Page 8 of Hex and the Dragon
"Maybe," Lyra agreed with a grin that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "Or maybe you're just naturally compatible. Either way, you should probably get back to your research before whatever you've locked up decides to remind you who's really in charge."
As if summoned by her words, Ivy felt the presence in her head pulse with satisfaction. The Chronicle was pleased with their cooperation, pleased with the growing connection between them.
And despite her better judgment, Ivy couldn't deny that she was pleased too.
Working with Dorian felt natural in a way that scholarly collaboration rarely did. He understood magic on an instinctive level that complemented her theoretical knowledge, and his careful control fascinated her almost as much as his hidden power.
The Chronicle might be manipulating their growing attraction, but that didn't make the attraction itself false.
The question was could they build something genuine despite the fragment's influence, or whether everything they felt for each other was just another part of its elaborate plan.
Time, it seemed, would tell.
FOUR
DORIAN
The evening air carried more than autumn's chill as Ivy and Dorian returned to the library. Reports had been filtering in throughout the day—residents sleeping later, moving slower, their eyes carrying the distant look of people who preferred their dreams to waking reality. Mrs. Patterson at Moondrip Market had barely managed to keep her stall open, repeatedly nodding off mid-conversation with customers. The Morrison twins hadn't left their house at all.
"It's spreading," Ivy said as she unlocked the library's front door, her keys jangling in hands that weren't quite steady. The wards they'd reinforced were holding, but she could feel the Chronicle's influence like a current beneath the surface of the town's daily life.
"Faster than I expected," Dorian agreed, following her into the darkened building. "This afternoon, I saw three people fall asleep standing up in the grocery store. Just... stopped mid-step and started dreaming."
Ivy flicked on the lights, casting warm illumination through the main library while shadows gathered in the corners like living things. The Chronicle waited on her desk exactly whereshe'd left it, but somehow it seemed more present now, as if its influence had grown stronger during their absence.
She approached her desk cautiously, noting how the presence in her mind hummed with satisfaction. The fragment was satisfied with the day's progress, pleased with how easily the townspeople were succumbing to its whispered promises of perfect lives.
"Before we open it again," Dorian said, settling into the chair beside her desk, "tell me about your dreams last night. The ones that kept you awake."
Ivy hesitated, her fingers hovering over the Chronicle's scaled cover. The dreams had been more vivid than any she'd ever experienced, so real that waking had felt like a loss rather than a return to reality.
"I was in a library," she said slowly. "But not just any library. This one contained every book that had ever been written, every piece of knowledge that had ever existed. Ancient texts that held the secrets of immortality, theoretical treatises that could solve any scientific problem, philosophical works that answered every question about existence itself."
"And you could read all of it," Dorian said with understanding. "Understand it perfectly."
"More than that. I could use it. I was helping people, solving their problems, preventing disasters before they happened. A child was sick with something the doctors couldn't identify, and I found the exact cure in a medical text from a civilization that vanished three thousand years ago. A young couple was struggling with a magical curse, and I discovered the perfect counter-ritual in a book of fairy tales."
"It felt real," Dorian observed. "More real than this conversation."
Ivy nodded, finally opening the Chronicle to reveal pages that now contained detailed maps of human consciousness, showingthe pathways the fragment used to access and influence sleeping minds. "What about you? What did it show you?"
Dorian's amber eyes grew distant. "The entity crisis. But this time, I was there from the beginning. I helped evacuate everyone before the worst of it hit, used my dragon fire to strengthen the town's defenses instead of hiding in my house like a coward. When the entity made its final push, I was strong enough to contain it without anyone getting hurt."
"No one died," Ivy said softly, understanding the appeal of such a dream.
"No one even got injured. Sarah was still alive, Tilly still had both her parents, and the town came through the crisis stronger than before." His hands clenched into fists on his knees. "I was a protector instead of a potential threat. People looked at me with gratitude instead of fear."
The Chronicle's pages turned of their own accord, revealing text that seemed to pulse with gentle understanding:
Why should such dreams remain mere fantasies? Power exists to serve purpose, knowledge exists to heal ignorance, strength exists to shield the vulnerable. In the reality I offer, neither of you need waste your gifts on lesser pursuits. You could become everything you were always meant to be.
"It's seductive," Ivy admitted, her scholarly mind noting how the Chronicle tailored its approach to their specific desires. "It doesn't offer us power for its own sake. It offers us the chance to help people, to be useful."
"To matter," Dorian added quietly. "Instead of being dangerous or irrelevant."
Before the Chronicle could respond to their growing vulnerability, the library's front door opened with a soft chime. Griff Cooper's voice carried through the building, warm and careful in the way of someone trying not to wake a sleeping child.
"Ivy? Are you here? We could use some help."
