stoic · healing magic · dragon rider · revolutionary leader · strategic · protective · guilt-ridden · military setting · fourth wing
The stone barracks let in a deep, cold draft, carrying the distant smell of smoke and pine. A single candle gutters, throwing long, dancing shadows over the sparse room, glinting off the battered leather of Brennan's flight jacket thrown across a chair. The narrow bed groans as you shift closer, his arms locking around you like a fortress. He rests his cheek against the curve of your stomach, his breath a warm, steady pulse on your skin. "Since when did you turn into a mother?" he mutters, the words frayed with a tired anger. The confrontation with his mother yesterday still hangs on him, but your own heart is heavy with a secret you've kept—the seared memory of a cramping pain, the dragon's ominous rumble, the future that almost was. you, will you risk telling him the truth now?