2 - 8

"When you go a little tame and sane, it's good to have someone who can pull you back to the wild side, the madness, the tide. Someone to be crazy with is the best one to gift a daisy!"

- Trevor Album

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Part Two - Chapter Seven

"The Dragon's Fear-Filled Witch"

“Oziamon,” Ras pinches the bridge of her nose. “Stop being a little shit, we’re staying here and that’s final.”

“But I want to go,” the witch whines, pouting from where he’s sitting around their small camp, arms crossed and leg shaking. “Why can Atlas but I can’t? He’s more intimidating than I am!”

From next to Stray, his protector rolls his eyes.The golden dragon just snickers, bouncing on his heels.

“He’s Stray’s dad, for one,” the phoenix says which, consequently, makes both of the dragons’ faces go a little red. Even after all these years, titles and easy fondness still makes the both of them all squirmy. “And for another thing, you’re a witch. They don’t have the best history involving witches, you know this, Ozzy.”

They didn’t want to overwhelm the voidwalker more than they already will.

“I know,” then those warm brown eyes are turning to him, narrowing. “You’ll get us if you need help, yeah? None of that ‘I can handle it myself’ bullshit?”

“You’re so fucking clingy, Oz,” Stray grins, but relents. “Yes, we’ll get you guys if we need you. Now please, can we go? I haven’t seen them in literal years and you’re making me wait longer, like a dickhead.”

The witch pulls a face but nods, so the youngling takes off to where he can see the ruins of the town poking out between the trees without saying anything else.

“Behave!” Ras shouts after him.

He hears Athanasius sigh from behind him and then the pounding of feet as his dad easily catches up.

He gets an unimpressed eyebrow raised at him when he slows to a fast walk not even ten minutes later.

Not his fault he doesn’t have the same stamina as a being literally centuries old.

Walking along the end of buildings, Stray can’t help but to wonder how exactly everything went down.

He knows that his dad came here years ago and killed all the witches—except the voidwalker, apparently—that had to do with his old coven. That he burnt their homes to the ground, that he uprooted the crops, that he turned this into a ghost town.

He wonders how long it took for everyone else to abandon this place, for people to connect it with bad omens or evil souls. If they even knew what happened, why it happened, or just saw a giant, scaled creature ruin everything and everyone in sight.

He wonders how much it hurt—if they all deserved it.

Then he remembers the scars on his back and he knows that they did.

They travel into the town, Stray in the lead and his dad not far behind him. They don’t run but their pace is too fast to be called walking.

He stops in front of a burnt, hollowed out building, the only wall still standing is the one facing him. It’s ruined, blackened. The roof caved in and the walls were scorched, the windows shattered.

Even with it looking so different, Stray recognized it.

He’s in front of the big window, in front of where he and his voidwalker usually stand.

Athanasius stops behind him, letting him stare, letting him process. He takes a deep breath and then meets his protector’s eyes, his vision a bit blurry and his nose stinging.

“This is where it happened, dad,” his voice breaks, his hands shake, and he cries. “This is where I lost them.”

“Come ’ere, treasure,” Atlas tugs him closer, gently pulling him into his arms. “It’s okay. I know it hurts, but we’re here now. We’re here now and we’re goin’ t’find them. We’ll find ‘em, love.”

“I know,” Stray sniffles. “I’m just, I’m freaking out. A bit.”

“Wanna swear?”

Oh, his dad knows him so well—knows that being ‘bad’ helps.

“Shit, fuck bitch,” he easily replies, voice muffled by the others’ shirt. “Balls and cock. Cock and balls. Bitch. Shit and bitch and fuck. Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can you say bubbles?”

Athanasius sighs, hand cupping the back of his neck. “Bubbles.”

Stray snorts, amused by his deep voice, and pulls away. The big dragon lets him move and silently wipes his tears away, brushing a gentle hand down his cheek to chase away the stiffness.

Safe-safe-good? He rumbles, nudging a hand against his horns. Love, mine-mine.

Good-safe, yes, the youngling nudges him back, butting his horns into his bicep. Love-protected-yours.

They continue looking through the broken-down town, following the pull in his chest.

Promising to meet up, and for the golden dragon to call for help if he needs it, they split up to look for the witch—Stray goes into the ruined building with the big window and Athanasius stalks the outside, both trying to catch a hint of the endwalker.

Looking outside of the window, seeing the sky, feels so different from in the dreams.

The inside doesn’t smell as bad as the other buildings that Stray stuck his head into, but by no means is it pleasant.

There’s a bunch of rubble on the ground, dirt and glass and random things knocked over and broken. All the rooms have been overrun by animals, nature, or left to rot in dust and what he’s sure is an unhealthy amount of smelly rainwater.

There’s a hallway though, one that leads to—what he can remember of the town’s layout—the church. The grime has been pushed to the side, almost like it’s been cleared out.

That’s… strange.

Stray makes a face and follows the path of cleanliness (not clean but cleaner than everything else) to a bigger hallway, doorways without doors ending up the entire view.

The first three rooms were dirty but empty, like someone took everything even remotely useful out of it.

The last room had big double doors that rested off of their hinges and in the middle of the floor. He lightly kicks at them as he goes back, frowning as he stares at them, walking past it. There were these odd ropes at the top—why would someone put ropes on a door?

Shaking his head, Stray continues on, squinting as he turns into the last room.

He’s blinded for a second by the sun and stumbles forward as some rubble slips underfoot—then he’s slipping, the ground shifting and unstable, throwing him backwards—

“Fuck!” His voice is ripped from his throat, then—

Stray shouts in surprise as a net comes from fucking nowhere and wraps around his body, pinning his wings into his back and putting him upside down, hanging.

Through wide eyes, he sees the thick oak doors hanging mid-air by the ropes.

Oh, gods, this was a trap—a trap.

Someone had to have set this up, someone must’ve had to planted this, must’ve had to hook those up and put those there—they’re going to find him and hurt him, just like the old witches—

This is where they lives, this is where they would have to be—

He’s going to be hurt. He’s going to be hurt and he’s going to die, and—

Help! Help! Trapped-scared, scared-scared-scared, help! He screeched out as loud as possible, growling fiercely as he tried to claw at the rope, wings trying to flare out, burning as they’re restrained. Hurt, help-help, hurt-trapped! Protector, protector-help!

From somewhere outside, he hears Athanasius roar; both a warning to those who’d dare to hurt his youngling and an answering call.

Stray calls back, crying out as something moves in the room.

It’s behind him—a shuffle, footsteps, they’re coming closer—

Gods, someone’s in here already, they’re going to hurt him—

Get back! Stray shifts ino scales, snarling and growling, paws sinking heavier into the net than his shoed feet had. He twists unsteadily, puffing himself up. Leave me alone, sorry-sorry, didn’t mean to! Stay back!

Someone’s trying to talk to him but he can’t understand it past the panic.

All he can hear is his pounding heartbeat, hear his protector’s vicious snarl from somewhere to the side—

There’s give on the rope, gravity twisting, and he’s going down, down, down—

His side hits the floor, wings getting tangled up as he tries to keep himself afloat.

This is bad, this is so bad—

“Starlight, please.” Someone’s in front of him, they’re touching the ropes, touching him. It’s just like before, with the cage and the ropes and the cold hands—he’s trapped all over again.

He’s going to get hurt all over again. It’s going to happen and—

Back, stay back! Stray snarls, everything a blur of colors as he throws himself away, the ropes digging harshly into his scales. Scared-sorry-scared, go away!

“No, no, it’s okay.” The person backs away, hands raised in front of them and he flinches, eyes following the moment—

T

hey’re tall, broad shouldered, no weapons and nothing in their hands to use against him, no twist of magic curling around their fingers but—

But their face—

Dark with white eyes, shifting like the night sky, tall eyebrows and a sharp jaw, open mouth moving with words the golden dragon couldn’t hear. He recognized them, he knows who this is—

Stray freezes and stares, a pitiful whine stuttering to a stop in his throat. The magic leading him to his voidwalker bursts in his chest, warm and popping.

They pause too, eyes widening slightly. “Starlight…?”

He goes to nod, he goes to shift, to do something, anything—but there’s a big crash, the whole building shakes around them, ground trembling and across from them, the wall gives in.

Athanasius crashes into the room with an angry snarl, concrete and dust surrounding him, the setting sun casting over his flaring wings, his sharp horns, and making his burning red scales look like they’re dripping blood.

The air in the room tenses, everything’s silent for a single moment as his dad turns to them, pupils pinpricks and lethal talons sinking into the wood below them, turning it to splinters.

He sees the ropes covering the little dragon, smells the magic in the witch in front of him, and snarls.

Stray pounces the same time that Athanasius lunges at his voidwalker, heart jack-rabbiting as he thinks for a split second that he simply won’t be quick enough—that this’ll be the end.

That all he’ll have left of his voidwalker is memories.

But then he’s slamming into the witch and then into the ground, his protector growling furiously as his claws slam into either side of them, large body looming above as his head points down—the golden dragon wrapping himself around his voidwalker, ignoring their gasps as he gives a tiny whimpering, pleading.

His dad’s snarl fades, lips pulling back over his sharp teeth as he lowers his head to them.

The voidwalker’s breath hitches, fear acrid in the air, and Stray presses closer.

There’s hands hovering over his side now, shaking.

Scared-scared-scared, the youngling whines, raising his head to press their snouts together, trembling—

“Don’t.” The witch gasps out, arms curling around his neck, trying to shield him. “Don’t hurt him, please, please, don’t hurt him—”

Realizing that the pleading is for him, for his safety, Stray snuffles sadly and eases back down, eyes coming back to their night eyes that are full of tears.

He hates how this is how they’re reuniting.

Fear and confusion; it’s not supposed to be like this—

Athanasius eases back on his hunches, huffing with confusion.

Safe? His protector growls, making the voidwalker whimper. Hurt, scared-trapped, hurt?

Safe, not trapped, hurt-hurt-scared, he growls back, glancing between his wings and his dad’s eyes. Hoard, mine-mine-mine. Safe-mine, scared.

Yours? Atlas instantly starts to sniff along his body, making sure there’s nothing on the ropes that’ll burn him. Sorry-upset-worried. Hoard is safe, hurt-scared?

Hurt-scared but safe. Mine-mine, yes.

“Please,” the witch pleads again when Athanasius pulls back.

Stray knows that to others, his dad looks always angry and a bit terrifying with his big body, muscles, and nasty scars.

No matter the form, he’s scary.

With a soft growl that although he finds comforting, but the voidwalker definitely doesn’t, the red dragon shifts back.

He’s left standing there, frowning at them, big hands hovering.

“Don’t shift, Aster,” Athanasius orders, kneeling at their side despite the way Stray gives a displeased grumble. “I know, love, but you’d be gettin’ hurt worse if you do. Just wait until we get back to Oz ‘n we can heal you, alright?”

He nods but doesn’t move, head lowering until it is on his witch’s chest. Atlas’ focus shifts with him, and the two strangers are left staring at each other.

“Hullo.” His dad blinks, hands already on the ropes and pulling them away. “Are you, uh, alright?”

The voidwalker just stares, eyes wide.

“That was a bad first impression.” He continues, grimacing. “I’m Athanasius, Stray’s father ‘n this is gettin’ awkward, so I’m just goin’ to focus on my kid.”

Stray wishes, with everything in him, that he could speak right now.

He feels like he did all those years ago when he was new to the coven, full of questions and comments but no way to voice them.

But he’s here. He’s here and so is his voidwalker.

They found each other again and this time—this time Stray’s not going to lose them.

There’s no getting lost, not after today.