Page 8 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Benevolence

Now

T he sun hangs low when I land on the shore of the Living Waters alongside my aunties. The dying light bleeds across the surface of the lake, painting it in shades of crimson and gold.

Beneath the surface, though, the Waters ripple with every color of the rainbow.

Despite the trepidation still flooding my soul, despite my desire not to relive that day—the worst day of my life—there is still something peaceful about being here again.

As if I have finally come home.

Shifting back into my human form, I keep my head bowed and my eyes lowered, pinned to the sight of the water itself.

To its still, mirror-like surface. I dare not lift my gaze toward the crystallized figure I know still stands on the island at the very center of the Living Waters, frozen there for all eternity.

Dead.

A memorial to my youthful hubris.

The Aether is thick here, a heavy mist that blankets all—a golden warmth I delight in wading through despite the circumstances in which I have come.

“I am here, Great Weaver,” I whisper to the air as I pad closer, my boots muffled against the soft grass ringing the lake. “I have come to beg your blessing to take up the crown of my forefathers, to become King of Drakara at last.”

A warm breeze ruffles past, bringing a question on the wind. The Aether speaks to me.

To my soul rather than to my mind.

? Is that truly why you have come? ?

For the span of a single moment, my steps halt. My resolve falters.

Doubt blooms in my heart.

But then the moment passes.

“ Vaei ,” I claim, ripping free that doubt before it has time to root itself deeper.

In this, my feelings do not matter. My wants do not matter.

There are more important things at stake.

“I have come to beg your blessing to take up the Corona Ignis,” I repeat, continuing my approach toward the edge of the Waters. “If that is still your will for me, Great Weaver, it will be done.”

My godmothers alight upon my shoulders—with me always—but I barely feel them. I barely hear them. I am aware of nothing but the surface of the lake and the vision of the sky it reflects.

Until I finally stand on the very edge of the shore.

Until I gaze within.

Until I find myself staring down at a Bene I don’t know. At the monster I am fated to become:

A Dragon King consumed by his Shade.

“ Naei .” I recoil from the image.

I do not wish to be that man. I refuse to be that man.

I will destroy myself before I become that man.

Threads of Air whip around me, rooting me in place.

? Is this truly what you desire, Benevolence, son of Valor? ?

The Air drags me closer, forcing me to stare into crimson eyes that are not my own. The Corona Ignis burns on my brow, its flames flickering with a white heat. A heat reflected in my predatory gaze.

In my sharp smile.

“Please, stop,” I whisper, but the reflection remains, torturing me with the reality of my situation. Why is the Great Weaver showing me this?

I already know the risks. I already know the ultimate fate awaiting me.

? Is this truly why you have come? For my blessing? ?

Those words pound in my ears like the thrum of war drums in the distance as the Air wrenches me forward, pitching me face-first into the Waters. I do not have time to hold my breath before it pulls me under. But there is no need.

I strike the surface of the lake and pass straight through. Falling.

Not through water, but through darkness, until I crash against something hard and cold.

Stone. I am in a cave. The scent of damp earth hangs heavy in the air. But even surrounded by naught but shadow, I know where I am.

I am back at the Aerie, deep beneath the crust of the earth, within the Vault of Kings.

How many times have I come here over the years? How many times have I stood before the magic dome guarding the Corona Ignis, hoping the artifact within would give me the answers I so desperately seek?

How can I break the curse? How can I be the king I was always meant to be?

But just like the Great Weaver, it never answers me. It never so much as speaks.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the torches surrounding the pedestal at the very center of the vault spark to life one by one of their own accord. The light of their flames dances off the threads of magic sweeping overhead, making them glitter all the more beautifully.

But more importantly, it illuminates the only object of significance that exists in this space—the Corona Ignis itself. There it sits atop the pedestal, pretending to be a simple circlet of gold. A pretty, unassuming trinket. Hardly worthy of calling itself a crown.

But I know better.

It is the most powerful artifact known to dragonkind, forged in the Living Waters by the Great Weaver Himself. And here it has rested since my father’s death, waiting for its next bearer. Waiting for me.

Waiting for this moment.

My aunties are nowhere near. I am alone.

Naei , not alone. The Aether swirls about me, pressing in close. It is still with me, just as it always is. Just as He is always with me, even when He is silent.

But He is far from silent now.

? Why have you come? ?

I take a single step forward and address the air just above the Corona Ignis.

“I have come to beg your blessing to take up the crown of my forefathers—”

? I see your heart, Benevolence. ?

Those words crack through me like a bolt of lightning, driving me to my knees. My shins crack against stone, rattling my teeth. Shaking, I bow my head. I brace my hands against the floor.

My God is angry. And beneath the weight of His fury, something sparks within me.

My own.

“Why have you forsaken me?” I shout, letting my voice swell, allowing it to pass through the dome of magic arcing overhead to echo off the walls. The ceiling. “You are Na’Eruv and I have cried out to you since I was a boy. I have begged you countless times to take this pain from me.”

Breath rattles through my lungs as I stare at the shadows dancing across the floor. As I watch them blur. Naei . I refuse to cry.

“You can do all things,” I rasp, hating the way my voice shatters around the words. “But you’ve let me suffer. You… you let him…” I clench my eyes shut, trying to block out my memory of that day.

But I can’t stop it any more than I can stop the sun from setting.

With the next thud of my heart, I am no longer kneeling in the Vault of Kings but standing on the island in the center of the Living Waters. The crystalline waves lap against the shore, sparkling beneath the afternoon sun.

Naei .

It is the eve of my eighteenth birthday.

Please .

I am seventeen again.

Stop.

Foolish. Reckless.

Screaming.

I have done the unthinkable. I have tried to weave with magic that is not mine to weave—to draw power from the very source of all magic. Magic that is forbidden. Magic that I am not strong enough to bear.

Tears sting my eyes in the then. In the now.

I was desperate. I was out of time. Aurelia. I had to break the curse for Aurelia.

But I wasn’t strong enough.

I relive that day all over again as the magic from the Living Waters shreds me from within, tearing me apart piece by piece. I feel my body fraying. Unraveling.

I scream. In the then? Or in the now?

I am in both at once.

Through the haze of my pain, through the veil of my tears, I see him. My father. He flies toward me as fast as his wings can carry him, with my aunties and mother flitting close behind. The Corona blazes above his head, a halo of fire and fury.

Naei!

I don’t want to see what comes next. I don’t want to watch it happen again. But I can’t escape. My mind makes me watch—

As Valor, King of Drakara, crashes onto the sand beside me.

As he takes the magic from my broken body into his own.

As he saves me.

As he dies.

My pained sob reverberates through the vault. I come back to myself, back to the here. The now. Consumed by my despair. Choking on my sorrow.

The Aether wraps around me, firm and secure—as warm as any father’s embrace.

My God mourns with me. I feel it as readily as I feel my own heartbeat: the Great Weaver’s sorrow. It matches my own.

Hunching my shoulders, I drink deeply of the air, trying to steady myself, to staunch the flow of my traitorous tears before they drown me completely.

“Why?” That is the question I have always wanted to ask but have never dared to voice. Even now, the words stick in my throat.

But I have to know.

“Why did you make me so weak?”

A great king . That is the message Liora carried—news that I would be a great king.

But I am not great. I could not save Aurelia. I could not save my father.

I cannot even save myself.

? Because, ? the Aether whispers, the words thrumming through my soul with every beat of my heart, ? My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness. ?

My eyes fly wide as visions flare into being and careen through the air. A thousand potential lifetimes. A thousand potential futures. They flicker past too quickly for my gaze to track.

But my mind absorbs them all.

In some, I live. In some, I die. But in all of them, the Aerie falls. Drakara burns. My people perish. I fail to protect them.

Every. Single. Future.

I fail.

Naei . It can’t end like this. I refuse to let it end like this.

“How?” My hands curl into fists. I grit my teeth and snarl, “How do I prevent this?”

Still, the visions flicker past. Death. Destruction.

Hatchlings wither in their eggs. Dragonesses shatter the skies with their pained screams. Pixies fall from the heavens. Dragons succumb to their Shades.

“How?”

Forests turn to ash. The very mountains crumble into motes of dust. Rivers evaporate into nothing.

A lone tear streaks down my cheek as I continue to watch. “How?” I rasp again. “Please. Please, show me how to prevent this.”

As swiftly as they began, the visions stop. Golden light floods the Vault of Kings instead. I narrow my eyes against it, momentarily blinded.

But when next I blink, I see her standing before me. Golden. Gleaming.