Page 11 of Hex and the Dragon
The shadows dispersed as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving only the normal darkness of an autumn night. But the Chronicle on Ivy's desk pulsed with satisfied warmth, and she realized with growing dread that whatever they'd just witnessed was only the beginning.
The fragment was growing stronger, more confident in its power. And despite all their research and resistance, Ivy couldn't shake the feeling that they were playing exactly into its hands.
But could they find a way to break free from its influence before they became willing participants in its grand design for a perfect world?
Time, as always, would tell.
FIVE
IVY
The emergency command center that Sheriff Leo had hastily assembled in the town hall buzzed with the kind of controlled chaos that came from too many problems and not enough solutions. Maps covered every available surface, marked with colored pins representing the growing number of affected residents. Laptops displayed spreadsheets tracking sleep patterns, dream reports, and the steady deterioration of the town's protective wards.
Ivy sat at a folding table with the Chronicle open before her, taking careful notes while Dorian translated passages that seemed to shift between languages faster than human speech could follow. They'd been working for three hours, surrounded by the low murmur of coordination efforts and the steady stream of updates that painted an increasingly grim picture.
"Sixty-two people now," Leo announced from his position near the main map, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who'd been functioning on coffee and willpower for too long. "That's twenty percent of our population lost to whatever dreams this thing is spinning."
"It's accelerating," Aerin observed from her research station, surrounded by ancient texts and magical instruments thathummed with fae energy. "The rate of new cases is increasing exponentially. At this pace, we'll have complete population conversion within a week."
"Complete population conversion," Ivy repeated, the clinical phrase failing to capture the horror of an entire community choosing beautiful lies over difficult reality. "As if people are just... statistics."
"To the Chronicle, they are," Dorian said quietly as he focused on a passage that described human consciousness as raw material for reality reconstruction. "It doesn't see individuals. It sees components that can be improved through proper management."
His voice carried a bitterness that made Ivy glance up from her notes. Throughout the morning, she'd noticed Dorian growing more withdrawn, more tense, as if the Chronicle's whispered promises were affecting him more deeply than he wanted to admit.
"We need a break," she said, closing her notebook and standing from the uncomfortable folding chair. "Fresh air, clear heads, five minutes away from all this."
Dorian looked like he wanted to object, but the dark circles under his eyes and the way his hands trembled slightly when he thought no one was looking suggested he needed the respite as much as she did.
They walked in silence through Mistwhisper Falls' quiet streets, past houses where curtains remained drawn and gardens showed the neglect of homeowners who preferred sleeping to waking responsibilities. The autumn air carried the scent of woodsmoke and dying leaves, but underneath it was something else—a sweetness that reminded Ivy of lilies at a funeral.
"It's beautiful here," Dorian said suddenly, his voice heavy with something that might have been regret. "Peaceful. I can see why people would want to protect this place."
"But?" Ivy prompted, sensing there was more he needed to say.
"But I'm not sure I'm the right person to help with that protection." He stopped walking, turning to face her with an expression that mixed vulnerability with carefully controlled pain. "There are things about me you should know. Things that might change how you feel about working together."
Ivy felt her heart skip as she recognized the weight of confession in his voice. "What things?"
Dorian ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture she was beginning to recognize as his way of buying time when emotions threatened to overwhelm his careful control. "I didn't come to Mistwhisper Falls by choice," he said finally. "I came here because I was running away from what I'd done. From what my fire had destroyed."
"What happened?" Ivy asked gently, though she suspected the answer would be something terrible.
"Portland," Dorian said, the single word carrying the weight of a confession. "Three years ago. There was a supernatural crisis there too—a rogue coven trying to summon something from beyond the veil. I was younger then, more confident in my abilities. I thought I could contain the threat with precise applications of dragon fire."
He paused, his hands clenching into fists as golden sparks flickered around his fingertips. "But dragon fire isn't precise. It's primal, emotional, tied to instincts that go back millions of years. When the summoning went wrong and chaos magic started tearing holes in reality, I lost control."
Ivy waited, letting him find his own pace for the story that was clearly causing him pain.
"The fire spread," Dorian continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "It was supposed to target only the magical working, but instead it consumed everything in a six-block radius. Seventeen people died, including three children who were trapped in a daycare center that I was supposed to protect."
The confession hung between them like a physical weight, and Ivy found herself understanding so much about Dorian's careful control, his reluctance to use his full power, his self-imposed isolation from the community he lived in.
"That's why you've been so reclusive," she said. "You're afraid of hurting people again."
"I'm afraid of being what my family expects me to be," Dorian corrected, his amber eyes blazing with frustrated intensity. "Ashwind dragons have a legacy going back centuries—conquest, domination, taking what we want because we have the power to take it. My grandfather leveled cities. My father built his fortune by intimidating anyone who stood in his way. They see destruction as the natural expression of dragon nature."
"But you don't," Ivy observed, beginning to understand the deeper conflict that drove his careful restraint.
