The Quiet Bond
The room was silent, save for the soft crackling of old wall panels cooling and the distant hum of machinery beyond the concrete. Somewhere far above, the storm outside battered against the walls of the base, rain rattling against metal like fingers tapping in irritation.
But here, there was stillness.
Solace sat cross-legged on the cold floor, staring down at the fractured egg resting on a folded piece of cloth. His palms still tingled from the warmth that had pulsed through the shell only moments before it broke.
He should have felt triumph. Relief. Perhaps fear.
But all he felt was awe.
The dragon lay in front of him, slick scales glistening faintly in the dim light. It was small — impossibly small for the power he felt humming beneath its fragile form. Barely the length of his forearm, with delicate talons and wings folded close, its body still trembled faintly from the effort of hatching.
It lifted its head slowly, heavy-lidded eyes struggling to open. Then, finally, those eyes — black, endless, ancient — met his.
And for a moment, the room disappeared. The base, the war, the Rift, all gone.
There was only that gaze.
The weight of it pressed on his chest, suffocating and comforting all at once, like staring into the night sky and knowing it stretched on forever.
The dragon blinked slowly, its obsidian eyes softening as it let out a breathless huff — warm, smoky air curling around Solace's face. The faintest scent of ash clung to that breath, like distant fires burning in forgotten places.
The dragon shuffled forward, hesitant but certain. Its movements were light, weightless almost, and it stopped before him, tilting its head as if considering. Then, with a small, soundless leap, it perched on his shoulder, its scaled body coiling around his neck, wings pressed tight to its sides.
Its head settled beneath his jaw, breathing slow and steady.
The weight was... comforting.
Solace lifted his hand slowly, his fingers brushing lightly across the creature's scales. Smooth. Warm. Alive.
He exhaled softly.
"Night," he murmured, the word spilling out before he could think. It felt ancient. Quiet. Endlessly vast. The right name.
Night chirped softly in response, nuzzling against the side of his neck before closing its eyes. Within seconds, it had drifted into sleep, its breathing slow and steady — small puffs of warmth against his skin.
Solace sat there for a long time, listening to that gentle breathing.
The god's voice was gone now. Silent. But the presence still lingered, coiled in the depths of his mind like a whisper he couldn't quite hear, always watching.
He looked down at the remnants of the cracked shell — thin shards glistening with dampness, scattered across the cloth. Something fragile, once whole, now broken and done.
Carefully, reverently, he brushed the pieces into the folds of the cloth and set them aside.
And then, for the first time since returning from the Rift, he allowed himself to breathe.
A dragon.
His dragon.
The thought felt foreign, immense.
Night shifted in his sleep, one tiny claw pressing gently against Solace's collarbone. The dragon made a small noise — a sound of trust, of belonging.
He wondered if he deserved that.
Outside the door, voices echoed down the hallways. Boots stamped. Commands were barked. But none of it reached him.
For this moment, the world had narrowed down to the soft breath of a newborn dragon on his shoulder and the silence in his chest.
A slow smile tugged at his lips — brief, fleeting, but real.
And then, absurdly, a thought surfaced.
What do dragons eat?
He had no idea.
He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling quietly. He would have to figure that out. Soon.
He stood slowly, careful not to disturb Night's sleep. The dragon shifted but didn't wake, curling tighter against his neck.
He crossed to the small window and pushed aside the heavy curtain. The storm still raged outside, lightning flickering along the horizon, turning the world silver and black.
Beyond the fence, the wilderness stretched into fog. Somewhere out there, beasts hunted. They would never stop.
He pressed his palm against the cold glass. His reflection stared back — pale, hollow-eyed, with a dragon coiled on his shoulder. The boy who had gone into the Rift was not the boy who had come back.
Behind him, the egg shell fragments whispered softly in the draft.
He would have to tell the others eventually. Lyra. Jane. Cass.
Lyra.
His throat tightened.
He had been avoiding her. He knew she felt it. She tried to catch his eye during meetings, during the long marches back through the Black Reaches, but he always looked away. He couldn't explain why. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he was angry. Maybe both.
And now… now there was Night.
Another secret between them.
He rubbed his temple, closing his eyes briefly.
A soft, cold draft swept through the room, and Night shivered slightly in his sleep. Solace adjusted the collar of his jacket to shield the tiny creature from the chill.
He sat back down on the floor, resting his head against the wall.
Night's tiny heartbeat pulsed against his neck. So small. So fragile.
How long before it grew? How long before it became something terrible?
The god's words echoed in his mind. You will carry this weight.
He would.
But for now, he would simply sit.
The room darkened as the storm clouds thickened. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled — deep and heavy, like the breath of something ancient stirring in its sleep.
Night twitched, murmured something soft and unintelligible in his sleep, and burrowed deeper against his collar.
Solace let his eyes drift shut. Just for a moment.
He dreamed of black wings blotting out the sky, of cities burning in silence, of standing alone at the edge of the world with the wind cold against his face — and behind him, the slow beat of wings that would never stop.
He woke to the quiet darkness of the room. The storm had passed.
Night was still asleep.
He reached into his pack and pulled out a ration bar. He broke off a piece and held it in front of the dragon's tiny snout.
Night sniffed once, sneezed, and turned away.
Solace huffed a quiet, breathless laugh.
"What do dragons eat?" he whispered again.
He had no idea.
He placed the uneaten piece of ration aside. Maybe fresh meat. Maybe something else. He'd find out. He had to.
His gaze drifted back to the window. The clouds were breaking apart, revealing scattered stars.
He felt the weight of the dragon against his shoulder and the weight of the future pressing down on his chest.
And yet, for the first time in a long time, he felt steady.
He stood once more, cradling the bundle of eggshell fragments. He tucked them into his trunk beneath folded clothing. He didn't know why. Maybe he couldn't let go of the moment. Maybe he never would.
He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Night as the dragon shifted, sighed softly, and settled once more.
The silence stretched long and comforting.
Tomorrow would come with questions, dangers, decisions.
But tonight… tonight was quiet.
A bond had been formed, and it would never break.
Solace leaned his head back, eyes closed.
We'll figure it out.
You and me.
To be continued...