A feeling of terror and elation fills me then, as Bjorn helps me stand and the rest of my drakes struggle to their feet, as well. Because for the first time, I realize this is what happened with my ancestor Hedda; that in her grief over her lost First Drake, she found this amalgamated high with her other bound drakes—discovering their own auric fire and opening the secrets of this place.
Those secrets led Hedda to create the Black Dragon, I understand now, as I watch all those millions of runes simmer. I feel them pulse with a living mind now. I feel them call to me, whispering of the glorious things I could discover down here, should I ask them, now that we’re strong enough.
That temptation is far stronger in Baldur, however. I feel him shiver like a blown horse now, as his addiction to powerful runic magic rages to the sensation of all those living runes flaring all around us.
As if a demon suddenly ripped in and gripped its diabolical black fingers around his luminous heart, I feel my Fourth Drake spasm with a tremendous need—to stay down here for days, months, years, asking the runes everything he wants to know about magic and power in the cosmos.
And receiving those answers, unveiled to do his worst.
Because it would be his worst, I understand, as I look over at him. Baldur’s beautiful blue eyes have gone so dark, so deep into their midnightcolor, that they almost look like Mikkel’s now, save for a shimmering blue the fey rune-light casts upon them in the semi-dark.
It’s a terrible, belladonna look, as I step right in front of Baldur now, seizing his face in my hands. For a moment he doesn’t look at me—for a moment, he can’t, as he stands transfixed by the siren call of all that ancient power surging around us on the walls.
Then I thrust my drakaina’s power into him through our connection, taking a big bite of his drake. His dragon snorts, roaring and pained, as his midnight eyes snap to me.
Nothing but a wild, unending darkness in their depths.
“Baldur. I need you now. Are you with me?” I ask him, as I stare into his eyes. I feel him struggle then, as his darkest nature rages against me. Because it wants to stay far out in the cosmos, wild with these runes and the godlike power they could give him.
Then something in him feels my heart, however. As he heaves a deep breath, Baldur closes his eyes, blocking out all that whispering rune light.
“I’m with you, Rikyava,” he breathes, though I feel some part of him is still far away, trapped in his temptation. “I swear it.”
“Good,” I tell him, as I feel him understand my heart. Because I will not berate him, or chastise him, or warn him away from his inner darkness. I just need to make sure he lets us all in as he goes there.
Because this addiction, for Baldur, will not be something he can abstain from; we need his talents as a sigilwright and a runesmith, to do what we’re going to do next.
He can’t stay away from this power, or remain separate from it. What he can do, though, is take us all with him into his vast inner darkness, and the terrible siren song it creates.
He can hold us close with him there, as a lodestone to keep him sane and safe, as he’s tempted to wield all this power and go dark from it. I feel that temptation inside him roar, just a moment more. Then Baldur swallows and I feel him take another deep, pained breath.
As he lets us all into his heart—at last.
I feel it as we’re all suddenly swept up into Baldur’s cosmic tides. I feel it as we’re hauled in tight around him now; not just metaphysically with our dragons but also in our flesh, as I’m thrust into his arms and the rest of my drakes crowd around, tight.
Because Baldur’s heart is just that beautiful, and his need is just that great, as we all stand close and touch him now, feeling his aching heart. He’s scared; deeply scared of what might come next for him, should we ask to find the Black Dragon’s birthplace and follow these runes to their destination.
It could mean destruction for him; ultimate destruction, of his entire brightness. We all know it, as we crowd around him and hold him now.
Holding him steady in our love, against the darkness.
“I can do this,” he says at last, as he heaves a hard breath and swallows. Our foreheads pressed together, his closed eyes tighten. “I can do this…”
At last, he opens his eyes. I see the fire of the runes sweep him away, just for a moment. As his eyes go belladonna blue-black again, I fear for one heartbeat that he’s never coming back.
But then Baldur squeezes me closer in his arms, tight. As the caring knot of our drakes pulls in around him even more, wrapping their arms around him, nakedness be damned, he sighs.
His eyes clear. His aura brightens. As he finally kisses me, lingering and soft, I feel his beautiful heart in it.
Because Baldur doesn’t want to be a demon; he wants to be his vast inner brightness. And that choice is all we need to move forward, as we stand in support of him now, all around.
I reach up, cradling his face in my hands.
A wisp of a smile finally finds his lips, as his lovely cerulean eyes shine.
“We’re with you. All the way,” I tell him now, as I hold him close and our drakes crowd around us. “You’re not alone in the darkness, Baldur. We’re with you, every step. No matter how wild and crazy this magic gets. Or how powerful.”
“Or how powerfully tempting,” Mikkel says as he grips Baldur’s shoulder. His dark eyes are calm as we hold each other in this powerful space, full of knowledge, finally, about his own inner beast.
