Previously:
Rest.
The fog pulled Ryn down into real unconsciousness. No dreams this time. Just darkness and the distant steady presence of a dragon who refused to let them fall completely.
The afternoon sun moved across crystal windows, light shifting through the healing chamber as time passed unmeasured and unnoticed.
Outside, the storm they’d created had finally exhausted itself, and other weather-workers went about the careful work of compensating for atmospheric disruption, returning systems to balance, fixing what had been broken.
Inside, someone had left food and water and clean clothes within reach for when Ryn woke. And someone was already drawing saddle designs, taking measurements from memory, calculating stress points and anchor configurations.
Building instead of just watching them fail.
That had to count for something.
-
Read Mountain Bond Part One - The Severance or Download it as an ebook |
Start from the beginning of Part II or Read the previous chapter |
Discover more about the Dragon-Human Bond ||
X.
Ryn woke to golden light slanting through the windows. Not morning gold—the angle was wrong, too low and warm. Late afternoon. Maybe early evening. Hours had passed while they slept. Maybe a day?
Their body ached still. Headache pulsing behind their eyes. Ribs protesting with each breath. Face tight where dried blood had crusted and then been partially cleaned—someone had wiped the worst away while they were unconscious, but traces remained in the hollow of their chin, the creases around their nose. Their throat felt raw, as if they’d been screaming, though they had no memory of making any sound.
The healing chambers empty now, except for them. The other bed—Kael’s—was vacant, furs folded neatly, evidence someone had recovered enough to leave.
Relief flooded through them first, then shame.
Ryn sat up slowly, the world tilting before settling into reluctant stability. Their hands caught their attention immediately. The scales had spread from their wrists past their knuckles now, creeping along their fingers and—they could feel it beneath their clothes, up towards their elbows. The scales were pale, lighter than the surrounding skin and reflective, catching the evening light and scattering it unpleasantly across their eyes.
That’s was they were talking about, their Circle’s conversation suddenly rushing in. Than the memories of the morning. The rain, Kivith’s body. Kael’s body—
I understood the patterns. Should have controlled the execution. Why would—
Through the bond, distant but present Eskarith’s voice: You are awake.
“How long?” Ryn’s voice came out rough, unused.
Long enough. Your body needed the rest. A pause, then: There is food. Water. Clean clothes. Your Circle left them.
Ryn looked around and found it all exactly where Eskarith said—a covered tray on the small table, a water jug still cool to the touch, a small cup of what smelled like stormbrew. Folded garments that looked like someone had gone to their quarters specifically to bring things that would fit comfortably. And beside the food, a note written in Lysa’s precise hand.
Meet at dawn. Eastern ridge platform. Dress to fly.
Beneath it, Kael’s messier script had added a quick sketch—rough saddle design, measurements marked with question marks, stress points indicated with small delicate arrows. And at the bottom a cartoonish drawing of what might have been Eskarith’s face, had Eskarith been chubby, cute and in any way able to smile.
Something in Ryn’s chest loosened slightly. Not relief exactly—the shame was still there, the awareness of damage done, the fear of what tomorrow would bring. But underneath it, something small and stubborn that refused to break completely.
Eat first, Eskarith said. Then we talk.
Ryn ate mechanically. The food was simple—bread, cheese, dried fruit. The stormbrew helped clear the rawness from their throat, the familiar bitter warmth grounding them in their body.
“Kael started designing a saddle,” Ryn said through the bond, looking at the sketch again. “He wants to take measurements from you, I think. Build something that works with your structure.”
A pause, then something that felt almost like amusement colored Eskarith’s thought.
Another Kael building saddles for me. The pattern repeats itself across centuries.
“He nearly died today because of me,” Ryn said quietly.
And now he is designing equipment to help you succeed. Eskarith’s mental voice carried dry observation.
Silence for a moment, then: Tell him yes. Tell him I will hold still for measurements whenever he is ready.
“You want to help him.”
I want to help.
Something almost like fondness colored the thought. Eskarith remembering a different young builder three centuries ago.
They washed their face properly, careful around the places where blood had dried. Changed into the clean clothes—soft tunic, comfortable trousers, things that didn’t chafe against skin that felt oddly sensitive, as if the transformation was making everything more acute.
When they looked at themselves in the polished metal that served as a mirror, a stranger looked back, and for a moment they were back in those chambers, seeing themselves for the first time after regaining consciousness, meeting the Elders, being told about Kivith.
Stop, Eskarith said quietly. You are getting lost again.
“I nearly killed him, Eskarith.” The words came out flat. “Kael was standing there watching, believing we could figure it out, and I nearly killed him because I can’t separate my grief from our working.”
Your grief is not something separate from you, the Weather Mind teaches you that. How would you propose to take out human emotions from weather-working, when they are the bedrock of it? You know we made progress today, do not diminish our achievement by burying it under what you perceive as a failure.
“Progress toward what?” Ryn turned away from the mirror, unable to look at their own face any longer. “We’re dropping down levels instead of building up. Yesterday was Circle work. Today was solo work. Tomorrow is just flying—just proving we can move through air together without a major disaster. That’s not… It doesn’t feel like progress. It feels like a dragged-on failure.”
Silence through the bond. Not absence, but the kind of quiet that meant Eskarith was thinking carefully.
The council gave six days, he finally said. There is still time.
“Is there?” Ryn looked toward the window, toward the golden light that meant evening was approaching. “They’re already talking about moving us away from the holdings. That’s not patience. That’s fear.”
They are humans, of course they are afraid. And fear and wisdom are so rarely partnered.
Eskarith’s presence in the bond shifted, moving closer, more intimate.
We should practice your perception again.
The request surprised Ryn. “What, now?”
Yes. Meet me outside. Not the training grounds—somewhere quiet.
Ryn hesitated, hand on the door. Kivith’s bridle was hanging on their wall at home, not here. But they could feel its absence like a missing tooth, that space where something important used to be. They’d touched it every day since his death, two taps on the leather before going out, a ritual of remembering.
No bridle here to touch. No ritual to complete.
Just the decision to move forward anyway.
“I’m coming,” they said aloud.
Good. Warmth colored Eskarith’s thought.
Ryn opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
-
Evening light transformed the holdings’ interior passages into something gentler than daylight’s harsh clarity. The corridors wide enough for young dragons caught sunset through crystal windows at different angles—some passages blazing gold, others already settling into shadow. Storm-crystals embedded in the walls hummed faintly, their usual steady blue glow tinged with something more agitated. The vertical architecture meant sound traveled strangely here, voices from upper levels filtering down through the central shafts designed to let dragons move between floors.
People noticed Ryn immediately.
A woman carrying supplies turned a corner, saw them, and reversed direction without word or acknowledgment. Two children playing some game with stones went silent as Ryn passed, their mother pulling them closer with protective instinct that needed no explanation.
An older rider—someone Ryn recognized from joint training exercises—met their eyes briefly. Opened his mouth as if to speak. Then looked away and kept walking.
The whispers trailed after them. Low voices that carried just far enough to be heard but not quite understood. Fragments of concern and fear and judgment all mixed together into a hair-raising buzz that felt almost tangible.
Ryn kept moving. Eyes forward. Shoulders straight despite exhaustion. If they showed weakness now, showed how much the isolation hurt—
They do not understand, Eskarith observed through the bond. And so they fear. They do not mean to be cruel.
“I know.” Ryn turned down a corridor that led toward the outer sections. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
No. It does not.
The passages grew less populated as Ryn moved toward the edges of the holdings. These outer sections were functional spaces—storage, equipment maintenance, access points to the mountain’s exterior. Fewer people lived here, fewer witnesses to navigate around.
They passed an open doorway and caught a fragment of conversation:
“—Elder Thrain tomorrow—”
“—just wants to observe, they said—”
“—give them time, for wind’s sake, it’s only been two days—”
“—two days that nearly killed one of our own. Time for what? More damage?”
Ryn kept walking. Pretending not to hear. Pretending the words didn’t land like stones.
The outer courtyard was almost empty when they reached it. This partnership space opened directly to the mountain face, its design allowing wind to flow through rather than batter against solid barriers. Wide platforms jutted from the mountainside at different elevations—training platforms midway up, scarred from generations of practice landings. Ceremonial platforms higher still, where the Storm Court gathered under open sky. And here, the functional launch points where everyday flights began and ended without ceremony.
From this vantage, Ryn could see down and across to the training grounds where they’d worked this morning. Evidence of disaster marked the platforms below. Water stains darkened stone where flooding had reached. Ice still melted in shadowed corners, leaving puddles that caught the evening light. Equipment lay in organized piles on the ledges—things too damaged to repair immediately, sorted for later attention. Even from here, the platforms looked wrong, felt wrong. The temperature differential was visible in the way air moved around the damaged areas, cold pockets disrupting the normal evening thermal patterns.
The early evening sun painted the distant peaks in gold and orange, made the storm-crystals embedded throughout the courtyard walls glow with captured light. The crystals hummed faintly—barely audible, but Ryn could feel their resonance, disrupted by the anomalous power raise, as everything else had been.
And there, positioned in a sheltered spot where the wind-responsive architecture created a natural pocket of calm, was Eskarith.
His massive form was dark against the sunset, but he’d settled into a crouch—forelegs extended, body lowered, head resting on the stone near his front paws. Not the alert stance of a dragon ready to launch, but something more relaxed. More deliberate. The crystalline growths along his spine catching the last direct light and scattering it all around his form, like a carpet of stars on the rough stone.
He’d positioned himself so there was space on his extended paw. Room for someone small to sit, sheltered by the curve of his neck, close to his face.
An invitation without words.
Ryn walked across the courtyard, each step feeling slightly easier as distance grew between them and the populated hallways, between them and judgment and fear and whispered conversations. By the time they reached Eskarith, something in their chest had unclenched slightly.
They settled onto his paw without speaking—the scales warm from absorbed sunlight, the surface broad enough to sit comfortably. His head was right there, massive jaw resting on stone, one eye visible and trained on them, alert. The curve of his neck blocking the wind that was starting to pick up as evening progressed.
Intimate. Close. More than just physical proximity—a deliberate offering of presence, of shared space, of trust that small fragile things could rest against vast ancient ones without being crushed.
Through the bond came a careful welcome. They were both here. Both ready. That was enough.
“Thank you,” Ryn said quietly.
For what?
“For not giving up. Even when I keep failing.”
You keep learning, Eskarith corrected. His mental voice drily amused. Mistakes are powerful teachers, and you are barely an adult for your specie. Many more teachers on your path.
Ryn closed their eyes, leaning back against scales that were becoming familiar despite everything. “Show me,” they said. “Like this morning. Piece by piece.”
Are you ready?.
“I think so, and I want to know if I can hold more. If our foundation is actually getting stronger or if this morning was just... a fluke.”
Very well. Just observation then.
“Agreed.”
Then open up to the bond. Find the atmospheric patterns. Show me what you perceive.
Ryn opened their awareness the way they’d been trained since childhood. Not with eyes, but with the part of their consciousness that read air and pressure and moisture like others read books. The evening thermals were rising from sun-warmed stone, creating updrafts that would shift and settle as night approached. Moisture patterns were changing too—humidity building in the valleys as temperature dropped, condensation beginning its slow work.
Natural systems in motion. Beautiful complexity that required no human hand to shape it.
Good, Eskarith said. Be ready for more.
The information came gently, but differently than this morning. Faster. More fluid.
First came the high-altitude winds—rivers of air flowing above the peaks, carrying weather from distant territories. Ryn tracked their movement, felt how they would feed into tomorrow’s patterns.
Then the thermal columns rising from the valleys—invisible pillars of warm air that would create lift for tomorrow’s flight. Ryn could map their locations, predict where they’d strengthen as the sun rose.
Next, the moisture gradients layering through different elevations—dry air at the peaks, thick humidity in the valleys, the transition zones where clouds would form overnight. Complex three-dimensional architecture of atmosphere, and Ryn could see it. All of it. Hold the complete structure without strain.
They practiced longer than they had in the morning, deeper. Information flowing from Eskarith’s vast awareness into Ryn’s perception, and this time they could reach further. Could process complexity that would have drowned them yesterday.
“I can hold more,” Ryn said eventually, wonder coloring their voice. “More than this morning at least.”
Yes, Eskarith agreed, and satisfaction colored his thought. This is good.
They stopped practicing and just sat together, watching the sunset deepen. The mountains blazed with color—gold and orange and pink, light reflecting off stone and crystal and distant snow. Storm-crystals scattered throughout the courtyard caught the last rays and threw them back in fragments, making the air itself seem luminous.
Neither spoke for a while. No need for words when the bond could carry meaning more efficiently. They just existed together in the space between day and night, between failure and success, between what they’d lost and what they might still build.
Ryn’s head rested against Eskarith’s jaw, feeling the warmth of scales and the slight vibration of his breathing. His vast lungs worked at a rhythm that made human respiration seem frantic by comparison.
“Thank you,” Ryn said again, quieter this time. “For trying again”
You are learning to see as I see, Eskarith replied. That is worth celebrating. Worth the time it takes to build properly.
They watched until stars began appearing in the deepening blue overhead. Until the temperature dropped enough that Ryn shivered slightly and Eskarith’s warmth became more necessary than comfortable.
“Tomorrow will be hard,” Ryn said eventually.
Yes. But tonight, we rest in what we accomplished.
Ryn stood eventually, climbing down from his paw carefully, muscles protesting after sitting in one position for so long. Their body reminded them it was still recovering. But the headache had faded slightly. The bone-deep exhaustion felt less overwhelming. And the fear that had been constant since waking had quieted to something more manageable.
“Tomorrow,” they said. “Dawn. Eastern ridge.”
Tomorrow, Eskarith agreed.
Ryn walked back toward their quarters through corridors that were quieter now, emptier as evening settled into night. The whispers had stopped. Most people were at evening meal or in their private spaces, the day’s work done.
In their quarters, they found more evidence of care—someone had straightened the sleeping furs, left fresh water, made sure the space was ready for their return. Probably Lysa again. Always Lysa, thinking ahead, making sure the practical needs were met even when everything else was chaos.
Ryn touched Kivith’s bridle hanging on the wall. Two taps on the leather. Ritual completed. Memory honored.
Then they laid down on the furs and let exhaustion pull them toward sleep. Real sleep this time, not unconscious collapse. Not floating in the bond.
Outside, the stars wheeled across the cold mountain sky, indifferent to human struggles or dragon plans. A new sun soon to be rising.
-
to be continued…
Read Mountain Bond Part One - The Severance or Download it as an ebook |
Start from the beginning of Part II or Read the previous chapter |
Discover more about the Dragon-Human Bond ||
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This was such a cosy and healing chapter. Much needed <3
I love in particular watching how Ryn is growing, and how Eskarith is guiding her. Eskarith's amusement with "another Kael" making him a saddle was so ticklish xD