Lira crouched beside him now, a few feet away. She didn't try to touch the dragon again. Just watched.
"I think it's alone," she said quietly.
"I noticed," Lindarion replied.
"No, I mean… completely."
He didn't answer right away.
He looked at the scales. Dark, polished black edged in deep blue. Not faded. Not bruised. Just young. The kind of coloring that meant it hadn't developed fire sacs yet. Maybe not even proper flight.
No scars. No rider bindings. No jewelry or crest.
Just… wild. And abandoned.
A chill crawled under his coat, even though the flame he'd lit earlier was still hovering a few feet away, casting soft heat.
He lowered his voice. "Do dragons usually do this?"
"Not unless they're raised near people. Or trained to respond to mana signatures."
"I haven't been doing anything."
Lira tilted her head again, studying him in that unnerving way she always did. Like she was adding him up and didn't care if the answer made sense or not.
"You're not doing anything now," she said. "But maybe you were. Without knowing."
Ren made a low, suspicious hum. "Are we talking accidental soul bonding? Because I'm allergic to emotional metaphors."
"I'm not bonded to a dragon," Lindarion muttered.
"Keep telling yourself that," she said. "Meanwhile, I'm over here witnessing the start of a tragic friendship. It's beautiful."
Meren, still half-asleep with his back against a wall, cracked one eye open. "Can it breathe fire yet?"
"Okay, then I vote we keep it."
"You don't get a vote," Lindarion and Ardan said at the same time.
The dragon let out a tiny hiccup in its sleep. A puff of smoke drifted toward Lindarion's knee and immediately disappeared into the cold.
He looked at Lira again. She hadn't moved.
"Do I need to do anything?" he asked.
"Just let it sleep," she said.
"What happens when it wakes up?"
Lira's mouth twitched. Maybe a smile. Or maybe she was just imagining the chaos.
"I don't know, we'll find out."
The dragon was drooling again.
Now it had upgraded from his boot to his entire shin. Great. One step closer to being declared emotional support furniture.
Lindarion stared at the little creature's curved snout. Its nostrils flared once, then settled again. Its whole body rose and fell like a furry loaf of death and poor boundaries.
Ren leaned closer and whispered like it was a baby in a crib. "You're going to have to name it."
Lindarion didn't respond. He just peeled one glove off and lightly tapped the dragon's scales with his knuckle. Warm. Solid. Breathing a little too peacefully for something hatched in a place full of cave echoes and murder vibes.
'Great. Found the only emotionally needy dragonlet in the wild. What are the odds..'
Ardan stood at the edge of the cavern, arms crossed, still facing the entrance like trouble owed him money and he was ready to collect. The man hadn't looked back once.
Either he didn't care about the new dragon situation or he'd already assumed Lindarion would deal with it.
Probably the second one.
Meren was making quiet snoring noises again. His vote had been counted and then ignored..
Lira sat close by, sharpening a knife that didn't need sharpening. Her eyes weren't on the blade though.
Lindarion felt it like a draft. That sensation of being watched by someone who didn't blink unless she was bored.
He cleared his throat. "Still nothing?"
She didn't pretend to misunderstand.
"I don't think it's injured," she said. "No mana rot. No nesting signs. It just… followed."
"That's not helpful," he said.
"No. But it's accurate."
He didn't argue. He was too tired, too cold, and if he was being honest with himself, kind of distracted by the fact that a creature with talons sharp enough to gut a bear had chosen his leg as its favorite pillow.
Ren scooted a little closer, then pointed at the tail. "Can I touch it?"
"No," he said automatically.
She poked the tip of it anyway. The dragon didn't even flinch.
"Soft," she said, half-smiling.
"Dangerous," he corrected.
"Sure you are. You keep collecting strays."
Lindarion blinked at her. "That's not true."
"Ren," Meren said from his half-conscious pile on the floor, "name three."
"Uncomfortably fair."
"This one," she said, poking the dragon again.
Lindarion glared at her. "You're the one who dragged me across a haunted forest."
"Which you handled perfectly. Congrats. Promotion to team emotional leader."
He shut his mouth before something undignified came out.
The dragon shifted again. This time, it uncurled just enough to nestle its head directly into the crook of Lindarion's knee. One eye blinked open.
Not hostile. Not scared. Just… observant.
Lindarion stared back. "You're going to be a problem."
It blinked again. Yawned. Then promptly went back to sleep.
Ren's grin grew like someone had handed her another winning argument. "You're doomed."
Lira didn't smile. Not really. But something about her expression had relaxed.
"Name it," she said, voice low.
"No," he said again. "If I name it, it becomes real."
"That's not the point."
"You definitely name swords," she said.
"That's different. Swords don't snore on me."
"They do if you're very tired," Ren offered.
The fire flickered low beside them. The cavern's breath had evened out. No distant steps. No strange noises. Just the stillness of stone that had seen too much and decided not to care anymore.
He looked back at the dragon.
Its tail gave a lazy thump against the floor.
And Lindarion, very quietly, muttered, "Fine. But it better not bite."
Ren leaned in, already smug. "So what's its name?"
"I don't know," he said, glaring at the ceiling. "Ask me when it saves my life or ruins my day."
"So in about twelve hours," Meren called from the floor.
Lindarion didn't deny it.