I hadn't realized how much the bond had become a part of me, a powerful buzzing hum in the back of my soul that connects my mind to my heart.
Until it was taken away.
I hadn't realized how the sound of his rumbling deep voice had copied the pathways in my brain from those times I'd run to my father when things got hard. That voice makes me feel so safe.
Until it was taken away.
I hadn't realized any of that until I took the antidote after ten minutes of deliberation over its validity, but what pushed me was the desperate need to reclaim that bond - that connection - that voice.
It takes effect quickly, and the rush of everything is overpowering and all-consuming. I know my legs went out and I know Xaden was still there when I didn't hit the floor of my room. I hadn't even thought to ground myself, having gotten out of the habit in the short term and abandoning my archives altogether when I couldn't access the marble floors I'd made my mental safe place.
The power courses through my veins as if it seeks to reclaim its territory, and every inch of my body tenses. Unfortunately. My vision blurs at the edges and I know the tears are falling as I rush to close the mental door between me and the power while also trying to shut the pain of the jarred broken bones and stiff joints into an overfilled box.
Sensing my discomfort, the black morningstar tail shields me out, and instant relief overtakes everything.
Once changed, once formation was called, once options were given, and once everyone was given an hour, I gave in to gravity and let Xaden sit me on the edge of the dais while waiting for our dragons to arrive.
Wingbeats I know like my own heartbeat announce his arrival, and the massive dragon lands carefully before us, Andarna limp and sleeping tethered to his chest.
A massive black head with shimmering golden eyes swings down into my view and I reach out with my one good arm. He is more gentle than any would think possible, except me, and my shaking palm lands on the warm, hard scales between his nostrils. I wait until he's close enough and then curl my body against his snout to allow my cheek to take the place of my hand.
My tears roll down his scales and the deep thrumming rumble from his chest that rattles everything around us is comforting as he tells me in his own language that he's thankful I'm still alive.
"I…am sorry, Silver One."
I smile, the split in my lip opening as a pearled drop of blood weeps from the wound, but I don't care. The bond is back - the voice is there again.
And I feel whole.
…