Chapter 244: Breathless Beginning

Cyrus stumbled through broken foliage, each step a battle against gravity and exhaustion.

His wings half-shifted involuntarily, heavy leather dragging across moss and stone with wet, scraping sounds that echoed his ragged breathing.

Kane’s body felt too light in his arms.

The weight of his fox shouldn’t feel this hollow, emptied of the fierce spirit that had challenged dragons and defied impossible odds.

Cyrus’s boot caught on a root. He staggered, nearly dropping to his knees before crimson energy flared automatically, keeping him upright through sheer stubborn will.

Every step sent fresh agony shooting through cracked ribs and torn muscles.

He didn’t stop.

The villa’s glass doors loomed ahead, reflecting a monstrous sight—a bloodied dragon carrying a dying fox through paradise turned graveyard.

Cyrus kicked the door open with enough force to shatter the frame.

The obsidian egg case sat exactly where he’d left it on the glass table, pulsing with urgent light.

Their son, sensing catastrophe.

"Not this time," Cyrus whispered against Kane’s cold forehead, lowering him onto the pristine white bed with trembling hands.

"This is the last time I will ever fail him."

The Roaring Shard burned against his palm, waiting.

He placed the Roaring Shard on the nightstand, the violet-red crystal casting harsh shadows across Kane’s ashen features.

His hands shook as he spread Kane across the sheets with ritualistic care, positioning each limb as though handling something sacred and irreparably fragile.

The torn clothing came away in pieces—fabric singed by foxfire, stained with blood that hadn’t yet dried.

Cyrus worked methodically, stripping Kane down to bare skin while his vision blurred.

He grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, dampening it with warm water before returning to wipe ash from Kane’s face.

Each gentle stroke revealed more pallor beneath the grime.

Cyrus’s hands moved with precision honed through centuries of war, now turned to healing instead of violence.

He cleaned each cut, washing away volcanic ash and dried blood until pale skin emerged beneath. The washcloth turned crimson in his grip.

Bandages came next—white linen strips he wound around Kane’s wrists where silver skin had split from channeling too much foxfire.

He wrapped Kane’s chest where ribs showed bruises blooming purple-black, binding them snug enough to support but gentle enough not to restrict breathing.

Kane’s breathing stayed shallow.

Too shallow.

Cyrus adjusted the pillows, propping Kane at an angle that would ease the strain on damaged lungs. His fingers trembled as he tucked linen beneath Kane’s shoulder blades.

He needs me calm, Cyrus thought. But how do I remain calm when he is slipping away?

Cyrus climbed onto the bed, careful not to jostle Kane’s broken body.

He pulled Kane into his arms, wrapping around him until nothing separated them but bandages and borrowed time.

Heat bloomed from his chest—controlled dragonfire meant to warm instead of destroy.

"Don’t...leave..." Kane’s voice barely registered as sound, more breath than words.

"I’m here." Cyrus pressed his lips to Kane’s temple. "I won’t leave you."

"Stay..."

"Always."

Kane shivered despite the heat pouring from Cyrus’s skin.

"Cold..."

Crimson energy flared brighter, cocooning them both in warmth that should have been enough.

It wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

"I thought you were just another reckless fool," Cyrus whispered against silver hair.

"Breaking into warehouses alone, chasing leads that would get you killed. I saved you because I was tired of watching idiots throw their lives away."

His voice cracked.

"Then you woke up in my penthouse and looked at me like I was the threat. Smart fox. You were right to fear me."

Kane’s breathing hitched.

"The universe keeps taking everyone I love," Cyrus continued, his arms tightening.

Just then, Kane convulsed.

Cyrus released Kane immediately, terror flooding his chest.

"Kane—"

But Kane convulsed again, body arching off the bed independent of anything Cyrus had done.

Silver light flickered beneath Kane’s skin, pulsing erratically.

The synthetic compound.

Not Cyrus’s grip.

"No," Cyrus breathed.

Kane’s spine arched off the mattress, head thrown back as violent tremors wracked his frame.

Silver lightning erupted from his skin in jagged, dangerous arcs that scorched the sheets and cracked the glass table.

Cyrus felt Kane’s pulse slow beneath his palm—too slow, impossibly slow.

"No. No, Kane—"

He slammed his hands against Kane’s chest, flooding crimson healing magic through every failing organ.

The energy poured in but found nothing to anchor to, dispersing uselessly through Kane’s fragmenting spirit core.

Kane’s breathing turned irregular, each gasp shorter than the last.

Cyrus tried breath stabilizing spells next, ancient draconic incantations that forced rhythm back into dying lungs.

The words tasted like ash. Kane’s chest rose once, twice—then nothing.

"Breathe!" Cyrus shook him, desperate. "Kane, please—"

More warming magic flooded outward, turning the villa into a furnace. Kane remained cold beneath him.

Silver lightning struck Cyrus’s shoulder, burning through scales and flesh. He didn’t flinch.

"Kane!"

No response.

Kane’s eyes stayed closed, lashes dark against bloodless skin.

His pulse faded to nothing beneath Cyrus’s searching fingers.

"No..."

Cyrus placed a hand on Kane’s cheek. The skin beneath his palm felt too still and fragile.

There was no warmth. Just cooling flesh that had already begun surrendering to death.

His thumb traced the sharp line of Kane’s cheekbone.

Only the faintest spirit pressure remained, a whisper of silver energy so thin it might have been wishful thinking.

Cyrus’s fingers trembled against Kane’s jaw, feeling for a pulse that no longer existed.

The silence stretched unbearable—no heartbeat, no breath, no defiant comeback about how Cyrus worried too much.

Just absence.

Kane’s face had gone slack, every line of pain and determination smoothed away into something that looked almost peaceful.

Almost.

Cyrus hated that expression.

Hated the way death tried to make losing Kane seem gentle, as though slipping away quietly made it hurt less.

"No."

The word came out broken.

Cyrus’s hand shook against Kane’s cold cheek, crimson energy flickering uselessly across his knuckles.

He couldn’t lose this.

Couldn’t lose him.

Not when Cyrus had finally found something worth burning the world to keep.