Chapter 3 {Xenos's POV}:

  I could feel the cold fire crawling across my back and hand, freezing me from the inside out, turning my skin that cursed blue. But I still carried Sage, forcing myself forward as her weight pressed against me. Every step reminded me why I despised this fate.

Alohi stepped in front of me, concern etched into her face. "Let me carry her," she urged, glancing between Sage and my hands, already turning brittle with frost. "You'll only make it worse."

Make it worse? My entire existence is "worse." Ever since I cracked open my egg, this world has done nothing but punish me. My tribute—the ones who should have been my kin—died the second I breathed. The gods didn't even give me a chance. They cursed me for their deaths, cursed me to live forever, alone, the last of my kind.

And now they expect me to help her. The chosen one. The reason I can't even touch another soul without my body turning to ice. They bound my fate to hers, knowing I couldn't lay a hand on her without suffering. How could I not hate her for that? She's the reason I'm enduring this torment. I'm going through all of this because of her.

"I don't need your help, Alohi," I growled, brushing past her. As if anyone could help me. Every beat of my wings felt like lifting boulders, the cold in my bones making it harder to move. By the time I reached the tavern, my body was already seizing up, the curse tightening its grip.

I plunged into the blood bath, the only thing that could offer a moment's relief. The warmth from the liquid was instant, fighting back the freeze that clung to my skin. But it wouldn't last. It never did.

With a roar, I slammed my fist into the wall beside me. Stone cracked and shattered under the force, pieces raining down around me. But it wasn't enough to dull the fury. I grabbed a table and hurled it across the room, wood splintering on impact. Everything around me became a target—chairs, shelves, bottles—all reduced to debris as my rage consumed me.

I didn't want to protect her. I wanted to be free of her. I wanted to tear apart the chains these gods had forced on me. But no matter how much I destroyed, it wouldn't change the truth.

She was my only chance of breaking this curse. And that, more than anything, made me hate her.

The tavern was a mess of shattered wood and scattered debris, but the destruction did nothing to ease the fury inside me. My hands still ached, though not from the cold this time, but from the force I used to smash everything around me. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

I stumbled toward the bar, grabbing a bottle of strong liquor with my frostbitten hands. The heat of the alcohol burned down my throat, but at least it was a distraction. I poured another glass, ignoring the taste, letting it blur the edge of my anger.

With a sigh, I collapsed into a chair, pulling a half-torn scroll from the chaos of my desk. Paperwork. Of course, the gods would demand an account of what happened to Sage. As if they cared. As if they didn't already know. But if I didn't report it, they'd only send their enforcers, and I didn't need more problems.

I sloppily dipped the quill in ink, my hand unsteady from both the cold and the alcohol. The words on the page blurred together as I started writing about how Sage collapsed trying to breach the Brugmansia wall, how her body couldn't handle the strain of it. I paused, staring at her name on the parchment, my anger flaring again.

"Why am I even doing this?" I muttered to myself, taking another swig from the bottle. This whole thing was pointless. She was their chosen one. Let them deal with her.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in strutted a familiar figure—my so-called companion, the black dragon. His sleek form glided through the wreckage with a smug look on his face, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Working hard, I see," he mocked, flicking his tail. "Or hardly working?"

I growled under my breath. "What do you want, Scael?"

He stretched lazily, his sharp scales catching the light. "Just checking in on you, Xenos. Seems like someone's had a bit of a tantrum." His voice was dripping with amusement. "Bad day?"

Ignoring him, I tried to focus on the paperwork, but my hand was shaking too much to write straight. Scael continued to prance around, his taunting presence gnawing at my nerves. I was already on edge, and his gloating didn't help.

Then, without warning, his grand, intimidating form shimmered, shrinking down into his true self—a small black lizard, no bigger than my hand. He scurried up onto the table, his tiny claws clicking against the wood.

"Stop it, Scael," I muttered, glaring at him. "I'm not in the mood."

The lizard cocked his head, clearly unfazed. "Oh, come on. You always take things so seriously. It's not like your report's going to change anything. The gods barely care what happens, right?" He flicked his tail lazily, curling up near the bottle.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "I don't do it for them. I do it so they don't send their lapdogs to mess things up more."

"Hmm," Scael hummed, not really paying attention as he sniffed at the bottle. "I smell blood," he mused, watching me with his beady eyes.

"Yeah, it's from you being annoying." I grabbed a small piece of meat from the counter and tossed it his way. He leapt at it, eagerly devouring the scrap in one bite. Satisfied, he scurried off to the corner, giving me a moment of peace.

I downed the last of my drink, my head swimming, but I still couldn't shake the weight pressing on my chest. The paperwork was half-done, and I knew it didn't matter. What mattered was what came next. Tomorrow, I'd have to deal with Sage again. I'd have to pretend I cared, act like I was doing this for her when really, I just wanted to be free of her.

Tossing the quill aside, I stood, grabbing my sword from the wall. The training grounds outside were dim, the sky above heavy with clouds, but I didn't care. I needed to clear my head.

I practiced the old forms, my blade cutting through the air in sharp arcs. Each strike was precise, honed by centuries of repetition. Sword fighting had always been an outlet for me—something I could control when everything else was chaos. It was one of the few things that still made sense in a world where nothing else did.

But even the weight of the sword couldn't distract me for long. After what felt like hours, I sheathed my blade and sat down on a stone ledge overlooking the grounds. The sky had grown darker, and the wind was cold against my skin, but I didn't care.

Tomorrow, I'd have to face Sage again. I'd have to pretend I didn't resent her, that I didn't feel this burning hatred every time I looked at her. I'd have to protect her, as if my own freedom wasn't tied to her survival.

How long would I be able to bear this? How long before I lost control again?

I closed my eyes, letting the cold seep into me. Maybe one day I'd find the strength to break free, with or without the gods' permission.