109 | metamorphosis; yearning for home

There were things no physical barrier could contain—the sense of calmness that penetrated the plane dividing the two. Along the damp and filthy floors, Noah propped one knee up as his back pressed against the cold wall. The chill permeated his always cold skin, tingling along his spine.

His fingers curled lightly, knuckles tapping a rhythm against the wall. Every three of his, and a single tap would come from the other side.

As if reassuring that the other person was there, listening.

What thoughts filled that fool's head, alone in that dark space?

What had he thought back when he was merely a child with no ability to defend himself?

Through Noah's half-lidded gaze, the illusion of a small, bony, and malnourished child with a pale disposition flickered before him. Protruding knees curled helplessly to his chest, trapped in the darkness and crying soundless tears that nobody answered.

The air prickled around him, thick and cloying as his anger infused with the oxygen filling his lungs. All he felt was rage; pure and blinding fury.

Had he been there, he would've ripped them to shreds. Without mercy, without care, he would've made them learn that child's suffering tenfold.

The next tap of his knuckles was violent, scraping the skin of his fingers lightly. He paused, eyes dropping to the drops of red appearing through his black-inked hands. He exhaled, closing his eyes.

He tried to focus on the vague sounds from behind the wall. Kaden thought it was Noah who calmed him, eased his delusions, and kept him sane. He thought it was Kaden who needed Noah.

When in truth, it was Noah that needed Kaden.

Kaden, the manifestation of ease, the sound of life that calmed Noah's trembling rage, soothing the danger of his own spiraling thoughts.

The voice that spoke from behind the wall was frighteningly hoarse and broken.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy."

Noah jerked his body, pressing his shoulder blades against the wall as if sheer pressure could help him sink through and pass into the other side. He couldn't. His blessing was praised to be unique and powerful but what use did it have if it could do nothing for the one he wanted to save?

Noah breathed and wondered softly, "What for?"

Kaden fell silent, his back pressed against the wall. He thought, if he closed his eyes, he could feel the heat of the dragon's back pressing behind him. Of course, that was merely an illusion, a fleeting dream.

Their silence had been ongoing for a day, perhaps longer. The guards were forbidden from venturing to the basement—Kaden's blessing on this evening would dangerously impact regular people.

Noah had easily concluded, judging from the time of the year, that the night of the Blood Moon approached.

His thumb brushed past the scrapped skin on his knuckles, pure and unwavering darkness simmering around him. He never liked talking; it wasn't that Noah was particularly quiet, but that he never felt the necessity of speaking.

To be accurate, people were less interested in his words and more interested in his identity that was speaking. They would pretend to listen, playing faithful and genuine people, without really listening.

It was all a pointless game.

He stood across a trembling bridge, eons away from all those around him. He'd accepted that solitude.

Hearing the silence and the unsteady breath that quietened and then rose, Noah participated in a rebellion against all that he knew and believed. The life that he lived, the values he lived by, were all ruined by the mere shaking breath of a fool.

"When I was a teenager," began the dragon thoughtfully, his voice powerful and alluring, deepened by exhaustion. "I crippled a man."

Kaden struggled to lift his body, frowning. "How?"

Involuntarily, at the sound of the other's voice, Noah's lips curled up. He thought back to his past—it'd been a surprising thing, back then. An impactful event in his life although he'd never thought deeply about it. He'd chosen to forget and devalue it rather than acknowledge its impact.

"I have a little brother. He went missing a long time ago."

Kaden's eyes cracked open a sliver, pain laced in the deep green. However, he mustered enough energy to suffuse amusement into his tone. "Is everybody... losing a brother? Just like... that red-haired annoyance."

Noah paused, scrunching his nose. He didn't want anything in common with that outlandish prince, but there was no helping it. Kaden laughed hoarsely at Noah's silence. He winced after, clutching his stomach that rolled in dulled pain.

"He fell into a human's hunting trap." A shaky exhale left him, the memories vividly filling his mind. "They caught a dragon and thus, they were ecstatic."

Kaden tapped once against the wall, scowling. "That's dehumanizing."

"We're not human." His voice was terrifying, cold, and unfeeling as if repeating a script. "We are a species that can be taken apart for our organs, limbs, wings. We are a thing that can bring great riches to those who butcher us."

Kaden opened his mouth and closed it. "I don't like that."

Noah breathed, a smile faintly appearing. His shoulders smoothened as he reminded himself of where he was, and that it was merely a memory. "I know. I looked for him. He was still young and although we are taught to fend for ourselves, and we weren't close, I grew worried. Intimacy isn't in our teachings."

"But," He stared at the ceiling, examining the fine textures of the wall. "But he was missing, and I thought of him as a treasure, even if we were taught otherwise."

"You're taught not to love your family?"

"We are raised to live alone. And that means living without attachments, regardless of blood."

"...is that so."

"I remember it." And he did, the image flourishing in his mind, printed clearly. "Seeing him, a small scaled body, tangled in a hunter's ropes. Their delight at the idea of dissecting him."

"At that time,"

All he'd seen was seething, hot rage. Back then, there was nothing to control the young dragon's anger, a burning and boiling feeling that made all rational thoughts decline. It erupted, a violent and twisted thing that seized his control.

He'd acted before thinking; he'd been in a humanoid form, but his bones cracked and twisted, dark wings stretching out like a skeleton's omen.

The hunters had stared at him with horror, an instinctive fear penetrating their bones. They were scared, prepared to run, and Noah knew he could've let them.

He could've let them run, and neither party would be hurt.

He was stronger than them, and it had consequences. He was dangerous, and he had to be aware.

And yet, he'd lunged. One escaped in a hurry, and Noah had been less powerful then, his talons scraping against a fleshy calf, feeling the pressure of the meat as he dug through.

Blood had splattered and pooled across the dry scatter of coloured leaves, under the swaying trees that shook with disappointment. He remembered the excruciating scream that tore through the forest, tearing through Noah's mind as his pupils focused, and all he saw was a crawling, pathetic adult man dragging himself against the ground.

He remembered how he'd wanted to kill that man—clear as day. He wanted to kill that man and determine that he could never harm his family, his treasure, again.

And he would've.

But his brother, freed on his own from the ropes, had leaped at Noah and stopped him. There was a burning hatred in his rounded and young eyes, a similar anger, but an unfamiliar fear.

Noah had scared him, then.

Because he was the embodiment of madness they'd been raised to fight against.

Frightened by the terror in the younger dragon's eyes, Noah had transformed back and attempted to help the crawling human—but he was refused.

He'd heard yelling deep in the forest and the stampede of footsteps coming towards them. Likely, the man's comrades coming back to help him. Because humans too, had companions that would fight to protect each other.

Noah and his younger brother had flown away, fleeing from the ghastly scene that left one man crippled. That leg would not heal; Noah had known.

Kaden listened quietly, not daring to interrupt. When Noah stopped, Kaden spoke soothingly. It was the hum of ocean waves that cooled Noah's bitter heart, smothering and reassuring. "That wasn't your fault."

"It was." Noah's voice was firm despite basking in the sound of Kaden's living. "There is no justification. They hunted us, so I hunted them. Am I excused because I fought back, even if I'd been willing to tear him apart while my brother remained fine?"

Noah spoke slowly. "Chauvet, please don't justify my actions. Do you want to know me," His breath caught in something akin to fear. "Or merely the idea of me?"

The fear in Noah's tone transmitted through the wall. It was unfamiliar to Kaden, and he hated that it was.

"You," he said immediately, turning around as he spread his palms flat against the wall. He understood something in the blur of Noah's wavering voice and the delusions twisting around him. "I'm sorry, Bellamy."

Noah hadn't expected the apology and hummed thoughtfully. "I won't forgive you."

It was always Noah Bellamy. The one that taught Kaden how to make shrimp fried rice with an unyielding scowl, the one that teased with a solemn expression or flirted expressionlessly to make Kaden snort. The one that buried his nose in books but disliked focusing in class.

It was this dragon that he'd always admired; this man he didn't know.

But the one he fell in love with, the one that he did know, had flaws and a beating heart and all those wonderful, terrible things that made him real.

And between the Noah that Kaden knew and the one he didn't, there was a difference.

He thought he'd accepted that there was so much more to learn about Noah, and had been so confident in his expression of love and protection. In reality, was he twisting the narrative to suit his own miserable tale, writing his own tragedy?

In the back of his mind, that idolized version of the heroic dragon had been imprinted in his mind. Influencing his thoughts unknowingly, a subtle belief in all his assumptions.

Noah's breath stagnated, seeming to swallow a hundred frustrations. A thousand irritations. "You are infuriating, Kaden Chauvet. It would've been easier to hate you."

Kaden smiled, swallowing. "Then hate me."

"I can't," said Noah helplessly. "I wasn't made to hate you."

He couldn't, even when the mere existence of Kaden Chauvet stirred at a simmering pool of emotions he struggled for years to withhold.

He couldn't, even when he was more miserable in loving that fool than not knowing him.

Noah's voice was a blend of scorching fury—to whom, it was unknown—and cruel resignation. The combination transmitted through the dividing wall, and Kaden tensed.

He leaned against the wall quietly, taking in everything the dragon expressed, all his abominable misery and weakness that Kaden never illustrated him to have.

But Kaden never fell in love with that perfect illustration of Noah Bellamy.

He wondered, hesitantly, if he'd done everything wrong. If he'd made dozens of mistakes and was about to make another. That made him terrified—he was always terrified. That merely breathing would cause the world to crumble around him, that his existence would prove to be a sin, time after time again.

Kaden brushed his hand against the indents in the wall, carved by his hand many, many years prior. He took in a deep breath. Then, strengthened by an uncertain resolve, he spoke.

"I want to go home, Bellamy."

Noah's eyes snapped open. His hands curled and uncurled and curled again, lips parting a fraction. He stood up and sat back down again, frowning deeply.

"Is your blessing making me hallucinate?"

Kaden heard all the movements and tiredly laughed, exhaling deeply. "Wrong answer, darling dragon."

"Forgive me for being too accustomed to your pessimistic foolery," replied Noah with a grudging drawl, shaking his head. Then, he tapped his fingers against the wall, joy burrowing in his chest. "Let's go home, Chauvet."

Home. It'd been so long since they'd returned to their companions.

And even longer since they'd been without a home. Noah wanted nothing more than to return to those peaceful days.

Kaden smiled faintly before a sudden burst of pain seized his body. He clutched his stomach, his head—he didn't know where the pain came from, but that it had embedded itself into the marrows of his bones.

The shadows lumbered over him, blinking eyes stretched thin and peering at his collapsed body as slumped against the wall, eventually dragging his weightless body to the ground.

The walls condensed all around him, suffocating the little air he had.

The dragon saw it too, time slowing around him in uncontrolled beats, as the walls twisted and distorted. He heard the sound of something falling and rammed against the wall.

"Chauvet? Chauvet!"

Something crawled in Kaden's stomach and he doubled over, violently and urgently coughing out.

And there it spilled from his mouth, clinging and fine tendrils of wriggling insects. Kaden felt ill, staring at his fingers sticky with saliva. Then, his fingers curled as his blurred eyes narrowed.

It wasn't saliva; that was blood coating his slender fingers.

Outside, unseen from the buried cells, the Blood Moon hung high in the pitch-black skies, a red circle pulsing against the canvas of darkness.

The night had reached its peak.

Deep within the castle, a red-haired man curled on his thin mattress, practically wooden with its lack of softness. He rolled onto his back and sweat beaded his skin, soaking the sheets.

In another room that was devoid of any furniture or belongings, save for the wilting flowers that littered the room in small bundles of collections, the youngest prince hummed to himself in quiet rumination.

His body was lethargic, but his mind was clear. He bundled up a new collection of flowers, ugly in its knotted ribbon that had been tied a dozen times.

In another room again, an expensive bed with messy sheets, the standing doors to the balcony were blown wide, a crimson hue spilling over the ground. But the room was empty, and the breeze blew for no one.

In the basement, a tall figure draped in a cloak woven from the starry night stood in front of the closed door.

"Little star," said the faint voice within the hood.

Noah hadn't noticed anybody's approach—the Blood Moon affected him minimally. How had he not noticed?

"Who are you?" he growled dangerously, the hairs on his arm prickling in the stagnant air. "Step away from that door."

The figure ignored him, gently sliding open the small slit in the door.

A pair of wild, green eyes jerked to the dull light, widening. Kaden gasped, blood smeared across his face. There were cuts all over his arms as if scraped by nails.

"Little star... those illusions... are not real."

Kaden felt the hot scamper of sensation running up his arms, like little insects, dozens of ants crawling under his skin. He'd known, that it wasn't real until the sensation became real and all he wanted was to peel his skin off.

He was a pathetic sight, coated in his blood and injuries of his own making, pink hair disarrayed and eyes bloodshot.

The comfort of his old friend could not ease his terrors tonight.

The cloaked figure seemed to realize that; that tonight, it was worse than it'd ever been before. Kaden's reversal seemed to show no signs of easing, far too gone to be helped. The extensive use of his blessing had come to claim its price.

They stiffened and let out a choked exhale. Finally, their body straightening and the edges of their voice becoming sterner, they spoke a single word. An order, a command.

"Sleep."

Kaden's eyes widened, his body torn between the stimulus of his illusions and a searing pain deep in his body.

His eyes shuttered, and his awareness slipped into the darkness of his room. There was a light thud as Kaden's body fell to the side, and the bars to the cell beside him banged violently.

"What did you do?" said Noah quietly, his hands curled around the bars threateningly.

The voice that spoke was distant and far away as if lost in the lingerings of a dream. "What I was younger... I wanted to save somebody... but I could not... for as long as I loved them. For the things I had to do... were too cruel."

They walked over, steps quiet and Noah peered into the abyss of their hood, seeing nothing.

"I only exist on the night of the Blood Moon. So let me... tell you, writer... to the you who loves stories."

"A story."

Once upon a miserable time, a young teenager, arrogant and indifferent to the matters of life, had taken in a boy; a boy he wanted to save from the filthy streets he once roamed.

The boy in question had robbed him of his money the previous week. A pouch of golden coins that the teenager collected. They were not regular; they were magical artifacts he stole and hoarded.

A thief stealing his robbed possession. The teenager thought it was an amusing sentence, easily twisting the boy's arm behind his back, retrieving the gold.

He left one, cold and round, pressed in the small palm.

Let that one coin become a hope to that child, let it grant his vast wishes and bring upon a miracle. The teenager had not known what the coin could do; he had yet to experiment with the effects, but he hadn't been opposed to leaving one behind.

Throughout the week, he could not stop thinking of that child, and the child's scorching gaze. They were the eyes of a person who would become something, somebody in this vastness of nothing.

The teenager took the boy in, and he did not know if it was for the sake of his own satisfaction and sense of purpose in his worthless life.

He did not know if he was compelled to witness the boy's journey to greatness, a greatness that would certainly come. He did not know but he smiled at the child nevertheless.

The child was like a caterpillar, small and ugly and destined for a metamorphosis, a transformation beyond the physical sense.

Unexpectedly, the boy grew attached to him, following him around as if attached by a string. The teenager experienced, for the first time, what it meant for his birthday to be celebrated. He experienced what it was to be trusted, to be relied on so foolishly, so unapologetically.

This wasn't a part of the plan. Attachment was never an expected result of his little experiment, his sense of gratification and self-satisfaction that he'd indulged in.

But he'd loved that child, as naturally as families were obligated to love one another. He felt a strong compulsion, a need to treasure and protect that was almost obsessive.

For within his reality of empty riches and glory, it was the crooked smile of a child that he found worth.