Chosen by the Beasts, Claimed by the Dragon-Chapter 34: Treasure

— REN —

The festival lights are still visible when I return—golden dots scattered across the valley like fallen stars. Music drifts faintly on the wind, laughter rising and falling in lazy waves. I heave a sigh of relief.

Zoryn is there. I can feel her.

She’s calm, warm, and full (as always), and she’s surrounded by company that she enjoys. Our bond is humming with contentment, so cozy it almost makes me turn around.

Almost.

"You took your time," Daeleon says, materializing beside me without warning. Gold smoke bleeds off his shoulders as he folds his arms, gaze fixed on the valley below.

"We handled the situation," I reply coolly. "Well, you decapitated the situation and abandoned me."

He snorts. "You always did have a talent for understatement."

We stand in silence for a moment. The night feels wrong in that way that only comes after violence; it’s too happy and peaceful, even when danger is hiding in the shadows. I lower my head slightly and take another breath to relax.

"She’s at ease," I say finally. "That’s what matters."

Daeleon’s jaw tightens. "It does."

His eyes glow faintly. "However, what we uncovered tonight does not belong in her hands yet. Soon, but not tonight."

That single word—yet—sets my teeth on edge.

"You know more than you’re saying," I accuse.

He exhales slowly, like a man bracing himself to step over a ledge. The look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t even want to share the information with me, but he says, "The Quiet Devotion is not new."

I frown. I thought it sounded familiar earlier when the cultist said it the first time, but I couldn’t quite figure out where I had heard it before. Looking back on it now, though, I can remember a time when Daeleon took me in.

I say, "I vaguely remember you mentioning them to me once when I was young. Some zealots who lived on the outskirts of the beastworld, strange in their faith but relatively harmless."

"They were," Daeleon replies. "Once."

He gestures toward the darkness beyond the mountains. For the first time since I’ve known him, his confidence isn’t absolute—it’s measured.

"It’s an ancient faith. Older than me, probably. They worship a... goddess, that they refer to as their Queen of Devotion," he continues. "She was feared, even by the Empress, because of her apathy and distaste for mortals and their affairs."

"You’re saying the Queen predates the beastworld’s current order," I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Shit, man. This is so much bigger than a simple kidnapping case.

"Yes," he answers flatly. "And she is blood to the Beast Empress."

My brows furrow, "Blood... as in—"

"As in kin," Daeleon finishes. "The Queen of Devotion was the Beast Empress’s sister—which means she’s related to Zoryn as well."

Everything in my mind screeches to an abrupt halt. "Sorry, what? Zoryn is related to the Beast Empress? I didn’t realize she had a direct line."

Daeleon is silent for a long time—for so long, I start to get anxious, and I want to ask him again—but I know that will just frustrate him. I bite back my anticipation and curiosity and wait patiently.

After what feels like forever, he finally answers me.

"There is no direct line," he answers evenly, the words coming out reluctantly. "She... she’s a reincarnation. The Empress’s mark was on her from the moment she was born, and it’s why Astheia passed away during childbirth."

Right... Astheia, his human wife.

...Wait, why did I never question that before?

Astheia, Zoryn’s birth mother, was human—but half-beasts hardly ever make it past birth, let alone into adulthood, especially not with her level of power. Going on strength and aura alone, she’s as powerful as any other dragonkin I’ve met—maybe even stronger.

I groan, disappointed in myself. "I... suppose that makes sense. I started to suspect that she might be related to the prophecy, but I see now that there is no doubt she is the prophecy."

Daeleon nods gravely, casting his gaze in the direction Zoryn is. "Indeed."

I look back toward the festival, my chest tightening as the bond pulses—steady, unknowing.

"She doesn’t know," I say.

"No," Daeleon agrees. "But someone does."

He reaches into his cloak and produces a shard of blackened crystal, no bigger than my palm. Its surface is etched with the same faint script I saw carved into the cultist’s skin—only this time, it moves, the markings shifting like something alive.

"I found this near the outer perimeter," he says. "Before our excursion."

My blood chills. "Another cultist?"

"No." His mouth twists. "An offering."

I stare at the shard. The air around it feels strange, like standing atop a mountain where the atmosphere is thin. It’s almost dizzying.

"They weren’t trying to take her tonight," I realize slowly.

Daeleon nods. "No. They were making sure she would be seen."

The implications ripple outward in my mind.

Her heat.

The tournament.

The attention.

The mark.

"She’s already been noticed," I murmur.

"Yes," he says quietly. "The Queen and Empress existed before me, too, so I only know about them through stories... but from what I remember, the Queen isn’t a very patient woman."

A distant tremor runs through the bond—not fear, not pain—just a fleeting flicker of unease, like Zoryn glancing at the stars and feeling watched.

My claws curl.

"I won’t let them touch her," I say.

"I know," Daeleon replies. "Which is why you will do exactly as I say next."

I turn to him fully.

"You will stay close," he continues. "You will let her have this night. This peace. You will not tell her what we learned."

My jaw tightens. "She deserves to know."

"She deserves sleep," he counters. "She deserves one last night where the world hasn’t yet demanded anything from her. Tomorrow is the closing ceremony, then we all leave. I’ll reveal things to her once we get back home."

I hate that he’s right.

The bond flares faintly—Zoryn laughing, a familiar warmth brushing against my senses.

"That doesn’t mean we do nothing," I say.

"No," Daeleon agrees. "It means we prepare."

He steps back, gold smoke curling tighter around him. "The Quiet Devotion will move again. Soon. And next time, they might not be as quiet."

My gaze hardens. "Let them try," I growl.

Daeleon’s eyes soften—just a fraction. "That’s the problem, Zarenien." He looks back toward the valley, where the last of the lanterns flicker low. "Tonight, they already did try. We were three steps too late in catching them this time."

"It won’t happen again."

"Return with us tomorrow," Daeleon says, leaving no room for questions.

"Obviously." I raise a brow, "Did you think I would be going anywhere else?"

"You ran away once; who’s to say you won’t do it again?" He asks, looking down his nose at me. "Don’t refute me, I don’t care if you tell me it was only this one time or try to reason with me because it wasn’t longer than a day—I’m not a forgiving man. I’ll trust you again when you earn it. Zoryn is this old dragon’s treasure, the only thing that I hoard and care for. I will not stand for any disrespect."

I glance down at my feet. I just nod, "I understand."

...Because I do understand.

Dragonkin tend to hoard things; one of my uncles hoards treasure, as is stereotypical of a dragon, but my grandsire hoards stuffed animals from the human world. His den is full of them.

Personally, I collect colorful, soft things. Most of them are fabrics, ones I’ve found in every corner of the world. The medium itself doesn’t matter—there’s something about their vibrance that pleases me. My hoard is impressive, though I don’t go home to see it very often.

To us, our treasure is our life’s work—an amalgamation of our joys and sorrows, a collection of our memories that we love.

Zoryn being Daeleon’s treasure... it makes sense. He is one of the most doting parents I’ve ever seen, both in the beastworld and mortal world. She is strong, kind, secure, and most importantly, loved. He treats her with the care any dragon would with their hoard.

After securing our fated bond, I’ve started to feel similarly. My life’s collection of colors... I wouldn’t mind sharing it with her. If she could be my treasure, and I could be hers—wouldn’t that be love?

I shake my head a little. It’s too far in the future to consider these things yet, but my mind chases the thoughts all the same.

"I’m glad you understand," Daeleon says to me, and sighs. "Now... go. You have a date with her, and it is getting late. You should find her before she goes to sleep—but please, cast an enchantment on the tent so I, or the other unfortunate neighbors, do not have to hear what you’re doing."

Again, he leaves in a cloud of smoke before I have the chance to reply. This fucking guy, dude! At least let me say bye or something, it’s just rude to dip after saying something like that.

I huff, but internally... I’m just excited to see her again, even though it has only been six hours.