Chapter Twelve: The Dragon's Nest

She had no words.

Azrayel stood before her, and all the questions she had shoved deep down came rushing to the surface. 

She just stared at him, hoping that if she looked long enough, she could piece together who he truly was and who she had become.

"You're shaking," he said. His hands were still on her arms. He hadn't let go, and maybe didn't plan to.

Metheea stepped back. "I needed air." Her voice was low, defensive.

He cocked his head. "Is this the bonding? Because I am feeling pretty down right now."

She paused. That word again—bonding. It struck something in her chest she didn't want to name.

"We do not have a pull," she said, turning around, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"And why not?" he asked, stepping in front of her, blocking her path like he always did.

"Because—" she stammered, her mouth dry, "because it cannot be..."

She almost said I'm your sister, but the words clung to the back of her throat like ash. "Because I am Dythridian," she said instead.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Hmm." He smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, the last Dythridian who mated with us was pretty shitty."

She went silent.

"Do you hate her?" she asked quietly.

He turned his back to her. His shoulders stiffened. "I'd kill her if given the chance."

She gasped, shocked. "She's your mother."

He turned slowly, and when his gaze met hers, it was cold steel. "She is not my mother. And never will be."

She understood his reaction then; to be left behind and discarded as if he didn't matter. To watch the woman who gave him life choose another child instead. 

She had never thought of it from his side. All this time, she thought herself the victim. But he had been abandoned too. The wound must have been unbearable.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Nothing she could say would ever make that kind of pain go away.

He tilted his head again. "Why curious?"

She wanted to ask him how he felt about his sister—about her. But the words faltered. Maybe it wasn't the right time. Or maybe she was too afraid of the answer.

Did he hate her too? Resent her the way he did their mother?

Everything around her felt wrong. Her world was shifting too quickly, spinning out of place. The foundation she'd built her life on was crumbling. It was as if she'd stepped into someone else's story and didn't know how it ended anymore.

Everything she believed in was falling apart. She felt like she was drowning and she needed someone to pull her free. Not a rope. A hand. Something steady.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked suddenly, his voice gentler now. He extended his hand.

She looked at it with hesitation, wary of what touching him might mean.

"I'll let you see something sacred."

Her brows lifted slightly. "What?"

"The Dragon Nest," he said.

She blinked. "The Dragon Nest?"

"It's where the first flame dragon of Katarthan mated with a human and built the kingdom," he explained. "The beginning of our line. The place of the first bond."

Something stirred in her. A pull toward the place. A sliver of history she should have known. A legacy that should have been hers. She was curious—achingly curious. About the rituals. The legends. The things that once belonged to her blood but now felt distant.

She reached out and touched his hand.

A jolt surged through her, sharp and sudden, like a current climbing up her arm and curling into her chest. Her breath caught. Her fingers curled involuntarily.

Startled, she yanked her hand back.

He noticed, but only smirked.

"Let's go," he said.

And she followed.

They moved deeper into the palace. The halls grew narrower, the lighting dimmer, until they reached a corridor lined with polished obsidian and wards glowing faintly blue. Guards stood at intervals, unmoving and silent, each bearing the insignia of the royal flame.

Eventually, they came to a glass door. Azrayel touched his palm to a sigil, and it opened with a soft hiss.

She gasped.

The room wasn't anything like she imagined. The Nest wasn't shaped like a bird's nest at all. It was vast and cavernous, the ceiling high and domed. In its center, massive mana cores—each the size of a horse—were arranged in a circle, embedded into a basin of polished volcanic stone. Crimson light shimmered from the cores, casting long shadows and bathing everything in a glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.

"Wow," she breathed, stepping slowly inside.

It was beautiful. Alive.

The stone under her feet hummed faintly with energy. Light shifted and scattered with every step she took. It felt sacred. Ancient.

"Only true dragons have a Nest like this," Azrayel said, his voice reverent. "Dragon-born like me cannot. But this one exists."

He smiled faintly, then looked at the glowing cores.

Then at her.

"Don't get any ideas about when we mate together," he muttered.

She gave him a withering look. "Disgusting," she said. But her heart was thudding for reasons she refused to name.

She rolled her eyes at him. If only he knew how absurd that sounded and would probably make the first dragon roll in his grave.

She stepped closer to the Nest, curiosity outweighing her wariness. But as she neared the glowing cores, the light flared—hotter, brighter, harsher.

Azrayel's expression darkened. He stepped forward. "Why is it reacting to you?"

She stared at the cores, stunned. "I don't know," she whispered.

And she truly didn't.