to be fair i never use this site and just post and go so i didn't realize all my scene change lines went away. but it's fixed now yayyyyy
The Archdragon towers over them.
She's heard many tales of the Archdragon of the Sun, most of them not good. Some say he's unforgiving and ruthless. Some say he's fiercely protective. No matter who's telling the story, the impression stays the same: the Archdragon of Sun is cold like ice.
He is in front of her, standing with his chest puffed out, a silent warning to not come any closer. She used to think Runaan is (no, was, she reminds herself, no matter how much it pains her) intimidating, but the Archdragon is the definition of that. Tall and thoughtful and majestic, even, had she not been fearing for her life. Golden scales that gleam in the light, glowing yellow like the Sun itself. His feet stomp against the ground, over double the size of her entire body. One wrong move, and he can crush her before she can begin to protest.
Of course, she's not alone. The Dragon Prince is in Callum's arms, and they watch behind her, Callum's face lit up in awe, Zym's in fear. If the Archdragon has not destroyed them, then he has not sensed them yet.
That's one advantage they have, she supposes. The Archdragon's eyes are red blisters now, covering the spaces where his pupils should be. In fact, there aren't any holes for eyes, she observes, now that he's in front of her. The angry patch of red has grown over them, smoothing over the indents where his eyes once were.
He can sense them; she knows that. Presence sensing is a powerful thing, and in front of her is a powerful dragon. In his next whiff of air, he will smell the human behind her and the dragon in his arms and the moon inside of herself. He will not ask questions, he doesn't have the time nor the ability to care, and they will be burnt to a crisp before they can step foot into Xadia.
Into home.
And so, making a decision in the split of a second, she turns on her heel and grabs Callum by his jacket and covers his mouth, leaping to throw them behind an archway of rock. The human makes a muffled sound of protest, and she prays the Archdragon doesn't hear it.
She hits the ground hard, a spike of pain shooting up her arm and her side in the dirt. Callum isn't faring much better, squeezing his eyes shut at the impact, and in his arms, Zym's face scrunches. But the Archdragon is out of view, and that's good enough.
Still lying on the ground, Callum twists around to face her. The left side of his jacket is coated with sand. His voice is soft, tentative, not quite with awe, but not with fear either. "Who is that?"
Rayla glances to the edge of the rock they are hidden behind, seeing the head of the Archdragon. "Sol Regem," she replies, her voice hoarse and tight.
She's heard the stories about him.
She cuffs her hand into a fist and clears her throat as quietly as she can. "He's the Archdragon of the Sun."
Callum raises his eyebrows, eyes drifting down to Zym, who's poked his head out from his embrace. "Archdragon?"
"It's like-" she begins, and the ground shakes as Sol Regem stomps, and she cuts off with a breath through her teeth. Callum's own eyes are wide, and Zym looks at her, nervous, and she realizes they are looking to her for answers. They are looking for her to tell them what to do, and she has no idea. She's used to being the one who looks, and now that the roles are reversed, she is left scrambling.
Sol Regem's breath is loud and deep, resonating through the air like the whole world has stopped for him. It is deathly silent. The Archdragon's head tilts up towards the sky, and with a low rumble, he mutters, "The prince of sky will return home."
Rayla and Callum share a look of confusion. His voice shakes the earth. "Come to me."
She recognizes the order, the sternness of his tone, the underlying threat beneath his voice. She doesn't dare to sit up, despite the ache from staying in the uncomfortable position she fell in. She hardly even dares to breathe. Sol Regem hates humans- hate isn't even a strong enough word- Sol Regem loathes humans. He will kill Callum on sight. She cannot let that happen.
Rayla, however... perhaps she has a chance.
She pushes herself up with newfound determination, jaw set and gaze pointed. Her mind is set, even if her knees shake as she rises to her feet. Callum watches her, desperation in the way he reaches out his hand, asking 'what are you doing?' with his expression. She does not answer. She does not think she can.
Her knees may shake, her hands may twitch, but when she looks down at the human and young dragon, her resolve hardens. They will never know of her nerves.
She does not falter as she steps out from behind their cover. She does not falter as the Archdragon sniffs the air, no doubt sensing the moon in her heart. She will not let him know she shakes. She will not let him know she is afraid. If not for her sake, then for the dragon and human she is protecting.
"Your honor," she begins, and she realizes with a start she has no clue what she is doing. She cannot weave words like others can. She is an elf of action, not reason. Though to be fair, she probably couldn't reason with him if she tried.
If Sol Regem had eyes, she can imagine him peering down at her, scrutinizing, examining her every move. He will most likely judge even her breathing, and she presses her hands into her legs to stop their shake. She opens her mouth to speak.
The Archdragon beats her to it. "There is a human nearby."
It's strange, The low rumble of his voice would be comforting if he was not on the verge of charring her.
His words slam into her, her heart dropping, feeling like she has been punched. She has failed before she even began.
"I-" she stutters, her determination drained in a snap. She does not know what to say or what to do. There is no one else to rely on, and Rayla has never felt more alone.
But then there is something pawing at her feet, and when she looks down, Zym is at her heels, gazing up at her with big, blue eyes, and she is reminded of who she is doing this for.
Sol Regem recoils like he's been slapped. The scales on his neck glow a faint orange with emotion, and she finds herself stepping in front of Zym protectively. Why the dragon had followed her out here, she does not know, but his presence by her feet is comforting, and she is glad he did.
"There is," she confirms, setting her back straight and standing tall.
"I do not need you to confirm what I already know," the Archdragon snarls. "You brought him here, did you not?"
"Yes," she says. She is grateful for Zym's presence, paws resting on her ankles in a silent show of support. She certainly needs it. "We found the Dragon Prince's egg in the High Mage of Katolis' lair. We are returning him home to his mother to stop the war."
Sol Regem's expression is blank, his jaw clenched tightly. For a second, she worries he will smite her, burn her to ashes and let the wind carry her off. Instead, he says, "You and the Dragon Prince may pass. The human however, cannot."
"What?" she exclaims, Zym's eyes widening as well.
"You really think I am going to let a human into Xadia?" Sol Regem growls, patronizing, almost sounding like there's a laugh behind his words. "You insolent child! Humans deserve," there is acid in his tone, and he spits his words, "to die."
She falls silent, as does Zym, as does the canyons, as does the world. It is as if the entire earth is holding its breath, watching, waiting for Sol Regem to crush her under his foot or set her and Zym ablaze or do anything. Fear grips her heart and she is choking and there is nothing more she can do because she cannot leave Callum behind.
She cannot leave behind the boy who asked her questions on the boat, knowing she felt sick and knowing she needed a distraction despite the fact that she was an elf. She cannot leave behind the boy who had cried 'I'm a mage!' after saving her and Ezran and the egg from the wolves made by one of his longtime friends. She cannot leave behind the boy who had cheered with her and laughed in relief with her and hugged her with pure joy when they had crossed the border. She cannot leave behind the boy who had gone against all of his morals to save her-
He had... it... it was always to save her, wasn't it? It was never about doing magic, it was never about Soren and Claudia, it was never about the dragon, it was about her. He had given up his morals, had done the complete opposite of what he thought was right, had nearly killed himself and it was all for her.
And there is Ezran too, who gave her comfort with the leech, who had gazed up at her with the egg and told her to run, who had been nothing but kind and caring and thoughtful towards her despite her race. There is Soren, who while trying to kill her and Ezran, also related to her just for a second. There is Claudia, who made everyone pancakes, even her, and had run over to Zym with nothing but love in her eyes. There is Ellis, who never questioned her race, who never gave her a strange look, who accepted her for herself without doubt. And there is Callum, sweet, sweet Callum, who has saved her more times than she can count and has always put others before himself.
They do not deserve this treatment. They do not deserve these hateful words. They do not deserve to be thought of as lesser beings or dangerous or useless or like something to crush under your shoe. And most of all, they do not deserve to die.
"No," she seethes, her hands clenched into fists, her fingernails biting into her palms, her teeth grinding together. She is not annoyed. She is not mad. She is angry, because it's not fair. It's not fair.
"No?" Sol Regem questions, looking down on her, his condescending tone and snobby attitude and the way his presence screams 'I am superior to you' grating on her nerves.
"You are wrong," she snarls. She glares up at the dragon through her bangs. Zym's pawing has halted. Sol Regem's underlying sniggering has halted. Even her doubts have halted, any fear of the Archdragon disappearing in her rage. "You are so wrong. Humans are brave, and strong, and caring, and so, so kind. They aren't bloodthirsty monsters who destroy everything in their path. They are people just like us."
She steps forward. At this point, she's not sure whether she's talking about humans as a whole anymore. "They have saved my life more times then I can count, and they always put others before themselves. Just because one human did dark magic and burned your eyes out does not mean that-"
"SILENCE!" Sol Regem bellows, and she is hit by her own words. Oh, she should not have said that. She really should not have said that. Moon above, what did she do?
"You don't understand!" she cries, desperate, fear creeping back into her voice. "Callum is... he's my friend! My best friend! I can't do this without him!"
"I'm... I'm what?"
How fast she whips her head around is astounding. Behind her stands Callum, posture shy, eyes blown wide and sparkling. He clenches the strap of his sketchbook. "Am... am I really...?"
"Yes," she replies. She is surprised by how easily she says it, how right it feels. There is no other term for him. She could not say they are allies; she could not say they are friends. Not when he has smiled with her. Not when he has laughed with her. Not when he has cried with her. Not when he has nearly died for her.
Zym bounds over to him, and while Callum doesn't look away from her, on autopilot, he collects Zym in his arms. He is stunned into silence, arms limp aside from holding the baby dragon.
But then his lips split into a smile, the brightest smile she has ever seen, and he looks at her so happily it makes her heart melt.
She holds out her hand, trying to communicate that whatever they do, they do together. She does not have to face the Archdragon alone. Callum adjusts his hold on Zym so he's only using one arm, and he slips his hand into hers. He watches her with a soft, dopey grin, and she laces their finger together (they fit perfectly, she notes) before turning back to a furious Sol Regem.
She can see how angry beyond belief he is. She has spit words in his face about his greatest weakness. She has defended the very people he so hates. And now, she holds hands and smiles with someone of the race he despises.
So naturally, she holds up their hands in the air just to see the look of rage on his face.
The fire that comes after was bound to happen eventually.
They run.
Rayla had held up their hands as a sign of both pride and spite, and he had watched as the throat of Sol Regem, as Rayla called him, lit up fiery red. The flames had come after.
He clutches Zym close to his chest as tightly as he can with one arm, and he and Rayla throw themselves to the side. She drops their hands to grab him by his backpack and pull him along, and they just barely make it out of the way of his fire. They duck behind a rock formation, his heart in his throat, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
"We need a plan," he manages between gasps for air. Rayla nods, and Callum scrambles for ideas. First rule of battle tactics: assess what you know. He doesn't have much to go on in that department. He runs the image of Sol Regem through his mind. He's a sun dragon. He hates humans. He's blind.
Wait...
"He... he's blind right?"
Rayla confirms, "Right."
"So then... he's probably after me? I don't know, can he, uh, sense me... or something?"
She gives him a look. If he didn't know her any better, he would think she looks stern, but really she is determined. He likes that he can pick that up. "Short version? Yes."
"Okay," he says. "Okay, okay, so if I... if we can... lead him away? He'll stay away, right?"
She's lost in thought for a second. "I think that could work. But lead him away how?"
He thinks. His Aunt Amaya has lost one of her senses, and she says that her other senses became stronger to compensate for it. The same must apply to Sol Regem.
"Can he sense through smell?"
A nod.
"Then what if we used... like..." he trails off, and he sets Zym on the ground for a second, ignoring how Sol Regem's stomping is shaking it. He peels his scarf over his head, holding the red fabric in his hands. "This."
Rayla gazes at it, lost in thought for a second. "If I wear it, I can distract Sol Regem long enough for you and Zym to go past."
"What about you?"
"I'll..." she swallows, "figure it out. We're going to need it to really smell like you for him to sense it over my own presence, though."
Callum hums. Taking it literally, he grimaces and then rubs the scarf under his armpit. When Rayla gives him a look, he smiles sheepishly. "I haven't showered in two weeks. This should do the trick."
He hands the scarf to her and she takes it gingerly, wrapping it around her own neck. She gags, and he shoots her an offended look, and she turns on her heel to run.
He catches her arm. "Wait!"
She watches him, confused, and any and all words die in his throat. Maybe he never had any in the first place. There is so much he could say, so much he wants- no- needs to say, but he cannot find strong enough words to use.
So he gives a smile, one that tells her to be careful, one that tells her that everything will be okay. She does not return it, but he can see some of the tension in her shoulders droop away. She nods, affirmative, and then she is off, and Callum is left on his own.
Well, not entirely on his own. He picks Zym back up and whispers, "Okay. We can do this."
Sol Regem roars, and he hears the crackling of flames. He squeezes his eyes shut. He has to trust Rayla, trust that she'll be okay, trust that she can take care of herself. "We can do this."
There is another spot for cover a little ways away. If he sprints at the right time, they should be able to make it. In his arms, Zym yips, giving his cheek a good luck lick. He laughs lightly. "We can do this."
He waits a few seconds, watching from behind the rock. Rayla is outrunning the Archdragon's flames, maneuvering around them like it's a walk in the park. When Sol Regem's attention is mostly focused on her, he makes his move.
He doesn't have time to look back at Sol Regem. The rock is a few seconds sprint away, and he pushes his legs to go as fast as they can. Sol Regem's fire stops for a moment, him being confused about Callum's double presence, but he doesn't have time to worry about Sol Regem figuring out their plans. Cover is ten feet away, seven feet away, five feet away-
There is the sound of fire, orange light in the corner of his eye, and he hurls himself at the rock.
He gets behind cover, half a second too late.
He hears it first, the sound of ripping fabric, of a blaze right by his ear. The left sleeve of his jacket is torn, burned off, caught by the edge of the wall of fire. The black ashes flutter in the wind. He feels it next.
It stings, to say the least. It travels up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder, coating the side of his arm. It feels as though he is being pricked by a million tiny, hot spikes, like a case of pins-and-needles but ten times worse and ten times hotter. He twists and falls onto his back, knocking any breath he had out of him. Dirt he kicks up puts out any lingering flames on his jacket.
It burns, which makes sense because he's been burned, and he bites down hard on his lip. Zym makes concerned sounds, patting his chest and looking at him, eyes wide and filled with worry. For all the bruises Callum has gotten from training with Soren, they have never compared to this. He grits his teeth and looks to his arm.
It's red and irritated all over, the closer it gets to his shoulder, the worse it looks. It stings from his fall and from the fire itself. There is dirt on the charred remains of his jacket, the ripped part black at the edges, and there are specks of dirt on his arm. It's itchy and throbbing and it hurts, it really hurts, and suddenly he wants to cry.
He thinks he does start crying because Zym squeals and rubs his paws under Callum's eyes and on his cheeks. 'We can do this,' he said, but then he went and messed it up, because of course he did. Of course. What a joke.
He must've started crying more. Zym lays down on his chest, giving an awkward hug. His back hurts, his arm hurts, heck, even his pride hurts, but he hears Sol Regem yell in frustration, and he sniffles. Using his other arm, he pushes himself up to sit, Zym falling into his lap. The baby dragon peers up at him to see if he's okay. Callum offers a small smile.
"It's okay." It's not. "I'm okay." He's not.
He tilts his head up like he's going to be able to see Sol Regem. He must be focused entirely on Rayla now, and he worries for a second that she'll end up like him. He shakes his head. She'll be fine; she's much faster and has much more experience than he does.
Everything hurts, but he pushes himself up onto his feet. There is nothing he wants to do more than curl up into a ball and start sobbing because his back hurts, his legs hurt, his arm burns, but he can't do anything but move on for now. He offers his good arm to Zym, but the baby dragon stays planted on the ground, knowing that carrying him will make things worse for Callum. He gives a grateful smile.
Peaking his head out from behind the rock, he watches what is going on. Rayla is behind another rock, Sol Regem's fire passing over the sides. Her eyes dart across the landscape for more cover. He's not sure what she spots at first, but she makes a dash into the open. Sol Regem blows fire, but she is faster, making it to a mini-cave opening.
Sol Regem breathes in to form flames again, but he does not aim for her. Instead, he aims for the rocks above her. Her eyes flutter to the cave ceiling, and she gives a horrified look as in slow motion, the rocks pile on top of her.
"Rayla!" he screams, even though he knows that he needs to stay hidden. It takes all he has and Zym holding onto his pant leg for him to not run over to her. It's not real, it can't be real. There's no way. There's no way- except it makes sense, because to Sol Regem, that was Callum he was chasing. That was Callum he was trying to burn. That was Callum he just dropped rocks on. That was Callum he just killed. Oh god, he just killed her, Rayla is gone and Callum is alone-
But faintly, in the distance, he hears the shout of, "I'm here!" Through a gap in the rocks, he sees the purple of her eyes, blinking in the dark.
A wave of relief washes over him at the sound of her voice, nearly making his knees give out. His heart had been in a chokehold for a second, his arm forgotten, and he notices his next breath is a lot deeper than the one before. Even Zym is reassured, his grip on his pants loosening.
As much as he wants to run over to her, Callum does not dare move. Not after last time; the itch of his arm is a painful reminder. Sol Regem is parading around in confusion, wondering why the sound of their voices doesn't match up with whatever he was sensing. He cannot afford to speak again. But what can they do now? Callum is burned and battered, Rayla is trapped under layers of rock, and Zym is barely able to fly. They have nothing on their side.
He can see the gleam of Rayla's swords in hook form, prying at the rocks. It will take too long to free her, and there is no doubt Sol Regem will notice and figure out their plan. The gears in his mind turn, scrambling for some sort of move, some sort of answer.
They still have his scarf. It probably still smells like him, and it is probably still sensible. The only problem is Sol Regem believes he is now trapped under rock. But when Callum had run to cover while Rayla was out there, Sol Regem had still gone after him. He had still burned him. Sol Regem won't take his chances. If they use the scarf again, they can probably still lure him around on the sole reason that he won't be too cautious. It's a lot of probablys, but it's the best (and only) idea he's got.
This time, they cannot lead the Archdragon around blindly. They cannot afford to go in without a plan again. They need to lure him to a specific place, not in circles. If they can trap Sol Regem like he trapped Rayla, that would be great, but he doubts there is a cave big enough.
But then he remembers the archway they passed on their way here, and when he looks around, he finds it not far from where they are. It's about as tall as the Archdragon, and it would be a tight fit too. If they can get him stuck between the rocks, they might have enough time to free Rayla and get away. It's a gamble, loose at best, but it's all they've got.
Now, how can he convey all that to Rayla?
He waves his arm first to get her attention. Her swords have pried the rock far apart enough for most of her face to show through, but she doesn't notice him. There is not much else he can do, so he continues motioning with his hand. Finally, her swords disappear back into the rock, and they are replaced by her face, a raised brow staring back at him.
Explaining is hard enough with no words and her not knowing sign language, but with one arm, it's plain difficult. He motions to his neck, circling his finger around it. Then he makes a throwing motion. Her face scrunches in complete confusion, but then her mouth makes an o shape. She disappears into the dark again.
He waits. After a few seconds, the red of his scarf emerges from the gap in the rock, and with the flick of her wrist, she launches it into the air. Sol Regem's reaction is instant, his head snapping awake and in the direction of the scarf.
He made an extra plan to get it over to the arch, but it involves a risk. If he can cast Aspiro, he should be able to blow it all the way over to the arch. But in order to do that, he has to be at the right angle, in this case, behind the scarf. He takes a deep breath, and using his good arm, he draws a familiar rune.
Then he runs.
The rune travels with him, and as soon as he is close to the scarf, he chants, "Aspiro!" and lets out his breath. The scarf is blown past Sol Regem and towards the arch. He holds the spell for a few seconds before releasing it, jumping to the side so Sol Regem doesn't notice his real presence. He lands right by the rock pile Rayla is inside.
Sol Regem chases after his scarf as it weaves through the air, red fluttering in the breeze he created. It flies between the arch, and Sol Regem sticks his head in to follow it, but he gets caught halfway through. He tries to pull back, but he is wedged between the rock, Callum's scarf drifting to the ground. When he realizes what they've done, he lets out an enraged scream with nothing but pure rage, voice echoing off the Earth, making the ground shake. It's so loud, he bets you could hear it from Katolis.
He sits still, catching his breath. Rayla sticks out her hand. "High four!"
Chuckling, he tucks down his pinky and hits his hand against hers. "We did it!"
Rayla brings out her hooks again, working on prying the rocks apart. "Do you need any help?"
"Nah," she replies. "I should be fine now that I don't have to worry about Sol Regem. Plus, I don't think there's much you can do from out there."
He nods, staring over at the Archdragon. He is yanking back as hard as he can, but he cannot free himself. He bets he'll find a way to get free eventually, but hopefully they'll be long gone by then. His scarf is a red stain on the sand. A childish part of him is sad to have to leave it behind.
But then he sees Zym dash over to the Archdragon. "Wait-" Callum cries, keeping his voice down, but Zym is either too far away to listen or doesn't care. Sol Regem can sense him, he knows that, and Callum fears Zym will be burned to a crisp.
Sol Regem does not move to attack him. He can't, he realizes. Zym is technically a prince, next in line for the Xadian throne, and Sol Regem cannot hurt him. That puts a smile on Callum's face. The baby dragon picks up Callum's scarf between his teeth, gazes up at the Archdragon for a second, and then bounds back over to him. Callum wants to cry again.
He kneels down and wraps his arm around Zym, nuzzling his face into his mane. "Thank you."
Zym chirps happily and hold the out the scarf. Pieces of rock fall from the cave beside them, and Rayla's legs squeeze through the hole, followed by her torso, followed by her head. She drops onto the ground next to them. She is covered in dust and small cuts, her hair tangled and mused. "Hi."
"Hi," he replies, drawing up to his full height. The adrenaline hasn't gone away, the pain in his arm and back hasn't faded, and so moving on feels weird. It all feels weird, like it's over too suddenly. Regardless, he steps closer to Rayla and throws his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. He can faintly smell himself on her, mixed with the scent of moonberries. Her own arms encircle his back, and for a second, he forgets about the Archdragon and his burn and the fear left over from a couple minutes ago and simply enjoys her embrace.
When she steps away, she gives a sly smile. "That certainly went well."
He chuckles, even though it shouldn't be funny. Raising the pitch of his voice, he mocks, "I'll figure it out!"
"Shut up," she replies, punching his good arm lightly. "And for the record, we did figure it out."
"Only because my brilliant plan saved us."
"Your 'brilliant plan' also involved throwing yourself at a rock when I hadn't had a chance to lead Sol Regem away, but okay."
"Pfft," he laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. "You got caught under a pile of rocks, so don't even start."
"Fine," she concedes. "At least your scarf saved us in the end. Speaking of which..." she trails off, a sudden look of nervousness replacing her playful attitude before. "I- uh..."
"What?"
She kneels to Zym's level, taking the scarf from his mouth. It is covered in dirt and sweat now, but the red still gleams as bright as ever. She stands again, and she fiddles with the fabric in her hands. "Can... can I..."
"Yes?"
"Can I keep this?" she blurts, and the tips of her ears go red. "'Cause it's... uh... if it managed to save us here, then it must be good luck. So can I..."
He doesn't even have to think about it. He takes the scarf from her hands, and her face falls, but then he wraps it around her neck, giving a soft smile. "There."
Her mouth is shaped like an o, standing on edge like she's been shocked by lightning. "Oh."
He has no other words, so he just keeps grinning like a fool. All at once, Sol Regem hollers, and when he looks over, he is at least a step more free than he was before. A sudden spike of panic shoots through him, and Rayla drops down and scoops up Zym. She takes his arm in hers just as Sol Regem frees his body, drawing back up to his full height. His roar shakes the ground, not mad, not angry, but completely furious at being outsmarted. Callum does not want to stick around to find out what he'll do next.
They don't have to look at each other to make their next decision. Rayla laces her fingers through his, and they sprint away for their lives.
Rayla has been training since she could walk. She is no stranger to long nights, staying up to train, wearing herself out so by the end of the week, she could barely move.
But she has never felt like this.
Her legs are burning from running. She had grabbed Callum's hand and they had sprinted away, not daring to look back or to stop. Her feet are sore from pounding against the ground, blistering and peeling. Her shirt is covered in sweat and her hair is a mess; she is hungry and thirsty and tired but they don't have resources to spare; she has cuts on any area her skin shows from pieces of rock, and it hurts because there's nothing she can do about it.
She can't bandage her wounds; they had used their only bandages on Callum, and he needs them more. While having rocks almost dropped on her was bad enough, Callum had been burned. Luckily, it wasn't bad, ranging somewhere from a bad first-degree to a light second-degree. They'll have to go to a town for some sort of burn cream. They're in sunfire territory, so it shouldn't be hard to find.
She can't eat anything; they only have a few bottles of moonberry juice left, and they can't afford to waste supplies. She would scrounge up more berries, but her legs are mush and she doubts she'd be able to focus enough to pick up something not poisonous.
She can't even go to sleep. Out of both her and Callum, she needs less rest, and she had spent ages dragging Callum along after her at a speed he probably wasn't used to. If her legs are falling apart, she can't even imagine how his must feel, and she knows he doesn't run often. The both of them are in no shape to travel any further.
It hurts more than she thought it would, but she's not sure whether her own injuries or seeing Callum's is worse.
Her nerves are still pinched from the ordeal with Sol Regem, despite it being long after. They had run for so long and so far they made it into the forest, which she knows is a considerable distance away from the border. When they had finally stopped under the cover of trees, Callum had collapsed almost immediately, and she had fallen against a tree, struggling to breathe. At least Zym had been alright, having done no running himself, and he bound between the two of them, making sure they were alive.
She'd set camp up while Callum stayed and watched Zym, or more like Zym watched Callum. She felt awful because he spent half an hour just trying to be able to breathe again. They couldn't afford a campfire, so she'd mainly tried to get something together for them to sleep on. She'd gotten the bandages out of Callum's backpack and had sat down next to him and wound them around his arm in complete silence, hyperaware of his bare neck and his scarf around hers.
The sky is dark now, stars glittering above. The moon is full enough to give her energy, but she can tell it's starting to wane, which is a bad sign for her. While it normally doesn't affect her too much, with their current situation, she can see it making a huge difference.
Callum is across from her, his sketchbook open and in his lap. He's doodling something with his good hand, and she would try to peek over and see what it is, but she doesn't have the energy to care. Not that she doesn't care, but at the moment, all she cares about is sleep. Just sleep.
But she doesn't think she's able to sleep, which is the most frustrating thing of all. No matter how tried and drained and utterly spent she is, the adrenaline hasn't faded away. She's still remembers coughing up dust in the cave, Callum calling her name despite knowing Sol Regem was after him, the red, hot flames that she had nearly been burned by and that Callum had been burned by-
'Shut up,' she tells her mind.
Her mind doesn't shut up.
She hates being caught up in her thoughts. She hates having to sit under a tree, knowing there is nothing she can do. She hates the wait. In the morning, they can move on. They can get help for Callum and some berries for Zym and some exercise for her. But until then, there is nothing she can do, and it stirs her in a way she can't describe.
Zym crawls over to her, as if he can sense her internal distress. He worms his way under her arm so his head is tucked under her chin. She leans onto him, squishing her cheek against his mane. She can hear the scratch of Callum's charcoal halt.
"You guys okay?" Callum asks, soft. He doesn't sound or seem worried or concerned, but she believes that's what he wants her to think.
She takes a breathe, inhaling the electric scent around Zym, and just for a second, she thinks it's dust and charred ashes. She snaps her head up and away. "Yeah," she says. It's a flat out lie and she knows it, but she doesn't know how to begin explaining her... ugh... feelings.
Callum hums and raises his eyebrows. She knows he is onto her, and she knows there is no point in hiding anything, but she's not sure what to say. She grits her teeth. "I just... ugh, I don't know. I can't describe it."
"That's okay," he says, giving her a patient smile. He shouldn't have to do that. He shouldn't have to always wait for her. He shouldn't have to put up with her mess. He shouldn't have to come and rescue her and get himself hurt. She... she doesn't deserve that. Not when she gives nothing in return.
"It's not fair," she whispers, peering down at Zym. He doesn't deserve her either. He shouldn't have to run after her when she puts them in these dangerous situations. He shouldn't have to sit beside her and make sure she's okay. He should be at home with his mother, enjoying his life, and Callum should be with Ezran, safe and happy in Katolis. They are so nice, so caring, so good, and they don't deserve this. "It's not fair."
Callum closes his sketchbook. "You're right. It's not fair. But there's nothing we can do about it." He sighs, and there's a weariness behind his eyes she's never seen before. It's not like when he couldn't do magic. He'd looked lost then. It's not like when he learned of the King's demise. He'd looked sad then. Now, it's... different. He seems tired. They are all tired.
"You should go to sleep," she says quietly, her throat tightening around the words. "You and Zym both. I can take first watch."
He sits up straight. "But Rayla, what about yo-"
"It's fine," she replies, meeting his eyes with a hard gaze. He has protected her, saved her, comforted her, and sacrificed for her, and all she has done for him is put him in danger and wreck his life. He does not deserve her lack of effort. "It's the least I can do."
Callum's hands rest on the top of his sketchbook. "But-"
"No buts. I'm taking first watch."
"But you need sleep too-"
"Why are you pushing so hard?" she snaps, making Zym flinch underneath her. It's not fair how he has to protect her. It's not fair how he has to put her above himself. It's not fair. "You've done so much for me already, let me do something for you!"
"But I don't want you to have to suffer for me!"
"Oh," she laughs, though it's not funny, nothing is funny about the situation. "So you can get yourself hurt for me but I can't do the same for you?"
Callum recoils. "I-"
"You're allowed to sacrifice for me but I can't give up anything for you? I don't get it! Do you just not care? Do you not care that if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself?" Her throat is tight now, her chest heaving. She can feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she is too angry to care. His scarf burns. "Do you not care that I can't lose you? You mean too much to me! I-"
She stops, abrupt, her anger falling apart, and even she is unsure of what she would've said had she continued. She is leaned forward, halfway over Zym, her hands balled into fists by her side. Callum's eyes are blown wide, his mouth opened in shock, something brimming in his eyes. There is surprise, complete shock, but there is no remorse. She brings her hands up into her hair, tugging it up from the roots. "I don't get it. I don't get you! Why..." Her hands pull her hair into her fists. "Why do you... ugh!"
"I don't want to see you get hurt."
His voice is small, meek; she almost misses it. His eyes are downcast, any surprise washed off his face and replaced with... nothing. There is nothing. She cannot read him, and she does not like that. "You shouldn't have to get hurt for me. You can take care of yourself. You... should take care of yourself."
"So should you!" she shouts, hands flying into the air. "What don't you understand? Don't you care that I can't..." she takes a deep breath, chokes on it, tasting rock and ash in her lungs, and she presses her palms over her eyes. "I can't lose you too. I can't. Not again. Don't you care?"
"Of course I care!" Callum exclaims, shocked by her accusation. "That's why I do all of this for you!"
"Then why don't you care about anyone else?"
"I-" he falls silent. Gradually, he sinks into himself, rounded eyes closing, hands drifting to the ground. "I don't... I... of course I... I care. I care. That's why I..."
In her lap, Zym unfreezes, face tilted up to meet her eyes. She can't offer a smile. She can't. But she does drop her head onto his neck, letting his mane tickle her chin. She circles one arm around him, a silent acknowledgment. She can't offer a smile, she can't pretend to be happy. But she still cares, even if her face is emotionless, eyes trained on the grass, every ounce of feeling she had gone.
"Dark magic," she says, plain and simple. Callum snaps out of whatever panicked trance he was in and looks at her. "That was for me. Wasn't it? You didn't care about doing magic again. That's not what that was about. It was about me, wasn't it?"
Callum's hands shake. She can remember seeing the green goo on them, the crushed remains of the worm that he had killed. And then his eyes had flashed purple while he spoke in reverse, and she remembers him falling, and her anger. Her blinding anger, because how could he do that? How could he...?
"I've... I've only ever wanted... to protect Ezran. To keep Zym safe. To make sure you didn't get hurt." Callum says, soft, but his words are not kind. They should be, but they're not. "I don't want to hurt you or anyone I care about. Because I care. I do. I... I care." He watches his sketchbook, hands rubbing the cover. He swallows. "I care. That's why... I'd... I'd do anything for you."
"You'd do it again, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," he says, instantaneous. He doesn't have to think before he replies. "I'd do anything for you."
A small, small smirk comes onto her face. It's not funny. It's not funny. She regrets the joke as soon as she makes it. "Anything huh? What, would you kill someone for me?"
"What?" Callum exclaims, his exaggerated movements returning. "That's... that's a little far!"
"A little?" she chuckles, running her hands through Zym's fur. Her small, small smirk drops. "I won't thank you. I don't like you getting hurt for me. But the sentiment is nice."
"I... okay," he says, breathing in, out. "Okay. We're... we're okay."
"Yeah," she says. They're not perfect. They're not even good. But they are okay, they are still there, they are still going. That is what matters. She will stand by the princes no matter what. She will stand by her princes no matter what.
"Get some rest," she says, picking herself up from Zym. He casts her a look, and she says, "You too, Zym. I'll take first watch."
She sees Callum's mouth move to protest, but he stops himself. "Okay. Okay. Just... make sure you get some sleep yourself, okay?"
"Okay."
It is late. The moon is high in the sky, and they have only a few hours until sunrise. Once the sky is bright again, they will have to get moving, and Rayla is tired.
Later, she will sleep. But for now, she watches, and she waits.
It is morning.
Sunlight greets him, filtering in from the leaves on the trees above him. It burns his eyes; he blinks. He's on his back, and he gently raises his arm up to block the light. The brightness hurts, and he can't stay staring for long, but there are fluffy clouds in the sky and it's a nice reminder of what he's accomplished. The sky isn't so different in Xadia than it is in Katolis.
When he sits up, his hand flies to his neck, but there's no scarf there. He whips his head around and finds Rayla, curled up on her side and snuggling with Zym, and the red gleam around her neck. It's weird not feeling his scarf. He's been wearing it for years, and all the sudden, she is. He's not opposed to it though. Callum thinks he likes seeing it on her more than himself.
There is not much to do but wake them up, but he finds himself not wanting to. After last night when she had offered to stay awake so he could get rest, she deserves every second of it she can get. As does Zym. All he can do now is wait.
The sunlight streams in from the leaves, and Callum is bored.
He could draw. His sketchbook is right there, and it's not like he has anything better to do. It would be a good way to pass the time. But for some reason, his hand won't move to grab it. He'll keep staring at it like it's going to grow legs and walk away, but he won't actually get it. Plus, he'll become too absorbed in his artwork he'll forget to take watch, and Rayla will get angry at him for that, like she did the other day.
Speaking of watch, when did Rayla fall asleep? She should've woken him up if she was going to rest. That had always been the system. Why break it now? Was it an accident? Aww, that'd be cute. Wait no, wha-
"Ugh," Callum groans, burying his head into his knees. So much for distracting himself. There is nothing to do, and Callum is bored and lonely.
"Then why don't you care about anyone else?"
He does care, he does. Of course he does! If he didn't, he wouldn't have done dark magic. But then he thinks back to how everything had gone quiet, like white noise was in his ears, and he'd been so focused on Rayla, Rayla, Rayla he didn't think about the creature. He didn't think about Claudia, or Soren, or Ezran, or the guards, or even the dragon, just Rayla, Rayla, Rayla.
But of course he cared! He still cared about Claudia and her apprehension and her wariness. He still cared about Soren, standing off to the side and watching him, waiting for him. He still cared about Ezran, who he left behind, who he knew was doing his best to stay calm. He still cared about the magical grubs life!
But if he cared, he wouldn't have done it, would he?
"Do you not care that if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself?"
But why? It shouldn't matter what happens to him. If she's okay, if Zym is okay, if Ezran is okay, why does Callum have to be? If he saves them, it shouldn't matter. It shouldn't.
But it does. It matters anyways, maybe not to him, but it matters to her. And he cares, he cares about her thoughts and feelings, he cares.
"I can't lose you too. I can't. Not again. Don't you care?"
Why doesn't he care?
"I'd do anything for you."
"Anything huh? What, would you kill someone for me?"
No, no, he does care. If he didn't, there would be no limit, and there is a limit. He won't harm anyone, he won't hurt anyone, he won't kill anyone!
...
But he killed the grub, didn't he?
He stands up with a start, immediately regretting it. His legs burn. He's had to run some laps before because Soren would make him, and he'd always be dying for breath after one. And now, he'd just run for maybe a mile, maybe over a mile, with no break. Nonstop sprinting for his life after almost never running before.
His legs feel like jelly. He's surprised they're holding him up at all, and he leans against a tree for support. One step, and he's sure his knee is going to give out. The back of his legs feel like he's been stabbed (not that he would know what being stabbed feels like, but he imagines it's something similar). It hurts almost enough for him to forget about his arm.
Keyword being almost.
It doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would now; Rayla wrapping it in bandages probably helps a little. He can feel the itchy cloth rub against the burn, and it's irritating, but he'll take it over pain. His arm faintly throbs and stings, but it's better than he thought it would be. Maybe he's still numb on some adrenaline. Maybe his legs are taking priority in his brain. But it's okay.
He's okay.
Trembling, he makes his way over to his backpack. There's not much he can do, but he knows that the last time they got water was a while ago, if ever. With shaky hands, he unzips the bag. Rayla's ears twitch, but she stays asleep. He rummages around, and he finds an almost empty glass bottle.
They have a couple bottles of moonberry juice, but this one is nearly gone, a little remaining on the bottom. He uncorks it and downs the rest, and his mouth suddenly feels less dry.
He looks back at Rayla and Zym, sleeping peacefully. He's never seen Rayla look so content. He's seen her happy, he's seen her sad, but he's never seen her... blissful. He's never seen her at ease. It's nice not seeing the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept choking on her breath the other day, the way she looked ahead with determination and dragged them along the desert. He likes her happiness. It makes him happy too, knowing she's okay.
And Zym is curled up close to her, her head resting above his head. It's hard to believe that the cutie will someday grow up to be as big and mighty and Sol Regem. He can't imagine him as a huge, scary dragon. He's too soft for that.
The sunlight streams in from the leaves, and Callum walks away.
There is a river nearby. He remembers Rayla shouting something about one yesterday while they were running; she'd said they were running until they found it. They didn't get that far, but if he can hear it, they got close enough.
He might as well go to get water. The rest of their bottles are filled with moo berry juice, and while a lot of that is made up of water, it's not the same. They need it for other things too: putting out a campfire, washing their hair and faces, even brushing their teeth. And if it's cold enough, it might help his burn as well.
The river is not far. The trees clear around it, creating a clearing for just the water. It's so blue, so clear; he's never seen a river this nice before. The waves sparkle in the early morning light, and he sees tiny fish swimming along the current. It stretches for a while, over the horizon, and he can't wait to get back to sketch it. Oh, he can imagine the fun Zym would be having here. He'd be splashing around, oh, they could have a water fight, like he and Ezran used to!
Okay, he thinks, shaking his head. Focus.
He stumbles, moving a twig out of his way. The rapids are right there, and he stands along the river bank, and he leans down to get water.
"So I was talking to Axel the other night..."
Distant voices. Distant voices! Callum jumps back, but his legs can't support him, and he crashes onto the ground. Using his arms, he scrambles for some sort of leverage, and he throws himself back into the forest. His arm now burns, his legs hurt, and he's pretty sure he can't stand up, but he's mostly hidden behind a bush so it's okay.
It's not okay.
"...and he said something about Sol Regem? Now, I obviously hope nothing bad happened." Out steps a group of elves, dressed in reds and oranges and yellows, with chocolate skin and marks that glow in the sun. If he has to guess, he'd guess sunfire.
"But...?"
"But, if someone managed to outsmart him? And the," his voice hushes, "rumors, are true? What's going to come of Xadia?"
"I'm sure Regina Draconis will handle it. And if not, there's no way a human could last long here."
They know. Sol Regem must've done something, must've gotten free, must've sent a message. They've probably been ordered to be hunted, to be killed on sight because they know.
He suddenly feels more vulnerable, more out in the open. Will the shadows of trees hide him enough from the elves? What if they don't? What if they can sense him like Sol Regem could?
"Woo!" one of the elves shouts, and they run towards the river and spring off the grass, cannonballing into the water. The others follow, and they cheer and splash each other in the river.
Crap. The elves seem to be there to stay, and Callum needs to get back to camp. Oh, why'd he leave? He shouldn't have left. He's so stupid, and now his legs are too weak to carry him and he's too tired and in pain to think straight and come up with some master plan to get out of the situation.
He came here for water. The whole point of leaving was for the water they desperately need, especially if there's more desert. He's tired and hungry and thirsty, and he came here for water. He's going to get it.
His brain is muddled by the burn of his arm and the back of his legs. He is tired from his argument with Rayla the other night. He is hungry and thirsty from having no food other than moonberry juice since they left the Moon Nexus. He wants water, and he is going to get it.
He pulls himself to his feet. It is hard and it is painful, and he has to lean onto a tree just to stand, but he is standing and that is the point. The bottle is in his hand, and his hands are shaking but he undoes the cap. He glances towards the elves. They are caught up in their fun, and he prays they don't notice him. He prays something goes right for once.
With a final, deep breath, he steps towards the river, planning on picking up some water and ducking away. But because it's him, it doesn't work that way.
His knee gives out, and he crashes into the river in a heap. The water is chilling, but not cold enough to harm him, but he was not prepared and does not have enough breath. He struggles to put the cap on the water bottle, the current pushing his already shaking hands and his arm hurting from being held up. But the cap slides into position.
He can make out the elves wandering over to where he splashed, and he is drifting downstream to where they were before. So much for not being noticed.
He can feel his lungs constricting, them wanting oxygen, his arms and legs going numb. He can see black spots start to dance at the edges of his vision, and he is running out of air, he is running out of sky, and it's like that time in his dream where he was drowning, he was dying. He is dying, and there is nothing he can do about it.
With his good arm, the one that holds the bottle, he tries to swim up. He kicks his legs, and it hurts, it hurts to swim against the current with his shattered legs, but what other choice does he have? The elves are right there, he'll be revealed, but there is no other choice.
The surface is too far away. It is too far, and he is begging for air, he's resorted to using his burned arm as well, his legs wanting to give up. He is drowning, he is drowning, and he can't even save himself. Weak. Pathetic. His tears add to the water, his lungs instinctively taking a small, small breath in and it's water and now he's choking and drowning and dying—
His hand breaks surface first, the warm rush of air greeting his fingertips. With one final kick, his head bobs up too, and he gasps for breath. Oxygen has never tasted so sweet, and the sky surrounds him again. His legs don't want to support him anymore and he falls back down for a second, his mouth hitting the water, and he panically kicks back up. The glass bottle is cold in his hands, clenches so tightly in his fist he's surprised the glass isn't broken. But there is water inside, cool, crisp water that he nearly died for.
"Oh my gosh!" he hears someone shout, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"He fell in?"
"Well no duh!"
The elves. Crap. Crap, crap, crap! Kicking his tired legs, he drags himself over to the riverbank, nearly coughing on the way. His arms don't want to be lifted, but he grabs onto the edge. The current nearly sweeps his off, but his grip stays firm, and he tries to push up. His elbows give up, and his lower body tumbles down the river. But in doing so, he is facing the elves.
"Sir? Sir are you... wait..." he hears a sharp gasp. "It's a human?"
"It's a human!"
"The rumors are true?"
"Yes, you idiot. Now get him!"
No, he wants to say. Wait. But he tries and chokes on water in his lungs, and the elves are running over, they are going to get him and it's all over. His arms can't drag him up. His legs are useless. There is nothing he can do, he can't do anything, and there are tears that prick his eyes and his legs hurt, his arms hurt, his everything hurts.
But the bottle is still clenched in his hand, and he did not come this far to give up now.
He pulls himself back over to the edge. His arms are in pain, but he uses them anyways because there is no other option. There is no other option but to push himself up on broken arms and choke on water in the place of air and stand on shaky legs. There is no other option because the elves are only a little ways away, they could almost reach out and grab him.
He throws himself onto the first step, his leg not wanting to hold up his weight, his knee nearly crumbling. His foot is blistered, his calf is burning, and he is in pain, but he makes it through the step and onto the next. It's not much better, but slowly, surely, he is remembering how to run.
"Hey! Come back!"
His clothes are drenched and heavy, twigs cutting into his cheeks, but the bottle is still held tightly in his hand. The adrenaline of being caught and of almost drowning is probably the only reason he's running. He can hear the elves behind him, but they don't seem to be soldiers, just a random friend group who came out for a good time, which Callum ruined. But they chase him nonetheless.
He already cannot breathe, water in his lungs and his lack of stamina failing him. He is sure that every time he takes a step, it will be the one that he collapses on. The elves shout, and he forces himself to speed up. He's not sure whether it's adrenaline, determination, or fear making him run, but he's running and that's good. Camp should only be a little ways away-
"Rayla!" he screams, bursting into the small clearing of their camp. He tries to stop, but he trips over his feet, landing on his knees in the dirt. Rayla stirs and Zym just snores, and he scrambles over. He shakes her shoulder. "Wake up!"
"Wha—" she mumbles, half asleep. Her eyes open blearily, the violet color dulled by his shadow. Callum, a little more gently, shakes Zym as well.
"We have to go!" he exclaims, and seeing her waking up, he rushes over to their backpack. The zipper is open from when he left it, and he picks up his sketchbook that was lying on the grass and shoves it in. The cold bottle in his hand is also dropped into the backpack. But when he reaches the zipper, his hands are shaking and freezing, and he can't get it to move. But they have to go, they should've left five minutes ago, and he can't zip! up! the! stupid! pack!
"Move, you dumb human," Rayla says, and she pushes him out of the way. But when she reaches for the zipper, they hear the cries of the elves behind them.
He flies over to Zym, scooping him up into his arms that burn. He blinks at him, confused, and Callum gives him a smile. Everything will be fine. He doesn't have to worry. Callum can do enough of that for him.
"Callum," Rayla says, dangerous tone, "what did you DO?!"
He wants to explain, but his lungs choose that moment to constrict on water and he chokes, his breath already coming in short gasps from sprinting away. Zym pats his cheek, concerned. His lungs are stabbing his throat, and he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to speak if he wanted to. He manages to gesture that they need to move, and Rayla takes the hint.
He glances behind her and sees the shadows of the elves, angry and confused. He starts to step backwards, Rayla swinging the open pack onto her shoulder, and she rushes over to him. She grabs his arm, and they turn to run away from their camp.
There's a soft thump of something on the ground, but they are already ten steps away, and Rayla whips her head around. "Oh!" she exclaims, and he stops long enough to peek behind him.
The two other bottles, the ones of moonberry juice, lay in the grass, the pinkish color a contrast to the red. Rayla jumps to begin to go back for them, but he sees the shadows of the elves illuminated by the sunlight. They are here, and they are out of time.
He makes a quick decision. Callum grabs her arm, her face whipping around towards him, and he yells, "Leave them!"
Her eyes narrow, but she complies, and she tugs him into another sprint for their lives, leaving their only source of food behind.
Even Rayla is tired.
Elves are supposed to have more stamina than humans. They are designed for survival, and she has been specifically trained to thrive in these environments. She has devoted years of her life to gaining a higher stamina, higher strength, higher speed.
But there is nothing more she wants to do then curl up into a ball and fall asleep.
She is out of breath. She cannot breathe in deep enough to get oxygen but her short breaths stab her throat. Her legs are shaky and wobbling, her supposed "higher strength" failing her. Weak, she thinks, and her already tight throat somehow seems tighter. She is weak.
Callum's own legs give out and he crashes to his knees, coughing violently. She is gasping for breath, leaning against the bark of a tree, Zym looking between the two, unsure of who or how to help. Callum is choking on water, his clothes are drenched and his hair sticks to his face; she cannot tell if it's because of sweat or water.
Swallowing down her own strangled breath, she finds a way to walk over to him. Her hands hover over him, unsure of how to help as he is struggling to breathe in front of her, his chest heaving with coughs. She places her hand on his back and fights against her own itch to cough, and when she tries to lean down, she falls onto her knees. Callum's elbow is on the ground and his head is rested on it while he is doubled over, and Zym is on his other side, paws clutched around his arm.
It reminds her of that time with dark magic, when he had been gasping for breath and squirming next to her, her cuddling him close because she thought if she let go, she'd lose him. It reminds her of the time when she was weak and had to be saved. A time where she had to rely on others because she was too weak to save herself. She was weak then, and she is weak now.
Callum finally and luckily stops heaving, breaths turning slow and deep. He sits up and tosses his head backwards towards the sky, taking in as much oxygen with his eyes closed as he can. She watches, her own breath slowly returning to her as her lungs stab her throat.
Callum sighs, and he lifts his arm and runs his hand through his hair, tugging it up. "Okay. Okay. We're okay."
They're alive. They made it away, the elves gave up on chasing them, and they are still together. Zym is still across from her, Callum is still beside her, and that is all that matters. They have each other, they have their backpack, they have food—
No. No, they don't have food. Shit. They don't have food! Rayla brings her own hands into her hair and yanks it, groaning in frustration. They already haven't eaten since... when?...
...They haven't eaten since before they freed the dragon, have they? They haven't eaten since the dark magic incident? No, no, they must have? Did they? She can't remember. They wouldn't have had anything after because they were crossing the border, and then they didn't have anything when they were running from Sol Regem, they didn't eat after that either, and now their food is gone.
They haven't eaten in three days and their food is gone.
Okay. Okay, they can survive without food for a little while. Four hours without shelter, four days without water, and about three weeks and a half without food. That's the basic rule, but it varies for elf to elf; ocean and earth elves need more water, star and sun need less, moonshadow don't need as much shelter, and startouch don't need as much food. But for humans and baby dragons and even her after all this running with little rest, she's sure it's much lower.
"Do you know," she says between gasps, "how long you can survive without food?"
"Three weeks," Callum replies. "It's three weeks without food, three days without water, three hours without shelter, and three minutes without oxygen."
She nods. "Okay. I can go a little longer than that, but with all this running..."
Water shouldn't be too big of a problem once they get further into Xadia. Sunfire territory is drier, but most towns will have markets that will sell it for low prices. They might not be able to take showers or brush their teeth, but at least they won't dehydrate.
Shelter isn't that bad either. There's many towns and caves in sunfire and earth territory, and the forest will also do. They've been surviving so far sleeping even on the forest ground, and the weather is nice and warm for summertime, so hopefully that won't be much of a problem either.
Though to be honest, food isn't too big of a problem either. Sure, not a lot of berries grow out in the wild and there's not many animal creatures in sunfire territory because it's too dry, but towns typically tend to sell food. When she really thinks about it, they'll probably be okay.
Yeah. They should actually be okay.
"Three everything works out a bit nicer, huh?" she asks, and Callum looks at her, confused. "Ya know, how it's three minutes, three days..."
"Oh, yeah," Callum says with a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, it's easier to remember."
"I didn't know humans could survive that long."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know..." she drums her fingers on the grassy floor, "It's just... we're told all these stories about how supposedly weak humans are, not that I believe them!" She waves her hands, frantic, and Callum raises an eyebrow. "It's just... yeah there's no saving this."
Contrary from what she thinks Callum will do, he starts laughing. After days of running and surviving, his laughter is such a nice sound, loud and bright, and she finds herself laughing along too. She's not sure what's funny, but his laugh is contagious; even Zym is bobbing his head along, and it's light and happy and a welcome change.
But then he cuts of abruptly, staring off at something behind her. She whips her head around and puts her hands to her blades, but there's... nothing there. When she turns back around, he's still gazing, but his open mouth and wide eyes might not be fear. When she looks closely, it almost looks like awe.
"Um..." she waves her hand in front of his face. "Callum? Hello...?"
He doesn't reply. He presses his arms against the floor and moves to sit on his feet, and then slowly, very slowly, he stands. She can see his legs shake, but he stands, still staring straight ahead. She watches him take a step, his knees shaking, him reaching out to touch the tree next to him. He drags his fingers along the bark as he takes another, and she watches him, little by little, walk over to the gaps between two trees.
It reminds her of that time with dark magic, where'd he woken up and flown into a rant about the deeper meaning of the arcanum. A time where she'd watched him step out onto the edge of the cliff, taking in a deep breath of oxygen. A time where she'd watched in awe as he performed magic, blowing a spiral of air in front of him. A time where even though she hadn't done anything, she felt proud just to be watching.
A time where she'd started to care. A time where she'd started to be weak.
She picks her own self up, and it hurts; her legs burn and her throat feels like she's breathing through sandpaper, but she makes it. Zym bounds over to Callum and she trails behind, watching him slowly crawl towards the outside. He stops by the trees at the edge of the forest, and she can see what he's looking at.
The sky splits into pinks and blues, the end of sunrise upon them. Beyond that, the land becomes dry and rocky, forming a cliff beyond where the trees stop. From their height, she can see far into Xadia, almost all of the sunfire territory nearby them. There are trees scattered around, forming deep green blobs, and she can see the faint outlines of buildings that make up towns. There's mountains in the distance, she can see the desert they ran through and if she squints, she can even make out the fiery border. It's a pretty sight, but she's not one to marvel.
Though it appears Callum and Zym are.
The only time she has seen Callum's eyes shine as bright was when he first did that fulminis spell. He'd been in awe and proud and so, so happy then, and he is the same now. It's as if he's never seen color before, and she finds herself staring at him instead of the sights.
Zym is similar. His tongue is hanging out of his mouth, his big, blue eyes sparkling. For once, he's not wagging his tail or jumping up and down or patting her leg; all of his energy is focused on the sigh before them.
Zym trots forward first, paws leaving prints in the sandy ground, dust kicked up in little puffs. He walks to the edge of the cliff, staring out at the ground beneath them. It's strange to watch him take the lead, but it's fascinating as well.
Callum stays behind, watching from afar, and she goes over to Zym and, although it makes her legs hurt and her knees burn and reminds her of her weakness, she crouches beside him and runs her hand through his mane.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she asks softly, her smile warm and gentle. Zym leans into her hand, grinning happily. There is static in his mane, and she's pretty sure she could do a lightning spell if she wanted to.
"Xadia is..." Callum says, but he doesn't finish, eyes catching on the landscape before them. There are sand mountains and sunfire mines and a waterfall to their left. From right to left it gradually changes from dry to lively, sandy to grassy, yellows and oranges changing to greens and blues. They are on the outskirts of earthblood territory, but with them currently standing on sand, they're actually in the sunfire region.
She points to a blob in the distance, outlines making out rectangles and squares and weird shapes she doesn't know the name of. "That's Ignis Est, one of the smaller sunfire towns. It's the closest town to us, so we can stop there for supplies."
Callum hums, but then a cheeky grin breaks out across his face, one she's missed. "You know how you dressed up like a human?"
"Yes...?" She doesn't like where this is going.
Callum smirks wider. "Does this mean I'll get to dress up like an elf?"
"That sounds like a terrible idea."
"Aww... c'mon!" He shakes her shoulder lightly. "I can pull of an elf impression!"
"Sure..." she teases, grabbing his hand and slipping it off her shoulder. Zym looks at Callum with a raised eyebrow. "Even Zym thinks you can't."
Callum pouts, but something makes him brighten once again. "Oh! Speaking of supplies..."
He reaches for the backpack she's still carrying, rummages around through its contents. She waits, patient. She's not sure what he's looking for; as far as she's concerned, the only thing in the pack now is his sketchbook.
But to her surprise, Callum pulls out a bottle, one of the three that used to hold moonberry juice, and it's for a second she thinks it's empty. Then it catches the light, and she can see clear, crisp water sloshing around inside. Her hands almost reach out to snatch it, and it hits her how long they've gone without water. At the very least, it's been a day.
But moonberry juice was their only source of nutrients, wasn't it? It's all they've been having so far since it's what she carried and it's made up of water and berries. They didn't have water before, not before Callum pulled it out of the backpack. That must be why he's drenched; he went to get water. But if he just got water, and moonberry juice is all they've been having, and they haven't had that in days—
No, no, they must've had it, right? If they hadn't, that would mean they haven't had water in three days. Callum would be dead, and she would certainly be feeling the effects. She just must've forgotten, that must be it. She just forgot.
When she brings her hands up to grab the bottle of water, her hands are shaking.
"I figured we could use it to clean off," Callum explains, and she is reminded of the dirt sticking to her face. But that's not her priority.
"Callum," she says, mouth drier than she remembers it being, "when was the last time we had water?"
He blinks. "Um... well I had the last of the moonberry juice in that bottle," he taps the glass with his nail, "today." He smiles a little, though there's circles under his eyes, "And I probably drank some when I fell into the river."
"You fell into the— nevermind." She sets her hands in her lap and they tremble, shaky and weak, why are they so weak? Has it been a day since she had food? Two days? Three days? She remembers eating before the dragon incident, long before it but still that same day. But that was three days ago. When was the last time she ate? When was the last time she had showered?
When was the last time she had drank water?
"Rayla?" Callum asks, and Zym rubs his head against her arm. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't know how to answer that. She is alive, yes; they all are. But her legs are burning and her face is coated in dirt from when rocks had nearly crushed her to death; her throat is cold and dry and she hasn't eaten in three days, probably hasn't had water in three days, and she is...
Falling apart. Isn't she? She's falling apart. She's not okay. Nothing about their situation is okay.
With shaking hands, she manages to unscrew the cap of the bottle, and she puts her lips to the glass. The water is cool and flavorless but it tastes like heaven after days of nothing. There is nothing she wants more than to drink the rest, nothing but cold, tasteless water in her mouth, but she has restraint. She gasps, quiet, and then she puts the cap back on.
It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, she didn't even drink half of the bottle, but it'll do. It has to.
Is she okay? No. No, she's not, she's honestly not. But she'll keep going, because that's all she can do. She'll see the mission through no matter what.
"Yeah," she answers, and she rises to her feet. Her knees may burn, her lungs may scream, but she is alive and she is standing, and that is all that matters.
She looks to Zym, bright blue eyed Zym, and Callum, patient smile Callum, and she says, "I'm okay."
Together, they step away from the edge and back into the forest.