so this is it, then? time slows. she tilts her head back and a cool acceptance washes over her. and her anger, too, leaves her, as tapu fini's protection stretches across itself and its master. she will die a meaningless death, in the flames of her own making, while her dragons seethe with a lust for her blood.

and in this moment of weakness, she thinks of emma, of the softest, gentlest thing she has ever had in her life. and it is tainted, spilled over with black ink and darkened by an infernal fury that swallows her whole.

she howls against her death, as the seconds tick by, and her demise looms closer. and as the thump, thump, thumping of wingbeats come closer, threatening to end her should the blast fail. 

but this fury and this rage sizzle through her veins and the mega stone woven into her hair glows a hot red. and lyune, ever-closest, his mind off-kilter, not quite right since that day against the rocks, manages to pierce the cloud. his bones shudders and shake and his claws wrap around her as his evolving form cocoons her. 

the blast is devastating and lyune's claws rip gashes into her side. they are clumsy, the two of them. but she does not howl in pain as they stumble. wisps of a barrier, of a protection, emanate from his now-longer scales. that barrier shimmers and fades as he uncurls, breathing hard, using his pain to find his mind. 

as the dust settles, freya finds the will to stand.

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

blood drips, slick and dark, from her wounds as she stands. lyune's pupils dilate at the scent of blood. his tail lashes in a frenzy and he bellows. his claws carve grooves into the stone as though slicing through butter and yet she does not waver.

she stands triumphantly, unabashedly at fernando. she is not a cornered animal, not beaten into submission - she is a death-defying specter. her gravestone was made, marked, and left behind her before stone found her; that crater in the earth beneath fernando's feet would not have ended her. 

how does it feel to free your mind, freya?

adrenaline still courses through her. lyune burgeoning fury only stokes the flames and she crouches, feet sliding on her own blood, lips curled as she snarls. and lyune roars in tandem, gout of fire spilling from his maw. 

"finish it," she spits, stalking forward, desperation in her delirium. her mind is scattered and disarrayed, fragmented and broken; her soul yearns for a stronger vessel, for something capable of holding in all of this wrath. 

"make me whole."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

we are what we overcome. those are words spoken by a cripple. they are not inspirational. they are pitiful. she grappled every obstacle to pull herself from that dark moon, to become the day, the warmth, the good. and where has that gotten her?

lyune's fangs drip with ashen spittle. embers burn with a flurry around his teeth. he hisses lowly in warning as fernando approaches.

she reaches up to stop him, to - ssszpop - shove his hand to the side and dig her fangs into his throat, to taste the thick air as his lifeblood pools around him, to watch him suffer as we/i have suffered. 

she rears back; lyune's wings fan and he shakes his head. she grabs her own, sinks down to her knees.

"what did you do?" she demands, ears ringing, veins boiling.

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

his voice is in her head and dread settles over her like a blanket. lyune continues to shake his head and freya actually startles when a gout of flamethrower spurs from his maw, scorching the earth, leaving her own throat raw and blistering. she reaches up, coughing. 

lyune's gaze settles on fernando and once again she is rocked by fury, by lyune's ancient malice, but then fog rolls over her mind. that hatred flips. lyune's wings settle and his head dips down. a dragon's bow. 

it makes sense. this makes sense. she licks her lips and looks down at herself, cocks her head. "we no longer wish to bear these scars," she says. is that her voice? 

"allow me to rescind my decision against your proposal. we'll be of more use to you without our injuries." 

FERNANDO SILPH

☉