Thank you for reading so closely, and for trusting the story to unfold at its own pace.

The hatchling tilted its head, then bit down on the edge of its own wing. A single drop of dark blood welled up and slid down, landing neatly in Cassian’s outstretched hand.

He didn’t waste a second. Using his thumb, he smeared the blood across his fingers and drew a tight, curling set of runes across Bathsheda’s forearm.

The marks flared at once, glowing like molten metal. The heat licked up her skin, and for a moment, heat cinched along the bone. The hatchling let out a low, guttural chirp as the rune brightened to a fierce orange.

Then it moved.

The glow shone, then twisted… flame curling off her skin as if alive. The hatchling’s eyes went glassy for a heartbeat. And then, with a soft hiss, the fire collapsed inward, dragging the Ridgeback straight into the rune.

Bathsheda gasped and yanked her arm back, stumbling half a step as the light vanished.

“Bloody hell,” Cassian muttered, staring at the bare skin where the rune had burned itself in. It shimmered faintly, like embers cooling under ash. “It worked.”

Bathsheda flexed her fingers, her pulse hammering under her skin. “Where the hell did it vanish?”

“Not vanished.” Cassian tapped the faint glow where the mark sat. “It is bound. Probably in a pocket space tethered to you. Don’t panic, I doubt it will go feral and eat your insides.”

“Reassuring,” she shot back, deadpan.

Cassian cracked a grin at last. “If it helps, you’re now fireproof. To that one’s flames, at least.”

Bathsheda rubbed her arm where the rune still pulsed faintly. “And if it is not just fire? If it decides to claw its way out?”

He shook his head and pushed himself upright, brushing the dust from his hands. “That is impossible. You are its partner now. Mother, goddess, walking snack dispenser… all rolled into one. The odds of it hurting you are zero.”

Bathsheda arched a brow, flexed her wrist. “That’s very comforting, Rosier. You sound like you’ve got decades of dragon-rearing under your belt.”

“Decades? Please. I can barely keep pens from vanishing in my own office.” He stepped closer, eyeing the mark suspiciously. “But this… this isn’t guesswork. The bond is done. That little sod is yours now, whether you wanted it or not. Dragons aren’t subtle about loyalty, and this one’s already chosen you.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, though she didn’t argue. Instead, she stared down at the mark.

Cassian sighed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Sweet Gods… this is history walking around in your bloodstream.”

“Don’t sound so gleeful.” Bathsheda gave him a sharp look. “This is my arm, not an ancient rune rubbings.”

“True,” Cassian chuckled, grinning wide. “But come on… ancient Norse firebinding magic alive and kicking in a Hogwarts hut? You have to admit, it is brilliant.”

She sighed, tugging her sleeve to cover the mark. “If you think I am adding ‘dragon host’ to my titles, think again.”

“You should. Killer conversation starter at parties.”

Their smiles thinned, they dropped the pretense together, getting serious.

“Cass, how do you know all this?”

Cassian sighed and pulled her into his arms as they sank into one of the hulking sofas in Hagrid’s oversized hut, the cushions swallowing them.

“Do you remember the cave?”

She tilted her head. “Norway?”

Cassian nodded. “The one. With the spiral.”

Bathsheda stilled. The fire crackled, one log splitting down the middle with a hiss.

“I saw a vision when I was there. I wasn’t even sure if it was real or not, if I was hallucinating or not. When I touched a stone, right before Hilde screamed.”

Bathsheda’s gaze sharpened, all trace of sarcasm stripped away. “What vision?”

Cassian leaned his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as if staring through the ceiling and into something far older.

“There was a woman. Standing in a storm, carved in runes that weren’t ink, they were cut into her arms. Her eyes… they weren’t human. And the storm around her, it obeyed her. Like it wasn’t weather, but will. And she wasn’t afraid. Men were climbing to her, shouting, threatening. But she didn’t flinch. Just raised her arms and turned the mountain to molten wax.” He looked at Bathsheda, voice lower now. “And then she vanished. Like she’d folded the whole world around her and sealed it shut.”

Bathsheda didn’t speak.

“And the name, Yrsa, it just fell into my mouth like it had always been there.”

He looked at her. “Like… like I didn’t hear it. I remembered it.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but the warmth in her hand tightened slightly against his chest. He went on.

“Then, inside the cave, deeper… I saw marks.” He touched the side of her face, fingertips hovering just near her cheek. “On you. For a second. The same runes carved into her. And it wasn’t the light playing tricks. I swear they were there. But then they were gone. And everything felt… blurry. Like my mind wasn’t all mine. Like I was moving forward and watching myself do it.”

Bathsheda’s voice came low. “I felt it too.”

Cassian’s hand dropped.

“I didn’t even realise I’d stepped inside that shaft until we were already halfway down. Everything in that cave was loud, but muted. Like I was underwater, but the tide was dragging me forward.”

She hesitated. “And after we got out… everything between us, shifted. Like something finally settled.”

“I kept thinking about it for days after, whether it was just the adrenaline, or because you shielded me, or… I don’t know. But it wasn’t just that. It’s still there, Cass. I feel it. Like some kind of thread pulled taut between us, humming under my skin every time you’re near. It makes you, bloody hell, it makes you comfortable. And that’s insane. I don’t know how to explain it, it is… comfortable with you, it’s just there..”

That was something he knew too. Which was why he looked properly rattled when she kissed him and called him her boyfriend.

He’d stared at her, bracing for her to sprout wings or burst into Norse poetry on the spot. Actually took a step back, blinking fast half-expacting her eyes to glow gold and speak in tongues.

Cassian kissed her hair. “I actually thought you were possessed,” he murmured into her curls, half-laughing, half-haunted. “But when there were no glowing eyes, no chanting in dead tongues, no sudden urge to set my hair on fire. So I figured you were still mostly you.”

Bathsheda snorted a laugh. Almost. “Charming. Your vote of confidence is appreciated.”

“I kept studying the marks. The ones I saw on Yrsa. The ones I saw… on you—” He tapped the edge of her forearm gently, “—then I found the match. One of them was a bonding glyph.”

She frowned. “You used a half-deciphered horror-stone to bind a live dragon hatchling to me.”

Cassian gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s possible I might’ve skipped that detail in the heat of the moment.”

Bathsheda closed her eyes. “Rosier.”

“Yes?”

“If I start growing scales, I’m coming back to set your curtains on fire.”

Cassian raised both hands solemnly. “Fair. But you’ll be a very attractive ghost.”

She burst into laughter despite herself, the sound muffled as she pressed her forehead into his shoulder. “I don’t feel possessed.”

He shook his head, voice quiet. “I doubt you are. But I am certain something awakened that day, and somehow found its way to you. Maybe inheritance.”

Her breath caught just slightly at that. “You think it’s bloodline?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, one hand drifting up to rest against her spine, fingers splayed over the fabric of her robes. “Could be affinity. An echo reaching for something familiar. You’ve always had a talent for languages… maybe this one just decided to speak back.”

“That’s a terrifying thought,” she murmured. “A language that speaks me.”

Cassian gave a soft, amused huff. “Trust me, if anyone’s capable of wrangling back-talk from runes and fire spirits, it’s you.”

Bathsheda leaned into him, letting the silence stretch. Outside, a wind moaned past the windowpanes, and the hearth crackled again. She stared at the orange glow dancing on the floorboards, her eyes unfocused.

“Do you think it’s her?” she asked at last. “Yrsa.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“I think it’s something she left behind. Not her, not fully. But a mark. The kind of imprint magic doesn’t let fade. And now it’s… tied to you. Just like that hatchling chose you. Maybe it’s all the same thread, pulling tighter.”

Bathsheda looked down at her arm, still faintly warm where the rune glowed under her skin like an ember buried in ash. “So I’ve got a spectral rune goddess’ aftershock living in my bones, a dragon nesting in my bloodstream, and the world’s most irresponsible academic as my backup.”

Cassian beamed. “Flattering.”

“Insane.”

“Welcome to higher education.”

She huffed a laugh and leaned back to look at him. “You’re not scared?”

He paused, considering. “Terrified,” he said honestly. “But scared in the good way. Like standing on the edge of something enormous and real and ancient, and knowing you’re about to fall… but you want to see what’s at the bottom.” Follow current novels on N(o)vᴇl(F)ire.nᴇt

Bathsheda watched him, her brow furrowing. “You’re handling this remarkably well for someone who once passed out after seeing a cursed mosaic.”

“That mosaic had teeth,” he said with absolute conviction.

“You hallucinated the teeth.”

“Same thing.” Cassian helped her to her feet, sweeping a hand toward the door. “Now, we need to move before Hagrid has second thoughts and tries to smuggle a second one in. God help us if there’s a sibling out there.”

Bathsheda gave him a flat look but followed anyway. The moment they were clear of the hut, she latched onto his ear, twisting hard.

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Ch19 (vision recalled)- Yrsa raised both arms, the runes carved into her flesh bleeding crimson radiance. A dragon’s roar split the storm.

Ch20- Bathsheda hovered behind him, wand lit… “It is leading,” she said… She knelt, pressing her palm beside his, the runes glowing faintly in response.

Ch20- Like the world had tilted… tugging at the back of his mind like a loose thread waiting to be pulled.

Ch20- The shape reminded him of a curled serpent, mouth open, fangs bared… the runes on the spiral flared, and a low hum reverberated through the chamber.

Ch29- He could smell her… tea, ink, that strange rune-dust scent that had clung to both of them since Trondheim.

Ch40- At the Iceland cottage: It smells like dragon armpit.

Ch48- She adjusted the band at her wrist, runes flaring. “Five minutes. Then out.”

Ch75- She noticed the tower was warm despite the chilly Scottish wind. Northern Draconic Rune? Probably his work. Typical.

Ch75- Behind the banister, tucked neatly beneath a battered suit of armour of Sigurd.

              Norse hero linked to Fafnir, the classic dragon tale.

Ch75- She plucked the egg… stood between Whisper of Frost and Song of the Rider

Ch44- Troublesome Runes, Ch44- Turkiye (Archive) and and some other chapters show Cassian studying these runes. He has been researching the runes he saw on Yrsa from that day onward

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Author Rant ↓ 

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Sometimes I imagine applause after a lecture. Then I remember who I’m talking to and adjust expectations accordingly.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep