Chapter 132: Ignis

Chapter 132: Chapter 132: Ignis

The dragon didn’t move at first. It simply stared at him, ember-bright eyes unblinking, something ancient and utterly unbothered by its own newness settling into its posture despite the fact that it had existed, by Killian’s count, for less than sixty seconds.

"Master," Ziki said, hushed. "I would recommend caution. We have no baseline for its temperament."

The dragon’s head turned, slow and deliberate, toward the sound of Ziki’s voice — or rather, toward the empty air where the voice originated, since Ziki had no body for it to actually look at. Its lip curled back from a row of teeth still slick with the fluid of its shell, and a low, rattling growl vibrated out of its narrow chest.

"I don’t think it likes you," Killian said.

"I have not done anything to warrant dislike."

"You exist. That might be enough."

The growl subsided the moment Killian spoke again, the dragon’s attention snapping back to him with an immediacy that felt less like curiosity and more like recognition — the same instinctive, unshakable certainty Killian imagined a newborn animal felt toward the first warmth it encountered, except sharper somehow, hungrier, a creature already fully convinced of exactly where it belonged in the world despite having only just arrived in it.

It took one unsteady step forward on legs still slick and new, wings dragging against the cave floor, and pressed its snout against Killian’s outstretched palm without waiting to be invited.

Warmth radiated off its scales, not uncomfortable, closer to standing near a low fire — a heat that felt less like body temperature and more like something the creature simply was, all the way down.

"Well," Killian said quietly. "Hello."

The dragon exhaled, a thin curl of smoke escaping its nostrils, and settled its weight more fully against his hand, as though the introduction had satisfied whatever it needed to know.

Master, Ziki said, tone carefully measured. You should name it. Bonded creatures typically require one to stabilize the connection properly.

Killian studied the dragon for a long moment — the black scales, the ember eyes, the faint heat still rolling off it in slow, deliberate waves, like a coal that had decided, of its own accord, that it would rather smolder than go out.

"Ignis," he said finally.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, considering, and then — astonishingly — it huffed, a short, sharp exhale of smoke that felt, unmistakably, like approval.

A reasonable choice, Ziki said. Latin. Fire. Fitting, given the—

Ignis doesn’t need your commentary, a new voice cut in, low, dry, and entirely unbothered by the fact that it had never spoken a single word in its life before this exact moment.

Killian went very still.

Ziki, he said carefully. "It’s talking."

I am aware, Master. I did not expect it either.

I have always been able to speak, Ignis said, the voice settling into something that sounded, disturbingly, like it had been practicing tone and inflection somewhere Killian hadn’t been able to observe. I simply had nothing worth saying until now.

"And what, exactly, was worth saying?"

Ignis’s head tilted, ember eyes narrowing further, something unmistakably smug creeping into the posture despite the fact that it had no eyebrows to raise or mouth built for human expression.

That the small annoying voice should stop talking before I decide to see if it burns.

I do not have a physical form for you to burn, Ziki said, with the particular flatness Killian had come to recognize as genuine irritation dressed up as calm. Your threat is, unfortunately, entirely theoretical.

A shame. I would enjoy testing it regardless.

Killian pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose, already feeling the shape of the next several months take form in his mind. "You’ve been alive for two minutes."

I have been alive for exactly as long as I needed to be, Ignis said, drawing itself up as much as its still-unsteady legs allowed, wings unfurling slightly for the first time — small, membranous, glistening black, nowhere near large enough yet to be useful for anything but posturing. I am not some fledgling creature stumbling into awareness, Master. I arrived complete. Whole. Formidable.

You are currently struggling to stand, Ziki observed.

That is a temporary condition and beneath comment.

Killian looked between the empty air where Ziki’s voice originated and the dragon currently glaring at that same empty air with an intensity that suggested it fully intended to make good on its threat the moment it developed the physical means to do so, and felt something in his chest ease slightly despite the absurdity of it — a warmth that had nothing to do with Ignis’s scales and everything to do with simply not being entirely alone in this space anymore.

"Ignis," he said, drawing the dragon’s attention back to him. "Ziki keeps this space running. Whatever irritation you’ve got with it, I’d prefer you didn’t act on it."

The dragon considered this with obvious reluctance, ember eyes flicking once more toward the sound of Ziki’s presence before settling back on Killian.

For you, Master. Not for it.

Duly noted, Ziki said dryly. I will treasure the distinction.

You should. It is generous of me.

Killian nearly laughed — the first genuine, uncomplicated impulse toward laughter he’d felt in longer than he wanted to examine — and let his hand rest against Ignis’s snout a moment longer, feeling the low, steady thrum of heat beneath the scales, something that felt, despite everything, remarkably like a heartbeat settling into rhythm with his own.

Master, Ziki said, businesslike again, the momentary friction with Ignis apparently filed away for later. I should note that Ignis’s presence will require sustenance beyond what the spring currently provides. I recommend prioritizing spiritual essence collection going forward — the museum artifacts you retrieved tonight will help, but a creature of this classification will require ongoing intake to develop properly.

"How much ongoing intake?"

Considerable. I will compile a more precise estimate once I have observed its growth rate over the next several days.

Ignis made a low, satisfied sound at that, settling its weight more fully against the cave floor, wings folding back against its narrow spine. Good. I intend to be considerable eventually. Small is unbecoming.

"You’re the size of a large housecat right now."

A temporary condition, Ignis repeated, with the exact same tone it had used to dismiss its inability to stand, and beneath comment.

Killian shook his head, something almost fond creeping into the expression despite himself, and rose slowly, careful not to disturb the dragon still pressed against his palm. "Get some rest. Both of you, I suppose, in whatever way that applies to a system administrator and a dragon who’s apparently decided it was born already annoyed."

I was not born annoyed, Ignis said, affronted. I was born correct. There is a difference.

There is not, Ziki said.

There is, and I will prove it once I have wings capable of flight.

Killian left them to it, the low, bickering murmur following him all the way back toward the mouth of the cave — Ziki’s flat, precise irritation and Ignis’s smug, unearned confidence weaving into something that felt, against every reasonable expectation, almost like the beginning of a family he hadn’t known he was still allowed to have.

He glanced back once before stepping out into the open field beyond the cave, the crystal light catching on black scales still slick and new, ember eyes tracking him even now, unblinking, absolutely certain of exactly where it belonged.

Master, Ignis called after him, voice carrying easily across the distance.

Killian paused. "Yeah?"

Bring back something to eat next time. Something suitably impressive. I have expectations to maintain.

Killian huffed out something that was almost a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped back out into the cool night air of the space.

"Noted," he said, and meant it.

The walk back down through the fields toward the cabin gave him more time than he wanted to think in.

The fields stretched quiet around him, dark under whatever passed for night inside the space, the spring catching faint threads of crystal light as it wound its way toward the cabin’s small porch. He’d left a version of himself behind in that cave — not literally, but something about naming a creature, watching it choose him back with that same absolute, unshaken certainty, had cracked something open that he hadn’t planned on examining tonight.

His mind went, without his permission, to the villa.

Three nights ago he’d walked through his childhood home under the cover of darkness and stripped it of everything worth keeping — the paintings, the antiques, the study behind the false shelf, the last of his mother’s jewelry, all of it folded away into the ring before his uncle’s family had woken to find any of it missing. He hadn’t left them nothing. He remembered that clearly, remembered the specific, deliberate choice to leave the pantry stocked, the emergency supplies untouched, enough food and water in that house to carry four people through weeks of this if they were smart about rationing it.

He wondered, now, whether any of them had woken up yet.

Whether his aunt had opened her eyes to a house missing half its furnishings and understood, immediately, who had been there and why. Whether Chris had noticed the supplies at all, or simply raged about the paintings the way Killian suspected he would — outraged by the theft, blind to the fact that it had also been a kindness, the last one Killian intended to offer that family for as long as either of them lived.

Whether Sasha had woken at all.

He turned that thought over carefully, the way he turned over most things now — clinically, at a slight remove, refusing to let it land anywhere near the place in his chest that still, infuriatingly, ached a little when he thought of her name. Not love. Nothing so foolish as that survived what she’d done to him, not across two lifetimes. But there was something else underneath the anger, something he didn’t have a clean word for — the particular hollow ache of having loved someone enough to overlook every warning sign, and knowing now, with absolute certainty, that the affection had never been returned in kind.

He wondered if she remembered him fondly at all, in whatever version of memory she still carried from before the world ended. He suspected the answer didn’t matter as much as it once had.

Master, Ziki said quietly, apparently sensing the shift in him even without being asked. You have gone still.

"I’m thinking."

About the villa.

Killian didn’t answer right away, watching the crystal spring catch the light as it curved past the cabin. "You’ve gotten good at reading me."

I have had considerable practice. Would you like commentary, or silence?

"Silence," Killian said, and then, after a moment, quieter, "Actually — tell me something useless. Something that has nothing to do with any of this."

There was a brief pause, the particular considering quality Ziki’s silences carried when it was genuinely trying to accommodate a request rather than simply processing one.

Ignis will likely be insufferable for several more days regardless of what I say to it.

Killian huffed, something loosening in his chest despite himself. "That’ll do."

He kept walking, the cabin’s porch coming into view ahead, and let the thought of the villa settle where it needed to settle — unresolved, unanswered, a door he wasn’t ready to close and wasn’t sure he wanted to open again either. Whatever his aunt and uncle made of an empty study and a well-stocked pantry, whatever Sasha remembered or didn’t, none of it changed what waited for him back outside the space — a family that wasn’t his by blood, warm in a way his own family had stopped being years before the world ended, and a dragon two minutes old already deciding, with absolute confidence, that Killian belonged to it.

That, he thought, was probably enough to carry him through whatever tomorrow decided to be.