Page 135 of Pets in Space 10

Tyvaron

Just when Hazel dropped the last half-eaten nut, declaring that she was unable to eat even one more mouthful, the little one's wingbeats sounded behind me.

Ruby landed on a boulder with a chirp and shook herself proudly, as if announcing her return to duty.

“We’re ready,” Hazel said, brushing her hands together and slinging the shimmering bag over her shoulder. “Or at least, as ready as we’ll ever be.”

I studied her for a long moment.

She looked absurd. The shirt gaped at the shoulders, the makeshift skirt barely stayed up, and her feet were bound in fabric that would offer little protection in the climb ahead. And yet she carried herself like a warrior.

No fear in her stance. No hesitation in her voice.

I bowed my head slightly. “Climb on.”

She did, with practiced ease now, settling into place between the armoured ridges of my back. Ruby leapt into the air and circled once overhead, then veered north. Towards the mountains. Towards Tel-Vhar.

We followed.

The journey was slow.

My wings could not carry us far before pain forced us to land. We travelled by foot where we could, scaling narrow trails and crossing ridgelines that crumbled beneath our weight.

Correction: my weight.

The sky above turned colder with every hour. The wind sharpened, tasting of ice and oncoming storms. Clouds gathered thick and low, pressing down on the mountains like a warning.

Hazel spoke little, conserving her strength. But when she did speak, it always pierced deeper than she knew.

“Do you think we’ll find answers there?”

“I think we’ll find ghosts,” I replied.

She fell silent after that.

By the third short flight to carry us up an unscalable ledge, I could see the facility in the distance – a black scar on the mountain’s face, half-buried in rock. Its shape had changed since I last saw it, but the signature was the same. My body remembered. My mind recoiled.

I’d told myself I was ready.

I lied.

Hazel shifted behind me, sensing my tension. Her hand rested lightly on the back of my neck. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Her presence calmed me more than I cared to admit.

We rounded the final ridge. My entire body was aching. One gash at the top of my wing had re-opened, oozing hot blood. I wouldn’t be much use in a fight, should the lab still be guarded.

And then I felt it.

The air thickened. The wind shifted.

And then the sky screamed.

A shadow tore across the clouds, followed by a roar that made the very stones beneath our feet vibrate. I turned sharply, wings spreading to shield Hazel as a tyvarin descended from the heavens like a falling star.

Almost my size. Sleeker. Metallic. Vicious.

His scales were obsidian black with streaks of molten silver, and his eyes glowed crimson.

He was still trapped, forced to do the masters’ bidding. He had no awareness.

Still theirs.

I shuddered at the thought that not long ago, this had been me. A mindless monster, created to kill without morals, without thought.

Hazel gasped behind me. “Is that…?”

“A tyvarin,” I growled. “One of my kin.”

I knew him, had flown by his side, fought next to him, but I did not know his name. I was the only one who had been given a formal name by the masters. Tyvaron, leader of the tyvarin.

But he no longer recognised me as such. My collar was broken and with it, any control I may have had over the others.

He slammed into the earth just ahead of us, claws carving trenches into the rock. His neck arched like a striking serpent, lips peeling back to reveal rows of jagged teeth. His collar – intact and humming with brutal energy – flared with light.

The sound he made was not language. Not a voice.

It was a command scream. An execution protocol.

I stepped forward, placing myself between Hazel and the other dragon.

“You won’t have her,” I said, voice low, deadly. “Not today.”

The enemy tyvarin didn’t speak. And I realised he wasn’t interested in her.

He wanted to destroy me.

And I wasn’t strong enough to fight. He was at the top of his strength, I was injured and exhausted. And I had to protect Hazel.

But that was something he did not have. Someone to fight for. A reason to live.

He charged.

I moved fast – faster than my injuries allowed.

My wings snapped wide, flaring to full span in a defensive arc as I stepped forward, putting my body between Hazel and the oncoming monster.

Pain lanced through my side. I forced it down.

I couldn’t fly. Not in this condition. Not while she was so close.

And if he reached her – if he touched her –

He would not.

Not while I still breathed.

I met his charge head-on.

There was no time to think, no time to calculate. My muscles screamed, my wing burned, but I launched myself forward, claws outstretched. We collided like meteors, the impact shaking the mountainside. Stone shattered beneath our feet. His teeth snapped inches from my throat.

I twisted, raking my claws down his shoulder. Sparks flew where metal met metal. He shrieked – no pain, only fury – then slammed his bulk against mine, driving me back. My injured wing collapsed beneath the pressure. Agony ripped through me.

But I did not fall.

Hazel was behind me. I would not fall.

He lashed out with his tail – razor-barbed and seething with kinetic charge. I ducked under it, using his momentum against him, shoving him sideways into a boulder that split with the force of the impact. Dust and debris exploded into the air.

His collar pulsed again – bright red, violent. A jolt of command struck the space between us like lightning. I felt it even from here, the echo of what once held me, the command to kill.

He lunged again.

This time, I sidestepped. Not out of weakness – out of control. I’d learned from my pain. I would not be their puppet anymore.

He was faster. Stronger.

But I was free.

He didn’t understand what that meant. He couldn’t. And that gave me the only edge I had left.

“Hear me,” I roared as he turned, “you don’t have to obey!”

He didn’t slow. Of course he didn’t.

But maybe, just maybe, a fragment of him still listened.

I’d bought a heartbeat of space. Enough to glance back, to be sure Hazel hadn’t moved. She stood behind a rise, eyes wide, hands clenched in determination – not fear.

She trusted me.

And I would not let her down.

Claws met claws.

The impact cracked the stone beneath us. My limbs buckled, but I held my ground. The other tyvarin snarled – a mechanical sound, all static and rage – and slashed at my side. Sparks flew where metal met metal. My shoulder burned. I drove forward, slamming him with the full weight of my body.

He didn’t even flinch.

He was faster. Stronger. His mind was gone, but his body was perfect.

He ducked low and struck again – a savage blow to my ribs that sent me skidding backward, gouging deep lines in the rock.

I bared my teeth, growling through the fire that bloomed inside me.

Hazel scrambled behind a boulder, calling my name, but I couldn’t look at her.

Couldn’t risk dividing my attention for even a breath.

He lunged.

I twisted.

Too slow.

His claws raked across my flank, peeling scales like bark. I roared, flame flickering from my jaws, but I held it back. If Hazel was anywhere near the blast radius…

No. I wouldn’t risk it.

Another strike.

This one hit my chest, near the collar’s former anchoring point. Pain lanced through my core, old circuits still twitching in memory of obedience. I stumbled, one knee cracking against stone.

He reared back, preparing to finish it.

And that’s when I saw it.

The collar.

It sparked, flaring with every movement, every strike. Pulsing commands. I recognised the rhythm – the chain of programming woven through every strike.

Kill the traitor.

Kill the broken one.

I wasn’t just an enemy.

I was an infection.

A warning to the others.

I was proof that control could be broken – and that made me dangerous.

He roared again, lifting off the ground for a final strike from above.

I planted all four limbs, ready to die standing.

But then I heard a sound – a cry – behind me.

Hazel.

No.

She stepped into the open. Her voice rang out like a blade. “Tyvaron!”

The enemy dragon hesitated, just for a breath.

But it was enough.

I turned, gathered every last shred of fire left in me, and aimed not at his body – but at the collar.

A precise, narrow beam of heat.

It struck.

The collar ignited.

Sparks exploded around his neck. The dragon screamed, but it wasn’t rage this time. It was pain. Confusion.

His wings flared wide as he reeled backward, crashing against a stone outcrop and leaving deep gouges in the rock.

I staggered forward, trying to reach him, to end it before he could recover.

But he didn’t attack.

He trembled.

Smoke poured from the broken collar. The crimson glow in his eyes flickered. Died.

He sagged to his knees, massive chest heaving.

For a moment, I thought it was over.

Then he lifted his head – and I saw his eyes.

They were no longer red.

Just empty.

Like something vital had been torn away.

He collapsed.

Dust rose around him.

And silence fell.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. My limbs shook. My vision swam. This fight had taken everything out of me. But it had been worth it. Hazel was alive. So was the little one, still hiding behind a boulder.

Hazel’s footsteps reached me moments later, her hands warm where they touched my shoulder.

“Tyvaron,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

I blinked slowly, lowering my head to hers.

“I will be.”

We both looked at the fallen tyvarin. Still breathing, but barely. A broken shell.

“Can he be saved?” she asked.

I didn’t answer right away.

I didn’t know. Didn’t have any experience with this.

It hadn’t been just the removal of the collar that had saved me. It had been Hazel, her presence, her light. She had saved me.

This tyvarin didn’t have that. I couldn’t provide him with a female to care for, to fall for.

Wait.

I was not falling for her.

I was not.

I was.