"Hah?" she blurted out in disbelief, her body frozen in place like an unmoving monolith, her lips trembling as she slowly looked up, glancing at her raised arm, or the lack of it in this case.
"Hah... Haaaah... Haha... AGRGRHHRHHRHRAAAAAA!!!" A tormented scream escaped her lips, filled with unfathomable agony and pain as a geyser of blood erupted from the stump, ivory bone drenched in blood gleaming coldly, reflecting the gentle, silver light of the moon that was bathing the world in ethereal luminosity as blood pooled beneath her and her body began shaking uncontrollably from the sheer shock, horror, and unimaginable pain never felt before.
The mysterious woman who accompanied Saera stilled, her eyes widening as the dragon continued chewing her arm lazily. There was no aggression, no irritation, there was nothing at all but the chilling coldness of an apex predator, seeing all below him as nothing but prey. Bones shattered between his serrated fangs, and he spat some of them out like a picky eater, licking the blood from his bone mask with a yawn.
The mysterious woman smiled faintly at that, her lips involuntarily curling up, and nodded to herself as if confirming something in her mind, before turning around and leaving without making any sound, vanishing into the dense shadows cast by the towering pagoda.
As for Saera, she lay in her own blood, her body twitching from the shock it had experienced, bleeding from her wound. So much pain washed over her like a tidal wave that she felt numb at this point, not even screaming but only sobbing silently, tears streaming down her eyes.
"Hmm... really now... I didn't want it to end like this. Haaaah, what a pity. I thought we had something special going on, didn't we?" A familiar voice echoed out of the darkness, accompanied by heavy steps filled with exhaustion.
Looking up, Saera opened her eyes. Tears slid down her cheeks and mixed with the blood painting her face, her silver hair drenched in crimson, as a silhouette emerged from the dark. Her vision was too blurry to make out a face, and the buzzing in her ears swallowed most of the words.
But the moment the silhouette stepped out of the darkness and into the ethereal light of the moon, it was revealed.
It was the silhouette of the one she had killed with her own hands.
The silhouette of the boy.
"W-what..." she whispered with wide eyes, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as the chilling cold crept in, numbness making her feel like a doll and slowly taking her consciousness away, yet she still felt the burning pain, seething and inextinguishable.
But if she were a doll, she wouldn't feel such a pain, right? That meant she was still alive, there was still hope to be found in the abyss of despair, a certainty that there was light at the end of this dark road.
And Saera clung to that hope like a moth to a flame.
It was really a strange thing, a hope. It was like a driving force that pushed an individual to move forward relentlessly, the force that constantly fought to overcome the unbearable sorrow of life and the despair of the loss that came with being alive.
It was the greatest blessing.
And the most unforgiving curse.
Because that very hope that gave her the will to survive was slowly fading away. Those smoldering flames of ambition and desire for life were growing weaker with each passing second, becoming smaller, more pitiful, and just a shadow of the blazing inferno they once were.
"How... I-I... I killed you..." She barely forced the words out, her eyes wide and her body twitching the way a headless chicken still moves by instinct.
"Please do tell, why would I explain it?" Zalarys stared at her expressionlessly, his face filled with exhaustion and his body stiff as he dragged his trembling legs forward.
His voice was devoid of any emotion. His eyes, however, burned with chilling spite and raw, murderous hatred. That's why, even if he could do it, he wouldn't explain anything. He refused to give her any answers, choosing instead to spite her with silence.
Good... He thought with displeasure, the memory of this woman trying to steal Murghagon still irritating him to no end. He knew it was impossible for his dragon to be taken, but the sheer arrogance of believing anyone other than him could bond with Murghagon saturated his heatt with resentment.
Standing before Saera, Zalarys remained motionless for a moment, then slowly took a seat beside her, watching the blood flow like rivers branching out across the ground, seeping into the earth.
"I will tell you this. I have killed numerous beasts and men too. But there was never a moment when I truly enjoyed it. I found nothing entertaining or pleasing about death. In a way, I took killing as a simple truth... that everyone is prey, and everyone is a hunter, and the act of killing decides which is which." He held her body gently, whispering in her ear and softly caressing her silver hair, now filled with blood.
Saera stared at him, her body trembling as she opened her mouth, her red lips parting as she struggled to force out the words, barely audible yet filled with nothing but venomous malice. "W-what... A-are you... Even... Talking about..."
"Please, my lady. Lend me your ear for a moment. Perhaps it will bore you, but I still wish to say what I have in mind..." He let out a sigh, his eyes dimming, and when no reply came, he continued.
"Where was I? Ahhh, right..." He nodded to himself. "Killing decides which is which..."
He smiled faintly at the thought, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But it is always interchangeable. There is no eternal prey, nor eternal hunter. As for you, my lovely lady, you were the hunter and I the prey... Yet under the right circumstances, I dethroned you and became the hunter..."
"Y-you... Don't know... What you're about to do..." She spat, saliva mixed with blood landing on Zalarys's face, still finding strength in her body to let out a weak laugh.
"You mean kinslaying?" He asked with a furrowed brow, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
Saera was surprised by his question. After all, kf he knew that killing her meant kinslaying, then he already knew who she was.
"Right... So you... Knew... Go on then... Kill me, if you dare... And be cursed for... Eternity." She coughed blood, dripping from her lips and grinned, her teeth bloodied.
Zalarys fell silent, staring at her and hesitating for a moment, thinking about her words. Everyone hates a kinslayer. There is a saying that no man is as accursed as the one who takes the life of his own blood.
"Spare me... And everything will be resolved... Let me go." Saera whispered with a shaky breath, hope reigniting in her chest. But Zalarys's answer wasn't what she expected, and it brought her no comfort at all.
"Indeed, I could do that. I could spare you and let you go... But regardless of what I choose, your end is still death. You have lost too much blood. You can feel the cold spreading and the numbness, can you not?"
"A-abomination..." She spat, gritting her teeth.
"Well... Viserra does like calling me that." He smiled faintly, recalling his feisty aunt. Viserra had called him many things, as he had called her many things in return. He had grown so used to it that he never felt any discomfort, even when others called him that. In a way, they were almost comforting, coming from her. At least one person in that accursed family knew who he really was, even though he wished it were someone else.
"As for you, my dearest aunt... this is the end. You will feel the cold, and slowly, lethargy will steal the strength from your body, and in a little while, you will have lost so much blood that you lose consciousness... and die in your sleep. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" he said with a small smile, explaining everything she needed to know. Sure, he could've killed her right here and now, but he decided against it. Instead, he would allow her to die from the loss of blood, feeling everything he had felt when she poisoned him, starting from lethargy, then numbness, and lastly the cold... only to die at last while sleeping.
"I told you I never enjoyed killing... That much is true. But..." He said coldly, staring at her without expression, and kissed her bloody lips as her vision blurred, strength drained from her body and her eyes turned glassy and unfocused.
"I will enjoy watching you die." He smiled softly and began humming a gentle tune while caressing her hair tenderly, the exact same tune she had hummed while waiting for him to die.
But this time, it was he who was humming...
And she who was dying...
_____________________________
Zalarys was never vengeful or petty for foolish reasons. He could tolerate many things, but he would never allow anyone to steal Murghagon from him. That was the thing he feared most, and hated most as well.
Because Murghagon wasn't simply his mount.
He wasn't like other dragons either. And he wasn't ugly, as everyone called him, nor abominable, nor a wretched beast.
Murghagon was beautiful. Majestic, even. Where else in the world could you find a dragon like him? Across the entire span of history, there had never been another. And there never would be.
He was calm and curious, a little lazy, fond of sleeping and exploring. He had never taken well to the confinement of the Dragonpit. He was a picky eater, hunting different beasts whenever he grew tired of sheep and liked playing in the water.
Other dragons had what Murghagon was denied from birth. Acceptance, from the world and from their own kind.
The Dragonkeepers wouldn't go near him until he learned to control the venom he released without thinking, and even after he learned, they still wouldn't.
As for other the dragons... they either tried to kill him or eat him.
There was no place he could call home. No one he could call his own. Denied the love Targaryens gave their dragons. Denied the admiration and awe those mighty beasts inspired in others.
And yet the ugly, deformed dragon with nothing to his name had survived the Dragonpit, and lived to see the day when a small child came and bonded with him.
He had rejoiced. Because for the first time since his birth, there was someone who would stay, and who wouldn't hurt him.
Instead, the boy would love him, see him as a partner, wouldn't be disgusted by him nor his poison would harm him.
"Because we have been together since the very beginning."
Murghagon heard his rider's voice. Low, incomprehensible sounds escaped his maw as he leaned down, his tendrils curling and drawing Zalarys gently toward him.
"Krekkrrkrrr..."
Zalarys nodded, his hand rising to touch the dragon's bone-covered face. The serrated fangs parted and the serpentine tongue licked his cheek, faint greenish smoke drifting from his maw and gills.
"I know... I feel so flawed and incomplete without you." He looked down with a small smile. "Like a castle without its foundation. Like a bird without wings. Like a turtle without its shell..."
How laughable it was, how amusing... and how pitiful.
The third son, with no inheritance, no glory and no legacy of his own. Always weird, often lonely and forgotten by his own family.
Growing up expecting everything, until the moment he realized no one truly cared for his desire to seek the unknown, finding no comfort in a family that somehow always made him feel wrong, and feeling lost, belonging nowhere, learning to expect nothing from the world.
Yet he had found the dragon. Deformed and hideous, born in his own cradle, already known to the world for what it was.
The Abomination. Something to be killed or hidden away. It hadn't even been given the chance to be wrong. It simply was.
And yet, those two lonesome souls had found solace in each other's presence, accepting one another for their truest selves rather than for blood or appearance.
The long night was finally over, with the sun rising and bathing the world in its dazzling light.
"My other self..."
And thus, the dark days were no longer so dark, anymore.