Page 139 of Pets in Space 10

Hazel

Tyvaron dropped off a huge leaf filled with berries and nuts along with a skinned leg of some kind of beast, before immediately departing again.

We’d found a cave halfway down the mountains that he’d declared far enough from the lab to be safe.

It was nowhere near as big as the cave he called home, but it would do for now.

It was strange to be alone. Not completely alone, Ruby was by my side.

But he wasn't here. I'd spent the last two days - or had it been longer?

- in Tyvaron's presence, rarely ever parted.

And now that he had changed from a huge, intimidating dragon into someone a little more human-shaped, I was desperate to talk to him.

To understand who he was now. To understand how I was supposed to feel about him.

Everything had changed.

I’d started to really like the dragon – admire him, even.

I’d respected his strength, his protectiveness, his resilience.

I had felt for all he’d endured, for the tragedy of what had been done to him.

He was noble, in a strange, quiet way. And I had hoped for a better future for him, one where he was free.

But I hadn’t pictured myself in that future. Not truly.

Now, he was still Tyvaron – but he was… possible.

He was still taller and broader than me by a good margin, but now he had a shape that was closer to mine.

Arms and legs that ended in clawed fingers and scaled feet, yes – but they were hands I could hold, shoulders I could lean on.

His body was still covered in that breathtaking mix of aquamarine and deep turquoise scales, but the plates across his chest and shoulders had formed into something like natural armour.

Power, sculpted and gleaming, but wrapped in a shape I could touch without fear of being crushed.

His face…oh my. It was a blend of alien strength and startling beauty.

Strong jaw, high cheekbones beneath a layer of fine, glimmering scales.

No hair – just a crown of scales that shimmered subtly when the light hit it – and the two long, curved horns sweeping back from his head like obsidian blades.

His eyes were golden. Bright. Deep. Reptilian, yes – but full of warmth.

His wings folded neatly down his back, their edges rough where wounds hadn’t fully healed. A thick, lizard-like tail curled behind him for balance. He wore nothing – not a stitch, not a scrap. The machine had left him bare, every inch of him exposed in shimmering scale and alien strength.

And gods, he should have looked ridiculous. Or at least awkward. But somehow he didn’t. He stood like he belonged in that body – regal and unashamed, as if clothes were the stranger concept.

He was beautiful. In a way that shouldn't have made sense. In a way that twisted my insides when I thought about him too long.

I pressed my hand to my chest, grounding myself in the feel of my own skin. At first, I’d been afraid of the dragon that had kidnapped me. But not anymore. Tyvaron didn’t frighten me.

He stirred something else in me now, not fear.

Something I wasn’t sure I had words for.

A quiet heat. A curiosity. The way I’d watched his lips move when he spoke.

The way I’d imagined what it would be like to run my fingers across the scales that dusted his collarbones.

To press my mouth to the hollow of his throat.

I wasn’t just attracted to him. I was fascinated. Spellbound, even. Not by the beast he had been… but by the person he had always been beneath the metal, the scales, the pain.

And now that he had a form that made it possible – no, easy – to imagine standing beside him as an equal, to touch him, to be with him…

Fuck, what did that mean?

I wasn’t sure if I was falling for him.

But I knew that if I was, I wouldn’t fight it.

Not anymore.

But I was a fantasist. A dreamer. I dreamed most of my life away, hoping for something better than what I had, and getting depressed when it never came to pass.

That was always the pattern. Highs that soared too fast. Lows that sank too deep.

I’d get obsessed with something – a place, a person, an idea – and I’d chase it until it either broke me or slipped through my fingers.

I’d idolise people who treated me badly, until everything escalated.

Then I’d spiral. I’d think it was all my fault.

That I wasn’t enough. That I was too much.

Even before Kalumbu, I knew how dangerous hope could be.

I’d spent years learning to manage that. Therapy. Medication. Journalling. Meditation. I did the work. And I got better.

But there were still scars. Literally and otherwise.

Tyvaron hadn’t asked about them. Not when he saw the pale lines on my thighs, or the larger ones across my arms. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, or maybe he understood what they were and chose not to push.

Or maybe he thought they were battle scars – which they were, in a way.

A constant battle with my own brain. Either way, I was grateful.

No pity. No questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Just… acceptance.

But now?

Now he had a face I could kiss. Hands that could hold mine. Eyes that saw me like I mattered.

And it terrified me.

Not because of him.

Because of me.

What if I latched onto him the way I used to latch onto the wrong people back home? What if this was just another fixation born out of trauma and adrenaline and survival?

What if he figured it out?

What if he didn’t?

I pressed my face into Ruby’s warm side, her scales cool but comforting. She didn’t care about my baggage. She just liked my smell and the fact I wasn’t Tyvaron’s size.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” I whispered to her. “Whatever this is. I just want to be okay.”

She chirped softly, curling tighter around me.

I let my eyes drift shut.

Tyvaron had said I was the reason he found himself again. That I helped free him.

What he didn’t know – what I hadn’t told him – was that he’d done the same for me.

Being here, with him, forced me to look at the parts of myself I usually ran from. The scars. The dreams. The guilt.

My priorities had shifted. I’d had to fight to survive, run from monsters, deal with life and death and evil overlords.

I wasn’t obsessing about my thoughts and memories all the time.

I was living again. Focusing on the present, just like my therapist had always wanted me to.

Back home, it had been easier to linger in the past, blame all my failures on it.

Suddenly, I was planning for the future.

And somehow, it didn’t feel like too much anymore.

I wasn’t healed. Not fully. But I was healing.

And maybe… just maybe…

This time, I wouldn’t run.

***

I woke with a smile on my lips. I was warm and cosy and I had dreamt of flying, soaring through the sky, free as a bird. It had been the best dream I'd had in months.

I stretched like a cat, a squeal escaping from my throat.

Tyvaron laughed. My eyes shot open and I sat up quickly, suddenly very self-aware.

He sat cross-legged on the other side of a fire he must have lit while I'd been asleep, watching me with a small smile.

He'd wrapped a wide leather strap around his waist, reminding me of a kilt.

I was glad he was no longer fully naked. It had been difficult not to stare.

"How..." A yawn interrupted my words. "How did it go?"

"The tyvarin was a little more conscious when I returned. I made him eat the meat I'd brought and built a fire. For some reason, we heal faster when we're close to flames. I promised I'd return tomorrow with more food."

"Where did you find your skirt?" I teased.

"I found another storage cave. It's just around the corner from here, actually. If I'd known, we could have set up camp there." He held up two metallic bags. "I found old rations. They should still be edible. If you want a change from meat and berries."

"Don't forget nuts. They make up a large part of my current diet."

He chuckled. "I am not sure what my diet should be. As Tyvaron, I only ate meat. Fresh, bloody, uncooked. Now, that thought does not feel appealing. I think I could eat raw meat if I had to, but imagining it roasted, cooked to perfection, slightly charred at the edges, makes my mouth water."

"Good thing we have both a fire and meat. Let me cook it for us this time. Do you have a stick I can use to hold it above the flames?"

Tyvaron grinned. "Too late. I have already prepared our meal. But I will let you do it next time, now that I know you'd like to cook for me."

From behind him, he produced two large leaves laden with thick slices of roasted meat. I didn’t know what animal it had come from and I didn’t want to know. He'd decorated it with a few berries. The thought of him garnishing our meal made me grin widely.

The meat was surprisingly tender, the berries a tart counterpoint. I took a bite and let out an involuntary moan.

Tyvaron stilled.

I opened one eye and caught the look on his face – the way his eyes had darkened slightly, heat flickering there that had nothing to do with the fire. I swallowed quickly.

“Too much?” I asked, lips twitching.

His voice was rough. “Not at all.”

We ate in silence for a few moments, the crackle of the fire and the occasional chirp from Ruby – who was curled up in a mossy nest nearby, snoring with little puffs of smoke – the only sounds.

He took small bites, chewing slower than I expected.

Almost like he was savouring every flavour.

Watching him now, in his humanoid form, was different in every possible way.

He was still too beautiful for my peace of mind – all sculpted lines and shimmering skin, horns catching the firelight like polished stone – but he looked more relaxed.

Or maybe just less like he was one second away from collapsing.

“How do you feel?” I asked once we were both nearly done.

“Better,” he said. “The shift exhausted me, but my strength is returning faster than expected. This form... it stabilises something inside me. The pain is dulled. The fire is easier to control.”

“That’s good.”

He looked up. “And you?”

I blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. You’ve barely stopped since we left the cave. You’ve flown, climbed, faced a lab full of nightmares, freed a dragon, and... slept beside a monster.” He said it softly, but there was a hint of steel beneath the words. “You’ve done all of that without breaking.”

I fiddled with a berry on my plate. “I didn’t say I wasn’t breaking.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “But you kept going.”

I shrugged. “That’s kind of my thing. Keep going. Even when it sucks.”

He tilted his head. “And before? When you weren’t running from drones or fighting tyvarin. What did you do then?”

“I survived,” I said eventually. “I worked as an archaeologist. Dig sites, cataloguing pottery shards, brushing sand off artifacts that hadn’t been touched in thousands of years… Not as glamorous as people think. I spent most of my time alone, and honestly, I liked it that way.”

Tyvaron said nothing, just listened.

“I didn’t have many close friends. I was the weird one – the one who turned down parties to stay home with a documentary or a crochet hook. I liked crafting. I liked stories. Netflix binges and solitude. It wasn’t a bad life. But it was small. Safe. Predictable.”

I rolled a pebble between my fingers.

“And still, somehow, I wasn’t happy. I kept hoping something would change. That something would find me – adventure, purpose, connection. Anything to shake me loose from… me.”

A pause. I felt the truth clawing at the edge of my throat.

“And when it didn’t, I started to spiral. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat much. I started thinking maybe I was the problem. That maybe I was just broken in a way that couldn’t be fixed.”

I looked up, meeting his eyes.

“Coming here – being thrown into this mess – it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. And maybe also the best. Because now... I’m not pretending anymore. I’m doing. I’m fighting. I’m changing.”

Tyvaron’s voice was low and steady. “You were never broken. You were waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For someone who saw you,” he said simply. “Really saw you.”

My breath caught. He wasn’t just being kind. He meant it.

We sat with that for a while, the silence settling again – this time, companionable. Comfortable.

Then I asked, “What do we do next?”

His eyes found mine. “That depends on you.”

“Me?”

“You freed me. You helped me reclaim my form. You grounded me when I was losing myself. Whatever comes next – we face it together. But it begins with your choice. Do we return to my cave and hide from the masters? Do we seek out the other tyvarin, try and return them to their former selves? Start a rebellion? Or try and find a new home, leave everything behind, just the three of us?”

I stared into the fire. “I wish I had an answer. But I really don’t know. Part of me wants to leave, escape, ignore everything. But we saw how confused, how broken the other tyvarin was. He needs help. If we left without helping him, what would that make us?”

“I am used to being a monster,” he said softly. “But you are not.”

“I don’t want to be a monster either,” I said. “And I don’t want to be a coward.”

“You’ve never been either.”

“I came here naked and terrified, remember?”

“You came here naked and furious,” he corrected gently. “You fought with a stick and protected a creature smaller than you. That is not cowardice. That is strength.”

My throat tightened.

“I think… I want to try,” I whispered. “To help the others. If there's even a chance they can be freed like you were – not just from their collars, but from the damage, the pain – then I want to be part of that. I have to be.”

Tyvaron gave a slow nod, his golden eyes glowing like twin embers. “Then we will begin with him. The black-scaled tyvarin. We will stay nearby, offer what we can. If he chooses to trust us, we will help him reclaim what was lost. And from there… we will find the others.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then we try anyway. Until we can no longer stand.”

That pulled a laugh from me, tired and trembling and real.

“Alright, dragon boy. Let’s save your people.”

I looked at him across the fire, at the way the flames played across his scaled skin, casting shadows along the curve of his cheekbones and the strong lines of his jaw. He looked alien and familiar all at once – dangerous, powerful, yes – but also… mine.

He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and placed his hand over mine.

“You already saved one.”

And just like that, the fire between us was no longer just in the hearth.