"Go ahead," he murmured.
I reached into the darkness.
It felt like silk. Like water that had learned to be solid. And when I pulled my hand free, light came with it—a single bright point that floated just above my palm, pulsing gently, a star I had somehow claimed from the void.
"Yours now," Morgrith said. "As long as you want to keep it."
We walked, and we talked. About the bond—unexpected, unplanned, but real. About what it meant.
"You're becoming dragon-kin," he explained as we climbed a spiral stair toward some destination I couldn't see. "Your body is transforming to match mine, even as mine has been diminished. The shadow-marks will spread. Your senses will sharpen. You'll become sensitive to darkness in ways humans cannot comprehend."
"And when you recover?" The words came out before I could stop them. The tension hummed between us, thick and electric. "When your powers return?"
His step faltered. Just slightly.
"Normally," he said, "we would complete a formal Caretaker Pact. A ritual sealing that would accelerate your transformation and bind us fully. Complete the bond in ways that go beyond what happened during the sacrifice."
The way he saidcompletemade heat rise in my cheeks.
"But I'm too weak." He stopped walking. Turned to face me. In the dim starlight, his eyes looked almost fully human—and somehow that made him more beautiful, not less. More real. More mine. "The pact requires dragon-magic I no longer possess. We must wait. Until my power returns—if it returns—we exist in an in-between state."
"Bonded but not sealed," I said softly.
"Connected but not complete."
The frustration in his voice was palpable. And beneath it, something else. Something hungry. Something that matched the hunger I felt in my own chest, the wanting that had nothing to do with wound-walking or healing or any of the things I'd used to define myself.
"Come," he said finally. "There's one more thing I need to show you."
Theroomtookmybreath away.
A nursery.
It was darkness made tender. There was no other way to describe it. The walls were hung with shadows that moved and shifted, not threatening but gentle—telling stories in silhouette that changed as I watched. Dragons soaring across impossibleskies. Stars being born in silent explosions of light. Gentle tales without words, meant to soothe, to comfort, to hold.
The ceiling held a private galaxy.
Constellations wheeled slowly overhead, real enough to cast soft light across the space below. I watched them turn, hypnotized, feeling something loosen in my chest that I hadn't known was tight. Had Morgrith created this? Chosen each star, placed each pattern, arranged this pocket universe for someone who hadn't existed yet?
The bed was piled with blankets that looked impossibly soft—layers of shadow-silk and something that resembled clouds given substance. Shelves lined one wall, holding objects I couldn't quite identify. Toys? Tools? Treasures? Each one seemed to hum with quiet magic, waiting to reveal its purpose.
And at the foot of the bed, folded with care, lay weighted blankets made of something that called to me.
I crossed the room without deciding to. Touched the blanket before I could stop myself. It settled around my shoulders like being held by the night itself—like every comfort I'd ever craved compressed into fabric that somehow knew exactly how much pressure my body needed.
I made a sound. Not quite a sob. Not quite a sigh. Something in between.
"This is what I would offer you."
Morgrith's voice came from the doorway. He hadn't entered—had given me space to explore, to discover, to feel without his eyes on me. But now he spoke, and every word settled into my bones.
"A dynamic as old as dragonkind," he continued softly. "Caretaker and cared-for. Daddy and Little."
The words should have sounded absurd. Childish. Something to be dismissed with a laugh and a shake of my head. But they didn't sound absurd at all.
"A space where you don't have to carry anything." His voice was low, steady, wrapping around me like the blanket on my shoulders. "Where you can finally be small. Be held. Be enough exactly as you are."
My throat closed. I couldn't have spoken if my life depended on it.