Seraphina's POV
"You didn't eat again."
Zephyr stood in the doorway, holding my breakfast tray from yesterday. The food was untouched.
"I wasn't hungry," I said, though the truth was I couldn't stomach eating after reading those journals.
Three days had passed since Draeven showed me my family's crimes. Three days of sitting in this room, staring at walls, trying not to think about silver scales turned into cloaks.
"You have to eat something." Zephyr set down fresh food—bread, cheese, berries. "Master Draeven said—"
"I know what he said." I didn't mean to snap, but the words came out sharp anyway. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't stop thinking about what I read."
Zephyr's scales darkened with sympathy. "The journals?"
"Yes."
He sat across from me at the table, his young face serious. "It's hard, isn't it? Learning that people you knew were capable of such terrible things."
"Did you read them?" I asked.
"No. But I know what your family did. All dragons know." He picked at the tablecloth nervously. "That's why most of them want you dead. They can't separate you from the crimes."
"Can you?"
He looked up, meeting my eyes. "I'm trying. You're not what I expected an Ashencroft to be."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone cruel. Arrogant. Someone who'd treat me like the slavers did—like I was property, not a person." He smiled slightly. "But you ask about my day. You remember my name. You thanked me for bringing food."
"Why wouldn't I thank you?"
"Because I'm a dragon and you're human." He said it like it should be obvious. "Because our kinds have been at war for centuries. Because you don't have to be kind to your captor's servant."
"You're not a servant," I said. "You're a child. And you've been the only friend I've had since I got here."
Zephyr's eyes widened. "Friend?"
"If you want to be."
For a moment, he just stared. Then his face broke into a genuine smile. "I'd like that."
We sat in comfortable silence while I forced myself to eat a little bread. It still tasted like ash, but Zephyr looked so relieved that I kept chewing.
"Tell me about the fortress," I said. "I've been here almost a month and I've only seen this room."
Zephyr's face lit up. "It's amazing! There are training grounds where the older dragons practice combat. And libraries—huge ones with books in every language. And gardens where we grow fireflowers that only bloom in dragon fire."
"Fireflowers?"
"They're beautiful. Red and gold and they smell like cinnamon." His enthusiasm was infectious. "I'll show you sometime. If... if you're allowed to leave this room."
"I don't think that's going to happen."
"Maybe." He fidgeted with his sleeves. "But Master Draeven has been different lately. Less angry. More... thoughtful."
My heart skipped. "Different how?"
"He asked about you yesterday. Wanted to know if you were eating, if you seemed scared, if you'd said anything about the journals." Zephyr leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think he feels bad about showing them to you."
"He should feel bad about a lot of things," I muttered. "But not that. I needed to see the truth."
"That's what I told him!" Zephyr grinned. "I said you were stronger than he thought. That you didn't make excuses or cry about it being unfair."
"I cried," I admitted. "A lot."
"But not to him. You stayed strong when he was watching." Zephyr's expression grew serious. "That matters to dragons. We respect strength."
Over the following days, Zephyr became my lifeline to sanity.
He came every morning with food and stories. He told me about the other dragons in the fortress—their names, their personalities, their quirks.
"Lady Sera is scary," he said one day. "She's in charge of training and she doesn't accept excuses. But she's also fair. If you work hard, she respects you."
"And the others?"
"Lord Thorne visits sometimes. He's younger than Master Draeven—only six hundred years old—and he thinks the old ways are stupid. He wants dragons and humans to make peace."
"Does Draeven agree?"
"No." Zephyr's face fell. "Master Draeven thinks humans can't be trusted. That they'll always see us as monsters or tools."
"Can you blame him? After what my family did?"
"I guess not." He picked at his breakfast. "But it makes me sad. I don't want to hate all humans just because some of them were evil. That seems like... like becoming the thing we hate."
His words were wise beyond his years.
"How old are you?" I asked. "Really?"
"Two hundred and one." He grinned at my shocked expression. "I know I look young. Dragons age slowly. I won't look like an adult for another century."
"So you're basically a child."
"Basically." His grin faded. "That's why the slavers targeted me. Young dragons are easier to control. Easier to break."
"How long were you with them?"
"Three years." His voice went quiet. "They kept me in a cage barely big enough to turn around in. Made me breathe fire for drunk nobles. Beat me when I refused. I thought... I thought I'd die there."
I reached across the table and took his hand. His scales felt warm beneath my fingers.
"I'm glad Draeven found you," I said.
"Me too." He squeezed my hand. "He saved my life. Gave me a home. A family."
"Tell me about him," I said softly. "What's he really like?"
Zephyr's expression brightened. "He's amazing. Scary sometimes, but amazing. He trains every morning before dawn—says it helps him think. And he checks on all of us orphans every night before bed, even though he pretends he doesn't."
"There are other orphans?"
"Seven of us. Master Draeven rescued all of us from different situations. Slavers, hunters, collapsed nests." Zephyr's voice filled with admiration. "He could have left us. But he didn't. He brought us here and taught us to be strong."
I thought of Draeven's cold eyes, his bitter rage, his promise of revenge. It was hard to imagine that same dragon tucking in orphaned children at night.
"Does he talk about his family?" I asked. "His children?"
Zephyr's smile vanished. "Never. But sometimes I hear him at night. Calling out their names in his sleep. Crying, I think, though he'd never admit it."
My chest ached. "He's still grieving."
"He'll always be grieving." Zephyr looked sad. "Lady Sera says some wounds never heal. You just learn to live with the pain."
Days blended together.
Zephyr visited every morning and sometimes in the evening. He brought me books to read—histories of dragons, tales of ancient magic, even a few human stories that had survived the wars.
He told me about dragon politics. About the different clans and their beliefs. About the Council of Elders who governed dragon society.
"They're the ones who'll decide your fate," he said one day. "Five of the oldest, most powerful dragons alive. They've lived for over a thousand years each."
"And they all hate humans."
"Most of them." He hesitated. "But Aldric—he's the eldest—he's fair. If you can convince him you're different, the others might listen."
"How do I convince him I'm different when I carry Ashencroft blood?"
"I don't know." Zephyr looked genuinely troubled. "But Master Draeven is trying to figure that out. He spends every night in his study, looking for precedents, searching for ways to save you."
"He wants to save me?"
"I think so." Zephyr's voice dropped to a whisper. "Even though it goes against everything he swore. Even though the other dragons think he's being weak."
Hope flickered in my chest—small and fragile, but real.
"Why would he do that?" I asked. "After everything my family did to him?"
"Because Master Draeven believes in justice, not revenge." Zephyr met my eyes. "And I think—I think he sees something in you that reminds him of who he used to be. Before the pain. Before the anger."
That night, I lay awake thinking about Draeven.
The dragon who'd destroyed my home. Who'd chained me and dragged me to a mountain fortress. Who'd shown me proof of my family's monstrous crimes.
But also the dragon who rescued orphans. Who checked on children before bed. Who was fighting to save my life even when it would be easier to let me die.
He was more complicated than I'd thought. More human, in a way.
Broken and grieving and trying to do what was right despite centuries of pain.
I didn't know what to feel about him anymore.
Fear? Yes. But also... something else. Something I couldn't name.
Understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
Two weeks after Draeven showed me the journals, something changed.
I was reading when I heard shouting from somewhere below. Raised voices. The sound of something crashing.
Then footsteps on the stairs. Running. Urgent.
The door burst open.
Zephyr stumbled through, his face pale with fear.
"They're coming," he gasped. "The Council. They're here early. They're demanding to see you. Now."
My blood turned to ice. "But I thought—"
"I know! Master Draeven thought we had more time!" Zephyr grabbed my arm. "They're furious. Someone told them he's been delaying. That he's protecting you instead of executing you."
"What do I do?"
"I don't know!" Tears filled his eyes. "Master Draeven is trying to stop them, but they won't listen. They're coming here. To your room. To judge you."
Heavy footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
Multiple sets. Moving fast.
"Hide," Zephyr whispered desperately. "Maybe if they don't find you—"
"There's nowhere to hide."
The footsteps grew louder.
Voices now. Deep. Angry. Speaking in a language I didn't understand.
Zephyr moved in front of me, his small body shaking but determined. "I won't let them hurt you."
"Zephyr, don't—"
The door slammed open.
Five dragons in human form filled the doorway. Ancient. Powerful. Their eyes glowed with inner fire.
The Dragon Council.
And they looked at me like I was already dead.