Page 6 of Scorched by Fate (Drakarn Mates #3)

SIX

SELENE

The cavern was quieter now. The murmur of the sick had stilled, replaced by the hushed voices of Rachel and Kaiya. They were bent low over the wooden table, barely large enough to hold the fragments of gear Orla had pieced together for them. Soft light glinted off Rachel’s sweat-streaked hair as she adjusted her makeshift lens, her hands steady as steel. Kaiya hovered beside her, fingers twitching with nervous energy, curiosity radiating like heat from embers.

My gaze flicked between them and the motionless figures of the healers on the other side of the cavern. The air hung thick, metallic with the scent of spilled blood and old herbs.

“Focus the light here,” Rachel said, her voice calm despite the tension buried beneath it. She leaned closer to the sample spread thin across a shard of glass. “We need to confirm the structure. If this doesn’t match …”

She let the words trail off. They didn’t need finishing. If the medical researcher and xenobiologist couldn't crack this puzzle, it wasn't getting solved.

Kaiya adjusted the light source, her curly hair sticking to her damp forehead. “Got it. There—look. The edges. It’s forming those patterns you mentioned.” Her voice pitched upward, eager, like she’d forgotten the dead-weight anxiety pressing down on the room.

I stepped closer. “What does that mean?” My voice came out rougher than I meant, but they didn’t flinch.

Rachel straightened. Her finger traced the edge of the sample through the lens. “The biochemical structure is consistent with what Mysha described before she passed out. If this plant extract works the way she implied, it should bolster their immune systems and support recovery.”

"You're talking about a cure?"

Rachel screwed her face up. "Not exactly. We don't know what's causing the illness. I've been reading Mysha's notes. Or trying to. My Drakarn is still—" She cut herself off. "If anything is going to help, it's this."

"What is it?" They had a vial of dust on their workstation, and there was some kind of paste in a mortar and pestle.

"It's called vyrathis."

Kaiya was wide-eyed. “We’ve got enough for one dose.”

An ache twisted somewhere deep in my chest. I kept my expression steady. “Then we dose Mysha.” I stared at the fragment of fluid and crushed leaf spread thin on the glass. The pungent scent of the plant pricked at my nose, sharp and earthy.

It didn’t look like salvation. But it felt heavier than anything else in the room.

“How long will it take to see results?” I asked, shifting my weight as I glanced toward the elder’s still form, half-buried under blankets.

Rachel exhaled low. “No idea.” Her voice stayed calm, but her eyes narrowed in focus as she carefully lifted the sample away and moved toward the small vial beside her. “Are we doing this?”

I let my gaze drag across the cavern again. The sick Drakarn were barely breathing, their scaled chests barely rising. Mysha’s form looked small in the wide space. Fragile. It wasn’t a word I’d ever associated with the Drakarn before arriving here.

I shoved the thought deep.

"Do it."

Rachel’s motions were exact, her hands moving with care honed from years of research in the lab. Kaiya hovered beside her, chewing her lip as she held the light steady.

Mysha was impossibly pale beneath the glow of the heat crystals. Her breathing rasped faintly, like it was dragged from the depths of her chest against her will.

Rachel knelt beside her. “Lift her head, slowly.”

I obeyed, gently sliding my hands beneath Mysha’s scaled shoulders and cradling her head as Rachel leaned forward with the tube and Kaiya clamped her fingers on either side of Mysha's mouth to make her lips pucker open.

It seemed to sit in her mouth for several seconds before Kaiya stroked her hand down Mysha's throat until she swallowed.

We had to wait.

Mysha’s breathing remained shallow, each rasp a reminder of how close she was to slipping away. I let my hands linger beneath her head for a moment longer than necessary, as if holding her steady might anchor her to this world.

No one spoke. Every sound—the shifting of fabric, the bubbling echo of the underground river beyond the far cavern wall, the shallow breaths of the sick—felt amplified in the absence of movement.

Mysha’s chest rose and fell weakly.

“Now what?” Kaiya’s voice broke the stillness, soft and unsure for a change.

"Now we wait." Rachel straightened from where she crouched. Her hands were shaking slightly, the only crack in her otherwise eerie composure.

Rachel and Kaiya returned to their bench, poring over notes and calculations. I stayed. My eyes were glued to Mysha’s face. Her breathing stayed steady now—not stronger, but no worse.

It wasn’t much, but it was something, and in the absence of worse news, I'd cling to even the smallest sliver of hope.

The minutes oozed by. Even in my combat days, time had never felt this slow. My muscles were like coiled springs, tension wrung into every inch of me as the acidic thought twisted in my mind—what if this didn’t work? What if it was already too late, and we’d held onto hope as only another cruel delusion?

Almost worse, what if it did but we couldn't find more vyrathis to go around?

Mysha shifted, just a bit. Her jaw slackened, lips parting as if her body was remembering it was supposed to breathe. My own breath caught as her claws twitched under my hand.

I scanned her closely. Her chest rose and fell again—but deeper this time. The rasp clinging to her breath seemed to let go, if only by a fraction.

“Mysha,” I whispered, leaning closer like the shift in weight really mattered.

Her head tilted into my touch, and for the first time in days, I swore I saw her scales take on a hint of healthy glow on the edges, faint but unmistakable. Hope kicked in my chest, sharp and sudden.

“She's waking up,” I called, voice low but urgent.

Rachel and Kaiya dropped what they were working on and hurried to my side. I hadn’t moved, hadn’t dared to, as they crouched on either side of Mysha. Rachel’s fingers hovered just over Mysha’s forehead.

Rachel pressed against the healer's neck. "Heart rate is still weak, but it’s not erratic anymore. That’s … good. Very good."

I didn’t let go, even as the others hovered, like keeping my hands where they were might hold Mysha together just a little longer. A groan left her throat, soft and strained, and her scaled lips twitched fractionally apart.

"Mysha," I said again, firmer this time, leaning in close enough to catch any change in her breathing, her expression, her still-closed eyes.

Her eyelids fluttered open, just barely, enough for the glow of the nearby crystals to reflect off her slit-pupil irises. Her gaze darted sluggishly before landing on me. Recognition flickered there, weak but clear.

“Hum … human,” she rasped. Her voice was wrecked, sandpaper and gravel grinding through the single word. But it was hers, and it filled the space like a signal flare in the dark.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I told her, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You’re safe. Rest. Don’t try to talk.”

She didn’t listen, of course. Drakarn never did—not when sheer force of will was basically embedded in their DNA. Her lips worked again, another groan scraping its way out.

Kaiya’s hand fluttered toward her own mouth, nerves flooding her expression, but Rachel placed a steadying arm on her shoulder. “Let her speak.”

It took several agonizing seconds for Mysha to string something together. Her chest hitched with the effort, muscles jumping beneath her sheer determination. “Rare,” she ground out finally, her voice breaking on the single syllable.

I frowned, leaning closer. “What’s rare? The illness?”

Her head shifted, a shake side-to-side, and her claws twitched uselessly against the blanket. “Vyrathis …” The word came slower, harder, like dragging stone uphill, but its weight dropped between us all the same. “H-har … Harrovan.”

Her strength gave out just as she forced the word through clenched teeth. Her eyes fluttered closed again, but her body had eased in my grip, her breathing leveling out into something quieter—steady, almost peaceful.

Rachel blew out a long breath, tension visibly bleeding from her shoulders. Kaiya leaned back on her heels, clutching her knees, her energy deflating into something closer to numb relief.

“Vyrathis," Rachel repeated. "I'd say that's confirmation we're on the right track.”

Kaiya straightened, almost too quickly, her hands shaking with nervous energy again. “But what the hell is Harrovan?"

"That's the next thing we figure out."

I stood, letting my body shift into motion. The ache I’d felt these past days didn’t loosen, not fully, but it shifted into something else.

Purpose, maybe.

"You should head back to your quarters and sleep," Kaiya said. "I think Kira said she was going to try and make some bread for us. Rest. You've earned it."

I looked at each of the fifteen unconscious healers and shook my head. "Did either of you sleep last night? At all?"

The doctors shared a guilty look.

"Go sleep. Vega and Terra will be coming in for their shifts soon. There's nothing more you can do right now."

Rachel's eyes were practically black with exhaustion. Kaiya's skin had gone a bit sallow. It didn't take much insisting for them to leave me to it. And, as promised, Vega and Terra showed up.

But I still slept on a little slab in the back of the healing caverns, unwilling to leave my patients.

I adjusted the blanket over Mysha's still form, smoothing it against the cool scales of her chest. Her steady breathing wasn’t loud enough to break the silence, but it carved through the oppressive fear clinging to the room. It was quieter in my head now—a small victory.

Mysha was alive, and there was a trail to follow.

The hope sparked by her words hung in the air, tantalizing but incomplete. Harrovan. The word was a puzzle piece in a language I barely understood. And the weight of what would come next made my fingers twitch with restless energy.

I didn’t leave her side. Couldn’t bring myself to.

The subtle scrape of claws on stone made my ears prick, and my head turned toward the entrance. Vyne’s imposing frame filled the cavern doorway before he ducked to enter fully, his wings folding tighter as he navigated the narrow space. He carried a bundle across his arms, wrapped in thick cloth.

The sight of him sent a strange pulse through my chest, as sharp and sudden as it was unwelcome. My focus snapped back to Mysha, tamping the feeling down as fast as it rose. I didn't have time for feelings of any kind.

Vyne’s steps were careful, but the air between us shifted as he neared the slab where Mysha rested. His scent again—smoke and something distinctly him—curled into my senses like it belonged there.

"You’re back."

“You sound surprised.” His voice carried its usual edge of dry disinterest, though it softened slightly. “It's late. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

“I could ask the same of you.” My response was automatic, my eyes still on Mysha’s weakly glowing scales. “What’s in the bundle?”

He shifted, and the fabric rustled as he set it on the table beside the elder. “More supplies. Forge tools. Salves. Whatever I could gather that might help.”

I glanced at the bundle, barely resisting the urge to pick through it. “Good. Thanks.”

He huffed once, a sound too soft to be a laugh but still close enough to catch my focus. It made me finally meet his eyes. The dim glow from the crystals caught on the emerald green of his scales, the black diamond-like patterns down his arms and chest marking him like armor.

His gaze didn’t waver, though there was something sharper in it. “What happened?”

“Kaiya and Rachel found something that helped Mysha wake up for a bit.” The words felt heavier than they should, and for a second I let them hang there, waiting for his reaction. “She gave us a word. Harrovan. She passed out again before we could get anything else.”

Vyne’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing—not in irritation, but thought. “Harrovan. The mountains.”

I blinked. “Mountains?”

“It’s a range far east of Scalvaris. The tallest peaks on Volcaryth.” His claws tapped once against the stone of the table, the motion measured. “Days away by wing.”

Days away. I pressed my lips together, the realization settling uncomfortably. I wasn't sure we had days.

“Someone’s going to need to go there,” I said after a long breath.

Not me. I couldn’t leave. Though my mind flashed briefly to what it might be like to spend a days, a week even, with only Vyne. Heat jolted through me. Even with all the stress of the sickness, a small part of me wanted that.

"There's a plant. Vyrathis." The words felt heavy, weighted not just by the distance but what it implied. Logistics, risks, expectations. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but the weight of responsibility wouldn’t loosen its grip.

Vyne's eyes stayed on me. They held that same sharpness I’d noticed before, unreadable but somehow too focused, like he could sense the thoughts twisting through my head. “I know it. It's rare.”

“And I'm guessing it only grows in the Harrovan mountains?”

His expression didn’t shift—no dramatic scoff or flinch, only the tiniest upward quirk of his brow. “Or so I've heard."

“Damn it."

Vyne’s wings twitched, a flicker of movement that drew my eyes before I could stop them. He didn’t respond, just waited, watching me with that maddeningly calm stare. His presence felt too steady in a moment where everything else frayed at the seams.

"I'll speak with the council," he said. "If you need vyrathis, you'll have it."