Lucina sat against the massive tree trunk, her entire body trembling. The cold of the night was beginning to seep into her bones. Her thin servant's dress offered little protection against the chill of the forest. Her feet were cut and bleeding from running barefoot through the forest. The gash on her forehead throbbed with a dull, persistent pain.
She wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed until she had no tears left. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She was alone. Completely, utterly alone. The realization of that fact was almost worse than the fear.
She had escaped the Baroness, yes. But what had she escaped to? The forest was dark and vast and filled with unknown dangers. There were wild animals—wolves and bears and things worse than those. There was no food, no water nearby. Winter was coming. She would freeze to death out here.
Perhaps, she thought bitterly, the Baroness had been right. Perhaps she was cursed. Perhaps everyone who came into contact with her was poisoned by her very existence. Her mother had died in poverty. The Baroness treated her with contempt. And now, because of her defiance, she would die alone in the forest.
As if in response to her dark thoughts, she felt it.
A change in the air. A heat that didn't belong in the cold night. The temperature around her began to rise, though she could see no fire, no source of warmth. The forest around her began to glow with an eerie light.
Lucina lifted her head, her fear momentarily replaced by curiosity. What was happening? She squinted into the darkness, trying to understand what she was sensing.
Then she saw it.
A roaring sound filled the forest—not the sound of thunder, but something far more primal. The trees shook with the force of it. Branches snapped and fell to the ground. And then, from the darkness beyond the trees, came the flames.
Fire. Real fire. Burning bright red and orange, consuming the forest floor, licking up the sides of trees, turning the darkness into a hellscape of heat and light. Lucina scrambled backward, fear flooding through her. She was about to bolt, to run deeper into the forest, when she saw the shape in the flames.
A creature. A massive creature moving through the fire as though it were water.
A dragon.
Its body was enormous—larger than any horse, larger than any animal she had ever seen or imagined. Its scales glinted in the firelight, dark and scarred. Its wings spread wide, casting shadows across the burning forest. And its eyes—they glowed with an intensity that seemed to contain entire worlds of pain.
The dragon roared again, a sound so loud that the earth beneath Lucina shook. She covered her ears and pressed herself back against the tree, terrified that she was about to die. The dragon would burn her to ash. It would crush her beneath its massive claws. This was the end.
But instead of approaching her, the dragon simply stood there, its massive body heaving with effort. Fire poured from its mouth and nostrils. Its wings beat at the air, creating winds that knocked trees down like they were nothing. And Lucina realized, in that moment, that the dragon was in pain.
Terrible, agonizing pain.
The dragon's body was covered in burns—in scars that looked infected and raw. Some of its scales were blackened and cracked. On its left wing, there was a massive gash that bled a dark, viscous fluid. Its movements were jerky and pained, as though each motion cost it tremendous effort.
Without thinking—acting purely on instinct—Lucina stood up.
"Are you hurt?" she called out, her small voice barely audible over the roar of the flames and the dragon's harsh breathing.
The dragon stopped moving. Its head turned slowly toward her. Its glowing eyes locked onto hers. And in those eyes, Lucina saw something unexpected.
Recognition. And a terrible, profound loneliness.
The dragon took a step toward her. Lucina should have been terrified. She should have run. But instead, she stood her ground.
"I can help," she said, though she had no idea if the dragon could understand her. "If you let me, I can try to help."
The dragon roared—a sound filled with pain and something that might have been hope. It lowered its massive head, bringing its face closer to Lucina. Up close, she could see the details of its suffering. There were wounds upon wounds, scars upon scars. Fire burned from within it, consuming it from the inside.
"Come here," Lucina whispered, though she still wasn't sure the dragon could hear her.
But somehow, it understood.
The dragon moved closer, its massive body trembling. Lucina reached out with shaking hands and placed her small palms against the dragon's scaled chest, just above its heart.
And she felt it—that familiar warmth beginning to build within her. The golden light that she had learned to hide started to flow from her hands, spreading into the dragon's body. She closed her eyes and concentrated, pouring everything she had into the healing.
It was harder than anything she had ever attempted. The dragon's wounds were vast and deep. The infection was severe. The pain radiating from the creature was almost unbearable. But Lucina pushed through it, channeling the warmth from the deepest part of her being, letting it flow into the dragon.
Minutes passed. Or perhaps hours. Time seemed to lose all meaning. All that existed was the light, the warmth, the connection between her and this creature. She could feel the dragon's wounds beginning to close. She could feel the infection receding. She could feel the pain beginning to ease.
But the effort was draining her. Her vision began to blur. Her limbs grew heavy. The world started to spin around her.
"Please," she whispered, though she didn't know what she was asking for. "Please hold on."
The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was the dragon's eyes—no longer filled with pain, but with something that looked like gratitude. The last thing she felt was the dragon's massive head gently lowering toward her, as though to protect her from falling.
And then, there was nothing but darkness.