Blood of my Blood

Aileana's hands trembled as the parchment slipped from them, the words of Ewan's capture echoing through the chambers of her heart like a mournful dirge. Her breath caught in her throat, shock rooting her to the spot for one still moment before fear ignited her spirit into action.

"Moira! Bairn!" Her voice, usually a melody of the glen, was now a clarion call that reverberated through the corridors. The urgency in her tone summoned her allies quicker than any war drum.

"What is it?" Moira arrived first, her eyes wide with concern, Bairn on her heels, his usual easy grin replaced by a line of tension.

"Ewan," was all Aileana managed before the weight of reality pressed the air from her lungs. "Taken by the Ancient Darkness."

"Then we waste no time." Bairn's hand found the hilt of his sword, his resolve as steadfast as the Highland mountains.

In the war room, Aileana unfurled a map of the Highlands, her fingers tracing the ley lines that pulsed with Ancient Magic. Her eyes, -usually a striking emerald- now mirroring the stormy grey of impending tempests, scanned over the jagged terrain that led to the lair of their foe. Around her, the walls whispered of battles fought and won, and she drew strength from their silent encouragement.

"Here," she pointed to an unassuming crag nestled between two peaks. "The minions dread the sunlight. We'll use the dawn's light to our advantage."

"An ambush at daybreak," Moira mused, her gaze following the contours of the landscape. "They'll be sluggish, vulnerable."

"Exactly. But we must be cautious," Aileana continued, her knowledge of these lands more intimate than her own soul. "There are sentries, cloaked in shadow, their eyes ever watchful."

"Distractions," Bairn suggested, the ghost of his smile returning as strategy took root. "We can lead them astray, thin their ranks."

"Let us not underestimate their master," Aileana warned, her voice laced with the wisdom of the Ancients. "Their loyalty is unwavering, their purpose singular. We need every advantage the Old Magics can grant us."

Her hand hovered above the map, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath ink and parchment. She closed her eyes, murmuring incantations passed down through generations. The room filled with the scent of pine and heather, and when her eyes opened, they shone with an ethereal glow.

"Here and here," she marked two points with a crystal that gleamed with inner fire. "Veins of power run close to the surface. We will channel them, break through their defenses."

"Then it's settled," Moira declared, her determination as fierce as the blaze in Aileana's gaze. "At first light, we take back what was stolen from us."

"Prepare yourselves," Aileana instructed, rolling up the map with a decisive snap. "Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we fight. For Ewan, for our people, for the light that banishes the darkness."

Her allies nodded, their faces etched with the same resolve that steeled her heart. Together, they would face the morrow, united by love and the unbreakable bond of kinship.

(Ewan)

Consciousness clawed its way back to Ewan, dragging him from the depths of a murky slumber. His eyelids fluttered open, the world around him swathed in shadows that danced upon the cold stone walls of his prison. He inhaled deeply, the damp, musty air filling his lungs as he oriented himself to the haunting silence. A shiver traced the length of his spine, not solely from the chill that hung like a specter in the cramped cell, but from the weight that bore down on his limbs.

"Chains," he rasped, the word slicing through the oppressive quiet. His voice sounded alien, hollow in the confines of the dungeon. The iron links clung to him like cursed adornments, heavy and unyielding. They fettered his wrists and ankles, anchoring him to the wall with a cruelty that mocked his once formidable strength. Ewan shifted, the metal grinding against his skin, and a dull ache spread across his shoulders, a testament to the hours—or had it been days?—of immobility.

"Break them," he murmured to himself, a mantra to stoke the fires of resolve within his chest. He flexed his arms, the muscles coiling beneath his skin as he pulled against the shackles. They held fast, biting into his flesh, a stark reminder of the Magic that forged them. His biceps strained under the effort, veins standing out like cords against his skin, yet the chains offered no quarter.

"Curse you!" he spat, the words laced with venom born of desperation. His heart thundered in his chest, a wild drumbeat urging him on, demanding freedom. Another pull, another surge of futile exertion, and the shackles rattled their hollow laughter at his plight.

"Freedom... I must..." The sentence trailed off, his voice fading into a growl of frustration. Ewan leaned his head back against the wall, the coolness of the stone a brief respite against the heat flushing his face. Anger mingled with despair, a bitter concoction that threatened to overwhelm his senses.

"Can't stay here," he whispered to himself, the sound barely audible above the clinking of his chains. "Must keep trying." With each attempt to escape, his frustration mounted, an ever-growing beast within his chest. But even as his body cried out for mercy, Ewan knew surrender was not in his nature. Each heartbeat was a drum of war against his bindings, each breath a renewal of his determination.

"Will not yield," he vowed, eyes narrowing, a new surge of adrenaline lending him a momentary burst of vigor. The chains would not claim him, not while his spirit still blazed with the fire of resistance. And with that thought fueling his resolve, Ewan braced himself for another onslaught against his iron captors.

Ewan's muscles screamed for respite, yet he summoned another surge of strength, the thought of Aileana like a whip at his back. Her laughter echoed in the hollows of his mind, a vivid reminder of the sun-dappled meadows where they had once lain entwined, speaking of dreams and eternity.

"Remember, my love," he grunted through clenched teeth, "the day we chased the horizon on the backs of wild steeds?" Those moments now seemed distant stars, scattered across the dark canvas of his imprisonment. He saw her smile, bright as the break of dawn, felt the gentle touch of her hand tracing the lines of his mortal face—a face he feared might never feel the warmth of her caress again.

"Curse you!" His voice broke as he cursed not at the chains, but at the twisted spell that held him captive in a monstrous form. His Dragon's hide, scales forged in night and flame, now a prison more damning than any wrought by iron. The memory of his transformation, from man to beast, clawed at his insides, a torrent of despair threatening to drown him.

"Must I roam the skies alone forever, an outcast even to the clouds?" he murmured, the weight of eternity pressing down upon him. To be a dragon was to command the heavens, but without his humanity, it was a lonesome rule. The taste of ash and sorrows filled his mouth, a stark contrast to the sweet kisses stolen under moonlit canopies.

"Never," he vowed, the word a shard of ice in his throat. He would not accept a fate devoid of her presence. He could not. The thought of soaring through endless skies, void of Aileana's song, her spirit, her heart intertwined with his own—it was an existence too cruel to bear.

"By the Ancients, I will return to you," Ewan swore, his resolve hardening like diamond. The very thought of Aileana—her courage, her unwavering devotion, the way she looked at him as though he were still the gallant knight of their youth—it anchored him, it gave him purpose amidst this sea of torment.

"Fight, Ewan," he whispered to himself, drawing upon the memories of their love, a love that defied the cursed blood that flowed through his veins. Each recollection was a spark, kindling the fire in his belly that no chain could contain. For her, he would challenge destiny itself, shatter the binds of his curse, and reclaim the life they were meant to share.

Ewan’s breath misted in the frigid air as he tugged at the chains once more, the clink of metal mocking his efforts. His mind, however, was not on the unforgiving iron but on Aileana. The memory of her laughter mingled with the echoes of his grunts, each pull of the shackles a reminder of the danger he had invited upon her.

"Forgive me," he murmured between ragged breaths, envisioning her face alight with the fire's glow, unaware that every moment spent with him spun a tighter web around her. The guilt gnawed at him, a beast feasting on his insides. He imagined her, brave and resolute, facing threats born of his accursed legacy. It was his presence, his love, that painted a target on her back.

"Guards!" Ewan's voice broke the heavy silence, roughened by despair. "I must speak with you!"

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. The jangle of keys, the slide of bolts, and then the door to his cell groaned open. A shadow loomed in the doorway, indifferent to his plight.

"Please," Ewan implored, desperation threading his words. "Tell me how to lift this curse. There must be something... anything."

The guard sneered, the torchlight casting sinister shadows across his features. "And why would we help you, beast?" he spat, his voice cold as the stone walls surrounding them. "You're right where you belong."

"Her life is at stake!" Ewan's chains rattled as he strained against them, his plea echoing off the walls. "If not for me, then for her—"

"Silence!" The guard cut him off with a cruel laugh before slamming the door shut, leaving Ewan alone with the sound of his own futile cries.

Despair wrapped its icy fingers around his heart, threatening to extinguish the flickering flame of hope within him. Yet as he slumped against the wall, the image of Aileana standing strong and defiant against the darkness rekindled the embers of his resolve.

"I will find a way," he whispered into the darkness, the promise a sacred oath. For her, for their love, he would endure. He must.

Ewan's fingers clawed at the unforgiving stone floor, each ragged breath a testament to his waning strength. The iron of his shackles seemed to mock him, as cold and unyielding as fate itself. He pushed against the chains, muscles quivering with exertion, but they held fast—a constant reminder of his impotence.

"Protect her," he murmured to himself, the words an ache in his chest. But doubt crept into his thoughts like poison ivy, entwining around his resolve. How could he, confined and cursed, shield Aileana from the evils that sought to claim her light? Memories of her laughter, vibrant as the first blush of dawn, clashed with the stark reality of his plight.

"Curse you!" he spat at his own reflection on the slick walls, a distorted shadow of the man he once was. "What use is love if it cannot safeguard the beloved?"

Hours bled into days—or had days turned to weeks? Time was a river that slipped through his fingers, indifferent to his despair. Ewan slouched against the cold wall, the fight leaching out of him. His heart, once a drumbeat of determination, now faltered, echoing the hollow despair that gnawed at him.

"Is this my legacy?" he whispered into the void, his voice barely carrying beyond the confines of his cell. "To fade here, while she faces the darkness alone?"

He closed his eyes, surrender settling upon him like a shroud. In the absence of light, the darkness grew until it filled every crevice of his mind, a vast expanse of helplessness that smothered his spirit. Despair was a quiet beast, and it curled up beside him, its presence a weight heavier than any chain.

"Perhaps this is all I am," he conceded to the silence. "A guardian incapable of guarding, a lover who brings only peril." His hands fell to his sides, the will to fight seeping away like the last drops of rain from a leaf.

In the stillness, Ewan's breaths came slow and even, the rise and fall of his chest the only proof he still clung to life. Yet within him, where hope should have flourished, there was nothing but the barren echo of defeat.

The muted clang of distant steel reached Ewan's ears, wrenching him from the clutches of despondency. Each clash was a poignant reminder of the battle that raged without him—the battle that Aileana and their allies now fought in his stead. His heart constricted at the thought of her delicate frame amidst the chaos, her blade flashing with deadly grace.

"Damn these chains," he growled, tugging futilely against the iron that bound him. The hard clink of metal on stone reverberated through the cell, mocking his efforts. His mind conjured images of Aileana, her fiery hair billowing like a banner of war, her eyes alight with fierce determination. But behind that façade, he knew the peril she faced—a peril magnified by his absence.

"Stay safe, my love," he whispered to the shadows. "Hold on."

The frustration of being caged while those he cared for were in peril gnawed at him with sharpened teeth. It was a maddening irony—to possess the strength of a Dragon yet be rendered as helpless as a newborn fawn. Anguish turned to rage within him, a seething, pulsating fury that refused to be quelled.

"Think, Ewan, think!" He commanded himself, the desperation clear in his hushed tone. There had to be something, some overlooked detail, some sliver of opportunity that could lead to escape.

And then, amidst the cacophony of his racing thoughts, a flicker of hope ignited. The shackles—they were strong, but not impervious. If he could weaken them somehow, exploit a flaw, he might have a chance...

His gaze swept the dingy cell, searching for anything that could aid him. There! A loose stone in the wall, its edges worn by time and neglect. A spark of resolve flared within him, burning away the remnants of despair. With renewed vigor, he pressed his shackled hands against the stone, rubbing the iron against its coarse surface.

"Come on," he urged himself, the sound of scraping metal infusing him with purpose. Dust and small fragments crumbled beneath the effort, the monotony of the task punctuated by his labored breathing.

"Break, you cursed iron. Break!"

Each stroke was a silent vow to Aileana, a silent promise that he would return to her side. Sweat mingled with the grime on his skin, but he did not relent. The rhythm became a chant, an incantation to will the metal to succumb to his determination.

"By fire and sword, I will not yield!" His voice rose, laced with conviction. His muscles screamed, but so did his spirit—screaming for freedom, for the chance to fight, for love.

"Break!" he commanded again, striking the weakening shackle against the stone with all the force his bound arms could muster. The sound echoed, a herald of defiance in the face of overwhelming odds.

"Break for Aileana."

His fingers bled from the relentless effort, but it was the image of Aileana, her fiery hair and resolute eyes, that fueled his actions. He paused, his breaths uneven in the damp air, and allowed himself a momentary escape. Her laughter danced through his memories, its melody piercing the somber silence of his cell. She had always been the light that cut through his shadows, the flame that warmed his cold scales.

"Because of you, I still fight," he whispered to the walls, as if they could carry his words to her. "Your love is my armor, stronger than any steel.

Each memory of Aileana – her gentle touch upon his draconic snout, the way she looked at him as if he were more than a cursed beast – was an ember that refused to die, stoking the fire in his heart. He envisioned her standing tall against their enemies, her spirit unyielding, and it anchored him to hope.

"Love forged in Dragonfire cannot be extinguished by chains," he murmured, the conviction in his voice resonating with the power of Ancient incantations.

He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the deep connection they shared to wash over him, reinforcing the fortress of his will. A visceral surge of warmth spread through his chest, a silent testament to the invisible threads that bound their souls together across distance and circumstance.

"We will reunite, Aileana," he assured the empty air, his voice a rasp of determination. The thought of her courage swelled within him, lending strength to his weary limbs. "And we will burn away the darkness with the light of our united hearts.

The stone scratched against iron yet again, a stubborn rhythm that matched the beating of his fierce resolve. He clung to the vision of their future, one where they stood side by side, free of curses and fear.

"Through every trial, my love, through every battle, I will find my way back to you." Ewan's promise echoed off the walls, a solemn oath that defied his confinement.

With each passing moment, as his captivity neared its end, Ewan embraced the hope that fate would not keep them apart. He pictured Aileana's smile, bright and unwavering, and it fortified his spirit. They would face the Ancient Evil together, their love a blade no darkness could withstand.

"Ready yourself, my heart," he spoke into the void, a soft growl of anticipation underlining his words. "For when next we meet, it shall be as victors, or not at all."

And with that, Ewan returned to his task, the symphony of scraping metal a testament to the undying bond between Dragon and warrior, a prelude to the freedom and battles that awaited them beyond the stone and iron.

The iron chains rattled violently as Ewan thrust his weight against them, the muscles in his arms bulging with effort. With each pull, the sound of straining metal sang a chorus of impending freedom—or so he hoped. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripping onto the cold stone floor of his cell, each drop a testament to his futile struggle.

"Stone and iron," he muttered under his breath, "you may hold my body, but my will is unyielded." His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, yet it held the force of a defiant roar within the confines of his mind.

Ewan paused, his chest heaving, as he listened intently for any sign of movement outside his prison. Silence. A heavy cloak of stillness wrapped around him, suffocating in its emptiness. He knew that beyond these walls, Aileana was facing her own demons, both literal and figurative, and he clenched his jaw at the thought of her in peril without him.

"By fire and scale," he breathed, the words laced with an intensity only love could kindle, "I must break these bonds."

He glanced upwards, where a sliver of moonlight peeked through the narrow slit that served as a window, taunting him with visions of the vast skies he yearned to reclaim. It was then that he noticed it—a subtle shift in the shadows, a flicker that didn't belong to the dancing light. His heart hammered in his chest as he strained his eyes, searching the darkness. Was it a trick of his weary mind? A specter conjured by his longing? No. The shadow moved again, purposeful, deliberate.

"Who goes there?" Ewan called out, a growl threading his words, his senses sharpening despite the exhaustion that gripped him. "Show yourself!"

The silence that followed was deafening, yet screaming with the promise of revelations untold. Time hung suspended, every second stretching into eternity as Ewan waited for an answer, any answer. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the shadow vanished, leaving Ewan with nothing but the echo of his own voice and a thousand questions. His breath came out in ragged pulls, and a new resolve settled over him like a warrior's mantle.

"Whether ally or foe," he whispered to the night, "the game has changed."

Ewan closed his eyes, allowing the image of Aileana to fill his vision—her fiery hair, her fierce determination, the way she looked at him as if he were the very stars in her sky. With her in his heart, he couldn't allow despair to take root.

"Wait for me," he vowed silently, "I am coming for you."

Would the shadow herald a turn of fate, or was it simply a mirage of hope in the darkness of his cell? Only time would tell if Ewan's love and tenacity would be enough to shatter the shackles that held him captive.