evangeline @piastreline - Tumblr Blog

Jun 23

outpace the dawn- op81

𓆰 op81 httyd au || expansion of @tsunodaradio’s universe

𓆰 dragonrider!oscar x russell!reader. wc: just under 17k.

𓆰 music for this fic: de shelby part 2, first light, would that i, hozier. essentially just listen to hozier and you’re good to go. also, pool (stripped) by samia. adding these as I go: futile devices, sufjan Stevens.

𓆰 content warnings: angst, arguing, fighting, injury, dragons, outcast, exile, she/her pronouns used. happy ending? who knows. buckle up. !! not proof read !!

𓆰 notes from evie: hi my lovelies! this is essentially my first true fantasy debut, hope you enjoy. i really deeply love httyd, and i always have. kaes fic 'like all fire' meant so much to me, i hope do their universe justice. to everyone reading this who dreamed to live in berk and ride dragons, i see you. we were all born in the wrong universe, trust me. love you, hope this is a fun read! sorry in advance for the trauma. my masterlist

“i wanna run against the world that’s turning. i’d move so fast id outpace the dawn.”

“i wanna be gone.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

PART I

When George had asked you, “Come with me?”, it had been another one of his questions that were barely questions. It was phrased like a question, sure. But it was said in the same tone as a statement, a demand. A truth.

He always asked questions like that. Maybe it was to avoid confrontation. Maybe it was because he knew he was right, in that way all older brothers assumed you didn’t understand things he asked about.

Normally, it was fine. Normally, he was right.

But this time, you wished it wasn’t even phrased as a question, because your stomach ached when you had to say no.

Your other brother was too young to stay here alone. Too young to be put under your care.

So George left with him, and all his notes and knowledge, and your heart, bundled into his arms.

He could never forgive you for choosing a life with dragons over him.

You could never forgive him for trying to tear you away from the only thing that had excited you since you lost your parents.

You were both unforgivable.

So he was gone, past the Valley of Bones, across from Berk. Gone somewhere with a name that felt heavy and ugly and foreign on your tongue. Gone to a place of hatred and darkness.

You couldn’t grasp why he had to leave so badly. Why he couldn’t stand that his words weren’t enough, that the people of Formulae had chosen the beliefs of a different man. Why Chief Hamilton had somehow, in some way, broken his spirit.

Maybe that was worse than a broken heart.

You didn’t know how it could be worse than a broken family, though.

Still, you were resilient. You got over it, the only way you knew how. Through hating him, cursing him. Every waking moment, you resented him.

You weren’t the only one. Many on the Isle cursed your brother. The first traitor in a long time.

And so, they hated you too.

They did not commend you for your loyalty. They did not smile gratefully at your sacrifice. No one gave a shit that you had chosen the godforsaken Isle of Formulae over your own brother.

No, the Russell name instead made you something to be wary of. They looked at you in the same fearful way they used to stare at dragons.

You had never been traitorous, but they still viewed you a traitor. You had never contemplated treason, but each time you got too close to Lewis, you were treasonous.

You’re not sure when you became an outcast, but it happened.

You found solace with Alex, and Lando. They still instinctively smiled at the mention of George’s name. Unfortunately, Lando had found himself a boy, no less loyal than a puppy. You wouldn’t call him a sidekick, he was too interesting for that. Too intelligent, too brave.

Maybe too beautiful.

Oscar Piastri had not known George in the way the other men had. George had been a mentor, a sibling to him just as much as to you. But Oscar distrusted him, in a way no one else had. Like, in his lessons, he saw through the facade of faith for Formulae.

You’re not sure when Oscar Piastri developed an animosity towards you, but it happened.

So you decided that you could've act like that too. You could never hate Formulae, and you could only hate George from afar. But Oscar? He was right here. So you could hate him, so much. So deeply, so truly. You hate him because he hates you. You hate him because you hate George.

You can only assume it came from the betrayal. Why you had become the scapegoat for the anger of your people, you didn’t know. But that was life for you now, so you accepted it.

At first, you tried the very hardest to be good enough. To prove to everyone you were so much more than what they believed.

You showed up to every practice, every possible opportunity to train. To learn.

George would’ve been teaching you, if fate had allowed. It would’ve been you, and Lando, and Oscar. All in that arena-type contraption, learning how to tame to dragons. How to nurse them.

Instead, Alex was your teacher. He was quick, and clever, and had an answer for your question before you even asked it.

You were the best of the three. Oscar was diligent. Lando was passionate. They just weren’t as good as you.

The promise you showed was immense. Your potential, unmatched.

But soon, the stares and whispers became too heavy. Too much for you.

You hated how you no longer loved your home. You hated that you now knew how he had felt.

So you slunk off.

Solitude became your new home, your new Isle. No land, and no citizens. Just you, and the air, and the ground beneath your feet.

Freedom was bittersweet, it seemed.

By the time you were due to begin joining them on missions, in search of dragons in need, you had become so absent you’d been disregarded.

Some days you came home, most days you didn’t.

“Where have you been?” Lando asks casually, his fingers fondling his pen absent-mindedly.

You shrug, offering an unsatisfying answer.

He scoffs.

“You’re not helping your reputation around here, y’know?”

You bristle, and have to catch your words before they leave your throat.

“I don’t give a shit what they think about me. They’re wrong.”

He nods. “They are. So why are you hiding?”

You pause. You don’t know how to reply to that.

Oscar decides to do it for you.

“‘Cause she thinks she’s too good for us, isn’t that obvious? She proved she could whoop our asses, and then disappeared.” he accuses, his tone simply cruel.

You straighten up, and smile at him politely.

“Piastri. Nice to see you still hate me for absolutely no reason.”

He folds his arms.

“I don’t hate you. I just dislike you.” he corrects, his voice steady.

That stings more, but you don’t let it show.

“Fair enough. Shame I can’t say the same.”

Lando blinks up at you, confused.

“I’m normally all for confessions. I think they're great. But you’re definitely about to get rejected here, and I’m painfully bad at dealing with the awkwardness. Could you maybe do this later?” he asks hurriedly, and you just shake your head at him.

“I was just going to say that I don’t dislike you. I'm above that petty shit. I hate you, 'cause I'm no coward. Just thought you should know that.” you finish, offering him a warm grin.

It feels like a monumental victory when a look of disbelief passes his normally empty face.

“Anyway, Lando. Your girlfriend is locked in the cell again. Lewis has given up sending Alex to watch her, because she gets out every time. He was actually about to ask me to do it, and then he remembered who my brother was. Should’ve seen the look on his face, priceless. So you’re on watch duty.” you explain, a laugh bubbling from your throat with incredulity. You pretend you don’t see his eyes soften slightly around the edges at your words.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” he huffs under his breath, but it’s not truly a contest.

Instead, sketchbook in hand, he hurries off, leaving you alone with your least favourite dragon rider on all of Formulae.

“You missed another mission today.”

You just nod.

“No one asked me to come.” you reply casually, looking down so he can’t see the gleam in your eyes. You knew what was coming next. He’d throw his arms out, exasperated, and shout. Well, shout by his standards. He just talks a little louder, a little sterner. Like telling off a toddler.

“You weren’t here to ask!” he exclaims, and you laugh slightly as he acts so painfully predictable.

“It’s not like you’d even want me there, huh?” you ask, your voice low. Slightly daring.

He sighs. “You know I love dragons. You know I’ll always put them first. You’re the person most skilled at handling dragons I’ve probably ever seen. Lando, sure, he knows a lot. But he’s clumsy. He’s unfocused. He’s probably flirting with her right now. But you? I’ve seen you. You can be ruthless. Perfect execution. Training with you was, in some ways, an honour.”

That takes you aback.

It’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to you, at least that you can remember.

And you certainly didn’t expect that from Oscar fucking Piastri. So much for painfully predictable.

“Thank you.” you swallow awkwardly.

The silence is uncomfortable, like it so often is. When your anger is dulled, when he doesn’t look like he wants to watch a dragon rip your arm off, you struggle to co-exist.

You’ve learnt that hatred is an easy emotion. It goes hand in hand with anger. That keeps you walking, keeps your heart beating. It helps disguise anything else, especially awkwardness. It’s a lot more comfortable than the complications of kindness.

So now, you curse Oscar for being nice, and you can hate him again, for messing with your head.

You turn to leave, your boot making a satisfying crunching sound on the gravel, but he coughs expectantly.

“We’re leaving at dawn tomorrow. Will I see you?”

You don’t turn around.

“No.”

You hear him curse under his breath, and it makes you hesitate. You consider telling him about your nightmares. How you see George, every night. Wielding an axe, and it looks so alien in his hands. Watching dragon blood on his tunic. Watching him exist without you, and there’s no remorse etched on his face.

He always throws it. He sees you, and he throws it, square at your chest. You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t recognise you. You don’t let yourself think of anything else. When the blade hits you, you wake up. So that’s why you don’t go on missions. You don’t go past the Valley of Bones, across Berk. You can’t.

But when you turn, to tell Oscar this, that look of disdain plagues his face.

So you just shrug, and you’re gone, like always.

Dawn comes, and goes. You don’t fight it. Instead, you saunter back to the Isle around midday.

Alex stands tall, engaged in conversation with Lily. You hear them muttering about inaccuracies and generalisations of boulder-type dragons, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.

“Am I interrupting?” you announce loudly, coyly, and Lily gives you a warm smile.

“Not at all. I have a class soon anyway, I should be going. Thanks for the help, Alex.” she replies quickly, nodding as she departs. You raise an eyebrow at him when he turns to you.

He shrugs, before rolling out maps and scrolls with barely legible handwriting.

“They’re coming closer. They’re pushing it now. Oscar’s gone to try and sort out some Dramillion’s. Clearly, one of them had a go at them and only got their tails. That’s what they found on re-con yesterday, not that you’d know.” he mutters, and you pause. You don’t ask who they are. You don’t need to.

You’d only met the girl, and George, obviously. You heard about the others. You were a little terrified of Max, frankly. Vicious, ruthless. Everything your Chief couldn’t be.

Yuki was apparently just rather angry. And it turns out, being angry sure helped fuel motivation to murder dragons.

You’d be a good hunter, you think. You have a lot of rage.

You replay Alex’s words in your head, and you furrow your eyebrows.

“What do you mean, Oscar? What about Lando?”

Alex sighs.

“Oscar was convinced he was with you, and he’d catch up. I wasn’t so sure. Guess I was right.”

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oscar’s gone alone? We never go alone.”

Alex gives you a disappointed look.

“It’s not ‘we’, is it? You’re never here. So yeah, he went alone. It’s Oscar, of course he did.”

“Fuckin’ righteous dragon-hugger.” you curse quietly under your breath. You scan the map, and point at a small red circle. Alex nods wordlessly, and that's all you need.

You fly through the cobbled paths of the Isle of Formulae, and to the dragon pen.

You didn’t have a true dragon, not yet. You’d tamed many, respected by all. But you didn’t quite have one that felt like a different half.

Still, you had your favourite. A Deadly Nadder, you’d affectionately named Addie. Not particularly effective, and not all that scary, but it worked.

You whistle to her as you enter, and grab a sword from the side of the wall before clambering onto her.

Flying was still just as exhilarating as it was when you’d first done it, merely hovering over the field on the clifftop. Now, you’re soaring over the open sea, and you’re still just as nervous, just as excited.

The island, if you could even call it that, was so tiny you almost missed it. It was some way off the north coast, but was somewhat recognisable from the random stacks and stumps scattered around it.

Dramillions had been there for as long as you could remember, writhing through the trees. You’d been so fascinated by them, when they’d first mimicked the bizarre attack of Albon’s Timberjack. The sparks and embers had been identical, and it had made you fall in love with the mystery of dragons a little bit more.

You swoop down, and that’s when you see Oscar’s Monstrous Nightmare amongst the timber.

You jump down from Addie, giving her an affectionate pat on the head, and you run into the forest, trying to hear any sound of Piastri.

There’s a gentle curse, and the sound of a shriek, and you dart forward.

When you make it into the clearing, you see Oscar carefully bandaging the tail of one of the dragons. It looked a lot like an adult, but much larger, so you made the assumption it was a Titan Wing.

“I’ve never seen one of those before.” you whisper quietly, admiring it.

A blade whistles past your head, straight into the trunk of the tree behind you.

You laugh, incredulously. “Should I take that personally, Piastri?”

He looks up now, confusion etched on his strained face.

“What are you doing here?” he huffs, and he winces slightly as he yanks the fabric tighter, knotting it into place.

You walk towards him carefully, taking a loop of bandage beside him and turning to the other dragon.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be going alone.” you murmur, turned away from him, and you hear him sigh.

“I wasn’t meant to be. Lando said he’d be there. I thought maybe he was trying to convince you to come, but-”

You shake your head.

“No, he wasn’t with me. But you know it’s not safe. What if they’d been here?” you mutter, and you look at him now, accusingly.

“I couldn’t wait, in case they came back to finish them off.” he shrugs, but when you punch him gently in the shoulder, he grimaces.

“Are you hurt?” you ask adamantly, but it doesn’t sound like a question at all. You almost hear his voice leave your throat.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t see this one at first. Camouflage, and all. I essentially got kicked by it, while I was trying to approach that one.” he explains, nodding his head to the dragon writhing beneath you.

You roll your eyes.

“You don’t have to be so stoic all the time. You’re allowed to be in pain, you know. Let me see.” you murmur carefully, and he carefully lifts up the corner of his shirt to show a deep gash.

“You said you got kicked, not clawed.” you curse quietly, and he just chews his lip.

You reach for the moleskin full of water hanging from your belt and pour some onto the bandage in your hand. Carefully, pressing a hand to his chest, you wrap it around his stomach, ignoring his harsh inhales.

You make the mistake of looking down at him, and his brown eyes meet yours. His face is twitching slightly, but he holds his gaze steady. You're closer to him than you've ever been before, and you allow yourself one moment to study him. His moles, his damp hair curling on his forehead.

"You're staring." he bemuses. You just tug tighter in response, your eyes flicking back down to the wound.

He grunts. “That’s quite tight.”

“Shame.” you scowl, pulling his shirt back down hastily.

When you get back to Formulae, you accompany him to the infirmary. Before he can say ‘Thank you’, you’ve already disappeared into the amber evening.

About a week later, you find yourself in a cavern you haven’t seen before, off the coast of a neighbouring island. Scratches on the wall suggest it has an inhabitant, and probably a sharp one.

But you also see traces of parchment, and warm embers. It’s evidently Lando’s handiwork, crazed sketches of dragons you can’t make out.

So, this is where he’d been hiding.

You decide to wait him out, as night falls.

And sure enough, you hear him arriving, a slowly dragging sound. Not the sound you expected.

“Lando Norris. I’d placed a bet you’d got eaten, you’ve never been away so long.” you murmur, enjoying the echo of your voice on the cave walls.

He huffs.

“Very much not eaten.” he replies sheepishly, brandishing his lit torch around.

That’s when you see it, when you understand the dragging.

“Not fully eaten.” you correct, trying to hide the surprise on your face. “Where the fuck is your leg?”

His lips curl upwards.

“It’s a very dramatic, very heroic story. One for the ages. One for another time.” he mutters casually, but you fold your arms.

“You need to get back to the Isle. You can’t be out here, on that thing. At least get to the smithy. Seb can help you make a more efficient leg.” you insist, but he waves you away.

“This is serving me just fine. I have things to do.”

You hum quietly.

“Did she do this?”

His elfish ears prick up, almost like a dragon’s.

“Of course not.”

You drop your head into your hands, exasperated.

“So what aren’t you telling me? Why aren’t you telling me?” you yell, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“I probably won’t be here when you next come back. I let you run away. Let me do the same.” he pleads, gathering his things into a scuffed bag.

You don’t blink.

“Our people hate me. They hate me if I’m there, they hate me if I’m not. I’m a traitor either way. But you, you’re probably sneaking off to see that stupid hunter-girl, and everyone assumes you’re being valiant.”

He scoffs, somewhere between offended and being humoured.

“She’s not stupid.”

“I’m sure she isn’t. That’s not my point, though. And you know it.”

He shrugs, unsure how to reply.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Oscar was relying on you, because he can’t rely on me. You let him down. I had to go save his ass.” you joke quietly, but your words are serious.

Lando snorts, an undignified sound.

“I highly doubt you saved his ass.”

You laugh, bitterly.

“I don’t know, he got a pretty deep claw in his stomach. Doubt it would’ve happened if he had some company.” you explain, looking down at his new peg-leg.

“It gets dangerous, alone.”

He nods gravely, a silent ‘I know.’ But he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let himself wobble. You can see something new in his eyes, between fear and relief.

For the first time since you last saw George, the person in front of you feels more like a traitor than you do.

For the first time ever, you find yourself distrusting Lando Norris.

You leave soon after that. You don’t wish him good luck. Instead, you force him to promise he won't die. You don’t tell him that, if it comes down to it, you’d rather see him dead than beside your brother.

“You haven’t abandoned us, that’s obvious. You went to save Oscar. That is a sign of loyalty. I need you to understand, I would do the same for you, in a heartbeat. Just because I am not here, doesn’t mean I am any less trustworthy. We are both absent, we are both still loyal. I need you to understand.” he murmurs desperately, as you step out from his sanctuary.

“I understand.” you reply quickly. It’s almost fully true, but it’s sharp around the edges.

Maybe you’re being hypocritical.

Maybe you’re just scared to go to sleep that night, and see two axes flying at you instead of one.

When dawn arrives the next morning, you’re there, before Oscar. You lean against Addie, trying to act like you’re not nervous.

“You’re here.” he calls, surprise evident from his tone.

“I am. You alright?” you reply back, eyes closed.

The wind blows wisps of your hair around, and you can feel them settling uncomfortably on your face.

“I’m better.”

He falls silent.

“We’re meant to be checking on that Windwalker’s nest Lando and I found last week, but I’m not sure I want to do that anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“It’s just, it’s Lando. He hasn’t even left some shitty note with a caricature of us on it.” he huffs awkwardly, and you smirk slightly.

“You haven't seen him, have you?”

Your body betrays you instantly, the way you twitch and your breath tightens.

But you just open your eyes and stare at him. “He’ll be back.” you reply reassuringly, knowingly.

Oscar curses at you, in shock.

“You’ve spoken to him, and you didn’t say anything. Is that why you’re here? What are you playing at?” he asks furiously, and you throw your arms up in mock innocence.

“Relax, Piastri. I just bumped into him yesterday. I was here, to tell you that. And to tell you to stop going out alone, unless you want to keep racking up the injuries. Because I have something I need to do, so I’m going to be out of action for a while.” you explain casually, and he groans.

“You’re always out of action. That means shit to me. Also, that was one time. I’ve never been hurt before.” he argues, but you raise an eyebrow.

“I didn’t realise you’d gone out alone before.”

That silences him, and you settle for the win.

But then you hear that ugly sound, like nails scraping on a chalkboard. And there is Lando Norris, looking like an unexpected martyr as the sun bathes him in a holy glow.

“Missed me, Oscar? Don’t be jealous that she saw me first. You’re still my favourite.” he coos affectionately, and Oscar clearly has to hold himself back from barrelling into the boy.

And then, he sees it, and he makes an ugly hissing sound.

Lando shrugs. “It looks way worse than it is. You’d be surprised at how much lighter I am. Although, phantom leg is a bitch, seriously. I spent twenty minutes yesterday trying to scratch an ankle I no longer have.” he jokes, but it lands more like a punch than something funny.

Lando Norris had gone from someone invincible to someone who was at a dragon’s mercy, and you watch Oscar swallow as he comes to terms with that.

A risk you were all aware of. A risk you’d never taken so seriously before now.

“You know, if you want, I’ll give Addie my arm. So we can match. Like tattoos but way more extreme.” you offer, and he explodes into a warm laugh. Oscar stares at you gratefully.

“But then what’s left for me? Head is too far, I’d say.” he adds carefully, and you give him a lazy smile.

“You’d do me a favour.”

Lando claps gleefully. “Glad to see nothing’s changed. So, the Windwalker, huh?”

Oscar nods, and begins to explain the plan. He doesn’t notice you mount Addie until you give Lando a weak salute, and you’re up.

Oscar bellows at you in confusion, and you cup your hands to your mouth to reply.

“I told you, I have something I need to do. I meant, like right now. Now Lando’s here, I don’t feel morally obligated to make sure you survive. I’ll see you when I see you.” you call cheerfully, and then you let the sunset consume you as Addie spreads her wings.

Lando gives you a large, exaggerated wave, both his arms flailing dramatically, and Oscar groans.

“I’m never going to understand her.”

Lando shrugs. “You could start by trying. She isn’t George, you know. He hurt us all. Not fair to take it out on her, though.”

“She hates me. Bit late to come back from that now.”

“She only hates you because it’s safer than liking you. What hurts more? Caring, and still being looked at with the disdain you give her? Or, she can just plaster a scowl and let it bounce off. I know what I’d choose.” Lando surmises wisely, and Oscar shakes his head.

“You think you’re more clever than you are. Some people just don’t get along.”

Lando laughs.

"That's true. I’m not going to force you to change your mind, if you think you’re being honest with yourself. But, maybe think about it. You get annoyed that she spends so much time away from us. You think she's a coward for hiding. But you’re hiding behind a cold tone and sharp stares. Does that make you a coward too?”

Lando is up in the air, on his Stormcutter, before Oscar can even begin to formulate a reply.

In some ways, he’s grateful, because has no clue what to say.

‘Past the Valley of Bones, across from Berk. Past the Valley of Bones, across from Berk.’

A mantra that terrifies you, as you follow it blindly. You never thought you’d be coming here. Never thought anything would drag you here. Certainly not curiosity, not suspicion. Maybe only revenge.

You think of Lando's face when you mentioned her. When you accused her of cutting his leg clean off. It was a look of hurt. A look of guilt. You didn’t understand what it meant. You were here to find out.

Their island isn’t dissimilar to yours. But it is darker, uglier. The rocks and coasts seem sharper, the cliffs bleaker. Their banners and streets are not lined with crimson and gold, but with a different kind of red. You can’t help but wonder how they aren’t deeply miserable.

The Isle isn’t alive yet. The sun has barely risen, so you’re still covered by the alibi of sleep.

Still, you knew you didn’t have long. To find her, to find George. To get in, to get out. You weren't going for blood. You were going for answers.

You leave Addie hidden between trees taller than you’d seen before, leave her shielded by branches that could crush you with ease.

By the time you make it to the outskirts of the main village, it seems to be noon. The air is cold, and the sun does nothing behind the thick clouds. It reminds you that winter is settling in, and the people here will be worse off than you have ever known.

Then, you hear it. A bellowing alarm, shrill rings of a bell. For a second, you think it’s you.

Then you see it.

Flames engulf straw-lined roofs. Piercing screams make your ears hurt. Roars of a dragon you can’t even recognise causes your face to pale.

It’s horror. A horror you aren’t accustomed to.

People brush past you desperately, forcefully. You stumble, but don’t fall. A wooden beam collapses above you, and you finally move. Your body carries you away from the burning, from the smoke. The fire.

More restraints crash, causing a blockade against a large door. You hear muffled shouts, and the sound of a young voice crying out.

Without thinking, you run towards it, pulling the wood with as much as much strength as you can muster.

It moves slowly, one painful inch at a time. Your grip falters, and your lungs burn.

Someone comes beside you, pulling on it too, and you work in tandem. Eventually, it tumbles to the floor, and the door opens wide enough for the civilians stuck inside to clamber out.

Small hands appear, and you grab them gently. A child emerges, their tear stricken face making your heart shatter.

You see it in their eyes, fear, and hatred. But their hatred is not aimed at you, it is aimed at the beast above. The beast that would’ve killed them, if they had the chance.

You hoist them carefully to the ground. They mumble something between sobs, probably a message of gratitude.

You can’t stay around. You can’t bear to look anymore. You almost hope to go blind.

A hand finds your shoulder, heavy and sure.

You turn to face the stranger, but they are no stranger at all. Their eyes are the same colour as yours.

You can’t tell if he recognises you. You almost hope he doesn’t.

He looks the same, but older. Wearier.

You knew Lando had seen him. You could tell, because he would be more gentle with you on those evenings. More appreciative. You’d notice him doodling a familiar mop of hair on the corner of his notes.

But those half-hearted drawings could never have prepared you for this.

You dodge from George's touch once he begins to thank you, and you run as fast as you can, as far as you can.

A mixture of salt and smoke chokes you and you wonder if you might die before you make it back to Addie.

As you wipe your eyes viciously, you see a small shrine towards the beginning of the trees.

A grave, it seems. Somewhere between new and old. Mossy, but not cracked.

Your stomach drops when you read your last name. It plummets further when you see the inscription underneath.

‘Here lies our brother, taken from us, in one roaring breath. We curse the dragons. We hope he is resting.’

Our brother. Not yours. He was the brother of George, and George’s people.

Did he even remember you? He never knew you. He had no chance to.

Now, he never would.

Any adrenaline left in your blood has long settled, and exhaustion and grief replaces it.

Your knees give in, and it may seem as though you are praying. But you do not believe in the Gods above. You believe only in the malice of men and the fire of dragons.

An ugly sob rips from your throat, and your chest collapses. You crumple, and you bet death is less painful than whatever this is.

You see Lando, screaming, his leg ripped off. You see that child, thinking they’ll never see dawn again. You see the Russell who raised you, his calloused hands and sad eyes. You see the Russell you never got to help raise. You see him wailing. You see him dying.

You see it all.

You see the fire, feel the burn. It’s a burn you know all too well yet not well enough.

It is the burn of death and anguish and everything evil.

It is the burn of dragons.

Maybe, if you’d joined George, you would’ve been there. You would’ve killed whatever had murdered your brother, instead of kissing it.

Logically, it couldn’t be your fault.

Somehow, it still felt like it was.

Returning to the Isle of Formulae feels like a betrayal like no other, knowing how they’re scrabbling in ashes while your people laugh.

You can understand them, in a way you couldn’t before. With each dragon they killed, that felt like someone avenged.

You knew, if George pointed to one particular beast, and told you it had been that one, you wouldn’t hesitate.

You’d drill your sword through its skull.

That was a scary thought, so you tucked it somewhere close, somewhere deep. Somewhere hidden.

So you don’t return, not really. You dart down, and right, back into Lando’s cavern.

Like he said, he isn’t there.

But Oscar Piastri is.

“Where’d you go? In the end, we could’ve used your help today. Lando’s slow, with his leg. Or lack of. The girl and the short one was there. They shot it, the Windwalker.”

He sounds dejected. Exhausted.

You’re sure your voice would sound the same, if you spoke. You almost tell him they didn’t really win. People are probably dead. Their houses are gone. Maybe they’d starve, or freeze, in the upcoming winter. Right now, the nest seems inconsequential.

You slide down against the cool stone wall, dropping your head in your knees.

“We saved most of the eggs. We’ll need your help raising them.” he continues, a little harsher. Like he’s irritated that you’re not replying.

But you just can’t. You have nothing to say.

Instead, your shoulders start to shake gently, and you try to conceal the pain of your tears in your dirty trousers.

He moves to sit beside you, silently. Then, carefully, so very carefully, he extends his arm over your shoulders, and pulls you towards him.

You don’t fight him. Instead, you shatter into pieces against him. He doesn’t know what to do. Neither do you.

Hesitantly, he turns to face you, turning his shoulder slightly until your head is resting on it. You can feel his shirt dampening. You hate how idiotic you must seem.

He lets his head fall onto yours, and neither of you speak. He just holds you, and that is enough. It’s more than enough.

It’s kind.

You can’t hate him, at least not in this moment.

When you hastily pull away, and stare up at him through damp eyelashes, you see his breath hitch.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was.” you mutter quietly, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

“It’s okay.” he replies quickly, and you don’t know if it's genuine. “Rough day?” he asks quietly, and you laugh with a sniffle.

“You could say that, yeah.”

His weak smile slowly contorts, into something a little darker. A little crueler.

And then it’s back, that look. That look that makes your heart hurt and your chest rile.

“Did you go to see your brother?” he accuses, and it isn’t nice. It’s sharp.

You don’t reply.

“You flew northeast. That's either Berk, or your brother. And if it was Berk, you would’ve said. I would’ve asked you to go tomorrow, so I could come with you. You know I love Berk.” he continues, growing more determined with each sentence.

You still don’t say anything, and he snaps.

“They were right. Fuckin’ traitor. Gods, I pitied you. For so long, I pitied you. And then you gave up, you disappeared. You went to who-knows where, and I defended you. Lando defended you, we all did. And here I am, thinking you’re coming around. Feeling bad, for being so mean to you. And instead, you pull this shit?” he shouts, and you flinch.

“You don’t care when it’s Lando, do you?” you reply quietly, and he exhales dramatically.

“Of course I care. Do you know how many times I’ve warned him? Told him to stop, before he gets himself killed? Countless. But he isn’t flying over there to see her. She isn’t a traitor. She’s one of them by birth. He’s one of them by choice. It’s not the same.” he continues, standing up suddenly, but you stay crouched. You stay small.

“My brother is dead.” you say, sharply. It echoes.

It hurts.

He knows you don’t mean George. He knows, in some ways, you hope it was.

With that, you get up to leave.

When you brush past him, he grabs your arm.

You shrug him off and don't look back.

You spend the next day packing. A small bag of essentials. You don’t hesitate to pack a dagger, in a leather sheath. The blade feels more like a weapon now than you’re used to.

You don’t tell anyone that you’re going. Because they’re used to you packing up and leaving anyway. But this time, you’re turning to Berk and not coming back.

You are not a traitor. You did not betray Formulae, it betrayed you.

Maybe, in some ways, it betrayed George too.

Your brother is dead. Your brother is gone. You have nothing left for you here anymore.

Oscar is there in the pen when you go to wish Addie goodbye. He’s tending to his dragon gently, caressing it’s off-putting snout.

You begin to backtrack, but he sees you.

“You didn't let me apologise yesterday.”

“You just spoke your mind. There's no need to apologise.”

He sighs loudly. “You’re difficult.”

“You’re mean.” you reply instantly, with more venom.

He begins to open his mouth, and he shuts it promptly when you speak again.

“Correction. You’re mean, to me.”

“I’m sorry, for yesterday. I’m sorry for it all. I just-” he begins, but you roll your eyes.

“Just what, Piastri? I'm sick of this shit. It doesn’t even matter, not anymore. When I leave tonight, I’m not coming back. Call me a ‘fuckin’ traitor’ again, I don’t care. Go tell everyone I’m just as bad as my brother and I’ve left you all.” you admit, throwing your arms out carelessly.

He blinks in surprise.

“You’re seriously going, like, for good?”

You nod silently, bringing your hand to Addie’s chin and scratching her gently.

He runs his hands through his messy hair, evidently unsure of what to say.

“You don’t have to.”

You laugh. “I know, I’m choosing to. I don’t love this place anymore.”

“Bullshit.” he mutters quietly, and you fold your arms.

“What did you say?”

He turns to meet your glare, more confident now. Maybe even angrier.

“I said, that’s bullshit. This place stopped loving you, that’s not the same.”

You grin at him, all broken and furious.

“Sure, you’re right. But you’d never understand that. Other than me, everyone loves you. Thinks you're loyal, steady. Trustworthy. I’ve heard people saying you’d make a great chief. Your best friend is the golden boy of this Isle. You’ll never get what it’s like, to desperately want something you can never have. And I don't even want much. I just want to be accepted.” you whisper-scream, your voice breaking slightly.

“I do get that. Of course I get that. Why do you think I hate you so much?” he asks desperately, but it’s too late. You realise you actually don’t care to hear what he has to say next.

“Goodbye, Piastri. I’m assuming I’ll run into Lando sometime, but I’m not sure about Alex. Tell him I’m grateful for everything. Tell him, thank you, for stepping into the shoes that George left. He was good to me.” you murmur, as you begin to walk away.

He nods. He doesn’t tell you he’s going to miss you, and you don’t expect him to.

“You’ll run into me, sometime too.” he says finally, and you give him a smile that barely curls your lips.

"Probably. I know you love Berk."

Your ship departs just after sunset. The air tastes like change and fear, but you revel in it.

Once you arrive, it’s not hard to find work. Berk is still catching up to the way of dragons, still tentative, but curious. So your skills are highly valued, your knowledge widely sought-after.

You find yourself breathing easier already.

A few weeks pass before curiosity settles back into your lungs just as oxygen does. You’d flown over these islands many a time, but you hadn’t stopped, hadn’t explored.

So, you excuse yourself from the evening meals in the shared-house and embark on hikes and climbs that test you in a way you haven’t been tested before. The terrain of Berk and it’s surrounding islands are sharper, tougher. Harder to conquer.

You conquer them nonetheless.

Berk does not seem to have that many native large dragons. You are many miles and many boat trips away before you start seeing any signs of big dragons, dragons you like to watch. Dragons you like to dance with.

An upside of being new was that no one expected to see you. So you knew no one was waiting for you back home, no one would scold you for spending some days in the forest.

When you saw claw marks on the trees, you decided it was time to hunt.

Not in the ways of a dragon hunter, no. You were not hunting to kill. You were hunting to tame, hunting to study.

Something in your gut was calling you to the trail.

It lasts days before you see any glimpse of the dragon you’re chasing. A flick of amber and purple catches your eye, unusual and intriguing.

When it hears you, it bolts, but it’s not that fast.

You stay behind it, desperate for respite, for a chance to admire it.

And so, finally, with a loud thud, it collapses, in a small clearing.

You carefully push through foliage and you find yourself admiring a dragon that appears to be the epitome of beauty.

It resembles a butterfly, with large identical wings. Its body is a shimmering amber, with deep blue circles and patterned edges. Large blue fin-like flaps stretch along its tail, intermittent amongst the scales, but you’re transfixed on it’s long, thin horns. They look sharp, and twisted. You have to stop yourself from reaching out and touching them.

You approach it carefully, hesitantly, your arms outstretched.

It bellows when you get too close, and then you see it. A wound, surrounding one of its three spikes on its back.

You pause, scanning the gash, and you curse the lack of bandages in your small knapsack.

It looks at you distrustfully, and you hum back gently, gesturing to your empty hands.

“I’ll be back. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” you whisper quietly, backing away slowly, and it ruffles its strange blue flaps by its ears.

You’re not totally sure you know what type of dragon it is. You’ll need to do some research on your trip back to Berk.

Back home, you could say now.

Didn’t really feel right, though.

Two days later, you’re back. You’re bearing fish, and various bandages, alongside a random herbal ointment you picked up from the slightly insane lady living opposite you. Irritatingly, Berk’s book of dragons was archaic and utterly useless. You’re convinced that even Oscar would’ve been more helpful than the entire population of the Isle.

Not that you were thinking of him.

When you navigated yourself back into that small clearing, the dragon was gone. All that was left was strange sap-like residue and evident trails of a spiked tail dragging in the cold, brittle ground.

With each breath, winter drew closer. You feared it, like everyone else did. But you feared it now, for George. For his people. For this dragon, unable to fly away. For Lando, who was somewhere you didn’t know. For Oscar, who was probably alone.

You also feared it for yourself, for the same reason. You were alone.

You place each footstep gradually, following the intermittent lines, until you reach a surprisingly small opening of a cavern in a cliff face.

Before you can even place your foot in, you hear a shrill, melodic, cry. And then it runs out, wings pressed tightly to its sides. It sprints past, its pupil shrinking aggressively as it darts away from you, but that’s when a flash of cream fabric wrapped around its back catches your eye. Your breath dies in your throat, and you reach instinctively for the small dagger resting on your hip, searching the skyline. But it’s futile, because you find nothing, and now the dragon is gone, no trail in sight.

You sigh bitterly, and begin to rummage through your bag, pulling out something not dissimilar to a tarpaulin. Tying the material tightly around two trunks of a tree, and laying a fleece along the ground, your makeshift basher stands between triumphantly and embarrassingly as the sun sets.

You should be scared, lying on this island, with a stranger hidden in the wind and a dragon hidden in the trees.

But exhaustion bites at your eyelids, and you are asleep before you can question your poor survival instincts.

A familiar musical whistle awakens you, while the gold of the sun rises boldly in the cloudless sky. The breeze is icy but not offputting, and you get up instantly, reaching for your blade hidden amongst your things.

The stench of fish hits your nostrils and you hurriedly throw the bag of meat away from your tent and towards the open mouth of the cavern. By the time your knife rests comfortably by your side again, you can hear a snuffling sound.

You see it eating quickly, its sharp teeth ripping apart the eels in the bag and leaving the rest of the fish untouched.

Huh, eels.

You notice the bandage has turned a dark colour, between purple and red, and you don’t hesitate.

You approach it quickly as it eats, and as you get close, you realise ‘she’ is more appropriate.

She’s truly beautiful, and your heart twists slightly as her fins expand when she notices you reaching up towards her back. She just watches, her small nostrils flaring.

“Let me help you.” you whisper, a caring tone carrying in your voice that you haven’t heard in a while.

She turns away, and you take that as a yes.

You’re careful but firm, removing the previous dressing and replacing it. The dragon below you whines carefully, and you instinctively try to soothe her by scratching her gently with your hand, much like you used to do with Addie.

You take her silence as a good thing, and you slowly back away with the bloodied bandage, throwing it away carelessly, and you smile incredulously with the absurdity of it all.

“Death Song, I’ve surmised. We don’t get many of them.” comes a familiar voice, and you hate that you can recognise it.

It seems as though the Death Song can too, and she makes that almost enchanting scream again.

“Because of that.” he adds, and you turn around to face him angrily.

“Why are you here?” you ask bitterly, and Oscar gives you an obvious stare.

“Helping her, is that not evident? What about you?” he replies snarkily, and you scowl.

“I saw her first.”

He shrugs.

“I don’t care, I just wanted to make sure she healed up. I’m assuming some hunters got lured in by the song, and she didn’t sap them before they threw an axe, or something, but I’m not sure.”

You pause, trying to disguise the surprise on your face.

“The hunters come this far out?”

Oscar laughs now, a genuine laugh that makes your stomach churn.

“You have no idea how close we are to their island, do you? I’m surprised they haven’t shot down Zag yet.” he jokes, but his tone is slightly too serious as he nods to his Monstrous Nightmare peering from the shadows.

“I’m better at geography from above. I don’t have a dragon anymore.” you reply irritably, and he nods.

“Is that why you’re here? You want to tame her?”

You give yourself a moment to think.

“I was just curious, at first. But I’d like to try.” you reply firmly, and an expression you don’t recognise crosses his face.

“Let me help?”

You don’t know why you say yes. Maybe it's the familiarity. Maybe you miss Formulae, and him by extension. It hadn’t been long, but it felt like an eternity.

He promises to arrive at dawn, and leave at dusk. Each day, until the Death Song stops running, stops singing. You don’t fight him, you just nod. The air between you isn’t awkward, isn’t tense, it's something else. Something else hangs between you, something denser.

You wake the next morning to the sound of scratching on parchment. Oscar is crouched near you, by the mouth of the cavern. When he realised you were camping on the island, he insisted you at least move into somewhere more sheltered. The frost scared you both.

So you’d obliged, and you’d bundled your fleece into a lame mattress by the stone wells, a gentle fire beside you.

“You’re here already.” you mumble quietly, and he turns to face you.

“Of course. I did say I would be.”

You nod dismissively, getting up and walking to him.

You lean over his shoulder and scan the paper, admiring the thorough notes.

“She likes eels.” you add, and he hums quietly before scribbling that to the bottom of the list.

“Our best bet is getting her some food, yeah. Trying to feed her. We need to keep an eye out for her wound, though. She’s clearly in pain when she tries to fly, or I guess she’d be long gone by now.” he mutters absent-mindedly.

You try not to think of the last time you’d been in a cave alone. Your shuddering breaths. His silence, being the most generous thing he could’ve offered, alongside his shoulder.

You try not to think of the last time you had helped a dragon together. Your hand on his chest. Feeling him exhale on your cheek.

When he looks up at you now, you can almost tell he’s doing the same thing. But he’s evidently failing, and in turn you’re failing too.

You don’t know why your heart hammers a little harder when your eyes meet his, and you can’t bear it.

So you turn to go outside, but he grabs your arm.

Like he did then.

‘Fuckin’ traitor.’

But when you shrug him off, he doesn’t let go this time. Instead, he tightens his grip.

“Piastri-” you begin, but when you turn, his name dies in your throat.

He stands, slowly, his eyes still searching yours. Looking for something.

An answer, or a question. Maybe something else, you don’t know.

You’re not sure if you want to know.

What you do recognise, is that there is no trace of disdain in his face. If anything, his pursed expression borders on regretful.

His name reaches your tongue again, and you part your lips in anger, in determination.

But before you can speak, he pulls you towards him. His mouth finds yours with a strange sense of urgency, and you shiver. You can feel him smiling slightly as his lips press against yours, and for a second you don’t know what to do.

“The fuck are you playing at, Oscar?” you hiss against him, but you don’t pull away.

He raises his eyebrows wickedly, like a challenge.

For the first time since you’ve met, Oscar Piastri wins.

Even though, in this case, you’ve let him beat you.

You kiss him like you’re hungry; he kisses you like he’s starved.

When you pull away, lips slightly swollen, you have to hold in a sharp laugh.

“You remember when I said I understood what it was like, to want something you could never have?” he asks quietly, but not shyly.

You swallow slowly, giving him an imperceptible nod.

“I wanted to be you. I wanted to be you so badly. You were effortlessly better than me, at everything. I was so envious, it consumed me. I had to hate you, or I wouldn't be able to function around you. The way you haunted me, every time I trained. Every time I tried my best knowing you were better. No, it didn't consume me. You consumed me. And I could never figure out why I was so mad when you’d disappear. I guessed it was untapped potential or something. But when you came to save me, the way you looked at me with this, this fire, something snapped. Guess I realised I had always just wanted you instead.” he admits casually, smiling as you short-circuit.

Blinking, you let your body react before you can think. You reach for him, your hands sliding around his neck.

“I still hate you.” you whisper into his ear, as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“I don’t think I believe that anymore.”

You develop a routine for the next week. He arrives before you wake up. Sometimes, you catch him staring at you when you open your eyes. He doesn’t try to kiss you again. You don’t let him.

You had figured it was for the best. After years of distrust, of scorn, it felt evil to try and unlearn that.

To be vulnerable with someone who had made you feel so comfortable to leave in the first place.

You didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask. It wasn’t awkward.

However, the air was softer. When he looked at you, you could swear his eyes were rounder. You scowled less, and laughed more. Maybe that was because he made more jokes.

You both find a rhythm of helping each other. While you scour the island, he fishes from the shore. You correct any inaccuracies on his map, and he teaches you how to sketch, just like Lando taught him.

On the fourth day, you do not find the Death Song. She finds you.

Her eyes are sharp, and malicious. Your hand falters by your hip, and you’re grateful Oscar isn’t here to witness your behaviour.

She sings, and then shoots.

You do not burn. Your flesh does not split. Instead, you feel a shove, and you catapult into the trunk of a tree. Your head dulls, a lame ache spreading through it, and the world swims.

You turn around groggily, wincing, to see a familiar mop of brunette hair.

“Oscar, what the fuck?” you groan, your hand flying to your forehead.

When you stare at it, your fingertips are dark red.

The dragon has vanished, and you’re beginning to find she’s rather annoying, with this disappearing act.

You stumble towards him, fumbling around blindly as he blurs.

“Sorry, she would’ve hit you. With that. And I couldn't find anything on Formulae about how to get out of it.” he offers, gesturing to the slowly solidifying amber ooze by your feet.

You try to make sense of what you’re looking at, but your eyelids feel heavy with something that isn’t exhaustion. Something a bit more sinister.

“Hey, hey. Are you okay?” comes his worried voice, his arms reaching for you instinctively.

The world fades to black before you find the strength to reply, and the last thing you feel is your head against his chest.

Your head stings when your eyes eventually open, and a hiss leaves your lips when you try to sit up.

It’s dark outside, and you can see the moon through the cavern opening. Wincing, you try again, until you’re finally sitting upright. Dizziness hits you, hard, before everything eventually settles again.

You hear a small yawn from beside you, and you turn to see Oscar blinking up at you, his eyes barely open.

He’s sprawled out slightly erratically, one arm fully extended outwards and the other just resting on the side of your leg.

“What are you still doing here? You should be back at Formulae.” you murmur, your voice heavy and dry.

He sighs.

“Do you ever stop being so confrontational? I essentially threw you into a tree. I wasn’t just going to leave you here with a concussion I inflicted.” he replies sleepily, but your voice doesn’t soften.

“I would’ve been fine. You know that.”

He shrugs. “I could’ve assumed that. But I didn’t, hence why I didn’t just fly off. Plus, Hamilton won’t send out a search party because of one night.” he retorts, and you just shake your head.

“I’ve gone, Lando’s sneaking out to meet his hunter girlfriend and now the most consistent dragon rider of Formulae isn’t where he should be. You underestimate how important showing up is to him.”

Oscar scoffs. “I don’t underestimate it. How do you think I got him to like me so much? I showed up. I show up.” he corrects.

Now it’s your turn to shrug.

“Not tonight.”

He gives you a half hearted smile. “Not tonight. He’ll survive. He trusts me, and he trusts Lando."

He doesn’t add that the chief doesn’t trust you. It would be overly cruel.

You give him the ghost of a smile.

“Fine. But I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m not fragile.”

He laughs quietly, and you don’t know why.

“The day I think you’re fragile is the day I’ve gone insane. Then I’ll expect you to hang around , and take care of me.” he replies jokingly, but his expression is genuine.

It makes your chest feel tight.

“I’m sure someone on Formulae would look after you.” you mutter, firmly, and his expression morphs into something more boyish. But soon that’s gone, and it’s replaced with a grin that doesn’t feel that real.

“I’m sure they would. Like you said, everyone there loves me.”

His voice feels strained when he says there, like that’s not what matters.

You don’t push, you just lie back down and wait for the first light of morning.

He doesn’t get up to move, doesn’t drag his fleece away from you. You don’t complain when you feel his shoulder brush yours.

You fall asleep to the rhythmic sounds of his breathing, and his arm slung over your waist.

For the first time in a while, he isn’t there when you wake.

You don’t panic, because that’s irrational. But you feel unsettled when he doesn’t reply to the yell of his name.

There’s no change, no new scroll amongst his notes. No signs of injury.

But there’s also no Monstrous Nightmare in the woods.

Zag is gone, alongside his rider.

You’re not sure if that hurts more than the gash on your head.

You trudge carefully back where the Death Song had aimed, admiring the solid golden sap in front of you.

“You know, you’re a real pain.” you murmur, exasperated.

You don’t realise she’s there until you hear a lame whine in response.

She’s close, but not poised to attack. Instead, she looks playful, like she’s in less pain.

You see it then- a new dressing. A fresh one. You almost feel grateful.

“Same colour as honey.” you mutter, looking between her horns and the rock next to you. You watch her fins by her face fan open appreciatively, and you can’t help but smile.

“Honey, huh? You like that name?”

You take it as a yes when her head pushes against your outstretched hand.

It’s a victory you very much celebrate.

By the end of the day, Honey refuses to leave your side.

By the end of the week, you’re slowly but surely hovering over the island.

You see Oscar was right. George’s island stands grey and miserable by the horizon, dangerously close but too far to make you worry.

Not too far to make your heart hurt, though.

You don’t think it's a miracle that you are able to fly back to Berk when the first snow settles. You don’t think that maybe you could’ve frozen to death trying to make it back if not for her, if not for Oscar.

You don’t consider that maybe, after everything, the latter might let you freeze.

You’re packed and healed before any signs of the snowstorm come to your attention. It’s when you land in Berk, when the cold wind scratches your ears and your jagged scar hurts when it’s whipped against.

Dragons do not roam as freely here as they do on Formulae, naturally. Here, they are treated like mules. Like horses.

Stone stables are their sanctuary, and you oblige.

With a quick nod to the young man guarding the gates, you whisper a gentle goodbye to the Death Song and wander back towards your lodgings.

But you can feel your fingers going numb, and a familiar faintness in your lungs, so you barrel into the first inn you can find.

And there, wooden leg slung lamely over a stool, is Lando Norris, sporting a look between a grin and a grimace.

“I heard you’d become a Berk dweller.” he murmurs loudly, swirling a goblet. You bark out a laugh.

“Cute, coming to look for me. Didn’t work out with her?” you joke, but his expression hardens.

“Ah, shit. I was intrigued about the outcome of my very own star-crossed lovers.” you mumble quietly, and it earns you a weak laugh. Better than nothing.

He shakes his head.

“It’s alright. And we’re not lovers.” he replies firmly, and you just shrug.

“You know, you could’ve asked to stay with me. I mean, there’s four of us packed in anyway. You’d only be noticed by the peg-leg.”

His laugh is full and hearty now, but it doesn’t hurt in the same way Oscar’s does.

Instead, it is more calming. Feels less like fire.

He sighs now, like he’s weary. You’re sure your expression must resemble that feeling.

“I have a dragon now. A Death Song. Honey, I call her.” you admit, your voice somewhat wondrous but tight.

But it’s Lando Norris in front of you, and you know him.

So, just as expected, he beams.

“That’s brilliant. Is that why you left for Berk? Change of scenery, to find yourself a dragon- kind of thing?” he asks casually, but you shake your head.

“No. Just figured it was time to move on. Maybe it’s in my blood to be a deserter.” you mumble, and he inhales awkwardly.

“You’re thinking about something. Something not good. I can tell. You had that same face for months after George left. I guess, it was when you were considering going after him”

The only sounds are the noises of the other vikings yelling, and the fire roaring to your right.

“Are you considering that again?”

You chew your lip nervously.

“Sort of the opposite. I don’t know why I was kidding myself, that moving here would solve all my problems. It hasn’t, and it won’t. I’m searching for something in places I’ve already looked.” you explain, the weak outlines of a plan forming in your tired mind.

Lando just raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Maybe I just need to go off the map. Like, further than anyone from here has gone before. Make my own map.”

You give him a look, hoping for one of reassurance back. You don’t get that.

Instead, he saddens, his eyebrows furrowing.

So you continue, gently.

“You asked me to let you run away once. I guess we were throwing those words around. You weren’t really running away, and neither was I. But this time, it would be different. And I don’t think I need your permission.”

Your tone is harsher than you intend, but it’s honest. You can tell he appreciates it.

“If you want to, do it. Just know, if you don’t feel welcome anywhere else, you’re still welcome with me. And Alex, and Oscar.” he brightens, but you wince slightly at the mention of Piastri’s name.

“Thanks, Lando. Anyway, I can't hear the wind anymore, so I’m going to head home.”

You give him a look between apologetic and friendly and he just gives you a knowing smile.

You wonder if sometimes, he feels the same. If he’d be happy to just fly off into the sun, if something wasn’t tethering him here.

That’s when you see it- a sketch of a Night Fury on the corner of his page. And beside it, a messy plait you recognise. And then it’s a doodle, of you and Oscar, presumably shouting at each other.

That’s when you return the same expression.

Between the girl, and the dragon he's chasing, and the people he calls family, he seems to have three too many tethers.

But the boy flew away, you caught the dragon, and you hate the word family.

And so, you can imagine your silhouette against the sun too easily, with nothing weighing you down.

He doesn’t tell you to stay, when you get up to leave.

He wasn’t the type to do that, and even if he was, he wasn’t the one who could make you listen.

PART II

You do not go anywhere for weeks. In some ways, it’s to prove to yourself that you’re not being rash. It’s to prove to Lando that you’re serious, even though he’s long gone.

Winter ice melts to spring water, before you even realise.

You have survived winter. You are lucky. You feel lucky.

You spend most of your days flying, until you and Honey can breathe in sync.

Until you could fall, and know she’d catch you.

You truly felt as though you’d found wings, even if they weren’t on your back.

On the first day you could possibly call warm, you find yourself back on the island where you’d first seen her.

You avoid the cavern.

You hadn’t seen Oscar since he’d disappeared. He never returned. He never came to Berk, never uttered a word.

You assume he realised it was a mistake, kissing you like that. That his words about wanting you were falsehoods, misspoken messages.

Or maybe, he’d wanted the idea of you much more than the real thing.

Regardless, you were tired of him haunting your every other thought. Every time you blinked, seeing his dark eyes.

You couldn’t stop blinking, so you cast him from your mind with that same burning hate, same burning determination you had reserved for George only.

With being so distracted, you had grown sloppy.

You didn’t hear the sound of sticks crunching behind you, until it was too late.

An axe sails past your head, landing neatly in the trunk of the tree beside you.

It feels too familiar. But this time, you don’t know who’s thrown it. But you know it’s not Piastri.

Dark hair and bitter eyes meet yours, and you feel your breath quicken. You’ve never seen him before, but you know who he is.

“Yuki.” you exclaim, your nerves catching in your throat.

“My reputation precedes me, then. Can’t say I know who you are.” he replies gruffly, already brandishing a second axe.

Honey lets out that shrill, musical scream, but he runs at you before she can aim, and the amber dies in her open mouth.

“Go!” you scream at her desperately, when you realise he's reaching for the axe and not for you.

She makes cries of protest, but as Yuki aims, she flies off.

“Coulda’ let me have her.” he murmurs, turning to face you, but you just hiss at him.

“Fat fucking chance.” you retort, and he just stretches his neck before launching himself and his blade back at you again.

“You people are crazy.” you grunt, wincing as your dagger clashes with the metal, making a horrific scraping sound.

He gives you a sound between a huff and a chuckle, and you grimace.

“You think we’re the crazy ones? You have a pet dragon. Dragons killed my people, they deserve to die. Not to be domesticated.”

He pushes harder, and the grip on your knife slips. You roll over quickly, and the axe head finds a trunk again. Cursing, he pulls it out swiftly, but you’re running.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re running to? You told your escape plan to fly away.” he calls loudly, and that makes you stop. He’s right.

You turn determinedly, and rush for him.

He’s too slow, and your blade runs smoothly across the side of his arm, ripping his tunic. He seems unbothered when it comes back red.

“A dragon killed my person. I know what they’re capable of. But they’re capable of beauty, and friendship, and loyalty too. Being close-minded will not be enough. There will always be another dragon. You can’t murder them all.” you cry out desperately, but he just snarls.

“You’re the fieriest one of them I’ve met. How come I never see you with the other Formulae riders?” he asks, darting around you, and you try to follow his movements.

“I’m not exactly one of them.” is your weak response, and he shrugs.

“That's bad luck. I was thinking of taking you prisoner and using you for ransom. Maybe I'll just kill you, instead.”

You smirk.

“Only one of us is bleeding right now. And it’s not me.”

He gives a sharp laugh.

“I like you, you know what? Would’ve been much more bearable to see you around instead of that fucker, Piastri. I hate that guy. Gods, him and Lando are just as irritating as their dragons.”

He barrels towards you again, as you respond with a weak, “I hate him too.”

Then you feel the axe brush your ear, and you groan slightly.

“Hey, now we’re both bleeding!” he exclaims cheerily, parrying your swipe at him.

You knee him aggressively in the abdomen while he celebrates, and he doubles over with a grunt.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” you mutter, and when he looks up at you, you push your knife against his throat.

He sighs.

“Shame, if only you were less of a coward. You’re not gonna slice my neck off, are you?” he asks playfully, and you pause like you’re considering it.

With one smooth kick, you’re on the ground.

He bends down to your ear, a slow grin plastering his face.

“Too slow, dragon rider. Better luck next time.”

The handle of his axe cracks down on your skull, hard, and then it’s terrifyingly dark.

You do not awake in a cell, like you expect. You’re tied to a splintered chair, arms stretched behind it.

Your brother's eyes meet yours instantly.

“You’ve grown.” he surmises casually. Like this is normal.

“Let me go. I’m not one of them.” you scream, and he moves his face back further from yours.

“Yuki wants to keep you. Max wants you dead. I have yet to say anything.”

His statement is cold. Matter of fact.

You realise calling him your brother was giving him too much credit.

“You didn’t tell me he died.” you whisper, a stark contrast from your volume before.

He gives you a dry smile.

“Not sure they would’ve reacted well if I sent you a letter. But yeah, he did.”

He pauses, thinking.

“So it was you, that day. You helped that child.”

You nod silently.

“That could help you, you know. Max might reconsider that. If you’re truly not one of them.” he murmurs, and you gasp slightly in shock.

“Gods, are you insane? I’d rather die than end up here, next to you. Tell Max to slit my fucking throat.” you hiss, each word barbed and venomous.

George doesn’t recoil.

That's when the door swings open, and the devil himself walks in, Yuki on his left. The girl isn’t with them.

“More than happy to. Although, we haven’t had a prisoner in a while. I wouldn’t mind using the cell for a bit, what do you think?” Max murmurs innocently, running a finger down the length of his knife. You don’t shudder, you don’t flinch. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Yuki steps towards you, admiring you carefully.

“How’d you get the scar? We have matching ones, d’y see?” he grins, pointing to a similar one, stretching across his forehead.

You scowl. “Piastri.”

Max exhales in surprise, and George raises an eyebrow.

Yuki explodes into hearty laughter.

“You weren’t joking, when you said you hated him. Funny, maybe she actually isn’t a Formulae kid.” he comments, and you just roll your eyes quickly.

“I left. I didn’t like it there. I just liked the dragons.” you huff, and Max stares at you, disappointedly.

“Wrong answer.”

You scoff.

“I don’t give a shit what you think about my answers. Just lock me away, yeah? This is boring me. I can be publicly executed at dawn, or whatever.” you smile lazily, and the side of his lip curls upwards nastily.

“Interesting. George, you’re on watch. Give her a shitty cage, I can’t be bothered to walk up the mountainside.” he orders dismissively, and you purse your lips.

George pauses, looking directly past you as Max turns to leave.

“Did you ever finish corresponding with Chief Hamilton about the meeting? Our maps are inaccurate and we need more surveillance, if we ever want to finalise our plans.” he says casually, like you don’t even exist.

Max grunts. “Don’t discuss this in front of her. But I’m working on it. A diplomatic meeting.” he clarifies, his eyes flashing to you as if to dare you to question him. You don’t, and so he nods to Yuki and George as he goes.

Cage is a good word for it, you decide, when Yuki takes great satisfaction in throwing you in one.

It’s barbaric, with sharp rusted bars and spikes along the ceiling. It looks more like a torturous place for dragons than a human.

You take no comfort in having George sitting on the other side of the bars, trying not to stare at you.

When night falls, you think he might finally look away, but he doesn’t.

“You look like her. Mother, I mean. Uncanny.” he mutters.

“I wouldn’t talk so loudly, or they’ll throw you in here with me.”

He makes a sound of dissent. “I’ve proven my loyalty.”

You scoff.

“Sad, that you’re more loyal to them than you were to me.”

His voice wavers when he speaks next.

“I’ll always be loyal to you.”

You let out a high pitched giggle.

“You finally developed a sense of humour. That was cruel, but funny.” you laugh, but he just blinks at you.

“I don’t regret leaving Formulae, but I regret leaving you. So much, so badly. I know I can’t undo it. I can’t apologise. But I need you to understand that my loyalty still lies in our blood.”

The silence that follows is pensive.

Then you sigh, and it breaks.

“I don’t want to hear your bullshit before your chief kills me. No point in being loyal to a dead girl walking.”

The door swings open.

“I’ll tell them you picked the lock. You beat me, and you ran.”

Words rise and fall spectacularly in your throat.

“Get out of here, now. You need to run, while it’s still dark. You need to outpace the dawn, or they’ll find you. Max is an excellent tracker.” he whispers, but you don’t move right away.

His voice breaks.

“Please, go. Go, and don’t come back. Run, and get away. From here, from all of it. You deserve bigger things. You always have.” he admits, and you don’t realise how much it hurts to see him again until you feel your heart shatter and your cheeks dampen.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t choose you over the dragons.”

He smiles.

“I’m sorry for even making you choose.”

You smile back, and you both feel less unforgivable.

Then you’re gone, into the shadow of night.

But as you go, you hear his words carried by the wind.

“It’s never diplomatic.” he warns.

You don’t go North to Berk. Instead, you cross the Valley, and you’re back on the soil you thought you’d never feel again.

Hamilton’s house is grand, but not in a way that makes others envious. It’s just quietly earnt.

You rap your knuckles desperately on the door, until it turns into hammering fists.

Lewis opens the door slowly, clearly still suffering from sleep.

“Chief Hamilton,” you begin breathlessly, and he holds up a finger.

“I was told you left. I don’t care if it runs in the family, I don’t like deserters.”

You scoff.

“I’m here with a warning. From the hunters.”

His face distorts into something simpler than rage.

“You are to leave, now.”

Scowling, you inhale slowly.

“They kidnapped me, and I heard them talking about this meeting they’re planning. It’s not innocent. It’s for intel. They’re going to do something, I don’t know what. An attack, surely. Just, be on guard.”

His expression barely shifts.

“How did you get out? No one gets out, without help.”

You don’t need to reply, the answer is obvious.

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt for years. I tried not to see him, when I saw you. I tried to pretend I wasn't worried about where your loyalties lied. But, this is it.

You are no longer welcome here. Do not return. Although, I’m hoping you weren’t planning on returning anyway.” he decides, and you hate how much finality is in his tone.

Maybe it’s fair enough. You’d do the same, if you were him.

It feels a bit like a stab in the gut, though. You think of George. The confidence is his voice, assuring he’d earnt his trust.

How he let you go, without hesitation.

You’d chosen Formulae over him once. Here you are, choosing it again.

And your sole reward was exile, banishment.

You realise that Oscar was right- this place didn’t love you anymore.

But you were right too.

You stopped loving it, long ago.

“Alright.” is all you manage to say back, and then you’re running away again.

You try to ignore how your vision blurs behind the salt of your tears.

You hear her before you see her, the gentle singing of a dragon that haunts your heart.

Lando stands beside her, leaning on the side of her back. He gives you a lame smile.

“You’re gonna need her, to get out. Found her singing nearby. I’ve never heard something so sad.” he admits, and you tilt your head to the side, admiring him carefully.

“Figured out she was mine, then?”

He nods, before furrowing his brows.

“Oscar bolted, when I came back with her. Instant. He almost forgot his own dragon, for the Gods’ sake. What happened between you two?”

Your breath falters.

“What do you mean?”

Lando just stares at you quizzically.

“He went to find you. I’ve never seen him like that before. Like he knew something was wrong. Where were you?”

You shrug.

“It’s a very dramatic, very heroic story. One for the ages. One for another time.”

He swallows, and then nods regretfully.

“Okay. Okay, fine. Fair enough. I deserved that. But if you see him on your travels, can you bring him home? I doubt Hamilton will be too pleased if he’s gone, because of you. ‘Specially considering what just happened.” he mutters, and you groan.

“So you know where I was, then.”

He flashes you a grin. “I was giving you a chance to tell me. Also, I was interested.”

You fold your arms.

“She wasn’t there, if you were wondering.”

His grin falters for a moment, but then it spreads to his eyes.

“You think so lowly of me.”

With a playful laugh, you step towards him and embrace him carefully.

“Thank you.”

He just gives you a dismissive flick of his wrist.

“She’s very well behaved, no need to thank me for babysitting.”

But he knows you’re thanking him for a lot more than that.

When you turn to him as Honey’s wings extend, he’s giving you the same exaggerated wave from that dawn, all those months ago.

A wave too light-hearted to be a final one.

So you offer a dramatic salute, and you let cloud engulf you without looking back.

You intend to ignore the idea of Oscar searching for you. He’d go back soon enough, and Lando could let him know of your departure.

But you imagine him traipsing on that island.

And then you imagine Yuki’s axe, and his barbaric yell.

And so you decide to scour the skies for a Monstrous Nightmare- instead of sailing through it towards something new.

You know it’s stupid to land back there, with Max presumably on your trail. The hunters weren’t idiots- they’d look there first.

But so would Oscar.

So you can’t help it, and Honey swoops downwards.

Sure enough, you recognise Zag’s claw marks in the ground.

“Oi, Piastri!” you yell, hands cupped over your mouth aggressively.

You hear a sharp exhale, and tentative footsteps.

When you turn to face him, you can’t help but give him a small smile. When he sees it, the small twitch on your face, his slow steps turn into a fully-fledged sprint. His arms wrap around you instantly, and you swear your ribs creak.

You exhale, barely.

“You’re okay.” he exclaims, his hold remaining steadfast.

“I won’t be, if you don’t ease up.” you mumble, and he steps back quickly.

He apologises hurriedly, running his hands nervously through his hair.

You don’t get angry, not immediately. Instead, with practiced calm, you begin to speak.

“You left.”

He nods slowly.

“I did.”

Your arms fold, and you frown slightly. Before you can think of something more dignified to say, “Why?”, rings out into the air.

He pauses. “I don’t know.”

It’s not enough. You’ve run out of patience, and you’re running out of time.

“Okay. Well, I need to go. Pretty sure Max, or someone, will be here soon. I don’t think they believe in second chances.” you mutter absent-mindedly, running a hand down Honey’s outstretched neck.

His regretful look becomes one of surprise, and then confusion.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

You shrug. “Ask Hamilton. But you won't get the full story, ‘cause he banished me before I could explain.” you suggest, accompanying the words with a dry laugh.

And, painfully predictable as ever, his arm finds yours, with the same grip as last time.

“You need to stop holding on to me.” you spit.

A beat.

“You need to stop leaving.”

You’re all too aware of the heat on your forearm, and the way your heart is close exploding.

“You need to stop being the reason I leave.” you reply. It’s barely a whisper, but it hurts him. You can see it in his eyes, the way he blinks, a bit like he’s been shot.

It’s not the same expression he gave you last time. The same island, the same arm holding onto yours.

The same people, but not really. Almost.

This time, you don’t have to fight him. He lets you go, with the grace of a losing man.

A man who pretends he can’t remember what it felt like to have you, even if it was momentary.

But he can remember, and so can you.

You don’t say anything, you just give him a look. A stare, of something deeper than anger. Deeper than betrayal, deeper than wanting and having and fire.

Maybe it’s the look of love. You think it might be, when his expression mirrors yours.

But it’s too little, too late.

Still, he isn’t Lando. He’s the type to tell you to stay. And he’s the type you might listen to.

You expect an awkward farewell, or something even blander, when he opens his mouth.

You don’t assume it might all break around you.

“I was worried that if I didn't leave then, I never would. And I knew you weren’t going to come back. So I left first. I thought it might hurt less.” he admits.

He pauses to breathe. You try to ignore how obviously nervous he is.

“For the record, it didn’t. And then, I didn’t know what to do. But I was too scared to come back. I didn’t know if I could face you again.” he continues.

The silence that falls after is ugly and full of uncertainty.

It might be enough. You want it to be enough.

“Oscar, what are you saying?” you ask, whisper. Like it’s something holy, like it’s a prayer. Maybe it is.

“I’m saying that, I think I might fall in love with you if you kiss me again.”

His tone is simultaneously sullen and hopeful, and you know there is no good outcome. There is no way out of this, without both your hearts cracking a bit.

You almost beg him to take it back. To laugh, like it’s some bizarre joke. Blame his obvious lack of sleep.

But you know this can’t be undone.

He’s cruel, when he steps towards you.

You’re crueler when you reach for him, your lips finding his.

It’s messier than the first time, but no uglier. If anything, it’s more sacred.

When you both exhale, foreheads pressed together, you know what you have to say. Even though you know what he’s going to reply.

“I can’t go back to Formulae.”

It’s a simple statement, a fact. You know, if you ask him what you want to ask him, you will be no different than George.

So you wait.

And then it drops.

“And I can’t not go back.”

Another fact. You don’t hold it against him.

Your hands curl into fists around his shirt, pulling him into you.

You let yourself exist there, for a minute.

You’re not sure if the orange sky is the end of the day, or the start of a new one. It feels like the end, either way. The end of something you’d never even got to start.

He knows what's coming. You both know what’s coming.

“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?”

You nod.

But you feel him, growing weight in your soul. Becoming a tether. A tether you have to snap, now. Before you can’t fly anymore.

“I meant what I said, in there.” he murmurs into your ear, nodding to the small cavern opening.

“I wish I’d realised sooner that my heart burning was something much nicer than envy.”

You scoff. “No need to be so poetic.”

He gives you a half-hearted smile, which breaks as soon as you peel yourself away from him.

“I would say goodbye, but it seems as though it never really is.” you whisper, his eyes trailing you as you begin to clamber onto Honey’s golden back.

“So stop saying it, then.” he replies quickly. “I like ‘see you soon' much better, anyway.”

It’s not a joke, but you laugh anyway.

You don’t tell him you’ll be seeing him soon.

You hope you don’t. For his sake, and for yours.

You spend the next week buried in maps and books. Knowledge of the stars and the cliffs. Means of survival. You imagine yourself lacking a limb. It feels like much less of a joke without Lando’s grinning face. You decide, if you’re going to do this, you’re doing it right. You’re going to make it worth everything you’ve lost.

It’s when you hear murmurs of agreements between mercenaries, that your plans are put on hold.

Scholars commend the grace of Formulae. Sailors commend the change of the hunters.

The Isle of Berk holds its breath as it watches, to see if they made the right decision. If pens and signs with ‘Dragon-friendly’ written on them were a good idea. Or if the righteous way, the way of blood and anguish, was actually right. If they should’ve been stubborn for longer.

‘It’s never diplomatic.’

And yet, the harbor speaks of diplomacy. Of politics, of territory. Of treaties and laws and rights.

Of everything George cares for.

There is no mention of dragons.

And that is when you decide something must be very, very wrong.

For as much as they deny their admiration for the winged-beasts, it is impossible to deny that everything is about them.

And so, dragons would be their focus.

George had been naive, to think a change of cliff-side would give him a triumph. To give him the power he had wanted.

In a world of dragons, fire beats words. Fire burns the mouth of those who try to speak.

You can only fight fire with fire. But if you do not have fire, you go for whatever might draw blood before your flesh melts.

When you descend onto Formulae soil, you wish you were more surprised.

“It really was ‘see you soon,’ huh?”

Even though you could count the days since you’d seen him on your hands, you missed him.

Your dismount is graceful, but the way you look at him is far from it.

“They’re coming. I know it.” you state firmly, and Oscar just tilts his head at you, exasperated.

“And here I was, thinking you just wanted to see me.” he murmurs, and you purse your lips.

“I told you to not come back here.” comes a sharp shout. You recognise the authority in his voice.

You dislike the way he commands respect, and the way your mind obeys.

“I told you they had malicious intentions. Guess we’re both bad at listening.” is your quick response, which gains you a disguised laugh from Oscar behind you.

Lewis turns to him now, giving him a shake of the head. You don’t recognise the look of determination that Oscar gives him in response. Then you feel his hand slip into yours, and you squeeze it lightly.

It isn’t rebellious, but it’s the closest thing to it. A sign of allegiance.

Or maybe he’s just being affectionate, and you’re reading too deeply into it. But you know how it will look to the Chief of Formulae watching.

Sure enough, that familiar look of disdain, of distrust, flicks over his face.

“We doubled our defences. It turned out you were correct. I may owe you an apology. I figured it was just your brother trying to sabotage us, from the grave. To give me a reason to attack first.”

You wince at his word choice. He chooses not to notice.

And that is when you hear an alarm, an ugly ringing bell. Too similar to the one before it. You can almost feel yourself choking on smoke again.

Hamilton is running before you can even get the image out of your mind.

Oscar drops your hand, but you stop him.

“He didn’t exile Lando, did he?” you ask, because you know. You know that he only realised you were telling the truth when Lando had come to him, saying the same thing. Offering a warning.

You know who he got the warning from. You wish you could understand why that was so much better. ‘She’s one of them by birth. He’s one of them by choice. It’s not the same.’

To you, it feels the same.

Oscar shakes his head, and you hate Formulae a little bit more.

But when he smiles at you, you know why you’re here protecting it.

Fire kisses the wood of the houses, the fences of the pens. Smog clouds the sky, darkening the sun. It tastes bitter.

You hear the clamours of blades and the yell of men. Honey does not cry; she sings. She keeps singing as you rise up, as you hover over bodies. Over destroyed houses and soon-to-be graves.

There are many of them, more than you expected. You do not see Max, or George.

But you see her, and you see Yuki, and your heart twists for Lando.

Zag roars past you, Oscar giving you a fleeting look. You follow after him, passing Alex shouting orders to kids you don’t recognise. Kids you probably should've helped train.

Oscar dives, and you lose sight of him amongst the rubble. You decide to change direction, and you clamber down into the battlefield.

A sword lies abandoned, bloody but innocent. You reach for it instinctively, and metal slashes yours. It’s hard to tell who is friend or foe. Maybe there is no such thing. But you can tell who is fighting for love, for their home, and who is fighting for hatred. It’s reflected on their teary eyes.

A shrill whistle makes your head snap to the side expectantly, and Honey scampers away. You do not worry if she’s coming back. You know she will.

That’s when you see it- Lando, grinning wildly. His chest puffed, balancing precariously on a Night Fury.

He got the dragon.

From the way he’s smiling, you figure he got the girl too.

Then she rises, looking slightly crazed on a Triple Stryke, and it’s glorious. Hopeful. She looks more like a saviour than a traitor. You wonder if maybe Oscar was right.

You earn your trust by fighting either for your blood, or against it. By birth, to becoming by choice. It’s not the same.

You never fought for Formulae. You just pretended being there was enough.

But now, as a wound you didn’t realise you’d collected soaks the sand a deep crimson, you amend that.

You catch Hamilton’s eye, his blade triumphantly raised. He nods, like he knows what you’re thinking. That your shirt being the same colour as the burning banners is all he had needed from you.

Your vision shifts again, and you see Oscar- a wild look in his eye with an even wilder scowl.

Your stomach drops, though, when you see who he's pushing his dagger against.

Oscar is no murderer. No one on this godforsaken Isle is. But your insides churn. You pelt it towards them, just as George’s sword clatters from his hand.

Oscar’s knife should go clean through, a clear strike in the chest.

You intercept it, blade outstretched.

The sound of the clash makes you grimace.

“Piastri, that’s my brother.” you grunt, but the fire in his eyes isn’t extinguished.

Instead, he pushes away from you and chases after George, who is running for his life.

You have too much adrenaline to acknowledge the sound of your heart ripping. Instead, you follow instantly, yelling over the clamour.

George finds his back against a tree, his arms up. A last attempt at a shred of innocence. Or mercy; you can’t tell.

Oscar eyes him aggressively, a small cut bleeding irritatingly above his eyebrow.

Oscar is no murderer. But to the untrained eye, he could be. To the nervous eye, he sure looks like one.

You place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey. Relax. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” you whisper into his ear, and you feel him calm down slightly.

His eyes dull a bit, and you take that as a victory.

You turn your gaze to George now.

“If you run again, someone else will find you. I’m not going to be there, asking them to spare you. Most of these people aren’t killers, but some are.”

He grimaces.

“I’m not going anywhere. You know I didn’t want to watch this place burn.”

“You know, for someone who’s been punished, you look too excited.” you mumble, rolling your eyes at George’s beaming face.

He coughs, plastering a more severe expression.

“Well, obviously it will be a logistical challenge running the Isle. But I’ve got plans. I have had plans for a very long time. Since I made it there, really. I’d like to start off by improving the quality of our imports. Especially the tea, it’s miserable.” he exclaims, and Lando greets him with an appreciative snort.

“You haven’t changed in the slightest.” he accuses, and George doesn’t contest it.

Instead, he turns to you.

“Come with me?”

The world folds in on itself, just like it did the last time he asked that.

But this time, he truly is asking.

There’s no snarkiness, no confidence. No expectations.

This time, you didn’t have to choose between him, or the dragons.

This time, you’d left Formulae enough to know you could live without it.

But there's a weight in your answer now, and he’s brunette with a constellation of moles on his face.

You’re packing, when he finds you. Essentials, anything you have left. A shred of hope, the remains of your heart, a spare shirt. He lets out a heavy sigh.

“You know, it’s okay to stick around for a week. It won’t kill you.” When you turn to face him, your heart flutters nervously.

You think you see that look in his eye, the same one he was sporting before he tried to ram a dagger through George’s heart.

Oscar’s expression falters.

“I never thought you’d be scared of me.”

You inhale quietly.

“Me neither. Never thought you’d almost kill my brother, though.”

He pauses. “I wouldn’t have-”

“-Yes, you would’ve.” you finish for him, and you watch him shrink a bit.

“You know, you’re welcome back here now. Right?” he murmurs, and you give him a sharp nod.

“I know. But George is leaving tonight.”

A look you don’t recognise flickers over his face. All you can tell is that it’s bitter, and dark. And then it morphs into guilt.

“I’m a reason again, aren’t I?”

You sigh, because you’ve never really admitted it to yourself that he’s right. He’s a reason to stay, but also a reason to go. And you’ll always choose to go.

He strides towards you, coming up behind you as you scramble through old scrolls.

He slips his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder, swaying slightly.

You let yourself breathe, but you don’t stop stuffing things into your satchel.

“I still don’t understand you. What are you running from? Where are you running to?” he murmurs into your hair.

“I don’t know.” you reply honestly, your voice breaking slightly.

His voice drops lower and quieter simultaneously.

“I want to be enough for you. I want you to let me try.”

You bite your tongue, unsure of what to say.

You turn your face just barely to the side, looking up at him.

“I don’t think I want you to try.” you admit, pressing a fond kiss to his jaw, and then his cheek. Then, pushing yourself onto your tip-toes, the small scar above his eyebrow.

“Could you not be happy here, with me?” he asks, pushes. It sounds desperate. It hurts.

“I’ve never been happy here, not really.”

You can barely choke out the next few words.

“I’ve never really been happy anywhere.”

His face drops, when he notices your eyes watering.

You’re talking to each other, but it’s two different conversations.

When you pull away from him, he doesn’t grab for you again.

But when you reach the door, you hear his voice waver.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You don’t know how to explain the anguish that roars in your chest. You can’t remember how to breathe.

When you step out of the door, he calls out for the last time.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You pause, turning to give him one last smile.

“Goodbye, Oscar Piastri.”

hi everyone! hope you enjoyed my longest fic ever, heehee. secret extra message for you: when Oscar asks about being happy with him, he's imagining it all. like, getting married, having kids. spending every dawn and every dusk together. i was listening to 'sienna' by the marias while writing the end scene, and i may have broke my own heart. anyway, go read like all fire, now!! if you havent already.. (or, reread it anyway.)

love, evangeline.

piastreline

wow i’m rereading this for the first time in months and i wish i could remember what the fuck i was going through back then because this is so overdramatic and yet equally devastating. why do you guys let me write so much angst???

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