Chapter 271: The Last Dragon’s Choice

The hatchling slept against Kane’s chest, one tiny claw tangled stubbornly in his silver hair.

"Sweetheart," Kane whispered, "Daddy needs that attached to his head."

The baby answered with a puff of smoke.

Cyrus watched from his medical chair, a stabilizing charm glowing beneath his bandages. Every breath hurt, but Kane was alive, their son was warm, and for once the pain seemed unimportant.

Commander Qi cleared his throat.

"Agent Ashwood. The Eternal God Crystal remains unsecured."

Kane looked up. "He’s been alive five minutes. Can we finish one family moment before saving civilization again?"

"The artifact cannot remain here."

"See?" Kane told the hatchling. "This is why Daddy doesn’t bring work home."

"Which daddy?" Cyrus asked.

"The fun one."

"That narrows nothing down."

Above the shattered ritual array, the Crystal revolved within a halo of white-gold light. Five currents moved through its facets: red, violet, white, green, and gray.

Qi approached Cyrus. "As the last heir of the Black Dragon Throne, you have the strongest claim to decide its fate. What will you do?"

Cyrus studied the Crystal.

He could imagine what its power might accomplish. Broken boundaries repaired. Ancient forests breathing again. Spirits crossing safely into the homeland they had mourned for centuries.

And beneath that imagined sky, the Black Dragon Throne restored.

The Dragon King’s court. His clan’s banners. A crown he had once believed it was his duty to recover.

"You could rebuild the throne," Qi said quietly.

"I could."

"Many would follow you."

Cyrus looked at the scorch marks where Elias had fallen. Once, his old friend had spoken of rebuilding their world with the same conviction Cyrus remembered from his own youth. Somewhere along the way, restoration had become conquest.

Cyrus had renounced his inherited royal authority to free himself from the counterfeit Seal. He would not forge another claim through a power that had nearly destroyed them all.

"Following was never the problem," he said. "Believing one person should decide everyone else’s future was."

Kane said nothing, but his hand found Cyrus’s.

"The Crystal belongs to no king," Cyrus continued. "Not to me, not to my clan, and certainly not to Veyr Corp."

Qi considered him. "The BSA maintains an interdimensional nexus designed to stabilize damaged boundaries. We could house the Crystal there and distribute its restorative energy gradually."

"Under whose control?" Cyrus asked.

"BSA security."

"Security isn’t ownership."

Isabelle glanced up from her tablet. "Veyr Corp can provide technical support without possessing the artifact. Independent audits would be possible."

"And spirit representatives," Kane added. "The people hoping to go home deserve a say in how it happens."

Qi nodded slowly. "A joint oversight council, then. BSA custodians, independent spirit delegates, and external technical reviewers. No unilateral access."

"No weaponization," Cyrus said.

"Agreed. Pending formal authorization, I’ll arrange provisional containment under those restrictions."

Rina checked her scanner. "The Crystal’s fivefold balance is already easing the local fractures. The wider realm will take years to repair. Maybe generations."

"Then we give it generations," Cyrus replied.

Kane grinned. "An ancient dragon agreeing with a government official. Truly, the world is healing."

Cyrus watched the Crystal’s steady glow. His ancestors had guarded a throne. Perhaps his son would grow up in a world where no throne was necessary.

By evening, Cyrus had been transferred to a secured BSA recovery room. His wing was immobilized, his ribs bound, and Rina had forbidden dragonfire until his spirit core stabilized.

Isabelle arrived carrying a tablet and the expression she wore whenever Veyr Corp faced an expensive disaster.

"Moonfall’s assets are being seized," she began. "We also have infrastructure repairs, legal inquiries, and three departments requesting your immediate attention."

"Isabelle, I want you taking over day-to-day operations, permanently" Cyrus said.

She stopped. "I’m sorry?"

"I’ll retain ownership and an advisory role. But no more clandestine missions, dangerous investigations, or personally confronting ancient enemies."

"And midnight emergencies?"

"Do delegate them."

"Even if someone claims the world is ending?"

"Especially then."

Isabelle stared at him, confused.

Cyrus glanced toward Kane, who was rocking their sleeping son near the window.

"I nearly lost everything that matters," he said. "I’d rather not repeat the experience."

Isabelle’s expression softened. "The transition requires paperwork."

"Naturally."

"An unreasonable amount."

"I’ll survive."

"That would be a refreshing change."

Kane laughed. "Speaking of surviving, I’ve been thinking about returning to the BSA once I’m recovered." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

"That’s not happening," Cyrus said.

Kane turned slowly. "Excuse me?"

"You nearly died."

"Technically, I did die. Very inconvenient."

"Fieldwork is dangerous. We have a child now."

"And you just rearranged your entire career without consulting me."

"That’s different."

"Is it?"

Cyrus opened his mouth, then closed it.

Kane shifted the hatchling carefully against his shoulder.

"We agreed to stop making decisions for each other. You don’t get to choose my life because you’re afraid of losing me."

"I am afraid," Cyrus admitted.

Kane’s expression gentled. "I know. But I might train recruits, investigate from a desk, or help spirits return home. I haven’t decided."

"Then we’ll discuss it when we’re both recovered."

"Discuss," Kane emphasized. "Not decree."

"Understood."

"Good. Besides, somebody has to prevent Commander Qi from making our son’s birthdays mandatory training exercises."

Cyrus laughed, startling himself. Kane leaned over and kissed him, careful of the bandages.

Night settled over the recovery wing. The others had gone, leaving only quiet monitors and the occasional sleepy chirp from the padded cradle between their chairs.

Beyond the window, the last light faded over the city.

"What are you thinking?" Kane asked.

"Tomorrow."

"Planning another catastrophe?"

"No."

"Should I call a doctor?"

Cyrus smiled. "For once, I’m looking forward to it."

Kane rested his head against Cyrus’s uninjured shoulder. Their son curled his tiny tail around Kane’s finger.

Once, gods had feared Cyrus’s fire and kings had bowed before his name. He had spent centuries carrying a kingdom’s grief as though setting it down would betray the dead.

But the future no longer demanded a crown.

It held his fox, their child, and a thousand ordinary mornings he had never dared imagine.

The last dragon closed his eyes.

And finally, he rested.