POV: Ravenna
Dawn came but I didn't see it.
I was drowning. Sinking into fever and darkness and pain that had no name. My arm was fire. My chest was ice. Everything hurt in ways that shouldn't be possible.
Voices swirled around me. Urgent. Scared.
"—getting worse—"
"—infection reached her shoulder—"
"—hours at most if we don't—"
Lysander's voice cut through the chaos. "We need to shift her. Now. If I can't heal the human form, I must treat the dragon directly."
"She's too weak to shift," someone said. Father maybe. His voice rough with something I'd never heard from him before. Fear.
"Then we'll help her shift." Lysander again. Determined. Desperate. "But if we don't do it soon, the infection will reach her heart. She'll die in human form and take Solace with her."
Hands on me. Lifting. Moving. Everything jarred and pain exploded through my arm, my chest, my entire body.
I tried to scream but no sound came out.
Then cold air. Different air. We were outside. Moving fast.
The dragon stables. I could smell it even through the fever. Smoke and ash and the distinctive scent of dragons.
"Lay her down here," Lysander ordered. "Carefully. I need space to work."
More hands. Gentler this time. Someone was crying. Morgana's voice. "Please don't die. Please, Rav. You can't die. Not like this."
"She won't." Theron's voice. Steel wrapped in desperation. "She's going to shift. She's going to let us help her. And she's going to survive."
I wanted to tell him I was trying. That I was fighting. But the words wouldn't come. The fever had me in its grip and wouldn't let go.
"Ravenna." Lysander's face appeared above mine. Blurry but recognizable. "I need you to shift. Can you hear me? I need you to become Solace so I can treat the wing directly. The human form is failing. The dragon is our only chance."
Shift. Right. I could do that. I'd shifted a hundred times before.
Except I couldn't remember how. The fever was scrambling my thoughts. Making everything unclear.
I reached for Solace inside me. Felt her there. Weak. Fading. Her wing was agony. Shredded and bleeding and infected just like my arm. She was dying too. We were dying together.
"Help her," Father said. "Can we help her shift?"
"Not really. The shift has to come from within. But we can encourage it." Lysander placed his hands on my shoulders. "Ravenna. Think of your dragon. Think of Solace. Let her come forward. Let her have control."
I tried. Gods, I tried. But the fever made everything slippery. Every time I reached for Solace, she slipped away.
"She's not strong enough," Morgana said. Her voice was breaking. "She can't do it."
"She has to." Theron's hand found mine. Gripped tight. "Ravenna, listen to me. You promised. You promised we'd face everything together. That includes this. You don't get to quit on me now."
His voice cut through the fever. Gave me something to focus on. Something to fight for.
Together.
I'd promised him together.
I reached for Solace again. Felt her respond this time. Weak but there. I pushed everything I had toward her. Let her come forward. Let her take over.
The shift happened in a wave of agony.
My body dissolved and reformed. Human became dragon. Small. Silver-white. Bleeding.
The pain in my arm became pain in my wing and it was SO much worse in dragon form. The wing was shredded. Hanging in tatters. Blood soaked through white scales and dripped onto stone.
I cried out. A dragon's keen of pain that echoed through the stables.
"Gods." Lysander's voice was horrified. "The damage is worse than I thought. Much worse."
I tried to focus through the pain. Tried to see. Everything was blurry. My vision kept going dark at the edges.
Lysander was moving around me. Hands on my wing. Water magic flowing. Trying to close the wounds. Trying to stop the bleeding.
But there was too much damage. The membrane was torn in a dozen places. Some tears went all the way through. The bones underneath were fractured. Infected.
"It's not working," Lysander said. His voice was shaking. "The wounds are too deep. Too extensive. I can't—"
I keened again. Softer this time. Weaker.
I was dying. I could feel it. Feel life slipping away with each drop of blood that hit the stone. Feel Solace fading. Feel both halves of myself shutting down.
"No." Theron's voice was a roar. "NO. You don't get to give up. Fight, Ravenna. Fight."
I wanted to. Wanted to fight like he'd taught me. Wanted to survive like he'd survived five impossible rejections.
But I was so tired. So cold despite the fever. Everything hurt so much.
Then warmth. Sudden and overwhelming.
I forced my eyes open. Havoc had shifted. The massive red-black dragon materialized beside me without Theron consciously calling him. Just appeared in response to his mate's distress.
Havoc curled around me. His larger body surrounding my small frame. Trying to keep me warm. Trying to stop the bleeding with his own scales pressed against my wounds.
I felt Theron through the bond. His terror. His desperation. His absolute refusal to let me go.
"Stay," he was saying. Through the bond. Out loud. Both. "Please stay. I can't lose you. Not now. Not after everything."
Havoc pressed closer. His heat was helping. Slowing the blood loss. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.
The wounds were too severe. The infection too deep. Hybrid dragons were delicate. Fragile. My mother's water bloodline had made me small and beautiful and dying.
"Lysander." Father's voice. Broken. "Please. There must be something."
"I'm trying." Lysander was still working. Still using water magic. Still trying to close wounds that wouldn't close. "But the damage—the infection—it's in her bloodstream now. Even if I could close the wounds, the infection would kill her."
My breathing was getting labored. Each breath harder than the last. Blood pooled beneath me. Too much blood for something my size.
Theron was there suddenly. Human again. Kneeling beside Havoc, his hand on my silver scales.
"Don't you dare," he said. His voice was breaking. "Don't you dare leave me. You said together. You promised together."
I tried to respond. Tried to keen or move or something. But I was so weak. So cold.
Havoc's warmth was fading. Or maybe I was just losing the ability to feel it.
"Her breathing is slowing," Lysander said. Quiet. Defeated. "The blood loss is too severe. Even if I could heal the wounds now, she's lost too much. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"No." Theron's hand tightened on my scales. "No. There has to be something. Anything."
"There isn't." Lysander sounded like he was crying. "I've tried everything I know. Dragon wing injuries this severe... especially on a hybrid... I don't know how to save her."
Solace was slipping away. I could feel her fading. Feel the connection between us weakening. Soon there would be nothing. Just darkness and silence and the end of everything.
I wanted to tell Theron I was sorry. That I'd tried to keep my promise. That I'd wanted forever with him but forever was running out.
But I couldn't speak. Couldn't even keen anymore. Could only lie there bleeding while Havoc held me and Theron broke beside us.
"Please," Theron whispered. His voice was raw. Destroyed. "Please don't leave me. Please."
My vision was going dark. My breathing shallow. Irregular.
This was it. This was how it ended. Not in glory. Not in battle. But bleeding out in the dragon stables six days after surviving an assassination attempt.
Dying because I'd tried to save Theron from his berserker rage. Because I'd shifted despite my injured wing to calm Havoc. Because love had made me brave and bravery had broken me.
The darkness pulled at me. Promised rest. Promised an end to pain.
I was so tired of hurting.
So tired of fighting.
Maybe it was okay to let go now. Maybe I'd fought enough.
Theron's voice faded to nothing. Havoc's warmth disappeared. Everything went cold and dark and silent.
And Solace stopped breathing.