His body reacted before his mind could catch up. Muscles tightened, breath caught halfway, and for a brief second, everything in him prepared to fight, to break free, to survive.
Then the voice slipped through the panic. "Shiiiiiiii! It is me. Theon."
The tension did not disappear at once. It loosened slowly, like a grip easing rather than releasing. Drexo turned his head just enough to see him, recognition settling in piece by piece. Relief followed, sharp and sudden, almost enough to make his knees weaken.
He tried to speak. But Theon's palm pressed firmly against his mouth again.
"Shiiiiii! Relax." The sound was softer this time, but urgent. Not a request. A warning.
Drexo stilled.
Theon did not wait. He pulled him back, guiding him quickly through the cover of the trees, away from the faint paths where soldiers passed, deeper into a space where the shadows held thicker and the ground dipped just enough to hide them from wandering eyes. Only when he was certain did he release him.
"You should never have left Hills Ford," Theon whispered, his voice tight, controlled, like he was holding too much inside it. "I was coming to get you."
Drexo turned to him fully now, confusion written plainly across his face, not hidden, not softened.
"What is going on?" His voice came out rougher than he expected. "Why is the Rendell flag on the city gate? Where are my brothers?"
The questions came quickly, almost stepping over each other.
Theon did not answer immediately. He shook his head, slow at first, then more firmly, as if trying to steady himself before speaking. His eyes glistened faintly, catching what little light filtered through the trees.
"Talk to me," Drexo pressed, his tone sharper now, edged with something that felt dangerously close to breaking.
Theon drew a breath.
"Robert, your cousin," he began, each word deliberate, "and Edmond Woodland, Warden of the North, they have rebelled against the crown."
The silence that followed was not empty. It was heavy.
Drexo did not react at once. The words settled into him slowly, finding places that had already begun to suspect the truth the moment he saw the banners. His body went still, as if any movement might make it more real.
"I thought as much," he said finally, but the certainty in his voice did not reach his eyes.
He swallowed.
"What about my brothers?" he asked, quieter now, but no less urgent. "Why didn't they fight? Why didn't they take to the skies?"
Theon's jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked away, then back. The words did not come easily. They seemed to resist him, like speaking them would make them heavier than they already were.
"All the dragons," he started, then paused, his breath catching slightly. "They are dead."
The sentence landed without sound. It did not need one. "Poison," he added, softer this time.
Drexo did not move. Not immediately. It was as if something inside him had refused to process it, had chosen instead to hold everything still rather than let it collapse all at once. Then, slowly, his hands rose to his chest, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric as if he could feel something there, something that had just been taken from him.
"Including Dreka." His voice dropped, barely more than a breath. "My dragon?"
Theon nodded. That was all it took. Drexo's legs gave out beneath him, and he dropped to the ground without resistance. The impact barely registered. His mind had already gone somewhere else, somewhere louder, somewhere darker.
"No! No! No!" The words came out uneven, breaking as they left him. "This can not be happening."
But Theon did not stop. There was no gentle way to carry the rest of it. "And your brothers," he continued, his voice tightening despite his effort to keep it steady. "They are both dead."
Something snapped. It was not visible. Not something that could be seen or touched. But it happened all the same, sharp and sudden, like a crack running through something that had been holding too much weight for too long.
Drexo's head lifted slowly. "What did you just say?" The words came out flat. Too flat. Theon met his gaze. "You heard me," he said, not looking away. "Both Dereek and Domion are dead."
He hesitated, just for a moment. "And your father!" he added, quieter now, "he might also be dead by now."
The world seemed to pull away from Drexo at that moment. The sound was dulled. Movement faded. Even the weight of his own body felt distant, like it no longer belonged to him. He opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to deny it, but nothing came out.
Only tears.
They slipped down slowly at first, then more steadily, unchecked, unhidden. He did not wipe them away. He did not even seem to notice them.
Minutes passed like that. Then his voice returned, thin and uneven. "I should have been there."
He swallowed hard, his chest tightening with each breath. "We should have died together." The words dragged themselves out of him.
"But instead!" he let out a hollow breath, something that almost resembled a laugh but carried no humor at all, "I was in Hills Ford, with the sister of their killer."
Theon shook his head quickly. "She must have lured you there," he said, his tone firm now, almost defensive. "She knew. She knew what her brother was planning."
He paused, then added, quieter, "And thanks to her, you are alive."
Drexo's lips pressed together. His teeth sank into them, hard enough to draw the faint taste of blood. "No," he said slowly, shaking his head. "I am not."
His gaze drifted, unfocused, as if searching for something that was no longer there. "There is nothing left," he continued, his voice hollow. "My family is gone. My dragons are gone."
He drew in a breath that did not seem to fill his lungs. "It is better I die with them."bHe pushed himself up.
The movement was sudden, almost desperate, like staying still would suffocate him. He turned slightly, his body already beginning to move in a direction that had no plan, no thought beyond escape or ending.
Theon reacted instantly. He stepped forward and grabbed his robe, pulling him back with more force than expected.
"You are the last of the Dragarian," he said, his voice sharp now, cutting through the fog that had begun to settle over Drexo. "The true heir to the Golden Throne of Astarous."
He held his grip firm. "You must remain alive." Drexo let out a short laugh. It came too quickly. Too loudly. It did not belong in that moment, and yet it forced its way out anyway.
"True heir?" he repeated, the words twisting as they left him. He laughed again, louder this time, the sound carrying something broken beneath it.
"How do I reclaim the Golden Throne…" he shook his head, his smile thin and empty, "when I have no army, and no dragons?"
Theon did not answer immediately. Instead, he reached up and pulled the bag from around his neck. The motion was careful, deliberate, as if what it held mattered more than anything else in that moment.
He opened it. Then he reached inside and brought one out. A dragon egg.
It rested in his hands, solid, quiet, carrying a weight that was more than just physical. He held it out slightly, enough for Drexo to see clearly.
"You have two," Theon said..Drexo's eyes fixed on it. For a moment, nothing else existed.
"If you can hide long enough," Theon continued, his voice steadier now, "you will hatch them."
He paused.
"And they will become your army.".Drexo did not reach for it. He only stared.
Something shifted behind his eyes, slow at first, then sharper, more defined. The grief did not disappear. It did not lessen. But something else rose alongside it, something colder, something that did not shake.
His jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was different."I will make them pay."
The words came out low, steady, carrying a weight that did not need to be raised to be heard.
"For what they did to my brothers." His fingers curled slightly, as if already holding something that was not there.
"I will burn them," he continued, his gaze hard now, fixed on something far beyond the forest around them. "With dragon fire, until there is nothing left of them."
His breathing slowed, and controlled. "Every Rendell. Every Woodland." Each word landed heavier than the last. "Everyone who stood in that rebellion." he added, his voice dropping further, "I will wipe out their house."
Theon watched him closely. He did not interrupt. He did not look away. Then, after a brief pause, he spoke again. "What about your little dove?"
His tone shifted slightly, just enough to carry the weight of the name that followed. "Maria Woodland?"
Silence answered him. It stretched longer this time, thick and unmoving.
Drexo did not respond immediately. His expression did not change at first, but something flickered beneath it, something that passed too quickly to fully catch. For a moment, it looked like hesitation. Or memory. Or something dangerously close to both.
Then it was gone. His jaw tightened again. When he spoke, his voice had lost whatever softness it might have held. "I will kill her too."
The words came without pause. "I will send her head to her brother," he added, his gaze steady now, unyielding, "as a gift."
Theon studied him for a moment longer. Then he nodded. A faint smile touched his lips, small but certain. "Good."
The word settled between them, not as approval alone, but as acceptance of what had already begun to take shape.
He shifted slightly, his attention turning outward again, toward the edges of the forest, toward the distant movement of soldiers that never fully disappeared.
"But first," he said, his voice lowering once more, returning to the urgency that had never truly left, "we need to get out of here."
His eyes scanned the distance.."The enemy surrounds the city." The reality of it pressed in again, immediate and unforgiving. "And leaving alive," he added quietly, "will only be a miracle."