a lot of people will look at you
Aria
The dog came low—mean and fast and desperate—and Damien barely had time to shift his weight before it was lunging behind him. He saw the whites of its eyes, the spit hanging from its teeth, and something in him just clicked. The old hunter’s instinct. The part that didn’t ask questions, didn’t leave room for pity.
The hatchet came up in a blur of silver and wood. He didn’t swing to kill—he swung to stop. The flat of the blade caught the dog across the shoulder with a wet, meaty crack, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the narrow space. It yelped, skidded sideways, claws shrieking against the frost, and slammed into a barrel hard enough to make the whole stack rattle.
Damien didn’t let it breathe. He took a step forward, teeth bared, voice ragged and raw. “I said back off!”
The words came out like something torn from him, half snarl. Steam poured from his mouth in the cold, mirroring the dog’s panting breath. The air stank of fear and iron and frozen brine.
The dog crouched, ribs heaving, eyes wild. It wanted another go—you could see it trembling on the edge—but there was something in Damien’s stare that cut through even the madness. A kind of promise. One more move, and it wouldn’t get back up.
He stood over it, chest rising and falling hard, hatchet threatening to go for another strike if he needed to. His pulse roared in his ears.
Behind him, Aria made a small sound. Not quite a mewl—lower, rougher.
He turned just enough to glance at her. The cub’s fur was bristled high, eyes huge, but as he glanced over, she looked back at him. Not the dragon. Not the dog. Him. Her tail gave a single, tentative flick, and she crept forward a few inches, still trembling, still ready to bolt—but moving toward the person that had stepped between her and the chaos of the world.
Damien
but only a few will see you
