Breach the Divide

because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person 

from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating

like all the self improvement in the world won’t turn a mass murderer into a soft boy. its ok to call that bad writing because it expects us to move past what, in universe (Any universe really) should be seen as reprehensible.

- Dismissing his girlfriend’s hobbies and interests.

- Talking her out of buying fancy paper because HE doesn’t think it’s important. (Why does it matter if she spends her money on something she likes for her hobbies?)

- Destroying a thing his girlfriend made, repeatedly

- Disregarding when she asked him to stop, because he just couldn’t help himself.

- Ignoring that this thing he’s doing clearly upsets his girlfriend

- Lying to her repeatedly

- That whole mess of homophobic nonsense in the update, and acting like he’s the victim when he actually experiences consequences.

Classic DARVO response (Deny, Attack, Reverse the roles of Victim and Offender).

- First he says it wasn’t him, must have been her roommates destroying her things.

-It’s not a big deal, they’re just little paper stars, why are you making such a big deal about this? It doesn’t matter.

- Trying to guilt-trip her about how she could have seriously damaged his computer with that glitter!  Why is everyone being so MEAN telling him he’s the asshole? And how dare she date someone else! Can’t you see how unfair and TERRIBLE she’s being to him? And he’s ALL ALONE for Thanksgiving because she’s just being so UNREASONABLE. (Totally ignoring that these things are all consequences of his actions.)

- boy picks fight with prince

- boy is sent to stocks and punished for fight

“Yes good”

“AND EAT THE BAD ONES”

“Wait no”

“EAT THEM”

You better watch out

You better watch out

Coda knew he’d promised to accept her answer, and he fully intended to keep his word. However, he had not intended to hear this embittered and inaccurate assumption. He had not expected he would see her righteous indignation and feel it matched by the boiling fury rising in his blood. He saw the smirk when she recognized his anger. His vision blurred, until she was nothing but a splotch of gray in the honey gold room.

“Oh, young Dragonlord, you were so ready to accept my answer as long as you thought I would help you. Did you think I had not been asked this favor a thousand times since I saved those boys? Did you think I have not been regaled with all the stories of innocence? I will not upset the fragile balance of our magic so that you may wash the survivor’s guilt from your heart.” She’d stood in her calm speech and crossed the room, her smile set in steel as she gestured towards the door.

“You are so wrong that to even begin to tell you the depths to which your assumptions are false, I’d have to travel a week to pull your own head from your arse.” His insult wasn’t wise, his rage shaking in his limbs, but he could not think beyond the scream in his head and the knowledge that without even being allowed to try, he had failed. “Abel did nothing but try to save an innocent animal who was drowning at sea. He was there and then he wasn’t and you can’t,” He took a deep breath, tears welling and falling, “CAN’T tell me that he deserved what he got, or that this was some balance of magic. He tried to save that damned horse’s life and it dragged him into the sea without mercy.”

Her eyes widened, but she did not move.

He stepped forward through the door and felt a part of him tear open. A wound gaped in his very core that left raw magic swinging in uneven circles through the room and the earth and the sky, unstoppable and unyielding. He left no destruction behind him, only the scar of sorrow on the earth and in the sky.

He wasted no time jumping onto Niac, leaving all supplies and thought behind as he raced to the sea, searching for the place where he’d last seen Abel slipping down.

He’d leaned dangerously close to the water skimming over the murky darkness. Only his reflection greeted him. He half expected to see the mocking face of a horse-creature jump at him from the darkness below, or to see Abel’s blue hair come bobbing up from the valley of the waves. He let loose a scream to the silent and empty world around him, feeling his magic plunge through the thickness of the ocean and sink.

He could feel the wet coolness, the strange shadow, the slow and dumb creatures twitching through the water. He pressed further and felt the slime of sand and the coarse and living reef. Further still and he felt the roll of earth that moved the waves and the whisper of power that wove through all things but he could not feel the familiar warmth of Abel. When his magic finally snapped, bounding back to him with a lash of overuse, he gasped and only barely managed to hold onto Niac. He broke into sobs against the slow beat of her wings and did not move for minutes or hours, he didn’t know.

She did not allow him to try again, though they still flew over the lapping waves.

It was nightfall again by the time he heard the faint calling of his name. It was cold and tired and mournful across the cool water. It came from land, and echoed with his sorrow from that morning.

He did not dare hope, as he and Niac approached the shore, that she had called him back with any purpose but her guilt. He did not dare hope that she had decided to help, or that she even could if she so wanted. He returned only on the barest of possibilities that all was not lost, but he did not dare hope.

Niac was aggravated and pained by the time he dismounted. He whispered apologies to her and ran a soothing hand over her nose, resting his head against hers before he sent her off to hunt for her supper. When she had disappeared into the sky, he faced the door in the stones and willed it not to melt away.

He pushed against the door, exhausted from the emotional use of magic and the lack of food and the crushing weight of grief.

“You called me back.” He did not bother to pose it as a question. He stared blankly into the small room. The stone table was no longer covered in flowers or bundles, but instead had two bowls steaming with soup. “If it’s guilt you feel, there’s no need. I do not care for pity.”

He didn’t react when she snorted at him, legs crossed on the only chair. It creaked and wobbled under her light weight, and he wondered if the entire home of hers was held together by magic.

“You presume too much, Dragonlord. I invited you here because I have decided to reconsider your offer.”

If he had not witnessed the emptiness of the ocean himself, he may have fallen weeping. As it was, he could not help but feel a sickening knot in his stomach. She had to be playing with him. She was supposed to know all about the Kelpies. She had said herself that Abel was dead.

His silence must have said enough for him, because she let out a barking, humorless laugh. “I do not lie, boy. Though, I have been known to bend the truth somewhat. Tell me, what is the story of your friend? You have been throwing a tantrum over him since you left. A brother, perhaps?” She tapped her hand against her chin, looking him over with those eyes that, like glass, seemed to have no color except for shine and gleam.

“He was my boyfriend.” His voice was flat even to his own ears, but he couldn’t muster up enough strength to be affected by any new assumption she’d made.

“Oh, how unusual. Such tantrums are normally reserved for family at least.” She shrugged, spooning out some of her soup and sipping it loudly. “Or at least fine warriors. Heaven knows the Dragonlords love their strong, strapping warriors.”

He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“Not rising to the bait then, I see.” She smacked her lips together, and then shrunk back into the loudly protesting chair. “Alright then, tell me what happened to your lover-boy. Don’t see a point in putting it off any longer. And if you don’t eat, I won’t help you.”

He shot her an incredulous look, but she only waved her hand toward the other bowl and gave him a reproving scowl. So he sat and spooned soup into his mouth as he tried to figure out where to start. The story was a simple one, but he knew it had already ended.

“Abel and I were going to the mainland to restock on supplies and…” He swallowed thickly, remembering Abel teasing him with flowers. “And it was our first day off in a few weeks. We were just trying to enjoy some time away from everything. He was ahead of me when he saw the… The Kelpie in the water.”

Coda closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sound of Abel’s screaming over the thunder that had come with no lightning and no clouds. His voice cracked when he spoke again. “It looked like any other horse in the water. It was white and thrashing against the waves, drowning. Abel didn’t consider why it was out there. He grabbed its mane and it dragged him under. He came up and I caught him but he must’ve known.” He only lifted his arm, the once white bandages stuck painfully with newly dried blood.

She was silent for a long while, her face expressionless as he emptied his bowl. He stared into the fire that lit the entire room, running over what he could have possibly done differently.

“You are saying that your lover-boy was trying to save the Kelpie from drowning when he was dragged under? He wasn’t trying to steal the horse or capture a fair maid or handsome stable boy? Just trying to save a drowning horse?” The way she stared at him, unblinking, made him shift in his seat. He didn’t look away when he answered, though.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He did nothing to deserve the fate he reaped. And now, he’s dead. Gone. There is no sign of him in the sea that I can find.”

Her somber mood lifted quickly. Her snorting laughter mocked his grief, and he recalled that she had thus far only called it “tantrums.” He backed away abruptly, his anger returning. Her laughter stopped, but the look she shot him from under her raised eyebrows was smug.

“You presume to have searched the entire sea for your friend with only one sweep of magic, do you?”

His cheeks burned red, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t explain to this stranger that he and Abel had been connected from the moment the other man’s egg had appeared in the North, his magic calling out to Coda by name and warmth and familiarity before he’d even let out his first squalls. Instead, he said simply, “I would have known if he was still in the sea where he’d been taken.” “And what of his dragon?”

Coda frowned. There weren’t many explanations for why Abel’s dragon hadn’t returned, or why he’d not felt her presence in the water. The only one that he could find matched his theory exactly. “Dragons die with their Dragonlords. Just as Dragonlords die with their dragons. One cannot live without the other.”

“Sounds rather foolishly designed, but I see that the truth is unavoidable at this point. Your friend is quite truly dead.” She nodded resolutely, her hands wrapped around a tea that he had not seen prepared or poured. There was another cup in front of him, steaming and sweet smelling. Diana turned her wide eyes on him and nodded again, as if officially deciding on something. “Good. That means he’s moved to the Otherworld.”

Coda coughed, a stone settling into his chest. “Good? What on earth did you call me back here for? To gloat?” He wanted to sound furious, or at least exasperated, but all he managed was hurt.

“I called you back here, Coda Scàth, to help you. You can accept it, and possibly see your friend again, or you can continue to gape like a fool and not. That choice is entirely up to you.” His mouth snapped shut, but he didn’t dare pick up his cup again. His hand shook at his side, his mind spinning with confusion. “How do you plan to help if he’s dead? What do you plan to do if he’s already in the Otherworld?”

“You have been raised with the knowledge that no one returns from the Otherworld. And wisely so.” She looked down into her cup and the chair gave a loud and worrying creak as she stood slowly. “Every life has a price, and if you will do me a favor, I will do you one in return. I will pay the price of your friend.”

He tilted his head, wondering if he had heard her correctly. She only stared back at him expectantly, mouth set in a thin, grim line. The silence stretched on for minutes, until it became clear that she would not expand on the favor or her terms.

He had just let his eyes droop, curling into the comfort and heat of Niac, when the sun peaked over the horizon. He jumped to attention, covered in dew and freezing in the cold morning air. Niac rolled in her cramped quarters, a deep noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter sending tremors through the ground at his feet.

He grumbled and glared at her until he felt smoke as hot as fire rolling over his furs and jackets, heat seeping into his bones. His hair ruffled in the dragonsmoke, and he chuckled along with her. By the time he met up with this woman, he’d look a mess. Twigs and dirt clung to his clothes and supplies, his hair stuck up in all directions, his cheeks red with the chill in the air. He shook his head and grabbed his compass, leaping onto Niac’s back just as something thudded in the tree behind him.

He started, eyes flitting around the impression their bodies had made in the soft grass and wilted leaves. An arrow was embedded deep into the tree, black sap already seeping from the shaft. He followed the direction of flight to find an old woman standing in the open. Leathery skin and dull clothing blended into her surroundings even as she walked towards him. She held a crossbow in front of her, a predatory gleam in her eyes as she marched right up to him.

She hadn’t shot at him again, though. And he was certain that if she’d meant to kill right off, she wouldn’t have missed.

The compass in his pocket was buzzing powerfully, nearly jumping against his leg. He sent silent, deliberate threads of magic to calm its frantic alerts. His eyes never left the strange woman’s face as he signaled for Niac to move behind him. When he spoke, his voice was more broken than he’d hoped by the nights on the ground and the fear of her weapon waved in his face.

“Are you Diana, ambassador of Ròn Ghlas Mòr?” The woman stiffened at his question, but did not speak. Her eyes, glittering like broken sea-glass, narrowed at him, sharp even in her age. He kneeled onto a knee, taking a deep breath to calm his quaking nerves. “I am Coda Scàth of the Northern Dragonlords. I have come to ask a great favor of you.”

“How fitting a name for you, who move about in secret in my woods with weapons and armor. Tell me if you intend to allow me to refuse this favor, or if you will take regardless?” Her voice was deep and smooth, her crossbow unwavering as it pointed at his chest. Her eyes lit with sunlight when she caught sight of his left arm hanging unused at his side.

“I know you aren’t fond of Dragonlords, but I assure you that whatever your quarrel, I come here purely for self-interest.” He did not move or gasp as a pain like a thin wire curled tightly up his severed arm, twisting and burning like a hot iron had wound itself into his veins. “I will accept whatever answer you give me, though I implore you not to make your judgment too hastily.” He felt the blood leave his cheeks, the agony spreading across his shoulder. He attempted to keep his balance, but swayed when the burning sensation coiled through his chest.

“Whatever your intention, it must be of a great importance to you, to endure so.” She finally lowered the crossbow, and beckoned to his growling dragon behind him.

He moved to follow her, but stumbled back to his knees until Niac supported him with her large head under his arm.

They didn’t walk long. He wondered if the Chief knew how powerful Diana’s magic was, and if he’d considered what it meant to have her as an enemy. They had only walked a short distance when he was suddenly faced with a door that emerged from the smooth, water worn stone. When he glanced back to where they’d come from, he was surprised to see that the trees were far in the distance, barely discernable from the gray edge of the coast.

Niac watched him with worry as he pushed off from her, hobbling through the door as the last tendrils of discomfort receded back to the tip of his arm. She couldn’t have entered if she’d wanted to. Her wings and shoulders would not have fit through the door, and once inside, she’d have taken up the entirety of the small home.

Everything was warm and golden brown. A smooth stone table, littered with field flowers and bundles of herbs, sat in the center of the room. Diana wasted no time in sitting back down. Wrinkled fingers moved deftly to entwine flowers and medicine and calming leaves, and he wondered briefly if he’d been forgotten. He had opened his mouth to re-address his request when she spoke ahead of him.

“You have come to ask me to save someone from the Kelpie, or else to restore your hand,” she sounded tired and well-versed in this conversation. It made Coda shift on his feet. “Your friend is dead and your hand is gone. Just feel lucky you didn’t join him. Now get back on your dragon and go home. Don’t come back.” She didn’t even look at him, but her door swung open with a forceful thud. Niac peered in curiously, until he shook his head at her.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself, facing Diana with as much strength as he could muster. “Clearly you are powerful, and you know a great deal more about the Kelpies than I.” He closed his eyes, trying to will his eyes not to water. He didn’t have much success. “I’ve been told that if I want to save someone from the Kelpies, you are the only one who knows how. I don’t care about my hand.”

She still didn’t look at him, and her door thumped impatiently against the wall.

“I lost a friend to what we believe was a Kelpie just two days ago. He did this,” Coda lifted his arm, “to save me.” His face had paled several shades as a sharp stab of pain shot through him. The tip of the once pristine bandages were tinged pink and red. He shuddered at the satisfied look that Diana cast in his direction.

“So then your friend was quite aware of what a Kelpie was. He knew of the consequences when he approached the beast, even if he was too enamored to use that knowledge.” She continued weaving the herbs, a note of aggravated smugness to her words.

“Enamored? Abel did not approach the Kelpie with any foreknowledge. He thought he was helping, until he was dragged under. I’d tried to save him, but…” He faltered, the flash of bright blue eyes and a panicked scream echoing brightly from his memories.

“Oh, I’m sure he had no idea. He thought the poor animal had been abandoned, or that the girl needed a warm soldier’s hand. He likely thought the poor creature was lonely, right?” This time she did look at him, eyes glittering and dark. “It has been the same story for centuries when men come knocking on my door. They swear to me that it was no fault of their own that the Kelpie ensnared their companions. They reassure with vehemence that it was a mistake and they should have to pay no consequences. The Kelpie hunted, and your friend fell in their trap. Feel lucky you escaped with your life and go home.”

“I know what you saw,” the Chief snapped at him, the anger fading as suddenly as it came. “Do not believe everything you see and everything you feel on this journey, Coda. There is hope for Abel, but it lies in a woman we have not spoken to in many years.”

“How do you know she will help us?” The question was hasty and unwise, but Sgith merely cast Coda a pained look.

“There is no guarantee she will. She could easily turn us away, or hunt us as others do. She was not fond of us at the best of times, and without contact, may only have grown more hostile.”

Coda sat quietly for a few minutes before he asked anything else. When he did, he kept his voice even and his eyes cast onto the tile. “Chief Sgith, you said that Abel knew the story of the kelpie. Why would he fall for their tricks?”

“The power of the Kelpie lies in their ability to lure in and trick their victims. They know where every weakness lies, and which strengths to use against their prey. Abel could no more have ignored a dying horse than he could have allowed you to be drawn into the water with him.” The Chief stood abruptly, hands tucked at his front. “You will be given a compass and Diana’s address tomorrow morning. Tonight you must sleep and heal. Go back to the hospital. I will call ahead and tell them that I have special instruction for you to be healed as quickly and thoroughly as possible.” There was a beat of silence, Chief Sgith pausing in the doorway. “You must not tell anyone the nature of your trip. As far as they know, you are merely going to find Abel’s body, and there is no hope he will be back.”

Coda nodded, but the Chief did not look back to see.

That night, as he lay awake with beeping machines and the soft hum of healing in his arm, he wondered how easy it would be for the kelpie to capture him. All it would take would be a glance of Abel, and he’d shoot off into the water without a second thought. He would fail, and Abel would be gone forever. He did not sleep, despite the exhaustion gnawing at his bones.

The next morning he was met by a stranger who dropped off the compass and the paper, a long address written in looping, gold letters. The girl was silent as she led him to his dragon, gesturing towards the packs tied over the saddle and hanging heavily to the scaly side. He did not hear the girl speak until he had managed to climb onto Niac, the poor dragon letting out an annoyed grunt at the extra weight.

“Coda, may you be given all the blessings of the Isle, that you may return triumphant and well before the sun rests in the water.” She offered him a smile, a warm hand placed against his knee. He felt the blessing brush over his skin, leaving the feel of home in its wake.

He took a deep breath and nodded to her. Niac spread her wings, her left arm moving again as she pushed from the earth and caught the strong winds pulling them higher. Coda leaned into her neck, taking in the smell of fire and stone and Old magic rising off of her scales. It was a comfort he had not allowed himself since he’d collapsed in town, and Niac nipped lovingly in his direction. A bit of worry that had knotted between them loosened, and he lay his head in the dip of her shoulders.

The compass circled occasionally to tell him when to turn and when to fly ahead, the paper with the unknown woman’s address burning slowly in the compartment under the arrow. It would be nearly nightfall before they’d found her home, and most likely morning before Coda was prepared to speak with her. He allowed himself to sleep in the comfort and security of his dragon’s back while they still passed the thin wisps of clouds in the gray morning.

He awoke just as they broke the cloud barrier, coming near to the water with too much speed and force. He pulled up with a scream and sharp tug on Niac’s neck. She only grunted at him in annoyance, wings spread to catch the calmer breeze. They slowed above the water, the surface reflecting his dark, windswept hair and red cheeks with a muddy hue. Storms had stirred the waters in the night and the waves still stretched to lick the heels of his boots. He shuddered, remembering all too clearly the way that Abel had been so small in the valley of the water.

The compass led them with few turns, a nearly straight path to a slick, rocky shore. The sun had fallen below the horizon hours ago, sometime before Coda’s thighs had gone numb with cold and exertion. Niac did not hesitate to scurry to the tree line and breathe heat onto the ground, slipping easily and quickly into sleep.

Coda was not so easily rested. He waited, watching and listening for the sound of cracked twigs or rustled leaves. He caught the crash and gurgle of water on the shore, coming and going in rhythm to Niac’s soft snores. He had called the Chief with no answer, and left a long message for his mother to explain where he was. He peered around the trees and studied the compass, eyeing the humming arrow with frazzled nerves. She was somewhere near enough that the compass thrummed impatiently every hour or so, the arrow pointing resolutely to the east.

“Niac, you great rumbly thing. You’ll draw attention.” He murmured against her, laying his head against her warm scales. “I’m sure there’s someone living around here. I hear she’s not too fond of us.”

Coda sat with his legs dangling over the hospital bed. Nothing was making sense. The nurses didn’t stop him when he stood, wobbling on his legs, head spinning as he stumbled forward. He was sure that he had been treated with calming spells and pain numbing medicine, but the effect now was just nausea. He ran despite the vertigo, limbs moving in a clunky, jerky rhythm until he caught sight of dark hair in rippling waves turning a corner.

“Chief!” His throat constricted, his mouth dry, the call a raspy whisper in the quiet hallway.

He heard, and stopped mid-step to turn and stare with a set jaw and clenched fists. The flash of anger stalled Coda’s pursuit for only a moment, but he pushed on until he fell at the Chief’s feet. His knees hit the ground with dull thuds, the pain dimmed by whatever magic kept his arm’s pain at bay.

“I offer you my deepest condolences. The shame of Abel’s loss is placed squarely on my shoulders.” He bowed until his dark hair brushed the white tiles, breath coming in ragged pulls. “I will do whatever you ask to make it right.”

This time the hand on his shoulder was gentle. He dared not look up, choosing instead to stare at the drip of tears from his nose.

“Coda, there is nothing to make right such a great loss. I know it is a grief we share, and for that I am grateful for the company. My son was very fond of you.” The comfort was like knives in his gut, twisting the loss already turning sour in his belly. “I will meet with the Council and see if they believe there is anything to be done.”

Coda’s confusion was brief. He was pulled up by his good hand and dragged through the hallways, until he was seated in the council room. The Chief was speaking in low, soft tones on the phone, magic pulsing through the room. Coda recognized the pulse as one Abel had often used for privacy, the magic similar in texture as it brushed against his skin. Before he could decipher the urgent whispers there was a thrum of foreign magic filling the entry way. He counted four before his tired mind could no longer distinguish between the currents clashing together.

There was a loud clatter outside the door as the magic giving the Chief privacy faltered. All at once the room filled with men and women, their expressions carefully constructed into apathy.

“We do not have time for dallying over pleasantries.” Chief Sgith spoke over the room still buzzing with magic, eyes looking coolly around the shifting leaders. “Abel has disappeared beside the mainland, taken by a Kelpie of some power.”

None of the council members spoke, each expression impassive as they waited for further explanation. Coda glanced between the Chief and the others, giving an undignified snort at the lack of reaction the news had brought. The Chief said nothing to him, but continued with their discussion.

“This boy was with him when he disappeared. Although Coda was unaware of the nature of the creature, Abel is well versed of the legends. When the Kelpie attempted to take hold of both of them, Abel was forced to take drastic measures to ensure Coda was able to escape.” Coda felt his face pale, and curious eyes turned towards him. “Coda, show them your arm.”

He lifted the bandaged mess at his left, grimacing as the magic began to wear off. Pain shot up his forearm as he held it so that the others could see. A murmur spread among the leaders. Coda’s stomach churned as he watched them glance to each other with something akin to relief on their features. Anger bubbled through his veins, but he bit his tongue as the Chief spoke again. Either he was unaware of the looks passing around the table, or he did not care.

“There is still hope that Abel may have survived the drowning, but he won’t survive much longer if he has. I am asking for your support in sending out a search party of rescuers equipped to take on the Kelpies and their magic, so that at least Abel’s body can be buried beside the others of his line.”

This, at least, made the others shift uncomfortably in their seats. It would be unheard of to deny the Chief’s son a proper burial. Abel had done nothing dishonorable or wrong in life or death to warrant their refusal. To deny the request of the Chief would be an open show of hostility. As he watched the group grow collectively more anxious, he wondered how they would justify it. He waited until one of them opened their mouth to offer their excuse before he spoke over them.

“Chief Sgith, I would not be so much a coward to refuse my service in the search for Abel.” He was surprised to hear his voice ring loud and clear in the room, speaking over a growing mumbling. “It is my shame that he was left behind and I survived. Allow me to repay my debt to your family by bringing him back, if he can be found.” His breath caught over the if, his head swimming.

“Don’t be ridiculous boy. You’ve not been trained to deal with Kelpies. They’ve already managed to steal your arm.” Coda did not see who spoke. He only heard their incredulous squeaking over the rumble of whispers bouncing around the room.

“My arm was not stolen by Kelpies,” he sneered, standing abruptly. He immediately swayed, biting back bile as it bubbled up his throat. “It was cut off by my boyfriend in an act of selflessness that cowards such as you would not understand in a thousand years.”

The group shrunk against their seats, the murmurs dying in the wake of his anger.

“Coda, it is clear this matter is important to you. Are there any other offers of service?” Chief Sgith’s back was rigid as he studied the faces of each man and woman seated at the table. Their unanimous rejection was obvious in the way they turned their heads, suddenly interested in their hands and robes. “As well as it should be. I would not trust any of you with my son’s life in any case.” The chief turned away, and within seconds the room was empty.

Coda’s shoulders sagged into the chair when he sat back down. His legs had been shaking during his tirade, barely held up by the strength of his anger, and now his bones felt as though they had melted hours ago. He wondered if the Chief was going to tell him his journey was hopeless. He wondered if he was going to look for a body, floating with blue hair and bloated skin, between the islands.

His fear and exhaustion must have shown on his face. Chief Sgith gave him a kind smile and waved a hand around the room. The pulse of magic started again, reminding Coda that this was Abel’s guardian as the magic rippled in familiar waves over his skin. He merely raised an eyebrow in hopes that the Chief would explain this sudden need for privacy. He was not disappointed.

“As you can see, the other leaders will not be of any use. No doubt they are grateful that Abel has been removed before he could fulfill his unfortunate end.” The Chief shrugged, a lifetime of bonding and love having removed the fear of Abel long ago.

Coda chewed his lip, looking into the expectant face that was so similar to Abel’s. “You don’t think one of them could have set up what happened, do you?”

To his surprise, the answer came quickly, without any hesitation.

“The Kelpie are too powerful to be controlled by our magic, or any means they disagree with. Kelpie are crafty, cunning creatures. In the past, they hunted our kin extensively.” The magic grew stronger, nearly tangible in the air around them, as the Chief sat beside Coda, fingers tapping restlessly against the chair. After a few moments of heavy silence, Chief Sgith let out a sigh. “There is hope for Abel, if you hurry.” The words were strung together like fine thread, whispered so softly that they fell apart at Coda’s ears and disintegrated before he understood.

“I’m sorry… I saw him dragged into the water. He’s drowned by now, no matter what’s got him.” Coda frowned, rubbing at his eyes.

A glimmer of white on the dark turn of a wave.

The desperate whinny of a horse thrashing in the water.

The sound of thunder rolling on a cloudless sky.

Abel, disappearing in the waves, blue hair bobbing under as he grabbed the horse’s mane. Coda couldn’t reach, couldn’t grasp more than the thin fibers of his shirt to save him.

Abel, bursting from the water with his mouth gaping open, horror lighting his eyes. His warning screams, even as Coda’s fingers finally closed around the scruff of his shirt. The sharp pain in his arm he’d not understood. The apology bubbling up on the crest of a wave as he watched Abel disappear below the darkness in the sea.

Coda jerked awake with pain like fire on his arm, Abel’s name bursting from his lips before he could calm himself. His dragon shifted beneath him, worry and pain forcing her wings to beat faster in the cool night air. Her left arm hung limply at her side, undamaged but still unusable. He did not look at the throbbing stump of his arm, did not recall the knife swung desperately at the skin. He refused to remember the fierce determination emerging from the fear in Abel’s blue eyes.

He could see the shapes of his village through the clouds, stone and moss silhouetted against frosty mists. He ignored the way the gathering dew stung his arm, leaning forward to spur Niac towards the mountains. He could reach the Chief before nightfall, and with any luck, they’d have the other leaders gathered before the sun burned away the midnight mist.

It wasn’t until Niac landed and he stumbled from her warm back that he realized his problem. His vision blurred. Pain flared up and licked at the edge of his consciousness at the sudden jostling of his arm. He’d managed to make his way to the town square, leaning heavily on his dragon, before he fell forward into the cool grass. Curious eyes caught sight of the jagged, fingerless edge of his arm, and as his world faded he heard the eruption of nervous, quick babble.

He was vaguely aware of sirens and being lifted onto something soft before everything went dark and silent. The next time he opened his eyes, it was to blinding lights and a blur of white and cool blue. A tingling pressure replaced the agony at the end of his arm, warm and gentle up to his shoulder. A haze of sleep and the remnants of a shapeless nightmare left the stain of wide blue eyes behind his lids. A series of beeps and a whimper passed before a nurse was at his side, lips thinned and eyes scrutinizing.

She said something, but he was too busy trying to make sense of the memories coming back to him in horrific spurts to hear what it was. He twisted in his bed, untangling blankets from his legs and sitting up fast enough to make his head spin.

It wasn’t until a firm hand pressed back on his shoulder, familiar blue staring down at him from crow’s feet and weathered cheeks, that he calmed.

“Coda.” The voice was stern and authoritative, forcing away the last bits of panic that clung to the fog of medicine and magic in his mind. “Coda, I haven’t heard from Abel since the two of you left yesterday. Is he alive? Is he safe?”

The Chief’s attempts to remain calm were thin at best, and Coda’s worry seeped more deeply into him. He did not look at the bandages to his left, tried to breathe evenly through his nose. The nurse glared daggers at the back of the Chief’s head, but didn’t dare say anything. The longer he took to answer the tighter the grip on his shoulder became.

“No,” Coda said, the confession breathy and broken. He wasn’t sure how he was going to tell them what happened if he couldn’t speak through the knots in his throat. “He—We were flying over to the mainland and he saw a horse in the water.”

Already the Chief’s face turned white, hand sliding off Coda’s arm as they took a step back.

“The horse was drowning, and Abel just swooped down to grab it when he disappeared into the water.” Coda couldn’t help his gaze lowering to the place where Abel’s knife had cut so easily through meat and blood and bone. “I’d tried to save him, but he was shouting at me to go. He—”

“Cut off your hand the moment you grabbed him.” The Chief, unlike Coda, did not seem perplexed by this in the slightest. Instead, his expression was one of grim acceptance. “And you were able to fly away. Tell me, what became of Abel’s dragon?”

“I… I don’t know. I was so panicked and when I looked around again, they were just… gone.” Coda closed his eyes, trying in vain to remember if there had been scales and claws sinking below the water. “Surely Nepoer would have been strong enough to pull him away?” But if she had not drowned with Abel, then where had she gone?