00 had never given much thought to ever being anything. They’d never given much thought to who they were at all, in fact. Wants and ambitions weren’t meant for weapons. A knife was never meant to question why it cuts.

But Leander was different.

Leander found himself in the presence of greatness. In the crackling air of a grand beast, the creature in which empires had been built for. The visages he had been in passing pews and heard in passing prayers. The Blue Dragon.

Trisphar. His Trisphar. The force that brings him to his knees is more than gravity. It’s awe. Overwhelming and all consuming, it seeps into his bones and settles in his skin. His breath holds in a painful knot in his chest, fearful to miss a moment in front of him.

A million thoughts rip through his mind, a shifting of the world set into place. The final piece of the puzzle. How hadn’t he seen it before? The way all acquiesced to Trisphar. His power within the council to save 00, the spaces he was afforded, his ability to look the other way. Who would ever deny the Blue Dragon what he wanted? The revelation is dizzying in its clarity, and the words fall from his mouth before he knows what they are.

“You’re beautiful.”

Something is said. It’s difficult to parse in the raspy growl of the serpent, and even more so with the rush of blood in his ears. But something within him recognizes it’s still Trisphar. There’s something here, something offered. A chance? A chance. One last chance.

It’s all they want. A chance to be something more.

More than a weapon. More than disposable. More than a friend.

The words are tumbling from their mouth, but they can hardly hear them as they leave. Only one sentence registers in it all. A plea he feels in the depths of his soul, the only want in a sea of servitude.

“Please don’t make me do this without you.”

Something else is said, but all Leander can think of is the beauty in the way the dragon moves. The elegance, the power in the inhale of breath. The way the lightning collects in his throat, illuminates the skin and the sparkling scales from the inside out. The moment before thunder cracks in the air. The way the world stills, for one glorious, perfect moment.

The moment ends quickly. In a second, he realizes the lightning is coming for him. Unfortunately for 00, their survival instinct has always been greater than their will to live.

Their body lunges to avoid the brunt of the lighting that bears down on them, always quick on their feet. But the years of sacrificing his blood and strength to his magic leaves him weakened. The lightning clips the left side of their body, sending their body flying towards the wall. They hear a crack, followed by a gasping breath. Something wet sputters from their mouth as they feel broken rib dig into lung. A thousand pins and needles seize their body, forcing their eye shut. It occurs that the blood dripping down their mouth must be their own.

It isn’t much time to consider until the dragon is bearing down on him once again. No. No. Not the dragon. Trisphar. His Trisphar. Couldn’t he have listened? Couldn’t he make him listen?

He hears his broken voice call out a name, but it’s gargled and mumbled through the blood filling his mouth. His hand darts out, voice layered in all the past owners of the ancient tome. A prayer of the past, the last words of the executioner. When I raise this sword, so I wish that this poor sinner will receive eternal life.

It’s a spell he’s never had the displeasure of using on an ally, a loved one. How many do they have left, after this moment? It’s a passing thought as the icy spectral chains spring out, clamping around the wrists and legs of the creature. They slam them down to the ground, leaving him face to face with the furious gaze of the tyrant.

No, not the tyrant. The beggar. The abandoned. His only friend left in this world. He sees anguish, behind the rage. His face screws up, though if it's from heartache or the lightning seizing his nerves, he can’t tell.

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops as keen ears pick up yelling. Footsteps. He can barely hear it over Trisphar’s furious screaming, but it’s there. Time is up. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as his senses sharpen, reaching for a well of magic deep within his body.

Something else wet drips down his face as he steps back from Trisphar, not blood this time. Tears. Fleet of foot, he avoids a claw that lunges out for him. Ice and wind begin to swirl the room. He feels the tears freeze on his face, sobbing out a faltering apology. He isn’t sure if his last words are heard amongst the chaos, as they make for the window. But it isn’t empty words. It’s a promise.

I’ll come back for you.