The rains were harsh and the winds equally cruel, the two working in tandem to swat Virion’s face and body with unforgiving lashes that threatened to sweep him off his feet, but his rage made each step he took a solid one.

It was nowhere near dusk, but the sombre skies darkened the forest to the point that lightning was the only assured source of light. It had struck a tree just two mosles before him, and though it seemed to draw closer with each passing jol, none of it was enough to turn the prince around.

Some may call it dramatics— Virion was sure that was precisely what Aiasthlyn would label it if he were present— but it was no falsehood that he would rather die out here than endure another second in Zirkhlon’s rancid company.

He had tried. No elf could say he hadn’t, but the dragon had tested him past his own end point, and then a few steps more, and Virion had had enough!

The carrier may not have food or warmth, but he was an elf trained in all matters of warfare. He would survive three feens without substance, swaddle himself in his fineries to keep warm, and enjoy the immaculate presence of his own company. The promise had him lifting his boot higher for his next step.

How dare he?!? ‘A coating’! As if his manners were a garment he slipped on rather than something woven into him. It was as great an insult to his wona as it was an insult onto himself. Virion felt his lip lift in an unseemly snarl simply by recalling it.

Virion knew some creatures like Irros preferred all thoughts laid bare, and he shared the sentiment in certain cases, but there was no foul play in being polite, which was all he had tried to do since he’d been forced to descend onto this island. And in response, he’d received nothing but disrespectful jabs from a beast in raggedy clothing.

“A coating,” Virion huffed aloud as his fingers tightened around his flapping sleeves. “A barbaric weasel is what he is!”

Thoroughly enraged, Virion carried on and focused his mind on getting to his carrier in one perfect piece. He could rage about the dragon once he was safe, but not before. He’d only walked the path the one instance in the dark as Zirkhlon led him to his ‘nest’, but he remembered it still, though it was a far slower trek with the storm’s current condition.

Thunder roared overhead as if to forewarn the prince of the steps ahead, but Virion would unleash his own roar if it dared to try and deter him. His boots were filthy with the sludge the forest floor had become, as were his soaked trousers, but they were minor troubles he could live with— once he made it to the carrier.

Another lightning strike set a tree some distance ahead into flames, but Virion only thanked Ythene for the illumination and trudged straight towards it. He carried on like a champion seeking honour, and found himself somewhat impressed with himself for doing so.

Virion was no weak, sheltered thing, despite what many might think. He had done the work, and simply because it was no longer put to use did not mean it was not still there— sometimes he forgot that.

He remembered it now as he lumbered through the woods with burning muscles and skin soaked to the bone, and his determination stayed firmly rooted until he finally came upon where he’d stationed his carrier, only it was not there.

The prince stood still, unmoving even to the winds, and stared at the barren space before shifting to the trees he had sliced through in his landing.

“No,” he breathed, looking around hastily. “It can not be.”

But there was no sign of his carrier, not even evidence of debris if it had become a victim of the storm, or marks in the dirt if it had been dragged away. It was simply not there, as if it had been plucked from the sky itself to ensure he lived through this utter nightmare.

Virion scrambled forward, thinking only that he might’ve left the carrier’s cloaking systems on and it was sitting in plain sight, because that was all he could think. But the prince was horrified to find that he did not crash into sleek metal or deactivate the shields with his presence. It was simply gone.

What in Ythene’s name was he meant to do now? And why was she so insistent on causing his skin to wrinkle?!?

The snap of branches made the tips of Virion’s ears twitch as he swivelled to see a familiar hulking figure march forward with red-rimmed eyes already focused on him.

Virion’s magic quivered at his fingertips.

“You!” He accused, stepping forward to meet the dragon. “It was you!”

“You are surprisingly quick!” Zirkhlon shouted over the wailing winds instead of answering with a proper reply.

“Where is my carrier?” Virion snapped. He was in absolutely no mood for the dragon’s nimble tongue. “What have you done with it?!”

“I moved it,” the cur replied as if it were no matter of consequence. “It would’ve been rendered to pieces left here throughout the night. I moved it to ensure otherwise. I tried to tell you as much before you—”

“Where?” Virion demanded, cutting Zirkhlon off before he could enrage him further. The fact that he’d thought to move his carrier without his permission was a matter for another time. “You moved it to where?”

“I will tell you where within my nest,” he replied, already turning with a passive gesture over his shoulder. “We should not be out here in this storm.”

Virion truly saw red. As if he would follow this dragon. Again. As if the brute thought he could simply beckon him, like some pet!

For the first time since he’d landed on the island, Virion allowed his magic to escape his seasoned grip and lash out. Light surged from his core like a sunburst, drawing energy from the dragon itself. It latched onto the source of him, the very core, and forced him to turn around so that he was facing the prince as he should.

Zirkhlon’s eyes were wide when they met Virion’s, and soon glowed as indignation crossed his features. Virion spotted the way his nostrils flared and felt the air shift in warning of the dragon’s ire, and perhaps an impending transference to scales.

Any sane creature would retreat.

“How dare you…” The dragon’s rumble sounded less of words and more of death vocalised.

Virion was sane, but he was not one to retreat.

“How dare you!” Virion contested as he marched towards the dragon. “You dare beckon me— me!— to follow behind you as if I am some servant! Are you without wits? Are you truly mad?!”

The fury in Zirkhlon’s gaze did not lessen any, but in the face of the prince’s, he had no space to unleash it.

“I am not going back to your wooden box! I am going to my carrier, so tell me where it is so I can once and for all be rid of you!”

“You would die before you even saw it!” The dragon snapped back so viciously that the jagged scar puffed red as if it were fresh.

“Then so be it!” Virion declared, only a few steps from the dragon now, but close enough to feel the warmth of his anger wafting off of him.

“You do not mean that!” Zirkhlon snarled derisively. “Stop allowing yourself to be overcome by dramatics and—”

Virion’s gasp cut off Zirkhlon’s next blasphemous statement before he could finish. The dragon closed his eyes and sighed, preparing himself for the onslaught.

“I AM NOT. OVERCOME. WITH DRAMATICS!” Virion declared vehemently, and the lightning that struck next veered a mosle closer to Zirkhlon’s feet by will of the prince’s flaring magic.

Zirkhlon did not flinch even. He only craned his head back as if to escape Virion’s shrieking. “…Then what would you proclaim this?”

Virion’s jewelled purple eye twitched.

“And I said you were overcome by dramatics, not with them,” he tacked on in a spiteful jab.

Virion would be calm. He would be calm. The prince would be—

Spawned by Virion’s ire, the lightning paraded overhead with a celebratory flourish, but there was nothing celebratory about this scene. Virion wanted blood.

The prince took one step forward, meeting the dragon’s glare with one of his own.

“You. Are. Absolutely. Infuriating,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“As are you,” the brute ground out. “You are free to hate my company outside of this storm. We need to leave. Now.”

This time when Zirkhlon spoke, it was with ferocity, his voice like a general’s whip that surely bound others to his demands. But Virion would not be swayed by another so foul.

“Where is my carrier?”

“In a cave,” he snapped angrily. “It is in a cave, and it is safe on the other side of the island. You are welcome.”

“You are not worthy of my gratitude,” Virion sneered, and this time, it was Zirkhlon’s wrecked eye that twitched.

“Follow me out of this storm before it kills you, and I receive the blame for your stupidity,” he demanded, his voice bare and skinned of any minuscule shred of politeness he might’ve harnessed previously. “Now.”

Virion turned and walked away. He would not waste another breath reminding the beast that he’d rather lose his most valuable life than spend another moment in his company. Perhaps he’d use his meagre wits to deduce that was the case.

“What do you mean to do?” Zirkhlon groaned behind him, but the prince did not turn to grace him with a glance. “You mean to make it through the storm, up a cliffside, to your carrier?! You will die!”

Virion’s lips stayed sealed shut while he took note of the helpful information. His carrier was in a cave, and once he stuck to the edges of the island, he would find it soon enough.

“You will die before you ever see it!” Zirkhlon shouted as the distance between them grew. “You aren’t even looking where—” There was a groan and a slew of ancient curses that buzzed in Virion’s ears, but they were ultimately lost to him as the brewing storm finally broke open.

Some believed that the storms of Colony were sentient, like the great waves that washed ashore and the sand that loomed castle-high in the deserts. If it were true, then perhaps their bickering had angered this storm even more and caused it to lash out.

Its punishment manifested as a direct strike to every tree surrounding Virion. It was as if a sword had been brought down from the heavens above, slicing through the centre of each of them and sending their magnificent top halves falling down upon the prince.

Virion stared up, his magic already wrapping several layers around him to shield him from the brunt of the injury, but then, a hard, muscled force slammed into him and knocked the very wind from his lungs before taking him to the ground.

He landed on his back with a pained cry and flashed a glare up at the cause of it. Zirkhlon crouched over him, covering Virion’s entire body with his own just as the slain trees began to hail down all around them.

Some great branches fell directly onto Zirkhlon, snapping on contact, and an entire trunk cracked on his spine, but the dragon did not move an inch; he did not even wince. He stayed stationed as he was, protectively crouched over the prince.

What a scene it was— hail made of wood raining all around him, and a dragon above protecting him from contact with even a spec of debris. Virion stared up at him with widening purple eyes, unable to breathe. He could feel Zirkhlon’s every breath, taste the very essence of him, and in the moments where the dragon was forced a little closer, feel the teasing scratch of his beard against his chin. They were closer than they’d ever been, closer than he ever wished for them to be, and this annoying beast was… protecting him.

Zirkhlon glared down at him the entire time as if he had demanded the protection, the red rims of his eyes glowing, and this close, Virion could see the flames dancing within that made them so.

When the punishment was over, and there was only the sky’s waters crashing down upon them, Zirkhlon straightened from his position over the prince and stood to his feet without so much as a hint of discomfort.

“Are you harmed?” He asked gruffly while his eyes surveyed the prince’s body so crudely, Virion suddenly felt horribly naked.

He scrambled up and righted himself. “I am fine,” he replied without so much venom.

Zirkhlon nodded once and surveyed the prince again before he turned and muttered, “Am I worthy of your gratitude now?”

And just like that, Virion’s ire returned tenfold, but before he could unleash it, there was a creaking overhead. He looked up, spotting one last remaining trunk that slanted off the other branches it’d been perched on and soared downwards, its jagged head aimed directly at the dragon’s skull.

Virion moved before his thoughts caught up with him.

He pushed the dragon down, much like he had him, and pointed a blast of energy skyward. It burst from his palm in a sleek arrow that pierced the centre of the bark, travelling up its spine and causing it to explode into millions of tiny shards. Raising a shield, he surrounded himself and the dragon with its security before he looked upon the bothersome beast.

Zirkhlon at least looked somewhat surprised to find himself protected, and then a little irritated to realise he’d been so quick to let his guard down.

“I did not need your help, but you clearly needed mine, so—” Virion folded his arms over his chest as he stood and aimed a pointed stare at the dragon before him. “Am I worthy of your gratitude?”

Zirkhlon blinked at him, staying perfectly still despite how the waters glued his hair to his face where it did not trickle down the plains of it. Virion prepared for him to explode, or possibly for a physical match— they’d been due one for some time now— but then, the most peculiar thing occurred.

The dragon’s lips twitched, curled upwards, and then he was laughing. It was a deep, soothing thing that caused the prince’s insides to tingle in the most unbecoming of ways. The reaction only worsened when Zirkhlon craned his head back and palmed his wet face with a hearty groan.

Zirkhlon laughed, and Virion could tell it was a true sound, if also a rare one, and soon enough, he found his own lips tilting upwards. When the dragon dropped his hand and rose to his feet to look at him, Virion’s smile remained on his lips.

“I have never met another like you,” he confessed before fixing Virion with a far too warm stare. “You say I am infuriating, but you make my core incensed.”

Virion shifted, not quite sure how to take such words when they were delivered in such a rough baritone.

“We will get no further as we are,” Zirkhlon continued as he turned to face him fully. “Virion, you have my genuine apology for how I acted initially. I was unwelcoming and purposefully aggravating.”

Virion resisted the childish urge to agree and allowed the dragon to continue.

“If you wish to go to your carrier, I will help you there, but I do not think it is safe. If you return with me, I promise to be a more gracious host if you, in turn, promise to be yourself.”

Virion kept his arms folded, for they helped him contend with the dragon’s towering height. He contemplated the idea, not so easily swayed to return to the scene of his torture, but also not so inclined to die now that some of the tension had been swept away from him.

“I have wine.”

Virion frowned and, in his confusion, sputtered, “What?”

“You asked if I had something to drink, something other than water,” Zirkhlon replied, reminding him of what had spurred him out to offer his fate to Ythene in the first place. “I have wine, and I am willing to share it.”

Virion felt himself wavering much to his dismay, and it was not so much the offer of wine as it was the friendly look Zirkhlon was suddenly aiming his way. Gone was the brute who mostly glared and silently judged, and in its place was a near-charming, placid man with fiery, inviting eyes.

It transformed the dragon entirely, and it intrigued Virion just as much.

“If I were to join you,” Virion mused carefully, “I would not be as nice to you. You have annoyed me greatly, and so you’ll be hosting that version of me.”

Zirkhlon did not seem put off by the notion; instead, he looked rather pleased. “I shall make do.”

Virion shifted again, at a sudden loss of what to say to that. Leaving was still an option, but the prospect of staying in his carrier, and in a dark cave at that, was no longer such an enticing one.

“What will it be, your grace?” Zirkhlon asked, and for the first time, he spoke the title without taunt or mockery. It was simply a title recognised, perhaps respected, and it was what ultimately decided the battle in Virion’s mind.

He cleared his throat and walked towards the dragon. “I suppose I shall allow you one more chance, though you should note, this will be the very last and if you’re distasteful, I shall kick you out of your own nest.”

Virion doubted he had the strength to do such a thing, but he would try.

Zirkhlon nodded, and as Virion came to his side, his heavy gaze lingered on him for a few seconds more. It caused a fire to lick up the centre of Virion’s very being, seizing his core with its intensity, as if the dragon had breathed his own fire into him. It was a fight to stay composed as he kept Zirkhlon’s gaze, unwilling to be the one to break.

“Will you follow me?” The dragon asked, sounding serious but also slightly teasing.

Virion huffed, lifted his chin and stepped ahead, “You can follow me. I know the way.”

As he stepped outside his shield, the waters and winds attacked him again, but even they could not drown out Zirkhlon’s heavy chuckles as he followed Virion back to his nest.

———————————————

Virion is better than me cause I wouldn’t have needed to been told twice to get back to the cabin

Thoughts??????????

Thoughts on their argument in the woods?? On Virion losing it completely and openly??? His little lightning tantrum gets me every time lmfaoooo

I hope you guys are enjoying this story!!! The next update will be a double update!!!

But as always, if you want to skip the line, the completed story is up on Patreon and my website for all tiers!!!! Link in my bio!!!

Until next time,
Byeeeeee Humansssssssss