She was alone now. Truly, achingly alone.

  The days blurred.

  She did what Elanor would have done because someone had to.

  She rose at dawn and tended to the herb garden, even when her hands trembled from exhaustion. She made the healing salves, organized the shelves, spoke gently to the townspeople who came for medicine, though her voice no longer held warmth.

  She watched quietly from beneath a black shawl as they buried Elanor beneath the willow tree in the village grove. She didn’t cry then. The tears had dried somewhere between the moment she cut the rope and the moment the guards closed the door behind them, faces stiff and uninterested.

  The villagers offered their condolences, soft words, awkward pats on the back, but something had changed in their eyes. They looked at her differently now.

  Like she was fragile.

  Or worse… dangerous.

  She could feel it.

  The weight of their stares. The space they gave her when they used to offer smiles. It made her skin itch. Made her feel like her soul had been cracked open and everyone was waiting to see what would crawl out.

  Without Elanor, she felt unprotected. Exposed. Like the world had grown sharper teeth overnight.

  When she slipped on the mossy rocks near the river collecting silverroot, there was no one there to catch her. No aunt to fuss over the blood on her knees, no gentle scolding as warm salve was dabbed onto her skin.

  When she caught a fever after hours in the rain, rain that had soaked the town for nearly a week straight, there was no steady hand to lay cool cloths on her forehead. No whispered lullabies from the old tongue.

  She lay curled beneath Elanor’s blanket, sweat beading on her brow, listening to the constant patter of rain against the windows.

  It sounded like the earth itself was mourning.

  As if the world had wept with her.

  And still, she endured. She had to.

  But every night, when the house went still and the only sound was her own breath…

  Imogen whispered her aunt’s name into the dark.

  And no one answered.

  The rain had finally stopped.

  The air outside was damp and heavy, but inside the cottage, the scent of crushed frostleaf and heated salve filled the room with a familiar kind of comfort. Imogen stood at the table, carefully stirring a thick, greenish paste in a clay bowl, her sleeves rolled up and her fingertips stained with oils.

  She was pale and thinner than she’d been before, dark circles beneath her eyes, but she worked with quiet focus, the way Elanor used to.

  The knock at the door startled her. She wasn’t expecting customers today.

  Before she could answer, the door flew open.

  Aiden stepped inside, still in his riding leathers, damp from travel and grinning from ear to ear.

  “Im! You won’t believe it!” he said, already shaking rain from his cloak. “I saw it firsthand! A dragon! Huge thing, silver and white, with wings like sails.”

  Imogen turned slowly, her spoon clutched tight in one hand.

  Aiden barely paused for breath. “Uncle Arthur brought me along, said it was time I got my hands dirty. We tracked her down in the valley near Frostmarsh. She fought like hell, nearly burned one of the scouts alive, but we got her. I got her. I landed the killing blow. Chopped her head clean off.”

  He laughed, wide-eyed with adrenaline. “Her blood steamed like boiling metal. It was amazing.”

  Imogen didn’t speak. Her expression was unreadable.

  He didn’t notice.

  “Uncle thinks she might have had hatchlings nearby,” he continued. “She kept trying to fly off, like she was desperate to get somewhere. Probably a den. We’re organizing a sweep of the nearby caves next week. If we find the nest ”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Stop,” Imogen said sharply.

  Aiden blinked. “What?”

  She set the spoon down, slow and deliberate. Her voice was like ice.

  “Stop talking.”

  “Im, I thought you’d be proud”

  “Proud?” she hissed. “You murdered a dragon, and you’re bragging about it in my kitchen like you just came back from a hunting trip.”

  “It was a threat,” Aiden said, confusion and offense bleeding into his tone. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the size of it, what it could’ve done. We’re protecting people.”

  Imogen stared at him, chest tight, voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “She wasn’t trying to fight you, she was trying to get away. You said it yourself. She had children. You didn’t kill a monster, Aiden. You slaughtered a mother.”

  That caught him off guard. His mouth opened, then shut again. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that,” she snapped, stepping closer. “And if you think that’s something to celebrate, then you don’t know me at all.”

  Aiden looked at her, something shifting in his expression, pride giving way to irritation. “So what, you’re taking their side now? You know how that sounds?”

  Imogen didn’t back down.

  “I know exactly how it sounds.”

  Aiden's jaw tensed. “You don’t get it, Im. This is bigger than feelings and fairy stories. I’m getting a promotion… my uncle’s recommending me for lieutenant. They’re forging a sword from the dragon’s scales. My sword. It’s going to be a symbol.”

  Imogen stared at him, stunned. “A symbol of what?”

  “Of strength. Of order,” he said, like it was obvious. “People need something to rally behind, something to fear. That dragon? That was chaos in the sky. This sword will remind the world we’re not afraid anymore.”

  She stepped back like he’d slapped her.

  “You want to be feared?”

  “I want to be respected,” he said firmly. “That’s what keeps us alive. You can’t reason with monsters, Imogen. You kill them before they kill you.”

  Her hand went to the ring, heavy on her finger, colder than ever.

  “Is that how you see everything that doesn’t fit into your world?” she asked, voice shaking. “Just another beast to cut down for glory? For a sword? For a title?”

  Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “You’re twisting this. You’re too close to it.”

  Imogen’s breath caught in her throat, and then something broke.

  “Too close?” she repeated. Her voice rose. “She was a mother! You don’t care that she was trying to protect her children! You butchered her like she was nothing… and now you want to wear her like a trophy!”

  Aiden stepped toward her, frustration sharp in his voice. “You need to calm down. You’re letting your emotions-”

  “Don’t you dare,” she snarled, yanking the ring from her finger.

  He opened his mouth again, but she didn’t let him finish.

  She threw the ring at him hard. It clattered against his chest and hit the floor between them with a cold, final ping.

  “I don’t want to marry someone who thinks slaughtering a mother is an achievement,” Imogen said, her voice steady but cold. “You want your sword? Your promotion? Fine, take it but don’t bring the story into my home like it’s something I should be grateful for.”

  Aiden stared at her, anger flaring in his eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

  “I’ve never been more serious,” she said.

  His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Do you think this is easy? I chose you, Imogen. I could have anyone in the officer’s court once I’m promoted but I picked you. I wanted to give you a life with meaning. Protection. Purpose.”

  “I already had all of that without needing blood to earn it..”

  He didn’t bend down to pick it up right away just stood there, breathing heavily, jaw clenched like he was biting back something uglier.

  “So that’s it?” he growled. “I offer you everything, and you throw it away because I killed a beast?”

  “You killed something that mattered,” she snapped. “And you don’t even care why she was trying to escape. What she might have been protecting.”

  He stepped forward again, looming over her now, voice sharp and ugly. “You’re losing your grip, Imogen. Maybe Elanor coddled you too much and filled your head with too many of her old stories. You're lucky I ever wanted to marry you in the first place.”

  She didn’t move.

  Didn’t blink.

  “Get. Out.”

  Aiden scoffed, like she was the one making a scene. He turned for the door, stopping only to kick the ring across the floor with the toe of his boot.

  But he hesitated at the threshold just long enough to look back, his voice dripping with contempt.

  “You keep talking like that… and people are going to start asking what you are.”

  Then he was gone.

  The door slammed hard behind him, rattling the frame.

  Imogen stood frozen, the room echoing with silence, shame, and rage. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths but no tears came.

  Only that deep, twisting ache. And beneath it, something older stirred.

  The golden glow returned to her fingertips, slow and soft, but it pulsed stronger than before. A rhythm not entirely her own. Like a heartbeat waking from sleep.