let them parade me around like a docile pet for their entertainment.”

“So, no. I won’t be going. Not for Jensen, not for Eira, and not for you. I'm sure you have a queue of men who would love an invitation." he shot a bitter glance at the bar tender. "I want no part of it.”

Cullen’s eyes locked on Nadya’s, a flicker of hurt cutting through the anger in his voice. “I'm sorry. But you should’ve known better than to ask.” With that, he stood, took hold of her arm and grabbed his tankard, downed the remaining drink in one go, and slammed it back on the table, the finality of the gesture hanging heavy in the air between them.

 

[Nadya]

There were only few occasions she was witness to Cullen's anger, the boiling point before it became unrestrained. In the past, she had been proud of him and stood by his side, but looking at him now, unable to avert her gaze, she saw the fire and intensity there in his dark eyes.

It haunted her.

In the way her hidden affections bloomed once again, a new flower to soak all of him in. In the way that she could not move away, transfixed as he directed his hurt and anger towards her and she would like nothing more than to...

Nadya looked away, stared at the table as she glowered.

Never had she ever let anyone dress her down, to call her out just as Cullen did now. No one wanted to, afraid of the weight her ancient family name carried in the larger circles. Afraid of her dragon retaliating.

But she let Cullen get away with a lot, and she would let him get away with it again.

She ripped her arm out from his grasp, fishing in her pockets for the coin to pay for the drinks and the meals she had ordered and they had not seen. With her own anger turning her stormy grey eyes to thay of ice, she fixed Cullen with a stare worthy of a Wing Leader.

"One day, you're going to realise it was you that stopped yourself from enjoying your life. You can tell Jensen yourself you're not attending." She shook her head, scoffing and walked out of Rosita's.

Too fired up, Nadya decided to walk off her frustrations than to call on Kalyss.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen sat there for a moment after Nadya stormed out, her words ringing in his ears. His grip on the edge of the table tightened, the worn wood creaking under the pressure of his calloused fingers. He could feel the weight of her anger as if it had stayed behind, settling over him like a storm cloud.

With a sharp exhale, he shoved back his chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. Ignoring the few heads that turned to watch, Cullen followed her out, his strides long and purposeful, anger still simmering in his chest.

"Nadya!" he called sharply as he caught sight of her down the street, her hair bouncing with each determined step. She didn’t turn, didn’t even slow. It only stoked the fire in his veins.

"Nadya, stop!" Cullen’s voice was louder now, firm with authority, the same tone his father had used when giving orders to his men before his world had crumbled. His boots pounded against the cobblestones as he closed the distance, finally reaching her and stepping in front to block her path.

"You don’t get to just walk away like that!" he snapped, his voice low but intense. "Not after throwing that in my face. 'Enjoy my life'? You think this is about me choosing to wallow in misery? That I haven’t tried to scrape together whatever shards of a life they left me?"

His dark eyes bore into hers, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep his voice from rising further. "You don’t know what it’s like, Nadya. To have your name dragged through the mud until it’s a curse on people’s lips. To be treated like a ghost—half-dead but still breathing, just so they can spit on you one more time."

Cullen’s jaw tightened, his words trembling with raw emotion. "I’m not like you. I don’t have a family name to hide behind, or a dragon people fear too much to cross. And you, of all people, should understand why I can’t just pretend to forget it all and play nice at their celebration."

For a moment, his anger faltered, replaced by something softer, almost pleading. "I thought you’d understand, Nadya. You’re the one person I thought wouldn’t try to push me into something like this."

He shook his head, stepping back slightly as if her presence burned him. "But maybe I was wrong."

 

[Nadya]

She had been itching to volley punches at someone, cursing for being so far from any sparring ring, but the sound of her name being called out from behind only made her stalk down the street with conviction. Oh, gods, she was annoyed.

He'll do.

Her eyes cut to his face the moment he blocked her path forward, and her reflexes came in before she barrelled into him.

At her sides, her hands curled into fists, squeezing and shaking from the effort not to punch him without a verbal sparring.

Of course Nadya understood everything Cullen had said. She had been too angry to reply, to interject that she knew. All too well.

She tried to keep the anger and contempt on her face, but as Cullen took those retreating steps away from her, his face falling to something more vulnerable, it was enough to stifle much of her fire.

"I know everything about you and what you stand for Cullen." She had let emotion seep into her words, feel the rise of a lump in her throat that threatened to drown her in the rising emotions she was feeling. She had stifled so much, had hid behind the walls she had built to protect herself ever since the day she decided to not abandon Cullen after what had been done to him.

She had a family name to hide behind, but over the years the Caliars were in and out of favour. They were cursed, something more tragic and devastating than a visible Mark. Nadya hid behind it because it was all she had, but that did not stop her from pretending words heard in whispers don't hurt.

"If I didn't know you, understood you, I wouldn't be fighting soldiers in the Thunder every day defending myself against their slander. I fight it, I tell myself you are worth the fight because I love you."

And perhaps the tears that began to fall would make it appear her admission was one of romantic feelings, harbored inside for so long. But Nadya did not care how Cullen would take it, all she knew was that she hadn't lied about it. It was a love for all the years they had spent growing up, of the support, and friendship. "Do you know how frustrating it has been for me to be useless and powerless to change anything about the damning sentence you have to serve? I use my family name to get as far as I can to those that could help me. I put my pride aside and... beg even powerful people to listen, to help..." she hadn't told anyone this. That she had paid for things intimately to protect her best friend.

Nadya was a fighter. She would fight until she died, and she'd do it for Cullen.

"Everything I do, that I have done, has been to see a shred of hope that I could free you from your Marks."

She was tired. Exhausted, that all of it was close from spilling out from her lips.

Maybe it would have been a better idea to have just punched him.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen’s expression shifted the moment her tears started to fall, the harsh lines of his anger softening into something heavy with guilt and regret. Nadya’s words cut through his defenses like a blade, each one sharper than the last. His throat tightened, and he had to fight to keep his voice steady.

Her love—whether it was platonic or something more—felt like a weight he didn’t know how to carry. The thought of her suffering, debasing herself, begging for scraps of mercy on his behalf, was unbearable. He’d spent years believing his suffering was his burden alone, but now he saw how deeply it had scarred her, too.

He swallowed hard, hating himself for being the cause of those tears. "Nadya…" he began, but the words faltered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to channel the swirl of anger, guilt, and sorrow threatening to overwhelm him.

Her admission lingered in the air, each word replaying in his mind: Everything I do… has been to see a shred of hope that I could free you from your Marks.

But there was no freeing him. No hope. And now, it seemed, no end to how much his punishment had bled into her life.

"Well, you can’t," he said finally, his voice rough and laced with bitterness—directed at himself more than her. "Nobody can. That’s the whole point of this, Nadya. They made sure of it."

His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, he thought he might break entirely. "I didn’t realise…" He hesitated, the words twisting painfully in his chest. "I didn’t realise that being my friend was so exhausting for you." His voice was soft now, almost hollow.

He looked away, unable to bear the sight of her tears anymore, and his next words came out sharper than he intended, a defense against the ache threatening to consume him. "Maybe I should do you a favour, then."

The moment the words left his mouth, Cullen felt the sharp sting of regret. His throat ached, and he wished desperately that he could take it back, but the hurt—his and hers—was too raw, too fresh.

His hands fell to his sides, and he took a step back, shaking his head. "I can’t… I won’t keep doing this to you."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Because leaving was the only way he could think to protect her from the weight of his ruin. Even if it shattered him in the process

 

[Nadya]

"Maybe I should do you a favour, then."

Something crushed inside her chest, pressed upon her so heavily she gasped for air. Next, something fell in her gut, leaving her swaying on her feet as she froze. Nadya was unable to say anything, to move towards him as he began taking another step away.

What was this?

Why was he saying all of that?

"Is that how you are to repay me for my devotion to you? To our friendship?" She called after him. So many faces looked at her, staring as the tears fell angrily and fast. "After all we have gone through, just like that you are done?"

Hysteria rose up inside her, suffocating her lungs and her air. The pressure weighed upon her, asking to be released on the highs of a scream, but Nadya swallowed it down. She watched as Cullen walked away, not moving to follow him even after he disappeared into the crowd.

Empty.

Hollow.

She could keel over and remain there, on the cold cobbled streets. The people could step on her, tread a thousands footsteps over her and it still would crack at her slowly into disrepair. But her body demanded air, demanded breath no matter how shaking or difficult, it made her breathe.

How... how...

How awful was she to put that on him? To make his pain her own? It had been a relief to tell him the truth, to finally tell someone that mattered she would fight for them whatever the cost. It was in her nature, to fight for a better future for her loved ones and then... he had looked at her heart in his hands and put it aside... had walked away from it and leaving her with a gaping wound.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen's footsteps slowed as Nadya’s words hit him like a cold gust of wind. Each one echoed in his mind, each syllable twisting the knife of guilt deeper into his chest. He didn’t know what he had expected when he walked away, but it wasn’t the hollow, sinking feeling that consumed him now.

He had been running for so long—from his past, from his rage, from the grief that never seemed to fade. But Nadya had been there, and he had taken that for granted, expecting it to always be there, no matter how many times he pushed her away.

After all we’ve gone through, just like that you’re done?

Her voice cracked with raw emotion, and Cullen could still hear the tremor in it, the anger, the hurt. And he hated himself for causing it.

He kept walking, but his steps were heavy, sluggish. He had to leave. Had to get away from everything. The city, the people, the weight of her words. He needed to be alone. He needed to be somewhere far from everything, somewhere where he could forget, even if only for a moment, the suffocating pressure that was slowly strangling him.

The sounds of the crowd faded as he made his way to where Meala waited.

Cullen’s heart ached, his hands shaking as he reached out to her. The dragon nuzzled his hand gently, but there was no comfort in it. There was no comfort anywhere. His throat closed with emotion, and he exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. He didn’t know where he was going, or what he was doing, but staying here would only make things worse.

With a grim determination, Cullen climbed onto Meala's back, the familiar weight of her beneath him providing a small measure of stability.

The city quickly faded into the distance as he flew through the night air, the wind biting against his skin. His thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning faster than his dragon’s wings could carry him. Nadya’s face, her tears, the pain in her voice—it all haunted him, gnawing at him from the inside out.

He could feel the anger rising within him again, sharper now, fueled by the confusion, the guilt, the helplessness. He needed to fight something. Anything. He needed to release this storm inside of him before it consumed him entirely.

He didn't know how much time passed as he flew, his dragon weaving through the night sky, but eventually, the distant rumble of a storm caught his attention. The storm was strong, the winds howling and the sky crackling with electricity. It felt right.

Let the storm swallow me whole, he thought, his grip tightening on the reins. He steered Meala toward the heart of the storm, the dragon diving into the dark clouds with a fierce, almost reckless abandon.

The thunder roared above him, rain soaked him to the bone and the lightning flashing around them in wild arcs. Cullen’s chest tightened as he let the fury of the storm mirror the chaos inside him.

But no matter how hard he fought, no matter how loud the storm raged, it didn’t change the one thing he couldn’t escape: the weight of what he had done to her. He couldn’t run from it. And now, he couldn’t even fix it.

He fought the storm, but it didn’t fight back. It didn’t heal him. And as the hours stretched on, the silence between him and Nadya felt even more unbearable.

The storm had been unrelenting, fierce and chaotic, a violent clash of wind and rain. Cullen gripped his dragon's reins tighter, his knuckles white as she fought against the gale, her wings slicing through the thick clouds. The deafening crack of thunder shook the heavens, and the lightning danced dangerously close. The storm raged in all directions, the sky a furious, black whirlpool of power that threatened to consume him entirely.

His heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t from fear of the storm. It was from the pain inside him—the guilt and anger that raged as fiercely as the tempest itself. He needed this. He needed the chaos. The storm gave him no answers, only more questions. More frustration. More helplessness.

But in the midst of that, the storm did something he hadn't expected—it made him lose control.

A sudden gust of wind—violent and unforgiving—slammed into Meala’s flank, throwing Cullen off balance. The dragon screeched in panic, flapping her wings desperately to stabilise herself, but the wind was too strong, too unpredictable. Her talons grazed the air as Cullen's grip slipped, his body thrown into the chaos of the storm.

He gasped as his fingers failed to latch onto the saddle, the ground below him nowhere in sight, just an endless void of blackness, the world spinning. The air ripped past him as he plummeted, gravity’s cruel hand pulling him downward through the abyss of dark clouds.

His chest tightened as he felt the ground rush toward him—far too quickly. Fear seized him then, raw and primal. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, and his stomach twisted with the realisation that he was falling. This is it, the thought whispered through his mind. This is how it ends.

The roar of the wind deafened him, the weight of his own helplessness—his failure—pressed on him like a crushing weight. He wanted to scream, but the air was too thin, and all he could hear was the rush of the storm, its fury growing with each passing second.

Then, just as the mountains below came rushing toward him, a deafening screech ripped through the storm. His heart leaped. A split second before the inevitable impact, he felt the jolt of air around him, the great weight of her talons wrapping around him, just barely missing the finality of the fall. The sharpness of her claws dug into his flesh as she caught him mid-plunge, and for a moment, he was weightless, suspended between the storm and the dragon’s strength.

Meala let out a primal screech of her own, the sound filled with terror, so loud it drowned out the storm for a brief moment. The fear in her cry pierced through Cullen’s chest, and it made his breath catch in his throat. She thought I was gone, he realised in a haze of disoriented shock. She almost lost me.

He felt her talons tighten painfully around him, a frantic but firm grip pulling him upward, pulling him out of the deadly plummet. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths, the adrenaline from the fall still coursing through him, though it was gradually dulled by the comforting beat of her wings. As the tension in his body loosened, his mind began to blur.

Cullen’s body grew heavier, his limbs growing slack in her talons. His muscles trembled, tired, too weary to fight the exhaustion that washed over him. The fight had been lost for now—his anger, his frustration, all of it was silenced by the sheer force of the storm, by the terror of falling, and now, by the comforting presence of the dragon who would not let him go

Her instincts guided her, Meala took him to a quiet, hidden glade deep within the forest, a place far from prying eyes, and let him sleep beneath her wing.

 

[Nadya]

There was a building chasm over her heart; a wound so small being torn apart at her chest and giving breath to a heart racing with heightened anger. It was a curse in her veins, that had killed sons that could not handle this emotion, this level of rage.

Yet the daughters of the storm knew where to strike at their most volatile state.

There was devastation lashing at her open heart, despair and anguish soon to follow. She had fought so hard and for so long to ensure the most important person in her life had a sliver of peace, that he did not succumb to the cruelty of man. Nadya's privilege had been wielded in his favour, and she had began to learn the game. Power and politics were not for the faint hearted, but Nadya had been bolts of lightning in getting what she wanted.

She was tenacious, worked hard to get where she was so that no one could doubt her.

But Cullen had.

There was a knife aimed for her heart, but the force of it was soft, lingering to stretch out the death sentence.

The Wing Leader moved, needed to be off this street and away from the staring faces of the people that asked if she was alright. She was in her leathers, her rank seen visibly at her left and seemed to weigh down the knife sinking towards her heart. A numbness seeped inside her, enveloping her whole that she had not noticed the signs of rain. It fell in a great big drops, minutes away from a downpour, but she did not react as the droplets fell to her face. Unflinching, she held her head up high and moved forward as she were prepared to walk into battle.

By the time the rain came crashing down onto the cobbled streets, Nadya slipped into another bar she frequented.

It didn't hold the same warmth as Rosita's did, but the Tooth & Claw was the scene many noblemen and ladies traveled to for a little anonymity. The fact she had came here annoyed her, but it was shelter from the storm brewing, the weather and her growing anger.

"Twice in one week, Miss Caliar?"

Her eyes lifted, finding the man the voice had come from.

Ilir Malennis.

She had been called to the meeting concerning the upcoming festival for the Moon Dragons, a holy day called the Dance of the Moon Dragons as they took to the skies of an eclipse and looked for a mate or produced clutches of eggs. They were a protected breed, she had learned, and it had been important every soldier be briefed if they were to be on duty that evening.

Nadya had put her hand up, eager to not attend as the heir of her family name.

And yet again, she met the eyes of Ilir. They were dark, alluring, whereas her stormy gaze were defensive. He nodded to his empty table, inviting her to sit at his booth. Without anything better to do, no plan to think on, she took the seat and kept a distance.

"Is it raining out?"

"A little."

"Ah." He chuckled, reaching for his glass and finishing off the contents. "Come here often, Miss Caliar?"

Nadya turned to look at him, frowning slightly as she studied him. He knew her answer, had seen her here before plenty of times and even sat at the same tables she had been at, although her attentions were on someone else. The price of company in exchange for information or influence.

"It's Wing Leader Caliar, to you Sir Malennis." She sank into her seat, the bite on his own lack of title meant to be a jab, but then an idea poked at the beast of jealousy that had been born within her. It reared it's head as Ilir laughed, the knife at her chest lifting as she saw the tightness to his jaw. "But... maybe I have information that could change that for you... It is in the interest of your sister. Her safety and all."

Ilir looked her up and down, a smile curving at his lips. He was playing with the idea, no doubt coming up with his own price should her information not be so worthwhile. "I am listening."

 

[Cullen]

The morning was quiet, the grove bathed in the soft light of dawn. Cullen groaned as he pushed himself upright from beneath Meala’s sheltering wing, his hand instinctively pressing against his ribs. Blood had dried, crusting his shirt to his skin, and the sharp ache of each breath told him the wound was worse than he’d first thought. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the gnawing guilt that weighed on his chest.

“Nadya,” he murmured hoarsely, her name escaping like a plea.

Meala shifted behind him, her golden eyes following his slow, unsteady movements as he stumbled toward her saddle. He didn’t bother assessing the extent of his injuries—there wasn’t time. He dragged himself up with gritted teeth, every pull of his muscles sparking fire along his ribs.

“Meala,” he whispered, his voice cracking. She huffed, concern radiating from her as she stretched her wings. “Take me to her.”

The dragon didn’t hesitate, leaping into the sky with a force that jolted Cullen painfully in his seat. He bit back a groan and leaned into the flight, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He flew for hours, the landscape below shifting from rolling hills to ancient forests and jagged peaks. When the faint shimmer of Ōmeyōcān’s sacred grounds came into view, he felt a stab of both relief and trepidation.

Ōmeyōcān was forbidden to outsiders, a place of reverence and tradition, and Cullen had no right to enter. But he didn’t care. Rules, customs—none of it mattered now. Nadya was there, and he needed to see her.

As Meala descended into the mountain, Cullen saw the figures gathered near the outer edge of the training grounds. Their stares were sharp and unyielding, their whispers rising like an unspoken warning. They didn’t stop him, though, and he slid from the saddle, his boots hitting the ground unsteadily. His injuries protested with every step, but he forced himself forward, ignoring the way the crowd parted reluctantly for him.

“Nadya!” he called, his voice rough and desperate.

The sacred silence of Ōmeyōcān seemed to amplify his shout, making it echo through the still air. Faces turned toward him, expressions ranging from shock to outrage. He could feel their judgment, their disapproval, but it didn’t deter him.

“Nadya!” he yelled again, stumbling further into the hallowed grounds. His bloodied hand clutched his side as he scanned the area, his heart pounding.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Cullen’s focus didn’t waver. He staggered onward, ignoring the whispers about his audacity, about the blood staining his shirt, about the Mark on his skin. Nothing mattered except finding her.

He faltered then, dropping to one knee as his strength threatened to give out. His head bowed for a moment before he forced himself up again, his gaze searching. He couldn’t leave. Not until he found her.

 

[Nadya]

"Wing Leader."

Nadya had not heard the call from behind, her eyes trained right ahead as she began to go through her sequences. Her blade was made from dragon scale, and as it moved in the morning light, it glinted from black, to silver, to gold. Kalyss' unique black scales often looked purple, other Storm dragons known for blue or green tints.

It was a remarkable blade forged by Danika, and one Nadya loved to show off.

Only this time she needed it to distract her.

"Wing Leader, you're needed out front."

But it was lost to her.

An exasperated sigh and then a moment later a hand whirled her around. Her first was ready to cut up at their jaw, but she saw the gentle face that belonged to Atticus Araelor.

"What?" She winced, realising her had been speaking before.

Atticus offered her a half apologetic smile. "The... Morvane rider is here. Some people are calling for his head for even being here and I thought you should—"

"Cullen is here?"

"— get him out of here before they want blood drawn."

---

She should be feeling relieved he was here, that he had made the first move. Whenever they had disagreements in the past, Nadya had been the one to feel guilty and apologised first, even if it hadn't been her fault in the first place. But growing up with three other sisters taught her to keep the peace, someone had to apologise.

But all she felt was dread.

There was something awful weighing at her, crushing her chest and swirling her stomach that the combination threatened to make her ill.

Atticus escorted his Wing Leader to Cullen, ordering the others to stand aside, but Nadya made no order to enforce it.

He was bleeding, and apology was no longer on her lips when what she had done weighed so much on her.

"You're bleeding." She went to fuss over him, but thought better of it. "Follow me."

"Let him bleed, let him die!"

Nadya shot the crowd a withering look before motioning for Cullen to follow. She didn't go in for an embrace, had even used Atticus as a body between them when she lingered at his side to give him an order. No one was to disturb her until the next drills were scheduled that day.

She lead Cullen through the sacred land, past many other gatherers but none chose to call out seeing Nadya's expression. It seemed a hike, but Nadya had insisted on lodgings on the fringes. A standalone small abode, enough to keep a bed, a bathing chamber, and a small kitchen. Leagues smaller than the home she had grown up in.

Once inside, she pointed at a chair. "Sit." Came an order as she disappeared inside a cupboard in search of a healing kit.

Her home was almost bare, lacking anything personal to her. All but a fresh vase of stunning florals at her front window. They had been so fresh, their aroma wafted through the front room in a gentle embrace. Some wildflowers, some prized petals.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen followed Nadya through the grounds, his feet dragging more than he cared to admit. His body ached, the blood still seeping from the wound at his ribs, but his mind was far more consumed by the raw emptiness inside him, the overwhelming guilt gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

He barely noticed the stares or the mutterings of the crowd around them, the disapproving looks that had followed him ever since he had set foot on Ōmeyōcān. All that mattered was Nadya—the distance between them, the wall that had risen between them, and the weight of his mistakes.

When they finally arrived at her lodgings, his breath came in shallow, labored gasps as he gingerly lowered himself into the chair she pointed to, the pain from his injuries making it hard to focus, but the silence that followed was suffocating.

Nadya moved to a cupboard, and Cullen’s gaze shifted to the modest space around him. It was sparse, almost clinical in its simplicity. Nothing here spoke of her—the woman he knew, the one with the fire in her eyes and the strength in her heart. Instead, it was as if she had carefully stripped away everything that could connect her to the past. The vase of flowers at the window didn't go unnoticed, however.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He simply watched her, afraid that the apologies he needed to offer wouldn't suffice. Perhaps there was nothing he could say would undo the damage he had done, nothing that could fix what had shattered between them.

'You shouldn’t have come'

Those words still hung in his mind. Yet, here he was. What else could he do but follow? What else was there for him to do but seek her out, even though every step felt like a betrayal?

He clenched his fists, the pain in his chest, physical and emotional, too much to bear. His voice cracked as he spoke, his words coming out in a rasp, barely louder than a whisper.

“Nadya… I’m sorry. I should’ve never—”

His words died in his throat, swallowed by the storm of his thoughts. The guilt, the fear, the anger—it all churned within him, a hurricane that threatened to tear him apart. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, or to himself, but it didn’t matter. It was a cry for release, a plea for something to break the suffocating tension between them.

The room felt too small, the air too heavy. He had once thought that running away from it all—leaving her behind, leaving everything behind—would bring him peace. But the truth was that he had only made things worse. He had lost her in a way that was irreparable.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he muttered, his voice distant. His hand went to his ribs, his fingers brushing over the bloodied cloth, but his gaze never left her.

"I just need you to know... I never meant to hurt you."

 

[Nadya]

She flinched while gathering her kit, pretending to search for everything she needed when she knew full well it was well equipped. By the time she turned around, carrying the kit to the table he sat at, she loosed a long, heavy breath. Nadya let him talk, let him apologise because she hadn't offered those words yet. It pulled at her guilt, so much that she felt nauseous and awful just knowing such a crime she committed.

But he was wounded. Bleeding into whatever scraps he tried to bandage around his person.

Nadya knelt before him, gingerly applying ointments to help clean his wounds before using her shears to cut his shirt. In their days as a squad, they had all gotten beaten up enough that they began to learn how to patch themselves and each other up. She treated this the same.

With a shaky breath, her eyes on her work, she spoke.

"But you did hurt me." Her eyes stung, the stormy greys darkening as she refused to lift her gaze to meet his. She was scared of looking at him, afraid that her regret would wound her deeper than the wounds he sported now. "You never did... you never hurt me like that before."

It had been agony.

She had been angry.

And now... now she regretted what she had done. If she looked up at him, she would see the flowers in her periphery, a mocking reminder of what she had done. They were there by the time she came back to Ōmeyōcān, waiting for her so brightly. Nadya could not bear to touch it to be rid of it.

"Cullen... I have always fought for you, perhaps even when I shouldn't have. You never asked me to, but all these years... it's unfair. What you have to deal with because of... it. I also think it is because naturally, I want to fight... and you are all I have left to fight for." The one that needed it the most. Her sisters were well cared for, because they conformed to the ideal lifestyle of the name Caliar. Nadya possessed a Storm Dragon's independence.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen winced as Nadya worked, her gentle hands doing their best to clean the wound without causing him further pain. Yet, the ache in his ribs was nothing compared to the ache in his chest as her words struck him. He let out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“I know, Nadya. I know I hurt you.” His voice was low, raw with shame and regret. “And I hate myself for it. I was angry.. I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenched, the guilt rising in waves as he thought about the way he had walked away from her, leaving her standing there alone. It had been cowardly, cruel even, and no amount of apology could erase that moment.

“I was.. ashamed,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I am, ashamed, for how I acted towards you. You didn’t deserve that.”

The room fell into silence, save for the faint sound of Nadya’s steady work. He winced again as she tightened the bandage, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back a pained groan.

He watched her hands move with practiced precision, her touch soft despite the strength she carried. It hit him then, like it always did, how much she meant to him.

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Nads,” he said softly, the nickname slipping from his lips with a familiarity that felt both comforting and bittersweet. “You’ve always been there for me. Always.”

He reached out then, his hand trembling as it rested atop hers.

“I love you too,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of everything he couldn’t say before. “Always have, always will. And the truth is, I don’t deserve you.."

He looked at her then, his dark eyes searching hers, silently begging her to look at him, to see the truth in his words. "Can you forgive me?"

 

[Nadya]

Why did his love feel like an open wound to her? Her hands stilled, she refused to meet his eyes, but the tears pricked at her eyes. To stop them, to distract herself, she finished up her work and moved to the next wound, checking if he needed anything other than a clean. She wanted to burst out crying, to scream at him and let out all of the built up emotions she had kept away for years.

But the tears fell anyway, breaking past her determination to keep working, to patch him up and know that he was alright.

Until she couldn't anymore.

She was on her knees, kneeling before him as her arms fell uselessly into her lap, her head bowed as the tears dripped from her eyes. Her strong composure began to fall, shoulders shaking slightly as silent sobs wracked through her. Nadya kept her grief quiet until she needed to take a shaky breath, and a mistake it was when she lifted her face to see that love in Cullen's eyes.

Oh, fuck.

"It's you who deserves more than me." She shook her head up at him, beginning to stand and walk away from him. It was better like this, to not seek his arms for comfort.

Overnight, she had moments to think, to understand herself.

"You deserve a friend that loves you as a friend, and not someone that has waited for you for years. Not a friend that has to lie to herself about her feelings for you... because Cullen, I love you. For years now. And I don't know what to do with that love because you've never had any interest of wanting anyone's love... until her." Gods, her truth felt like poison on her lips. She gripped the edge of the kitchen bench, leaning into it's stability as she loosed a heavy breath. "You found her and it's so sudden, I haven't had time to think... but the signs were all there. The Moon Dragon Dance? You were there, for fuck's sake, you went to her."

Yes, finally, the anger began to pour from Nadya. She turned her head to the side, giving him a sidelong glance. "What happened last night... I was angry... He was the first person I saw after our fight..."

I wanted to wound you the way I felt wounded.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen's heart stumbled as Nadya's sobs filled the room, tearing through the air like jagged glass. His chest tightened, both from the ache of his cracked rib and the raw emotion flooding him.

“Nadya…” His voice cracked as he reached for her, pushing himself painfully from the chair to one knee beside her. His arm wrapped instinctively around his side to steady himself, jaw clenching through the sharp sting that radiated from his injuries. “Please, don’t. I’m sorry. What can I do?”

But she pulled away before he could touch her, rising to her feet with a kind of frantic resolve. His hand fell uselessly to his side, and he stared after her, helpless as she turned her back on him.

When she spoke, the words hit him harder than any blow ever had.

You deserve a friend that loves you as a friend, and not someone that has waited for you for years...

The breath in his lungs seized. Her confession, so raw and unexpected, shattered whatever fragile sense of balance he had left.

“I…” He stumbled over his words, his thoughts in chaos. “Wait—what?”

How could he have known? He had never considered that Nadya, his fierce, indomitable Nadya, could look at him that way. No one had ever looked at him that way—not until Eira had made him question the truths he’d built his life around. That he wasn't worthy of anyone. He had never deserved friendships let alone more. And Nadya? She deserved everything good and pure, not him. Never him.

“I didn’t know…” he whispered, his voice thick with remorse. Had he really been that blind? “I never thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

He forced himself to his feet, his hand gripping the edge of the chair to steady himself. Grimacing through the pain, he took a tentative step toward her. Her words continued to echo in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You found her... You went to her.

And then she said it.

What happened last night... I was angry... He was the first person I saw after our fight...

He stopped. His gaze flicked to the vase of flowers on the table, the bright blooms suddenly seeming that bit more out of place in the starkness of her home. A sharp, unsettling pang struck him.

“He?” he asked, his voice low, unsure, his eyes darkening slightly. “Who?" he asked, and then his voice lowered that bit further, as though afraid of the answer.

"What happened last night?"

 

[Nadya]

Nadya wanted to torture him with her words, to tell him every moment she had chosen him because of her love for him. That she often chose him over herself.

How she wished he saw her actions, began to piece it together, and perhaps one day pulled her towards him and made their love known.

She had stopped wishing for that dream the moment he had voiced he couldn't believe anyone loving him. He had squashed her that day, had pushed her away without knowing it. Then, Nadya started to date different boys for his attention. They weren't always nice, did not find her amazing as she had thought Cullen would have if it had been him pulling her into a dark corner.

Nadya refused to think of her life as destructive, but last night, she began to see the evidence of her past.

She saw the gaping hole inside her that she tried to fill with lust and hunger. Nothing... nothing would compare to Cullen's constant friendship and support.

Turning to face him, still keeping her distance, Nadya lifted her chin and looked defiant. A feigned attempt of power. "Ilir."

Surely Cullen would recognise the name if he was so attached to the Malennis girl, to know who threatens her title.

"I told him about his sister, about the mistake that could ruin their Great House."

The flowers were just a token of appreciation for her information. He had tried to ask for more, but with the devastating events at his family's event, Nadya figured the alcohol that kept him company all night would be the only companion he would take home that night.

With that truth in the air between them, Nadya's strength began to break again. She shook her head, tears fresh and hot down her cheek once again. "I'm sorry, Cull. I am fucking so sorry... I was mad at you. I was jealous."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen froze as the name left her lips. His mind reeled, struggling to process the weight of what Nadya had just confessed. Ilir.

The betrayal hit him like a blade to the chest. His breath caught, and his body tensed as though bracing for a physical blow. She had told Eira's brother, Eira's brother. The tenuous happiness he'd just begun to believe he might deserve now dangled by a thread, and Nadya had been the one to cut it.

He took a step toward her, fists clenched tightly by his sides, but there was no rage in his face—only pain. His black eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at her, disbelief and hurt carving deep lines into his features.

“How… How could you do this?” His voice cracked as he spoke, the words trembling under the weight of his anguish. He swallowed hard, trying to force back the knot of pain rising in his throat. “I trusted you. Of all the people in the world, Nadya, I thought you… I thought I could count on you.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a bitter laugh that held no humour, only disbelief and agony. “You say you love me, but so easily you throw me to the fucking wolves? You rip my happiness from me? Why?”

His head bowed, his hands trembling at his sides. He tried to steady himself, to keep the pain from breaking him entirely, but the cracks were already there, widening with every second.

“They’ll come for me,” he said, his voice low and raw. His head lifted slowly, and his gaze met hers, the anguish in his eyes now laced with simmering anger. “You know that, right? I’ll be punished for this. And it’ll be your fault, Nadya.”

Eira’s family would be furious. He would face their wrath, and Eira herself… Cullen’s chest ached at the thought of losing her. She’d be taken from him, and no doubt married off to someone who could salvage her family’s reputation. And he—he’d be lucky to escape with his life.

He took another step back, as though needing to put distance between himself and the woman he had once believed would never hurt him. His breath hitched, his voice a mix of sorrow and bitterness now.

“I almost died last night, you know,” he frowned. “I fell, and the only thing I could think about was you. How much you mean to me. How terrible it would’ve been if yesterday had been the last time we spoke. How guilty I felt for ever hurting you.. Meanwhile, you were ripping my heart out and I didn't even know it."

Another bitter laugh escaped him, sharper this time, as his gaze flicked to the flowers on the table. They mocked him now, bright and cheerful in the midst of this storm.

“Enjoy your prize,” he said as he looked over her with a finality, trying his best not to break. “I truly hope it was worth it.”