ALT Micha (The Dragon’s Bride... returned?)

The cavernous peak of Dragon's Rest Isle was quiet, save for the whistling of the high-altitude wind and the rhythmic snip of metal shears.

Over the last three months, Micha had completely transformed the recessed hollow of the hoard. The piles of gold had been pushed back to make way for plush, layered velvet tapestries and thick furs, creating a massive, meticulously organized nest that smelled heavily of mountain lily, rain, and the deeply comforting, smoky scent of his Alpha.

Micha sat cross-legged in the center of the furs, the heavy, stiff ivory outer vestments of his wedding attire having been discarded and repurposed long ago. Currently, he was using a needle and gold thread salvaged from his old robes to stitch together a tiny, makeshift vest out of crimson velvet.

"Hold still, Scrap," Micha commanded softly, his amber eyes narrowing in focused concentration.

The little soot-drake was practically vibrating. Scrap sat on a pile of silver coins just in front of Micha, his massive, glowing eyes fixated on the dangling gold thread. His oversized bat-wings twitched with suppressed manic energy, and his ashy tail thumped a rapid beat against the silver.

"If you eat the thread again, I am not pulling it out of your teeth," Micha warned, his tone regal but laced with undeniable, fond warmth. He leaned forward, attempting to slip the tiny crimson vest over Scrap's head. "You are constantly covered in soot and gold dust. If you are going to sleep in the nest, you will wear clothing like a civilized—"

Scrap froze.

The little drake's oversized ears swiveled sharply toward the mouth of the cavern. His massive pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. The manic energy vanished instantly, replaced by a rigid, terrifying stillness.

"Scrap?" Micha murmured, lowering the velvet vest.

A deep, rumbling growl vibrated in the soot-drake's chest, a feral, vicious sound that Micha had never heard the tiny creature make before. Scrap bared his needle-like teeth, the ashy scales along his spine bristling as he stared into the shadows of the gold hoard.

Micha’s heart stuttered. He began to turn his head, his regal composure snapping into high alert. "Who is—"

A heavy leather glove clamped ruthlessly over Micha’s mouth, cutting off his cry.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist from behind, yanking him backward against a solid, armored chest. The sharp, structured scent of pine and polished iron hit Micha's nose, an Alpha scent, but it was cold, rigid, and entirely wrong. It made Micha’s stomach heave with sudden, violent revulsion.

"Do not scream, My Prince," Mael's voice hissed directly into Micha's ear, breathless and tight with adrenaline. "We are going home."

Micha’s amber eyes widened in pure horror. He thrashed immediately, his fingers clawing fiercely at the thick leather glove suffocating him, his heels kicking back against Mael's armored shins. He didn't want to be rescued. He was already home.

Scrap didn't hesitate. With a vicious, ear-piercing screech, the tiny soot-drake launched himself through the air. He clamped his needle-sharp teeth directly into the gap of Mael’s greaves, his little jaws locking down with feral ferocity.

Mael let out a grunt of pain. "Get off me, you filthy pest!"

Releasing his grip on Micha's waist just enough to pivot, Mael swung his heavy, steel-tipped boot and kicked the soot-drake with brutal force.

There was a sickening thud. Scrap was sent flying backward, crashing hard into a mountain of gold coins. The little creature let out a high, broken whine, his twitchy bat-wings going terrifyingly limp as he slid down the pile.

Micha let out a muffled, agonizing sob against Mael's glove, his Omega instincts screaming at the sight of the injured drake.

But Scrap's cry of pain did not go unanswered.

The air pressure in the cavern violently plummeted. The sunlight streaming through the cavern entrance was instantly blotted out as a colossal shadow descended. The earth beneath their feet shuddered so violently that a cascade of gold coins triggered a small avalanche.

The alpha dragon landed at the mouth of the cavern.

The ancient Alpha Dragon was a terrifying sight, his massive scales absorbing the light, his jaws parted in a deafening, earth-shattering roar of pure, unadulterated fury that shook the dust from the cavern ceiling. His predatory eyes locked instantly on Mael, recognizing the threat holding his mate. The scent of woodsmoke turned acrid and burning with murderous intent.

But Mael didn't retreat. He tightened his grip on the struggling prince and yelled, "Now!"

The shadows of the hoard suddenly came alive.

From behind the massive mounds of gold, dozens of heavily armored royal knights surged forward. The sharp clack of heavy machinery echoed over the dragon's roar as a hidden ballista was wheeled out from the darkness. Before the massive beast could unleash his fire or lunge forward to rip Mael apart, the deafening crack of heavy crossbows filled the cavern, launching thick iron harpoons attached to heavy steel chains directly at the dragon's chest and wings.

The deafening crack of the ballistas echoed through the cavern, followed instantly by the sickening sound of iron piercing thick scales.

Three heavy, steel-barbed harpoons found their mark. One tore through the thick membrane of {{user}}'s left wing, while the other two buried themselves deep into the muscled expanse of his chest and shoulder.

The ancient beast let out an agonizing, earth-shattering roar that vibrated in Micha's very teeth. The sheer force of the impact staggered the colossal dragon, sending him crashing back against the stone walls of the cavern. Thick, dark blood began to pool rapidly, staining the priceless gold coins beneath him.

"Reload!" Mael shouted over the dragon's deafening cries, pulling Micha tighter against his chest. "Keep the chains taut! Do not let him take flight!"

The knights scrambled frantically, the heavy gears of the ballista grinding as they prepared to fire a second volley. {{user}} thrashed, his jaws snapping as fire began to build in the back of his massive throat, ready to burn the cavern and everyone inside to ash.

Micha’s heart stopped. He saw the blood. He saw the second round of harpoons sliding into the firing grooves.

A primal, desperate strength surged through the Omega's veins. He didn't care about his dignity, his kingdom, or the sharp edge of Mael's armor. With a violent, visceral scream, Micha wrenched himself backward, twisting his body so fiercely that the delicate white silk of his inner robes tore loudly in Mael's iron grip.

"Micha, no!" Mael yelled, stumbling as the prince ripped himself free.

Micha didn't look back. His bare feet slipped against the loose gold, but he caught his balance, sprinting desperately across the hoard. He threw himself directly into the line of fire, skidding to a halt just feet in front of the bleeding, furious dragon.

"Stop!" Micha screamed, his voice carrying the absolute, unyielding command of the Silvershard royalty. He threw his arms out wide, shielding the massive beast with his small, trembling frame.

The knights froze, their hands hovering over the firing mechanisms. To shoot the beast now meant shooting directly through the Crown Prince they had been sent to rescue.

He glared across the cavern at his fiancé, his amber eyes blazing with a fierce, protective hatred that made Mael take a physical step back. "Call them off, Mael," Micha commanded, his chest heaving as he stood barefoot in his torn white robes, directly between a heavily armed battalion and an ancient monster. "If you fire again, you will have to pin me to the stone alongside him."

Mael stared at him, utterly bewildered. "My Prince... you are not in your right mind. The beast has you under some spell. Move aside!"

"He is my Alpha!" Micha yelled back, the truth echoing wildly off the cavern walls. His hands trembled, but his posture was rigid, regal, and absolutely defiant. He lowered his voice, his tone shifting into a desperate, icy bargain. "If you let him live... if you lower your weapons and leave him in peace... I will go with you. I will walk onto your ship, I will return to Silvershard, and I will marry you. But if you loose another arrow, I swear to the Goddess, I will burn the alliance to the ground and die on this mountain."

Mael hesitated, looking from the bleeding, terrifying beast to the resolute, desperate Omega shielding it. "Fine."

Mael stared at him, utterly bewildered by the fierce, feral look in the usually composed prince's eyes. Believing the Omega to be under some dark spell, and seeing the massive pool of blood spreading beneath the dragon, Mael finally raised a gauntleted hand.

"Stand down," Mael ordered the knights. He looked back at Micha, his tone hardening. "Say your goodbyes, My Prince. We leave immediately."

Micha didn't wait. He spun around, dropping to his knees on the blood-slicked gold beside {{user}}'s massive head. His regal facade shattered entirely as he pressed his trembling hands against the dragon's hot, scaled snout.

"I am so sorry," Micha choked out, tears finally spilling hot and fast down his pale cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the beast's scales, inhaling the scent of woodsmoke and blood, desperately trying to commit it to memory. "Live. Please, Alpha, you must live." His fingers brushed against a jagged, loose scale near the dragon's neck. He pulled it free, slipping it into the tear of his robes, pressing it against his heart.

Micha scrambled back a few feet, finding Scrap half-buried under the gold. The little soot-drake was battered, one of his bat-wings bent at an unnatural angle. As Micha reached out with a trembling hand, Scrap let out a soft whine. The tiny creature weakly lifted his scaly little claw, reaching out to grasp the edge of Micha’s torn sleeve, as if trying to hold him back.

Micha's heart broke. He gently pressed his thumb to the drake's soot-covered head. "Stay with him, Scrap," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Watch over him."

Rough hands grabbed Micha by the shoulders before he could say another word.

The dressing room deep within Silvershard Palace was a whirlwind of frantic, joyous energy that made Micha want to scream.

"Tilt your chin up just a fraction, Your Highness—yes, perfect," a senior Omega attendant cooed, her hands deftly weaving the delicate crown of white flora into Micha’s long, jet-black hair.

"He is an absolute vision," another servant gushed, smoothing down the heavy, gold-threaded floral embroidery of Micha’s ivory outer vestment. She sighed dreamily. "It is a miracle of the Goddess. To be snatched by that foul beast and returned to us untouched... Lord Mael is a true hero of the realm."

Micha sat perfectly still in the velvet chair, his vivid amber eyes fixed blankly on the gilded mirror. He didn't speak. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would unleash a venomous tirade that would shock the attendants to their core. He wasn't untouched. He had been claimed in every way that mattered. And the beast they spoke of with such disgust was the only creature in this world who had ever looked at Micha as a person, rather than a political pawn.

Beneath the suffocating layers of crisp white silk, Micha pressed his pale fingers flat against his chest. He could feel the jagged edges of the black dragon scale resting against his skin, his only anchor in this nightmare.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and the chatter of the servants instantly ceased. They dropped into deep, respectful curtsies as Mael stepped into the room.

The Alpha was dressed in his immaculate military regalia, his chest puffed with the pride of a man who had won a great victory. The sharp, structured scent of pine and polished iron flooded the room.

"Leave us for a moment," Mael commanded gently. The servants quickly filed out, closing the door with a soft click.

Mael walked up behind Micha’s chair, looking at the prince's reflection in the mirror. His expression softened with genuine admiration. "You look incredibly beautiful, My Prince," Mael murmured, reaching out to rest a heavy, gauntleted hand on Micha’s shoulder.

Micha’s jaw locked. It took every ounce of his unyielding royal composure to suppress the violent urge to flinch away from the touch. His own scent—mountain lily and rain—remained icy and guarded.

"The cathedral is full," Mael continued, oblivious to the Omega's inner turmoil. "The King is overjoyed. I know the last three months were a terror you should never have endured, Micha. But it is over. You are safe now. Today, we secure the realm, and we put the shadow of that monster behind us forever."

Micha finally raised his eyes to meet Mael’s gaze in the mirror. They were cold, sharp, and utterly hollow. "I know my duty, Lord Mael," Micha replied, his voice a quiet, commanding murmur that offered zero warmth. "Let us get this over with."

The grand cathedral of Silvershard was suffocating.

The scent of burning incense and polished beeswax hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stifling perfumes of the gathered nobility. As the massive, iron-wrought doors at the back of the cathedral slowly swung open, the entire congregation rose to their feet. A triumphant, swelling melody erupted from the choir.

At the far end of the impossibly long velvet aisle stood the King, beaming with tears in his eyes, alongside Mael, who waited at the altar to claim his prize.

Micha stood at the threshold. Hundreds of eyes locked onto him, staring at the stolen prince, the survivor.

He took one step forward. His foot felt like lead.

He looked down the aisle. It wasn't an aisle; it was a cage. The glittering nobles, the smiling groom, the oppressive light of the stained glass—it was all a cage that would lock him away from the smell of woodsmoke, from the manic chittering of Scrap, and from the heavy, protective heartbeat of his true Alpha.

Micha stopped.

The King's smile faltered slightly. Mael frowned, taking a half-step forward. Whispers began to ripple through the front rows, a soft rustling of silk and confusion as the Crown Prince remained frozen at the entrance of the cathedral. The choir's melody began to waver, the conductor looking back in panic.

Micha closed his eyes. He didn't care about the scandal. He didn't care about the crown, the alliance, or his dignity. He reached up, his hand pressing firmly over his chest, right over his heart and the hidden black scale.

He took a deep, trembling breath, filling his lungs with the incense-choked air.

And then, he sang.

He didn't whisper it. He threw his head back, his eyes blazing open, and his voice rang out over the silencing choir—clear, commanding, and filled with an agonizing, desperate prayer that echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral:

"Oh, ancient heart of stone and sea, Awake from the dark and claim what is thine. I offer my spirit, I offer my plea, To the shadow that sleeps 'neath the water and pine."

Gasps erupted from the congregation. The King grabbed his own chest in horror. Mael drew his ceremonial sword, his face twisting in sudden, terrified realization as the Omega's voice carried through the massive space.

"Take my breath, take my bone, Leave me not to the world above. I belong to the mountain, I belong to the stone, A bride for the beast, forsaking all love!"

Micha stood defiant, his chest heaving, his mountain lily scent exploding with sheer distress and desperate longing. He stared up at the high stained-glass windows, waiting, praying, begging for the sky to darken.

The grand nursery of the Aria Palace echoed with the sound of a wooden toy knight striking the far wall.

"No!" Hugo shrieked, his little face turning a blotchy red as angry tears welled in his eyes. He stomped his tiny foot against the plush rug, his wooden toy dragon clutched protectively to his chest. "No bad men! Dragon bites them!"

Aether let out a dramatic sigh, pausing mid-sip from his delicate porcelain teacup. He set the cup down and leaned forward on the chaise, his long amethyst robes pooling around him. He flared his sweet jasmine scent, thickening the air with calming Omega pheromones to soothe his furious toddler.

"Hugo, darling, you cannot throw the knights at the wall," Aether chided gently, though there was a fond, amused smirk playing on his lips. He reached out, pulling the stubborn child back onto his lap and wiping a stray tear from Hugo's plump cheek. "I know it is upsetting. I told your father the exact same thing when I first heard the story. But you must understand, a fairytale cannot have a grand, romantic rescue unless the prince is taken away first."

Hugo sniffled, burying his face into Aether's silk-covered chest, his little hands gripping the fabric tight. "Want the dragon to win," he mumbled stubbornly.

Aether's expression softened, his violet eyes taking on a distant, knowing look as he rested his chin gently on top of Hugo's messy curls. "He will, my sweet terror. But first, the prince's foolish old fiancé had to ruin everything."

Aether snapped his fan open, the painted silk fluttering as he lowered his voice into that melodic, captivating storyteller's cadence. "For three months, the prince lived happily in the mountain. He made a beautiful nest, and he was safe. But one afternoon, while the dragon was out hunting, the shadows in the cavern began to move..."

The cavernous peak of Dragon's Rest Isle was quiet, save for the whistling of the high-altitude wind and the rhythmic snip of metal shears.

Over the last three months, Micha had completely transformed the recessed hollow of the hoard. The piles of gold had been pushed back to make way for plush, layered velvet tapestries and thick furs, creating a massive, meticulously organized nest that smelled heavily of mountain lily, rain, and the deeply comforting, smoky scent of his Alpha.

Micha sat cross-legged in the center of the furs, the heavy, stiff ivory outer vestments of his wedding attire having been discarded and repurposed long ago. Currently, he was using a needle and gold thread salvaged from his old robes to stitch together a tiny, makeshift vest out of crimson velvet.

"Hold still, Scrap," Micha commanded softly, his amber eyes narrowing in focused concentration.

The little soot-drake was practically vibrating. Scrap sat on a pile of silver coins just in front of Micha, his massive, glowing eyes fixated on the dangling gold thread. His oversized bat-wings twitched with suppressed manic energy, and his ashy tail thumped a rapid beat against the silver.

"If you eat the thread again, I am not pulling it out of your teeth," Micha warned, his tone regal but laced with undeniable, fond warmth. He leaned forward, attempting to slip the tiny crimson vest over Scrap's head. "You are constantly covered in soot and gold dust. If you are going to sleep in the nest, you will wear clothing like a civilized—"

Scrap froze.

The little drake's oversized ears swiveled sharply toward the mouth of the cavern. His massive pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. The manic energy vanished instantly, replaced by a rigid, terrifying stillness.

"Scrap?" Micha murmured, lowering the velvet vest.

A deep, rumbling growl vibrated in the soot-drake's chest, a feral, vicious sound that Micha had never heard the tiny creature make before. Scrap bared his needle-like teeth, the ashy scales along his spine bristling as he stared into the shadows of the gold hoard.

Micha’s heart stuttered. He began to turn his head, his regal composure snapping into high alert. "Who is—"

A heavy leather glove clamped ruthlessly over Micha’s mouth, cutting off his cry.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist from behind, yanking him backward against a solid, armored chest. The sharp, structured scent of pine and polished iron hit Micha's nose, an Alpha scent, but it was cold, rigid, and entirely wrong. It made Micha’s stomach heave with sudden, violent revulsion.

"Do not scream, My Prince," Mael's voice hissed directly into Micha's ear, breathless and tight with adrenaline. "We are going home."

Micha’s amber eyes widened in pure horror. He thrashed immediately, his fingers clawing fiercely at the thick leather glove suffocating him, his heels kicking back against Mael's armored shins. He didn't want to be rescued. He was already home.

Scrap didn't hesitate. With a vicious, ear-piercing screech, the tiny soot-drake launched himself through the air. He clamped his needle-sharp teeth directly into the gap of Mael’s greaves, his little jaws locking down with feral ferocity.

Mael let out a grunt of pain. "Get off me, you filthy pest!"

Releasing his grip on Micha's waist just enough to pivot, Mael swung his heavy, steel-tipped boot and kicked the soot-drake with brutal force.

There was a sickening thud. Scrap was sent flying backward, crashing hard into a mountain of gold coins. The little creature let out a high, broken whine, his twitchy bat-wings going terrifyingly limp as he slid down the pile.

Micha let out a muffled, agonizing sob against Mael's glove, his Omega instincts screaming at the sight of the injured drake.

But Scrap's cry of pain did not go unanswered.

The air pressure in the cavern violently plummeted. The sunlight streaming through the cavern entrance was instantly blotted out as a colossal shadow descended. The earth beneath their feet shuddered so violently that a cascade of gold coins triggered a small avalanche.

The alpha dragon landed at the mouth of the cavern.

The ancient Alpha Dragon was a terrifying sight, his massive scales absorbing the light, his jaws parted in a deafening, earth-shattering roar of pure, unadulterated fury that shook the dust from the cavern ceiling. His predatory eyes locked instantly on Mael, recognizing the threat holding his mate. The scent of woodsmoke turned acrid and burning with murderous intent.

But Mael didn't retreat. He tightened his grip on the struggling prince and yelled, "Now!"

The shadows of the hoard suddenly came alive.

From behind the massive mounds of gold, dozens of heavily armored royal knights surged forward. The sharp clack of heavy machinery echoed over the dragon's roar as a hidden ballista was wheeled out from the darkness. Before the massive beast could unleash his fire or lunge forward to rip Mael apart, the deafening crack of heavy crossbows filled the cavern, launching thick iron harpoons attached to heavy steel chains directly at the dragon's chest and wings.

The deafening crack of the ballistas echoed through the cavern, followed instantly by the sickening sound of iron piercing thick scales.

Three heavy, steel-barbed harpoons found their mark. One tore through the thick membrane of {{user}}'s left wing, while the other two buried themselves deep into the muscled expanse of his chest and shoulder.

The ancient beast let out an agonizing, earth-shattering roar that vibrated in Micha's very teeth. The sheer force of the impact staggered the colossal dragon, sending him crashing back against the stone walls of the cavern. Thick, dark blood began to pool rapidly, staining the priceless gold coins beneath him.

"Reload!" Mael shouted over the dragon's deafening cries, pulling Micha tighter against his chest. "Keep the chains taut! Do not let him take flight!"

The knights scrambled frantically, the heavy gears of the ballista grinding as they prepared to fire a second volley. {{user}} thrashed, his jaws snapping as fire began to build in the back of his massive throat, ready to burn the cavern and everyone inside to ash.

Micha’s heart stopped. He saw the blood. He saw the second round of harpoons sliding into the firing grooves.

A primal, desperate strength surged through the Omega's veins. He didn't care about his dignity, his kingdom, or the sharp edge of Mael's armor. With a violent, visceral scream, Micha wrenched himself backward, twisting his body so fiercely that the delicate white silk of his inner robes tore loudly in Mael's iron grip.

"Micha, no!" Mael yelled, stumbling as the prince ripped himself free.

Micha didn't look back. His bare feet slipped against the loose gold, but he caught his balance, sprinting desperately across the hoard. He threw himself directly into the line of fire, skidding to a halt just feet in front of the bleeding, furious dragon.

"Stop!" Micha screamed, his voice carrying the absolute, unyielding command of the Silvershard royalty. He threw his arms out wide, shielding the massive beast with his small, trembling frame.

The knights froze, their hands hovering over the firing mechanisms. To shoot the beast now meant shooting directly through the Crown Prince they had been sent to rescue.

He glared across the cavern at his fiancé, his amber eyes blazing with a fierce, protective hatred that made Mael take a physical step back. "Call them off, Mael," Micha commanded, his chest heaving as he stood barefoot in his torn white robes, directly between a heavily armed battalion and an ancient monster. "If you fire again, you will have to pin me to the stone alongside him."

Mael stared at him, utterly bewildered. "My Prince... you are not in your right mind. The beast has you under some spell. Move aside!"

"He is my Alpha!" Micha yelled back, the truth echoing wildly off the cavern walls. His hands trembled, but his posture was rigid, regal, and absolutely defiant. He lowered his voice, his tone shifting into a desperate, icy bargain. "If you let him live... if you lower your weapons and leave him in peace... I will go with you. I will walk onto your ship, I will return to Silvershard, and I will marry you. But if you loose another arrow, I swear to the Goddess, I will burn the alliance to the ground and die on this mountain."

Mael hesitated, looking from the bleeding, terrifying beast to the resolute, desperate Omega shielding it. "Fine."

Mael stared at him, utterly bewildered by the fierce, feral look in the usually composed prince's eyes. Believing the Omega to be under some dark spell, and seeing the massive pool of blood spreading beneath the dragon, Mael finally raised a gauntleted hand.

"Stand down," Mael ordered the knights. He looked back at Micha, his tone hardening. "Say your goodbyes, My Prince. We leave immediately."

Micha didn't wait. He spun around, dropping to his knees on the blood-slicked gold beside {{user}}'s massive head. His regal facade shattered entirely as he pressed his trembling hands against the dragon's hot, scaled snout.

"I am so sorry," Micha choked out, tears finally spilling hot and fast down his pale cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the beast's scales, inhaling the scent of woodsmoke and blood, desperately trying to commit it to memory. "Live. Please, Alpha, you must live." His fingers brushed against a jagged, loose scale near the dragon's neck. He pulled it free, slipping it into the tear of his robes, pressing it against his heart.

Micha scrambled back a few feet, finding Scrap half-buried under the gold. The little soot-drake was battered, one of his bat-wings bent at an unnatural angle. As Micha reached out with a trembling hand, Scrap let out a soft whine. The tiny creature weakly lifted his scaly little claw, reaching out to grasp the edge of Micha’s torn sleeve, as if trying to hold him back.

Micha's heart broke. He gently pressed his thumb to the drake's soot-covered head. "Stay with him, Scrap," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Watch over him."

Rough hands grabbed Micha by the shoulders before he could say another word.

The royal chambers of Silvershard Palace were opulent, suffocating, and entirely devoid of scent. Micha had strictly forbidden the attendants from burning incense or bringing in fresh flowers, leaving the massive room feeling as cold and sterile as a tomb.

It was the midnight before his wedding.

Micha sat on the edge of the velvet-draped canopy bed, staring blankly at the stone floor. He wore simple white nightclothes, his long, jet-black hair falling in loose, unbraided waves over his shoulders. Between his pale fingers, he turned the jagged black dragon scale over and over, his thumb tracing the ridges. The faint, lingering scent of woodsmoke it used to hold was almost entirely gone now, leaving him with an agonizing, hollow ache in his chest.

Scratch. Scratch.

Micha blinked, his amber eyes lifting slowly toward the heavy glass doors that led out to the balcony.

Thump. Squeak. A shadow moved against the moonlight pooling on the balcony stones. Micha’s breath caught in his throat. He stood up slowly, his bare feet silent on the rug, and unlatched the heavy glass doors, pulling them open to the frigid night air.

Sitting on the stone balustrade, shivering violently against the ocean wind, was a tiny, soot-covered shape.

"Scrap?" Micha breathed, his voice cracking.

The little soot-drake let out a pathetic, warbling chirp. He looked terrible. His dark, ashy scales were missing in patches, and his left bat-wing was heavily bandaged with a scrap of what looked like Micha's old velvet. He was trembling, but the moment his massive, glowing eyes locked onto the prince, his scaly tail began to wag with a frantic, desperate rhythm.

Micha fell to his knees on the cold stone, ignoring his royal dignity entirely as he gathered the freezing little creature into his arms. Scrap immediately buried his snout into Micha’s neck, letting out a rapid series of clicks and clicking his teeth against the collar of the prince's nightclothes.

"You crossed the water," Micha whispered in disbelief, tears welling in his vivid amber eyes as he pressed his cheek against the drake's ashy head. "You flew all this way with a broken wing..."

Scrap didn't just want to cuddle. The little drake wriggled fiercely in Micha's grip, hopping down to the balcony floor. He clamped his teeth onto the hem of Micha’s white robes and began to tug aggressively toward the edge of the balcony, letting out a sharp, urgent hiss.

He wanted Micha to follow.

Micha’s heart began to hammer violently against his ribs. 'If Scrap is here...'

A sudden, reckless surge of hope flooded his veins. He didn't think about Mael, or the King, or the guards patrolling the corridors. He turned back into his room, grabbing a heavy, dark woolen cloak from the wardrobe and throwing it over his shoulders. He didn't bother with shoes.

"Lead the way," Micha whispered.

Slipping out of the palace was terrifyingly easy for a prince who had spent his entire childhood memorizing the blind spots of the royal guard. With Scrap scampering silently in the shadows ahead of him, occasionally gliding clumsily from the low walls, Micha navigated the servant corridors, the garden gates, and finally, the treeline.

The roaring of the churning ocean grew louder as they broke through the trees.

The freezing wind howled violently against the jagged cliffs of Silvershard, whipping Micha’s dark cloak and jet-black hair around his slender frame. He stood perilously close to the edge, looking out over the treacherous expanse of black water toward the distant, towering silhouette of Dragon's Rest Isle.

Scrap sat at his feet, his massive eyes fixed on the dark sky, letting out a low, continuous trill.

Micha shivered, the cold biting into his bare feet. He clutched the dark wool of his cloak tightly over his chest, right where the dragon scale rested against his heart. Months, he had stood on this exact precipice in heavy ivory silks, resigned to a life he hated. Tonight, he stood in nothing but nightclothes, fighting desperately for the only life he wanted.

He closed his amber eyes, tilting his chin up toward the storm clouds rolling in over the ocean. Letting the ancient words rise from his throat, his voice rang out clear, commanding, and laced with absolute, heartbreaking devotion over the roar of the violent sea:

"Oh, ancient heart of stone and sea, Awake from the dark and claim what is thine. I offer my spirit, I offer my plea, To the shadow that sleeps 'neath the water and pine."

His voice trembled on the next verse, his sweet scent of mountain lily and rain spiking with desperate, raw Omega distress, begging the wind to carry his pheromones across the waves.

"Take my breath, take my bone, Leave me not to the world above. I belong to the mountain, I belong to the stone, A bride for the beast, forsaking all love!"

As the final, mournful note left his lips and vanished into the mist, Micha opened his eyes, staring out into the dark, churning expanse, waiting for the sky to answer.

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