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DEAD THREAD -Sylus

an: It has been a very long time, but here we are. Busy living my life as a kitten, and I was happy, not gonna lie.

PART 29

Hate was the right word.

And, the only accurate one. He spent everything he had to hate her. Because hatred was easier than mourning.

It was a lot saner than longing for a monster like her.

The Abyss was dark.

The air within tasted of decay and metal wrapped around him, eating his skin and flesh. The potent pressure seeped into his bones, keeping him weakened, dulling his instincts until even anger became exhausting.

The Judicator had used her powers to make this place more insufferable than it already was. He could barely move around as the invisible energy kept him imprisoned. Tightening whenever he tried to move too far.

It was a cage made of nothing and yet impossible to break.

He couldn’t take on his human form as he was just weak for the reformation.

His claws dragged against the stone. His wings felt useless. Even, the fire had reduced to a dying ember trapped in his throat, he would cough up smoke instead.

He was just the last wounded dragon.

When the hunger grew unbearable, he would try to draw from the surrounding elements. Like the stones, wet dying plants, small bugs, and small dead animals within the Abyss. Sometimes, he had tried to draw it from the energy.

Her dark energy.

It seeped through the Abyss like blood through cracks in stone, very faint, pulsing. And when he reached for it, when he forced his weakened body to pull it into himself, the world would blur.

And he would see her.

The glimpses of her. The fractured images of her eyes, her hands...the curve of her mouth as she spoke or ordered the disciples. The way her hair fell over her shoulder.

Every time, it felt like being stabbed all over again.

That dark energy tasted bitter. Sharp on his tongue, like crushed herbs coated in blood. That didn’t make sense.

A human’s soul grew sweeter as it rotted.

Why was hers still bitter? After everything she had done? After all the dragons she had slaughtered?

What about the bonds she had severed?

Why did her essence still taste like something unspoiled?

Was it because she was not truly rotten? Or was this red energy not her soul at all?

Eventually, he stopped trying. He couldn’t bear to see her face again and again. So, he starved himself of her.

Because seeing her was a punishment, and he could no longer endure.

It had probably been centuries by now.

Time in the Abyss didn’t move as it did above. And he had long stopped counting.

He barely cared.

Yet, why?

Why did his heart drop so violently when the dark energy dissipated into the air? The Abyss had always breathed with it. That bitter pulse that slid through the cracks like a reminder that she still existed somewhere beyond his prison.

And then, one day...it was gone.

Is she...dead?

His heart grew heavier as the emptiness where her presence used to be felt unbearable. His knees gave out, and his claws scraped weakly against stone.

He stumbled to the corner of the Abyss, curling into himself like a wounded beast, injured wings wrapping tightly around his body as if he could keep his own heart from falling apart.

And then he allowed it.

The sound he had buried for centuries broke free.

A broken, humiliating wail echoed through the darkness as he cried for the one person who had ruined him.

For the one person he had never stopped loving.

For another several centuries, all the abyss heard was the pitiful dragon mourning the death of its captor.

Firstly, a loud bang shook him awake.

He jolted upright instinctively, breath catching as his body reacted before his mind could. His chains clinked, the dull metal sound echoing in the endless dark.

Secondly, a metal landed on his head.

It was heavy. Who the hell was disturbing him now?

Thirdly, he heard a cry...of a human.

That startled him. Every sense straining toward the noise as though his body had been starving for something or anything alive.

But what caught his eye was the metal. The object that had struck his head lay beside him. He stared at it for a long moment.

It was a lamp. It was the lamp.

He had made it, obviously he had remembered it. He was clumsy at the time, too proud to admit he had spent nights shaping it, because he wanted to give his mate something that could outlast seasons.

Slowly, as if afraid it might vanish, he reached for it. His claws curled around the cold metal as he brought it closer. Even sniffed it for a good measure.

Then, without shame, he gently licked the surface, relishing the dirt. It still carried it, so faint and familiar. The lamp was still beautiful.

Adorning the silhouette of a dragon resting its head against a woman, the lamp looked still untouched, as if it had been protected.

While he was curiously inspecting the lamp, the human screamed at the top of her lungs.

“MONSTER!!” she shrieked. “SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE!” She cried, desperately, banging on the entrance.

The sheer screams echoed through the Abyss, “That lamp wasn’t mine!”

He stared at her. Of course, this lamp wasn’t hers.

The lamp had never belonged to anyone but him, and he crafted for one person alone. The thought of a stranger touching it already made something dark stir in his chest.

And then the ridiculousness of it struck him.

Oh…

Did they imprison her because they thought the lamp was hers?

For a lamp?

He snorted, When did humans get this stupid?

The girl’s voice rose again, cracking into hysteria. “PLEASE DON’T HURT ME! IT WAS A MISTAKE.” He had rolled his eyes before settling in the corner, ignoring her.

Would she ever stop crying? She wouldn’t.

He learned that after she had been sobbing for nearly a week. Her voice hoarse, yet still refusing to give up.

Humans were fragile, yes—but when trapped, they became strangely relentless in their desperation. Every goddamn one of those pathetic days followed the same pathetic routine.

She would crawl to the sealed door, bang her fists until her knuckles bled, and beg until her voice broke.

Then she would rage.

She would pick up whatever stones she could find and throw them violently into the darkness. Sometimes the rocks struck the walls. Sometimes they struck the ground. Once, one even struck Stayrus’s head. Again.

He had simply watched her silently, the lamp still tucked close to him.

Then the rage would dissolve. Her anger always collapsed into sobbing. She would curl up on the cold floor, knees to her chest, trembling as though the darkness could bite.

And eventually… She would sleep.

All these while, he just waited. Humans were curious beings. So, he waited.

He watched her fear drain into exhaustion. He let the Abyss soften her. When she had calmed down, he lurked around her. Began to poison her mind, feeding her delusions and comfort.

He gave her hope.

And it worked.

She freed him from the bounds. The shackles loosened as the chains fell away, and Stayrus felt his strength return like blood rushing back into a numb limb.

And they escaped the Abyss together.

For the first time in centuries…

The last dragon was free.

The very first thing he did after escaping was not to hunt. He found his lair, which was not-so-surprisingly, hidden. And the moment he stepped inside, the instincts returned.

He covered the cavern floor with every piece of gold he could find: coins, jewellery, goblets, crowns torn from forgotten ruins. He scavenged from abandoned temples and ripped ornaments from noble houses. At times, he even prowled through markets in human disguise, buying what he could, stealing what he couldn’t.

Nothing was enough, still.

No matter how much gold he hoarded, it could not fill the hollow inside his chest.

And the mortal he had helped to escape seemed to cling to him; he began to enjoy her company.

At first, it was irritating.

Humans were always noisy. Always needy...too warm, and particularly too talkative. But she was entertaining. She would sneak up to him, bringing him flowers that he hated. He would growl at her with a look, but she would laugh as if he were harmless.

Humans were ridiculous creatures.

Her chatter filled the silence that had haunted him for thousands of years. So, he began to indulge her. He gave her what she wanted. Food, silk, jewels to wear and keep, a warm corner to his hoard to sleep on. He watched her eyes widen with gratitude, her greed blooming.

Humans were predictable. You give them enough comfort, and they would rot from the inside, sweetening beautifully with every selfish desire.

Her soul would be delicious when her soul had been corrupted enough. And until then, he could live like this.

Hoarding gold. Sleeping for days. Listening to her foolishly chattering. Being lazy.

Right?

Of course, NOT.

He heard footsteps, but it was very careful and faint. “So,” his voice drifted lazily, smooth and knowing, “you learned how to breathe without making sounds, huh?”

“You knew I was here?”

His tail, a necklace hanging from it, stopped swaying midair. That voice.

It cannot be. He turned to her.

“How dare...you...”

He rose as gold sliding from his body in glittering cascades.

“How dare you show up in front of me?” his voice trembled.

He was angry. Very angry. He cannot do this. Not now. Not again, for the fact that he had done with this, he had finished with this.

He had mourned. The grief had rotted within him. He cried until the Abyss grew sick of the sound of him, and he had done crying.

She was supposed to be dead. Yet, there she stood.

The same stupidly unflinching calm of her face angered him. She was calm in a way that felt like mockery. How cruel and stupid to stand in front of a dragon whom she betrayed?

His claws curled at her arrogance.

She tilted her head slightly, examining the creature she once caged. “You befriended someone?” she asked as if she owned rights to him. “Just a few moons out of the Abyss, and you already found a companion?”

“Your Almighty Judicator...I am not the vile, blood-craving traitor who wiped out an entire species for existing. I am capable of making companions.”

Her expression did not change. Instead, she stepped closer.

“Thousands of years without mortal light must have damaged your memory, as it seems… because I was not the one who commanded you to invade human cities.”

The audacity.

“That’s your justification?”

“I don’t know what else you expect me to say, Stayrus.”

His eyes narrowed, “Then answer this...why are you here?”

“I told you already.”

“No,” he hissed, “Why are you here? In my lair. Standing before me. Breathing my air.” His voice cracked, “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“You thought of me.”

“Only because it was such a shame,” he growled softly, “that I never got to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t be able to,” she said, meeting his gaze without fear.

Was it a declaration?

Why?

Where did she get such confidence? It’s aggravating. All he wanted to do was wrap his claws around her throat, strangling her to death. He could think of thousands of ways of making her suffer. In fact, he does need a decoration for his lair.

A Judicator’s skull would be beautiful to look at.

He could already imagine it: a white bone polished to perfection, placed at the highest point of his hoard, crowned with spider lilies as a mockery.

That was until her calm façade began to disappear. A flicker in her eyes.

Oh.

It happened when the immortal returned from her bath. The girl stepped into the lair, her cheeks flushed from warmth, unaware of the tension within the cavern.

Oh.

A cynical smirk found his lips. This was perfect. Out of millions, he might have found a perfect way to punish her.

“You let her live,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“She had a lovely voice. It’s a shame to waste it.” He had been waiting for that crack in her armour.

“Shut up, Stayrus. I have no patience for your idiocy.”

“Ahh…” he murmured, “There she is. The woman who pretends to be wise.” He leaned forward. “But I know every fracture of yours. Every instinct you bury. I can smell your rotten soul.”

Her face fell; a sharp flicker of possessiveness, an ugly reflex she couldn’t erase, no matter how disciplined she had become. If he didn’t know her better, he had missed the jealousy.

However, she recovered quickly.

Because she was a cruel woman. A woman who is not capable of defeat. “Dragons’ souls,” she said evenly, “are not capable of rotting.”

His eyes blazed. “You are no dragon. You carry the foul, disgusting blood of a human!” He snarled, words left his mouth like venom.

Long story short, he attacked. He specifically lunged for her throat.

Well. He tried.

Out of nowhere, red swirls erupted from her palms like chains, snapping through the air. They struck his chest, his claws, his throat (heavens that hurt) and forced his massive form into submission. “You are mine, Stayrus. Must I remind you every time!?”

He choked, blood spilling down his jaw as he clawed at the luminous bind. For a heartbeat, she loosened her hold. Perhaps she had shown too much.

He roared.

His wings snapped open in a violent arc, the force slamming into the cavern walls with a thunderous crack. Dust and gold shards rained down. He rose, towering over her body.

“You dare to bind me,” he growled, his voice trembling with restrained violence, “then speak of who belongs to whom!?” His claws darted toward her face.

No.

He should not injure her physically. Not now. Not with the crude violence that would grant her the dignity of a warrior’s end. He has a perfect plan for her.

One would kill her, naturally. With one swish, he threw her out of the lair into a flowing river.

Splash.

“...That’s our...Judicator,” the mortal voiced out, timidly. He didn’t look at her, remained staring out, listening to the distant river.

“You want to be thrown out as well?” he asked, annoyed. The mortal shook her head.

“I had a hunch. Before...punishment, I was actually looking for her.”

“Why?”

The mortal fidgeted, clutching her hands together, “Just curious. She was our Judicator...We worship her. I don’t...anymore.”

“Worship,” he repeated quietly. Humans truly never learned.

They always worshipped monsters.

They just preferred them in human skin.

He grumbled loudly, unwilling to linger on memories that had ruined his entire life.

“...I read from the texts. Is it true?” she then asked cautiously.

“True what?”

“That you are her lover?

Were. He thought.

“What does it say?”

“That our Judicator had a great love...a dragon. And she had imprisoned it despite loving him so much.”

He scoffed, “...That is not love.”

She blinked in confusion, “Is it not? Because she spent her thousands of years in loneliness and not seeking another companion.”

Oh.

Hm.

Who cares?

“Your Judicator never loved me. It was all about being a good leader and being trusted by humans.” He spat those words and ventured deeper into the cave, buried among his gold and self-pity.

Self-pity fits better than hope.

He hated her.

He hated how easy for her to venture back into his life as if nothing had happened. Did she have a concussion?

Like, what was she even thinking? That he was still that stupid dragon who held her close to his heart? Who one followed her around like a stray starved of attention?

He had had thousands of years to grow out of her. To stop loving her. Enough time to even hate her.

He earned that distance.

He was absolutely not in love with her. He refused to be that stupid.

Never again.

The markets flourished again at the arrival of their Judicator.

Stalls overflowed with offerings. Lanterns burned brighter than before. They were celebrating as their goddess woke up from slumber. And, it was easier to wander in the markets under disguise. And, a lot of times, he would catch her lurking around the corners.

At times, he would pretend not to notice her. And always—as always—he noticed her noticing him.

He saw the jealousy brewing in her gaze towards them, him and the mortal being. He had snorted about it because what rights does she have?

She didn’t want him back then. How dare she act like this? As if she were madly in love with him? He had heard her. How disgusted she was with the thought of loving or...marrying a dragon. Mating him.

The worst part, the courting gifts.

Why would she show up with her stupid courting gifts? He was severely repulsed by her shamelessness.

And that too, the sweets that are made with datura’s nectar. Flowers twisted into offerings that felt more like apologies than gifts. Did she think he wouldn’t notice?

Weren’t they poisonous for her? Still being dumb and playing around with poisonous flowers. Does she know how to make antidotes? Then why are her fingertips growing blue?

“Being immortal doesn’t mean I can’t kill you.”

His tail lashed the basket as the flowers stumbled into the flowing river. All ruined within seconds, yet she didn’t react much.

“Still sneaking up on me, Stayrus?” she asked, so softly that he felt physically weakened.

“And you...Don’t you feel ashamed of crawling back to the monster you had imprisoned?”

“Oh, you have noticed.”

“Noticed what? Your pathetic attempts to court me?”

He saw confusion in her face, “Courting?”

“Yes—”

“Stayrus.”

He stopped. “What?”

She stared at him as though she could not decide whether to be wounded or angry “I am already courted...by you. You had promised yourself to me. Did you truly forget?”

“Really?” he scoffed, “Is that the fantasy you’ve been clinging to all this time?”

Well, that struck a nerve, as it seemed. Her lashes gathered tears, which she stubbornly held in. A thousand reasons she could give, nothing could justify her massacre of the dragons. And seeing her again was a reminder of what he had lost. Of a life that had once stood within reach before it was ripped away from him.

And he was not going to lose again.

He left.

Another day, another attempt.

He was genuinely growing tired of her. His heart went out at the thought. Somewhere deep within, his heart still ached at the thought of her lingering around his territory like a ghost unwilling to leave.

Well, his heart can go to hell with her.

He hated her.

He had woken up to sweets lying in front of his lair. Sometimes, even glimmering scales of pangolins. Gold coins or necklaces. He would ignore them.

It was easier too, now, perhaps because his attention had been occupied elsewhere.

He had brought the mortal to the markets in disguise. Immersed in getting her whatever she needs.

A peculiar thing, that mortal.

She carried the unnatural gentleness of a creature. Despite being a human, her soul smelled very sweet. Too good to be true.

He was interested. And he doesn’t care if anyone has a different opinion about it. Particularly that someone.

Sometimes, he would catch sight of her from afar. Standing just beyond the marketplace crowds or at the edge of the forest paths, silently watching. And every single time, he pretended not to notice the hurt on her face.

Pretended not to see the way her gaze lingered whenever the mortal laughed beside him or how her hands tightened ever so slightly before she turned away.

In response, he would move even closer to the mortal, leaning toward her, or as far as letting the distance between them disappear entirely.

It was childish.

Cruel, maybe.

And he knew it.

But a wounded part of him believed she deserved every bit of it.

“Is there any particular reason why you have been looking at my claws?”

One afternoon, he dropped himself beside without warning, seeing her barely following him for nearly a week.

Not that he had noticed. He's not the desperate one.

In response, she only hugged her relic closer to her chest, looking away. “Not now, go away, Stayrus.”

He snorted, “Irony,” he hummed, “Considering you were the one tailing me just days ago.”

“Well, aren’t you busy...?”

The hesitation in her voice made him glance at her, and his tail flicked lazily behind him. “Good heavens, Judicator... Do you make it a habit to keep yourself updated on everything happening in your territory?”

“Have you ever loved me for who I am, Stayrus?” she asked suddenly, her voice wavered only slightly.

The question landed like a stone dropped into still water. His amusement vanished.

Of all the accusations she could have thrown at him, of all the arguments she could have started, she chose that.

“Well, that caused me a lot.”

She sighed, lowering her gaze, her fingers curling around her relic, as if it were anchoring her. “You didn’t answer my question, Stayrus. You never do.”

“I don’t have to answer you.”

“I know.”

She turned to look at him properly, “You loved the idea of me, didn’t you?”

He frowned, “What?”

“One cannot love while going through such an immense amount of pain, Stayrus.”

“Don’t.”

The warning was low, she continued anyway, “Pain changes people. It twists them...painfully narrows their world until all they can see is survival.”

“Don’t give me pathetic excuses for inability to love someone! You are not a victim! You are never a victim in this entire situation.”

“I never claim to be a victim. I am reasoning with you.”

“Don’t! It sounds like a mockery.”

The audacity of her speaking as though they were discussing philosophy. As though she had not reduced his clan to corpses.

Reasoning with him, as he did not still wake up some nights hearing screams that no longer existed.

“But, Stayrus...I am the consequence of your own choices. You and your clan shaped me this way.”

“Well...I don’t know. The strongest species always wins. A dragon's way has always been brutal and dominant, but you don’t see anyone rising to be an Almighty Judicator who massacred the entire species.”

Well, that sounded very wrong, but at the moment it just felt right.

She stood up abruptly, brushing her cloak, “Well, it seems like you have learned it. The strongest species always win, right?”

“Don’t.”

She looked at him directly, “No wonder you lose, Stayrus.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

How dare she? The utter audacity of that woman.

Stayrus remained rooted where she had left him, staring at the empty path long after her figure vanished from sight.

No wonder you lost, Stayrus.

His claws dug into the ground beneath. She was wrong; she had to be.

He shouldn’t have been this affected by her utter nonsense.

Because she is not right.

The Judicator had always possessed an infuriating talent for taking his thoughts apart and stitching them back together into something he no longer recognised. She had done it again.

She had put those words into his mouth.

The strongest species always wins. But that was not what he meant.

Dragons had not fallen because they were weak.

The very notion was absurd. Dragons ruled kingdoms. Their strength had been unquestionable.

Yet, the dragons had lost. It was because she somehow had learned to break bonds. Heaven knows how she managed to do that, but it was never because of weakness.

Something that should have been impossible. Something no dragon had ever prepared for because no dragon had ever imagined it could happen.

Strength could fight armies, could burn cities...but what weapon did one wield against grief?

It couldn’t.

Because if she was right...No. Absolutely not.

Love cannot be a weakness.

He refused to make it in a literal sense. Years ago, in one of his rare moments of honesty, he had declared her his weakness. At the time, he had meant it almost possessively. Because she, his lover, his supposed mate...was the only thing capable of distracting him. The one thing capable of clouding his judgement.

A weakness?

But not that kind of weakness.

Not weakness as a flaw, the more he tried to separate the meanings, the more they tangled together.

His breath shuddered. Because when had he been most vulnerable, where had he suffered most? When had he lost most?

The answers came immediately.

Her.

Always her.

No. That proved nothing, right?

Love did not make someone weak, it's... It's something precious. Love is worth a lot of things. Worthy of protecting, worthy of grieving...something worth destroying. Love was not pathetic.

Love was not weakness.

Love was...

His conviction faltered. Because somewhere in the deepest part of his memory, buried beneath centuries of anger and loss, he remembered standing before her and offering everything he was.

So, he lost.

Because...

Love was a weakness. Indeed.

Now the very thing she had called a weakness will be the origin story of how the Almighty Judicator’s downfall.

That being said, lately, he had noticed the mortal clinging to him more, softer and sweeter at the edges. Her small excuse to remain within reach. And unlike someone he knew, she did not hide her intention.

In fact, it made everything easier. He no longer had to chase.

No longer had to decipher hidden meanings buried beneath carefully chosen words. The path had been laid plainly before him.

The affection was obvious.

Her soul was brewing sweetly so that he could smell arousal in it.

Surprisingly, she was even forward with it. The mortal chose him. He could choose her, too.

It’s easier.

Yet for some infuriating reason, he found himself repeating it more often each day. As though he were trying to convince someone.

Perhaps himself.

Love was a weakness, wasn’t it? Absolutely.

That’s what the Judicator said. And she was correct. Love clouded judgment; it creates vulnerabilities. Love was why the Empire fell.

So,

He brought the mortal to the valley. This was where it had begun.

A sacred garden where everything started. The once dry land was now flourishing. Datura flowers stretched across the valley in endless clusters, pale petals swaying in the wind like ghosts dancing among the grass. Life had returned to the sacred ground.

Someone had cared for it. And, he knows someone has been cultivating this land.

Cynical smiling, because he knew the scent of hers even on his deathbed, but he ignored it.

His chest tightened. Deliberately. The mortal wandered ahead, enchanted by the beauty of the valley. Stayrus followed, and all the while, he knew.

She was watching. Perhaps from the tree line, or a distant hill, but she was here. The garden carried too much of her not to.

Good.

He let her watch them. A bitter part of him wanted that. Watch them, as he softly feeds the mortal with sweet words and promises. He let her watch them as the mortal hands cupped his cheeks with reverence.

And whenever the little mortal smiled, he returned it, and the exchange felt most effortless. He offered carefully chosen words, a sort of future anyone would want to believe in.

The final choice where his future belonged somewhere else. That his mate would be someone else.

That the story he once shared with the Judicator was truly over.

He let his mortal seal those promises with a kiss. A kiss meant for someone he chooses, his mate.

With that,

The valley grew silent as the wind stirred the datura blossoms.

Out of all odds, tears streamed down his face; he could never go back again.

It was over.

He could never...ever go back to her.

There is no going back now.

_to be continued_

AN: My works are not proofread. It's me and my coffee against the world. Please ignore the errors. And, it's 5am here, I shall sleep. bye

PART 30

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