The sun never truly rose over the Dead Marshes, but a pale, grey light filtering through the fog signaled the arrival of morning. Alaric woke with a sensation that was entirely alien. His chest no longer burned with a chaotic fire; instead, every breath he took felt incredibly cold and clear, as if he were inhaling pure, liquid ice.
He sat up slowly on the stone slab. The surgical incisions on his chest had closed, leaving behind silver-threaded scars that pulsed with a faint, steady light. Beside him, Evelyn was sound asleep, leaning against a dragon's rib, exhausted from the night's operation.
Alaric stood up. His body felt lighter, yet his senses were now dangerously sharp. He could hear the faint thrum of Evelyn's heartbeat, the slow crawl of water beneath the marsh, even the fluttering of an insect's wings from hundreds of yards away.
He walked toward a pool of stagnant water in the corner of the bone-cave to see his reflection.
"Gods..." he whispered.
His face was still the face of Alaric, the holy knight he once knew. But beneath the skin of his neck, fine, translucent scales appeared whenever he took a deep breath. And his eyes—the pupils were no longer round. They were vertical, sharp slits, like a predator waiting in the dark.
"The dragon's lungs need time to calibrate," Evelyn's voice rasped behind him. "Do not try to speak too much just yet."
Alaric turned, staring at the woman who had reshaped him time and time again. "I can smell your emotions, Evelyn. You're afraid... or is it pride?"
Evelyn stood up, smoothing her blood-stained robes. "A bit of both. You are proof that Stitch Magic can transcend natural boundaries. But remember, Alaric, dragons are creatures of immense pride and ancient rage. Those lungs will affect your temperament."
"I already feel it," Alaric said, his fists clenching so hard his blackened nails pierced his own palms. "There is an irrational anger clawing at my mind. I want to break something... or someone."
Evelyn approached him, touching Alaric's cheek with her cold hand. "That is the price of power, Alaric. To defeat the monsters chasing you, you must allow yourself to become a greater monster. Now, prepare yourself. We must leave before the marsh gas thins and the Church's scouts spot the smoke from my lab."
Alaric looked at his wings, folded neatly against his back. He was no longer a Paladin. He was an anomaly—a stitched creature living between two worlds.