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H argen

The world comes back in fragments.

Pain first. Searing, bone-deep fire that radiates from my chest outward, like molten lava poured into my veins. Then cold cloth against burning skin—a mercy that barely touches the internal fire consuming me. Voices murmur words I can’t quite piece together, their tones urgent but distant.

My body feels like a stranger’s. Every breath scrapes against raw tissue. My limbs seem disconnected, heavy as lead, refusing commands my brain struggles to form. I’m floating somewhere above myself, chained by threads of agony that keep dragging me back down.

Move.

The thought surfaces slowly through the haze.

Wake up. Find them.

But consciousness slips away like smoke.

Time becomes meaningless. Minutes bleed into hours, hours into something longer. I drift between awareness and void, catching glimpses of motion around me. Being lifted. Carried. The blur of ceiling tiles rushing past. The steady beep of machines that sound too loud, too insistent.

Vanya. Her name surfaces through the fog like something precious I want to hang on to. Ember.

The thought of them—of their faces, their voices—pulls me closer to the surface. Somewhere in the darkness, love burns hotter than pain.

***

Light stabs through my eyelids like needles. I force them open, blinking against the assault. Everything blurs together—white walls that seem to pulse with my heartbeat, medical equipment humming quietly, sunlight that feels aggressive after so much darkness.

A figure sits beside me, and as my vision clears, Vanya’s face comes into focus.

Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, no longer the severe style of the Shadowhand.

Dark circles shadow her eyes. She looks exhausted.

Fragile. When she sees me looking at her, her carefully controlled expression crumbles with relief.

“You’re back.” Her voice breaks on the words, tears spilling down her cheeks unchecked.

I try to speak but my throat feels like I’ve swallowed razor blades. The attempt sends fire shooting through my chest, and white-hot agony forces my eyes shut. My hand—Christ, when did I become so weak?—twitches toward her.

“Don’t try to talk,” she whispers, her fingers covering mine. Her touch is gentle, careful, like I’m made of spun glass. Her other hand brushes my face, whispering along my jaw as if she’s afraid to touch me. “You’re going to be okay. The healers say you’re going to be okay.”

Healers.

We’re somewhere safe, then. Aurora territory, most likely. The relief hits me as I realize that we’re out, that we made it. But I have to fight to stay conscious.

I want to ask about Ember. About what happened after the fire, after everything fell apart. But my body betrays me, dragging me back into darkness before I can form the words.

***

Dreams crash over me in violent waves. Vanya in dragon form, scales gleaming like hammered steel as she tears through Syndicate forces with devastating grace. Ember emerging from flames, blazing like a newborn star, power radiating from her in waves that make the air shimmer.

Battle scenes slam against quieter memories. Vanya making coffee in the safe house, morning light catching in her hair. Ember asleep, her face peaceful and young. The three of us around the small kitchen table, sharing dinner like an actual family.

Voices filter through the storm of images. Medical terms I recognize from my Syndicate training. Worried discussions about infection rates and magical healing interactions. Viktor’s voice, measured but concerned. Lila’s softer tones, reassuring someone nearby.

I float between worlds, caught between memory and nightmare, until consciousness pulls me back to the surface like hands dragging me from deep water.

This time, I surface slowly. The transition feels less violent, though every nerve ending still screams in agony.

Sunlight streams through windows I don’t recognize, casting everything in golden warmth that finally doesn’t hurt to look at.

The persistent beeping of monitors has been replaced by softer sounds—birds outside, distant conversations, the whisper of air through vents.

Vanya sleeps in a chair beside me, her head resting on the edge of my bed.

She’s changed clothes since my last moment of consciousness—now wearing simple jeans and a sweater that makes her look more like the woman I fell in love with all those years ago.

Her face, slack in sleep, shows the strain of the last few days. How long has she been keeping vigil?

I shift slightly, testing my body’s response. Pain flares, but it’s manageable now—a dull burn instead of the previous inferno. Healing. My magic must be working overtime, aided by whatever the Aurora healers have done.

The small movement wakes her. Her eyes snap open, immediately alert in a way that speaks to decades of dangerous living.

“Hargen.” She sits up quickly, reaching for my hand. Her fingers are cold. “Oh, my God! You’re awake. How do you feel?”

My throat still burns, but I manage to croak out, “Like I got barbecued by a dragon.”

The joke falls flat. Her expression twists, pain etched deep in every line.

“How long?” I try again.

“Four days.” Her fingers tighten around mine like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You’re at the Aurora Collective headquarters. Lila worked her magic and Viktor brought in his best healers, but your injuries… they weren’t sure.”

Four days. No wonder my body feels like it’s been disassembled and put back together wrong. Four days of her sitting here, waiting.

“You should have rested,” I tell her.

“I couldn’t.” The words come out sharp, defensive. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you burning. The fire. I thought—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together.

The door opens before I can respond, and Ember appears in the doorway. When she sees me awake and talking, her whole face transforms with joy so pure it makes my chest tight.

“Dad!” She crosses to the bed in quick steps, her eyes bright, tears brimming. “You scared us.”

The word hits me square in the chest.

Dad.

Not Hargen. Not Cole. Dad. From the daughter I never knew I had, never got to raise, never thought I’d meet.

“Takes more than a few Syndicate thugs to put me down,” I manage, wishing my voice was stronger.

She laughs, but the sound is watery. “Viktor said if you weren’t part Rossewyn, you’d be dead three times over.”

“Good thing I have tough blood, then.”

She perches carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful of the equipment surrounding me. Up close, I can see Vanya’s bone structure in her face, but her eyes… it’s like looking into a mirror.

She’s mine. My little girl.

The realization makes something fierce and protective rise in my chest despite my weakened state.

This is my family.

The thought settles into my bones with quiet certainty.

This is what I’ve been fighting for.

I heave a deep sigh as exhaustion and anxiety are gradually replaced with something warmer. More complete.

“Are you okay?” Vanya’s voice is sharp, her eyes moving over my face.

“Couldn’t be better,” I say. “Tell me what happened.”

They take turns explaining what happened after I lost consciousness in the fire. Ember’s voice grows excited as she describes her first full transformation—the way her hybrid abilities manifested in ways that stunned even Vanya.

“I didn’t just shift,” she says, gesturing with her hands. “I became something new. Dragon and witch combined. The fire that came from me wasn’t just hot—it was intelligent. Alive. It knew where to strike.”

Vanya’s expression grows complicated as she picks up the story. “The remaining Syndicate forces scattered when they saw what she’d become. Between that and the combined Aurora-Craven assault…” She shakes her head. “It was over quickly after that.”

“What about Vex?”

“Escaped.” Viktor’s voice comes from the doorway. He enters without invitation, moving with that strange stealth that never quite leaves him. “Wounded, but alive. My people are tracking him.”

I try to sit up straighter and immediately regret it as pain flares through my torso. Ember’s hand hovers near my shoulder, uncertain.

“Dad, don’t,” she says quickly. “Please. You’re still healing.”

Viktor approaches with clinical interest. “Your survival was statistically unlikely,” he says in his matter-of-fact way.

“The physical trauma alone should have killed you. But you’re surrounded by considerable power.

” His gaze shifts between Vanya and Ember.

“It’s not impossible that their presence is accelerating your recovery. ”

Ember’s cheeks flush. “I think… I think I might be helping without meaning to. My abilities are still so new, but I can feel something. A connection.”

Pride swells in my chest so fiercely it nearly overwhelms the pain. My daughter. So young, and already more powerful than most dragons twice her age.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and mean it completely.

Viktor continues his briefing with typical efficiency.

The Syndicate leadership in complete disarray.

The Shadowhand’s defection and Roland Vex’s escape have created a power vacuum that’s tearing the organization apart from within.

Several cells have already surrendered to local authorities rather than face retaliation.

“Most importantly,” Viktor says, his tone carrying weight, “the Collective’s council convened yesterday. Your actions—all of your actions—have raised your profile within our organization.”

Vanya goes very still. “What does that mean?”

“It means your family is now officially under Aurora protection. Your daughter’s existence is no longer a secret requiring concealment. She’s an asset we’re prepared to defend.”

The significance of that statement isn’t lost on me. After all this time, my daughter isn’t just accepted; she’s valued. In the span of a single battle, Vanya’s burden has been lifted.