Rewired

“Hold still,” someone says, hands pressing firmly against your side. 

“I am fine,” you insist through clenched teeth. 

“You are bleeding.” 

“I have had worse.” 

That is also true. 

The mission went wrong near the end. Not disastrous, but enough to leave you sitting on the ground, your team moving around you, patching you up while you try to focus on breathing. 

It should just be another injury. 

Another job. 

But something is… wrong. 

The pain does not stay where it should, instead it spreads. 

Not through your body, but rather through your chest. 

“Hey,” someone says, noticing. “Stay with me.” 

“I am,” you reply, but your voice sounds distant. Not quite yours. 

The pressure against your wound tightens. And suddenly, everything fractures. It is not this pain. 

It is that pain.  

Your hands are not pressing against fabric and blood. They are against him. 

Warm. Fading. 

“No,” you whisper, but it is not here. Not now. 

The world around you dissolves, replaced by fire and stone and something far older than memory. 

His breathing is uneven. 

Too slow. 

Too weak. 

“You are not leaving,” you say, voice breaking. “You promised me.” 

“You will live,” he says. 

“I do not want to live without you.” 

“You will,” he insists gently. 

The pain in your chest gets worse, it is unbearable now. 

“That is not enough,” you choke out. 

“It has to be.” 

“Do not leave me,” you beg. 

He leans into your touch, just once more. 

“I never leave you.” 

And then- you gasp. 

The present slams back into you, disorienting. 

Your body jerks, breath uneven, hands shaking. 

“Hey,” your teammate says sharply. “Hey, look at me.” 

You do not. You cannot. Because now you remember. 

All of it. 

The cave. The sky. The way he looked at you as if you were everything. The way he died in your arms. The way you cursed him after, for leaving you behind. Your chest tightens violently. You almost can't breathe.  

“I need to go,” you say suddenly, moving to stand. 

“What? You are not going anywhere.” 

“I need to go,” you repeat, more urgently now, trying to push yourself up. 

“Sit down, you are barely patched up.” 

“My dragon,” you whisper, more to yourself than to them. 

They freeze. 

“What did you just say?” 

You do not answer. 

Because there is only one thought in your mind now. You have to see him. 

Now. 

You do not remember how you got there. Only that you do not stop. 

Pain is still in your side, it is almost getting worse with every movement, but it is nothing compared to the ache in your chest. 

The N109 zone is now ahead of you, and soon you see the building, his place. 

You reach it, jumping off your bike. Your hand still shakes as you knock. 

The door opens almost instantly. Sylus stands there, composed as ever, eyes already scanning you, taking in the blood, the rushed state, the fact that you should not be here. 

“What happened?” he begins. 

You do not let him finish. You throw yourself into his arms. 

Your arms wrap around him tightly, your fingers gripping his shirt as if you are afraid he will disappear if you let go. 

His hands come up, steadying you, holding you. 

“You are injured, Sweetie, you should not be out of bed, let alone here.” 

You shake your head against him, breath uneven, emotion crashing into you all at once. 

“My dragon,” you whisper. 

Everything stops. 

Completely. 

His hands go still against you. 

Slowly, almost too slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at you. 

“Say that again." 

Your eyes are wet, your expression is in a way he has never seen before. 

“My dragon. You left me. You said you would not, you said I would find you again, but you still left-” your words break as your tears fall. His eyes sharpen, something deep and ancient surfacing all at once. 

“You remember,” he says. 

It is not a question, but you nod anyway.  

“You died. I- killed you. I could not- I could not do anything.” 

His jaw tightens, but his arms come around you properly now, pulling you close. 

“I told you, that you would find me again.” 

“I did not want to wait,” you whisper. 

“I know. But it was not our time.” 

You grip him tighter. 

“I thought you were gone.” 

“I am here. You tied our souls, Sweetie.” 

You shake your head, pressing your face into his shoulder.  

“It hurt. It still hurts.” 

His hand moves to the back of your head, holding you there. 

“It will. You lost me.” 

“You left me.” 

That lands. He does not pull away. 

“I did not choose to leave you, the people...” he replies. “But, I came back.” 

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes searching his face. 

“I found you,” you say. 

“You always did.” 

This time, when you hold him, it is not just desperation. 

It is recognition.