Chapter Text
Burning hot flames lick at his heels as he stumbles blindly through the thick brush of the forest, smoke making it difficult to see through his stinging eyes. His body screams in agony as his lungs expand and fill with the acrid smoke and he’s forced to cough. He can feel the heat of the ever expanding flames creeping even closer to him as he wastes precious time simply trying not to retch or fall to his knees.
The sounds of screams fill his ears as he continues, but he can’t see anyone. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that the screams belong to his comrades. His friends. The only family he has left in the world, and they’re burning alive, alone and in agony. Wiping the involuntary tears from his cheeks, he pushes on. He won’t allow his name to be added to the list of the dead, not today. He can’t give them the satisfaction of taking his life too.
A towering flaming tree collapses just in front of him and nearly crushes him. Narrowly missing it, sparks and debris are thrown from the tree and into the air and straight at him. The smoke obscuring his vision prevents him from properly blocking and protecting his face as a flaming scrap of wood is launched directly into his face. White hot searing pain immediately lights up against the side of his face and his eye. Distantly he hears someone else screaming, too far in the throes of pain to realize the sound is being ripped directly from his own throat. Fingers instinctively come up to swipe the debris from his skin, though it’s too late. The flames have already done their damage. His hands come back wet and the pain radiating from his face is immense. His vision was limited before, but now his second eye is fully incapable of sight. It’s enough to stun him into a frozen state, momentarily forgetting about the flames still chasing him from behind and closing in around him now.
His blood rushes in his ears as he coughs violently again, bending almost in half at the waist due to the intensity. His body is giving up. His brain shouts at him to run, to keep fighting. His body has stopped responding though. The adrenaline is no longer enough. The smoke and now his injury has left his body weak and fragile. Human. If the smoke inhalation doesn’t kill him in his next few minutes, the fire will. It seems like they will, in fact, get the satisfaction of taking his life.
He faintly registers feeling his knees hitting the grass underfoot as his body grows too weak to even stand any longer. He can no longer hear the screams of his comrades, only the crackling of the fire around him. The heat has grown immensely. Just another minute then, and he’ll be burned to a crisp.
His body convulses as he tries to retch, but nothing comes out except for more horribly violent coughs. He can’t take in a breath. He’s suffocating. A flame reaches his ankle and he can barely twitch, unable to scream or to move away. The burn is excruciating.
He can now hear a deafening bellow followed by a wicked growl. Of course they’ve come to personally view his death. But now he’s too weak and too close to death’s doorstep to do anything about it. As he listens to the violent growls, he feels the flames engulf him, the pain all consuming.
Minho blinks into awareness violently coughing. He can’t catch his breath. He’s suffocating. He must’ve died, and yet whatever plane of existence he’s in, he’s clearly dying again. He sits up and grasps at his throat as if that will somehow miraculously open up his airway and save him. His eyes are teary again, whether it’s due to more smoke related issues or the fact that Minho can’t breathe, he isn’t sure. At the moment, the reason why doesn’t seem important.
Minho lurches to the side and his body flips into dirt. He writhes around on the ground gasping and choking until something heavy is slammed down against the center of his back at the same time he’s hauled up onto his knees. The force continues to beat steadily against his back until Minho’s lungs and throat get the hint and he gasps in his first clear breath after who knows how long. After that, he isn’t whacked on the back anymore and it seems he’s allowed to simply work on watching his breath now.
As his breathing finally evens out and his body isn’t on the cusp of going into shock, his eyes clear up too. All of his senses return to him, actually. Minho blinks blearily around and realizes it’s nighttime and he, along with his very much alive comrades, are all scattered around a campsite. Everyone appears to be awake, but no one is looking at him. A nightmare then. That’s what Minho just experienced. He’s had them before, but this one was particularly vivid. Most everyone in his unit gets nightmares. When they happen, no one looks out of respect. No one wants anyone’s pity here.
Minho becomes aware of hands gripping tight to his shoulders and he turns his head around to see who gave him the back blows and who is currently holding him upright on his knees. He knows it’s his lieutenant before he even sees him. His right hand, essentially. The one in his unit who Minho considers to be his closest friend; essentially brothers.
Changbin meets Minho’s eyes and even in the faint light shining down from the moon, Minho can see the reassurance written clear as day on Changbin’s face. There’s no pity, just familiarity. Support. Minho sags a little.
“Must’ve been a bad one,” Changbin says, the phrasing said as more of a statement than a question.
Minho nods regardless, still breathing carefully. “Thanks for the help,” he says with a rasp. He looks away and peers out around him at the trees that are very much no alight with flames. “I think we’re getting close. I think this is a sign.”
Changbin releases Minho’s shoulders and sits down right on the bare ground beside him. They’re dressed down for sleeping, both wearing loose linens just like the rest of their team. A little dirt never hurt anyone.
As captain of their unit, Minho always sleeps a little ways away from the rest of his unit. That’s his excuse at least, but in reality, Minho hates fire. They always build one in the center of their camp wherever that may be, and Minho always sleeps as far away from it as possible. It means that they’re away from listening ears as they both presently look out into the forest together.
“You usually have a pretty good sense for these missions. You just say the order and we follow,” Changbin agrees. An owl calls from somewhere nearby, but the woods are silent otherwise as Changbin’s words resonate.
They remain like that for a minute, quiet and contemplative.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Changbin asks quietly.
Minho purses his lips. He’s asking about the nightmare.
“Not really.”
“Min, you couldn't breathe.”
“I would’ve been fine,” Minho snaps. Then he immediately softens and turns his head to face Changbin. In a softer tone he continues. “I appreciate that you came to help.”
Changbin offers a nod in return.
Minho looks away again. With a sigh he folds his legs up to his chest to get more comfortable and to rest his chin on his knees. It isn’t really the sort of way he imagines the captain of a highly trained team of dragon hunters to sit, but it’s just not something Minho wants to worry about right now. So he does it anyway.
“I could hear the team screaming, burning alive. You, being burned alive. Fire was everywhere. I wouldn't have been able to even see my own hand in front of my face. I couldn’t help any of you,” Minho says, voice still a little winded sounding from his fit earlier. “I could hear the growling and the awful bellows too, Bin. I was trapped there listening to my team die and they were there to witness mine as the finale.”
The bitter voice Minho is using makes Changbin remain quiet. He’s well aware of Minho’s aversion to fire, and respects it. He isn’t overly fond of it either considering it’s what was used to destroy their village so many years ago. The nightmare sounds downright tortuous.
“We have to succeed. We can’t let any more of those beasts continue to live and carry out their reign of terror. It’s gone on for too long, they’ve killed too many of us. We need to finish things once and for all so people can finally live in peace.”
Changbin raises a hand to clasp Minho firmly on his shoulder. “Like I said, Captain, just give the orders and we’ll follow you. We’ve managed to catch and eliminate most of their population. Just a few more and the peace you speak of will become our reality.”
The idea that one day their population could live freely and without fear, without the constant fear of being burned alive when least expected, it’s unimaginable. Minho and the rest of his generation, like so many before him, were born into a world filled with fear and violence.
It’s why Minho went down the career path he had. He’d seen more savagery and experienced more loss as a child than he should’ve had to and it fueled him to grow into and become the fearsome hunter he is today. The best of the best, according to the whispers around the kingdom. A success record longer than anyone else who held Minho’s title prior to him. He’s made it so that the extinction of the winged fire wielding terrors is actually within reach.
“His Majesty has made it abundantly clear we were not to return to the kingdom until the last of them has been slaughtered. I fully intend to have you all back home within a fortnight,” Minho says into the night air. His eyes slide over to glance at Changbin. “Alive.”
Changbin huffs out what sounds like a laugh. “Alive would be preferable.”
Minho feels the corner of his lips twitch up as he looks straight ahead again.
“You should go back to sleep. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. We need to be well rested.”
Minho is met with a shrug. “Rememeber when we were kids and would have sleepovers together?"
A nod from Minho prompts Changbin to continue. “Do you remember how you would crawl into my bed with me after lights out? You said it was because you were worried I would get cold in the night. I always ended up too hot, but I always slept so much better with you right there with me.”
Minho has a hunch about where Changbin is going with this conversation. Changbin confirms it when he stands up and walks silently back over to his own little travel bed roll he’d been lying on before Minho had woken him. The bedding is picked up and hauled unceremoniously over to Minho’s spot and the lieutenant arranges it carefully right beside Minho’s bed roll.
“Bin…” Minho starts, but cuts himself off when Changbin gives his bedding a good fluffing. “The men will think I’ve gone soft.”
Changbin snorts quietly and lays down on his bed roll, patting the empty space next to him on Minho’s. “These guys could use a little softness. Remind them what we’re fighting for.”
The earnestness in Changbin’s voice and his big kind eyes directed right at Minho make it impossible to argue further. “You’re exploiting our childhood memories to make me do things,” Minho complains, though it’s fond.
Changbin just grins like the cat who caught the canary. It makes Minho roll his eyes and laugh as he complies with his friend’s wishes, laying down on his bed roll flat on his back so he could look up at the smattering of stars in the sky.
His heart rate has calmed down and his breathing is back to normal. Even though his body is once again functioning how it should, Minho admits to himself that having Changbin right beside him makes him feel a semblance of comfort and he’s glad the other is willing to do this for him. His friend has always been more sensitive and in tune with emotions than Minho. Despite Changbin’s immense brawn, his personality is shockingly tender. It has never wavered, even through all of their grief and trauma. Minho greatly admires that. He himself has locked away his tender side in order to move up the ranks to captain. Minho isn’t even sure if he has that side anymore, that gentleness to his personality that he remembers having as a child, but somewhere in the middle of growing up it was lost and has yet to return.
“Night, hyung,” Changbin murmurs as he shoots him a little smile even if Minho isn’t looking at him.
“Night Binnie,” Minho whispers. After a beat, Minho tips his head to the side to look at his friend. “Thanks.”
Changbin doesn’t respond. He meets Minho’s eyes and his smile just increases a little in size. Then he allows his eyes to slip shut and Minho just looks at him for a moment.
He and Changbin have never had romantic feelings towards one another despite their close bond. They’ve known one another since before they can even remember, and yet they only harbor platonic feelings towards each other. Regardless, Minho loves Changbin very dearly. Part of the drive behind Minho’s successes is Changbin himself. Minho wants to give Changbin the life he deserves. Give him a life where he can live without fear and find a nice young man or woman to settle down with and start a family with. Allow him to have the safety necessary to raise children.
Minho knows he’s a lost cause himself. The way he’s crushed and lost the tender part of his personality, he would never be able to find someone to love more intimately than a friend. But he could do this for Changbin. And for the rest of the innocent people living within the kingdom Minho calls home.
With a deep sigh, Minho turns to look back up at the night sky. Soon, he thinks, soon they will be freed from this hell they live in.
The following several days prove uneventful. There are no signs of the brutes they’re hunting. No trail, no hints, nothing. A herd of deer running past is about the most significant thing to happen in terms of the wildlife.
Nonetheless, the men of Minho’s unit remain ever vigilant and alert, himself included. Every night he’s been having different versions of the same nightmare he’d had the first night when Changbin had helped him catch his breath. They always end with him waking up covered in sweat and panicked, though luckily he hasn’t woken up unable to breathe again. Mostly, he doesn’t want Changbin to worry about him so he’s thankful for that.
After a solid week or nothing, Minho notes his team growing antsy. They’re all professionals and each of them accustomed to slow hunts sometimes, but a week of no sign of anything is frustrating and abnormal. It puts Minho even more on edge than he usually is.
Finally, as the sun begins to sink in the sky on that seventh day, they find something.
The humid air means sweat clings to Minho’s skin and it’s impossible to cool off. Frequent water breaks are a necessity. Minho has halted his team for one such break so they can each drink from their water canteens when he hears a sudden commotion.
“Captain Lee!”
The use of his title snaps Minho to attention as he closes his canteen and lets it fall back down to his hip. He quickly makes his way over to the man calling for him and he peers over his shoulder where the man is crouching over a patch of earth. There, as if laid intentionally for them to find, is a scale.
It’s flawless, as if plucked right from the body of one of the beasts with love and care. As if they were capable of such feelings. The scale is nearly completely white, with an iridescent shine to it. It could be considered beautiful if not from such a terrible creature.
“We’re definitely close,” Minho breathes out as he gingerly reaches down to pluck the scale up between two careful fingers. It twinkles under the sunlight and Minho scowls in disgust.
“Do you think this one was sickly? I’ve never seen a scale of such a color,” one of Minho’s men questions aloud as the team circles Minho to get a look at the find.
Minho stands back up straight and continues to glare at the offending scale. “Possibly,” he answers. All of the beasts Minho and his team have killed before were colored much darker. A few were those of warmer colors such as reds or yellows.
Not very much is known about the creatures in reality. Do they even get sick? Minho has never heard of such a thing. Their review courses at the palace only supplied them with what knowledge they had.
“Sick or not, we must be even more aware of our surroundings now. We have confirmation we’re getting closer to finding at least one, and where there’s one there’s usually more. We need to be prepared for anything,” Minho commands.
The training his men have gone through clicks in. They each arm themselves with the various weapons they’re proficient in. Some have arrows and quivers, some have spears or knives. Changbin has a double bladed battle axe. Minho prefers his longsword.
Every weapon, no matter the type, is dipped with poison. It’s the only way to take one of the vile creatures down. Their size and strength, not to mention their ability to wield fire makes them a formidable opponent. Their weakness, however, is the toxin from the bell flower. While capable of making a human violently ill if ingested or introduced to the blood stream, it’s fatal to the beasts. So while their team would never be able to fell such a creature through brute force, they instead only need to get through their scales to puncture skin and then simply wait for the poison to work its way into the bloodstream and eventually kill the beast. Minho has done so numerous times now, and the longest it’s taken for the poison to work was about five minutes.
Minho examines the pale scale for another moment before he pockets it and follows suit, drawing his sword.
“We push on until nightfall. Then we set up camp for the night. Remain diligent,” Minho speaks, voice resonating with clear authority.
A scattered chorus of “yes sir’s” rises up around him as Minho moves to the front of their band to lead the way. Changbin falls into step just behind him, a reassuring shadow.
They continue to move through the brush, though in the last few days the landscape has transformed from lush greenery into a more rocky terrain. Scattered trees decorate the area and green moss covers the grey stones fairly thoroughly. The land has also turned less flat and instead has hills every which way. It makes traveling a little more difficult and time consuming. Regardless, Minho pushes on. This is the kind of landscape many beasts like to dwell in as it provides natural shelter for them and is less cumbersome for their wings.
It goes without saying that his men appear to be as on edge as Minho himself is. They all know they’re in dangerous territory.
They continue silently forward and suddenly the hairs on the back of Minho’s neck stand up as they round a particularly large mossy boulder.
Minho raises a fist in the air as he freezes on the spot, indicating to his team to halt as well. He can sense something off. Something is coming.
They’re silent as church mice as they stand very still, only their eyes darting wildly around their surroundings. The wind blows lightly around them, though it does little to cool them off thanks to the sun's intense rays and without tall trees to shade them. It’s quiet otherwise.
Minho palms over his longsword as he holds it ready and in front of him. He may not be able to see anything or hear anything, but his body is reacting to something he instinctively senses. He’s on edge and alert.
For good reason too. Because in the next moment a great shadow flies directly over top of them. It’s there and gone within a second, too fast for any type of reaction from the men. Then a great heat builds and Minho has one more singular second to shout and dive behind the rocks before a great tunnel of fire is unleashed upon them.
Several of Minho’s men had the sense along with Minho to dive into the rocks for safety, Changbin included, but several did not. They were cast in flames and didn’t stand a chance against the great heat and quantity of the flames that kept coming. Minho abandons his sword on the hard ground to cover his head as the heat of the fire grows more intense by the second.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the heat retreats. A mighty roar follows, and it sounds sickeningly familiar to the one Minho has been hearing every night for a week in his nightmares.
Minho knows better than to let the fear consume him though. He has a job to do. He still has men to protect and to lead. So he snatches his longsword, hissing at the heat the metal handle has absorbed from the fire and darts from his hiding place to launch his attack. He ignores the scorched bodies of his fallen comrades and the small fires still burning where plants had once grown along the rocks.
What stands before Minho is almost enough to make him take a step back. The beast may very well be the largest of its kind he’s ever encountered. Its body is a solid wall of sinew and muscle. The scales covering it from head to tail are charcoal black, but glow orange from within. It gives the monster a shimmering ethereal appearance, like the hot coals left behind after a fire has nearly burnt itself out.
Massive wings stretch out in a clearly threatening display and they do, in fact, look threatening. The tail swinging behind the creature lashes angrily. Scorching fire licks up and down the creature’s back as it drops its mighty head to roar again. Inky black horns curve up from its skull and as Minho blinks in shock, he discovers one more surprise about this creature.
It has a rider.
A man sits upon the great animal’s back, apparently unaffected by the flames licking along his body. The man matches the beast in black riding leathers and has long dark hair. He wears an angry expression and wields a sword of his own, though his is less formidable than Minho’s own, but appears just as deadly.
The few precious seconds Minho uses to make all of these observations appear to have been a mistake as the beast rears back and opens its mighty jaws to spew more flames down at the humans below. Changbin slams into Minho at the last second to knock him down and tuck both of them behind another boulder to hide from the aggressive onslaught of flames.
Minho can hear at least one more of his men scream in agony as he’s burned alive. It makes Minho physically choke as his mind flashes him back into his nightmares. It’s the same premise. He’s supposed to protect his men and here they are, trapped and split up, forcing Minho to listen as his men’s blood boils them from within.
Distantly, Minho can hear Changbin shouting at him, but none of his words make it through the fog of Minho’s mind. A sharp sting shoots through the side of Minho’s head and the force causes his entire skull to quake as it’s whipped to the side.
Rapid blinking clears Minho’s vision as he looks up at Changbin’s serious expression. He nods in a quick thanks. Changbin clearly didn’t hold back when he slapped him, but it was necessary to get Minho's brain working properly again, reset and rebooted.
Shouts ring out in echoes through the rocky terrain as Minho’s men regroup. Minho is on his feet in an instant, sword back in hand, and dives back into the fray. He provides additional cover as some of his men drag away the injured. If they could just get an opening to get close enough to the beast…
A sharp rush of air is the only form of warning Minho and his team receives before an arrow lodges itself in the chest of the man flanking Minho. Death moves in swiftly as blood flows freely from the wound, the arrow having pierced through his body and out his back. Minho turns just in time to see the rider nock another arrow.
“Fall back!” Minho shouts to his remaining men. “Fall back now!”
As much as MInho wants to end things here and now, he knows it isn’t possible anymore. With so many of them either dead or injured, they stand no chance. Every man with a weapon capable of distance is down, and right now swords and knives won’t cut it. They’re clearly going to lose even more men if they don’t retreat immediately.
Minho weaves behind another boulder to avoid standing in the line of fire of the rider and looks around wildly as men scramble to follow his orders and help their injured and run off.
“Changbin,” Minho calls, his voice scratchy. “Changbin!” he tries again, voice ringing louder.
The fire isn’t raining down anymore, thank goodness, and no more arrows have been sent sailing, so Minho risks a look. The good news is that he finds Changbin. The bad news is that Changbin is clearly injured. Badly. He’s on the ground, weaponless, and his leg is clearly causing him pain as it appears to be wedged between two rocks and bent the wrong direction, blood streaming down from a wound in Changbin’s thigh and another wound bleeding from his forehead.
Minho feels a surge of anger and protectiveness within him. He has to get Changbin out of here, one way or another. With or without him.
The beast looks to be gearing up for another round of fire, so Minho tightens his hold on his sword before he darts away through a path of rock and shouts at the creature and its rider, trying to draw their attention from the others.
Minho doesn’t even have the brain capacity to think of actual words to shout, so he simply yells noise and hopes that it works.
It does.
The monster halts its reign of fire and turns its glowing red eyes on Minho. The rider meets Minho’s eyes and sneers, and as if on queue, the beast roars again and launches itself back into the air with a few flaps of its mighty wings. Minho runs faster.
Loose pebbles and dirt give way underneath Minho’s feet as he hustles to put distance between himself and the incoming dragon. He’s really as good as dead, but the point of running is to draw the creature away long enough for his men to make it out of here and to safety. Maybe if he’s lucky he can get in a shot and take the creature down with him, but he;s doubtful. So Minho continues.
Flames erupt around him suddenly, and in a purely instinctual move to save himself, Minho dives. He doesn’t give it a second thought since he has no time. He ends up diving right off a steep ledge. The drop is about the distance of a very tall man, but it’s enough to send shockwaves of pain up through Minho’s body when he lands hard on his back. It knocks the wind out of him and he can instantly tell something is very wrong. He can’t move when he tries desperately to get up, his arms and legs simply refusing to work, whether from the shock or from a spinal injury, Minho can’t really tell yet. The adrenaline and impending death makes it hard to really take stock of what’s happening in his body at the moment.
Short gasps leave Minho’s lips as he struggles to breathe properly and spits inelegantly when his mouth fills with the copper tang of blood. He stares upwards as a massive scaly head moves into view. It appears the beast has landed on the ledge where Minho has just leapt from. It growls down at him, but doesn’t blow anymore fire. Minho isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.
Then Minho registers the presence of the rider. Now on foot, he slides down the ledge to drop down gracefully beside Minho in a crouch. As he straightens, closer now, Minho can tell he’s tall. He holds himself with grace and poise, but Minho can see the hidden muscle underneath his leathers. He’s clearly dangerous, just like the beast he rides on the back of.
The man’s dark hair is tied half up with little decorative braids along his temples. Fine silver jewelry decorates the strands and they glint in the sunlight. Matching shining metal dangles from the man’s earlobes.
The rider bends at the waist and plucks up the longsword from where Minho had dropped it in his fall. The stranger pulls a face at it and tosses it out over the rocks where it can’t tempt Minho to make a grab for it. With it goes any hope Minho has of protecting himself, even though he wouldn’t be able to move to even use it.
The dark haired man turns to the beast above them and they stare at one another as if silently conversing through their shared look. Minho just scowls at them. His finger twitches.
Finally, the rider turns back to Minho and the beast turns to head back presumably to the site of the initial attack. Minho hopes his men have cleared out by now. Hopefully his death will manage to save at least some of them.
“What a sorry excuse for a hunter,” the rider tells Minho with a smirk. “Didn’t stand a chance.”
Minho scowls. He may be flat on his back and unable to move, but he still has some pride left.
“What a sorry excuse for a human. Fraternizing with monsters,” Minho hisses.
That makes the rider drop his smirk. Serves you right, smug bastard, Minho thinks.
“I think I changed my mind. I should let Channie burn you alive. You clearly have no consideration for anyone other than yourself,” the man snaps.
Minho has no idea who this Channie is, but it sure seems like the other human is referring to the beast he was riding.
“Just my people, who are killed daily by you and the beast you ride for. Tell me, how do you live with yourself?”
The rider stalks closer and removes a hidden blade from his leathers. He spins it idly and crouches down beside Minho’s head. “You have no idea what my beast and I do,” he croons, voice dripping in feigned sweetness. It sends a shiver down Minho’s likely broken spine.
“And it looks like you never will. This is the end of the line for you,” the rider coos.
Minho struggles, but his paralyzed body doesn’t respond to his brain’s commands. The rider smirks again, clearly aware of the issue and making no effort to mask his enjoyment from it.
The knife teasingly traces over Minho’s cheek, sharp edge nearly piercing skin. Minho remains perfectly still.
“Let’s see if you have any goodies I want before I kill you. I’ve been terribly influenced to enjoy anything with a sparkle. I don't suppose you have anything like that?” The rider proceeds to keep his knife close to Minho's face, but his other hand begins searching through Minho’s pockets.
Minho doesn’t bother telling him he has nothing valuable. Let him waste his time.
The rider seems put out as he comes up empty time and time again. He tosses away any knives he finds or other small weapons. Until he checks the final one and pulls out the pale white scale Minho had picked up earlier. His face contorts as it goes through several emotions in rapid succession. Minho can’t follow any of them.
“Why do you have this?”
Minho very seriously debates not answering. He’s already going to die, what else could his man threaten him with if he doesn’t answer. Plus, Minho is getting his own sick pleasure by riling him up.
When he’s met with defiant silence, the rider turns to glare at Minho with fire in his eyes. “Why do you have this?” He asks again, knife digging into the flesh of Minho’s cheek. When the tip pierces skin it makes Minho wince slightly, but he adamantly keeps his mouth shut. “Go to hell.”
The rider hisses and turns to glare up at the blue sky for a moment, silently debating with himself perhaps? It lasts for several seconds before Minho notices the beast's return. It leans its huge head down over the ledge to get a closer look at Minho. The rider scowls back down at Minho again as he shows the creature the scale. They engage in another weird staring match with each other before the rider breaks it and looks back at Minho.
“Congratulations, you’re coming with us.” he says dryly as he pockets the scale himself. Then he stands and looks over the still prone position Minho is in. “Are you truly unable to move?” he asks.
Minho scowls. What a stupid question, of course he can’t move or he’d have killed the other by now if he could.
The rider rolls his eyes as if he can see what Minho is thinking.
“What a prick,” he mumbles under his breath as he leans back down to haul Minho up. The sudden movement makes Minho cry out involuntarily and he shudders against the stranger in pain.
“Fucking hell,” the rider mumbles as he struggles to carry Minho’s full weight. And then Minho feels something else assist, something bigger and stronger. Something that clasps at the back of his hunting leathers and hauls him up and out from the little death pit he'd been in. Through Minho’s agony, he’s distantly aware that the beast is what is hauling him up and over the ledge. Uninvited tears fall from Minho’s eyes as he fights to keep in any pained noises. He’s dealt with significant physical pain before, but this is on a whole other level.
The rider climbs up out of the crevice behind him and looks at him without sympathy. Then the rider climbs back up onto the back of his beast, using its mighty wing for assistance. Minho lays crumpled on the ground until the monster spreads its wings and picks Minho up with its front two arms. It isn’t very gentle with Minho’s broken body as they lift off and Minho eventually finds himself high up in the air. The claws of the beast don’t puncture Minho’s skin, but they rest along his limbs as if a silent threat.
Minho couldn't do anything even if he wanted to. So he simply lays cradled in the beast’s arms and begins to whisper his goodbyes. Or frankly, his one singular goodbye, to Changbin. He hopes he was able to escape. Maybe he could fill in as captain and finish their mission as soon as his leg is healed. Maybe he could name his future son after Minho to remember him by.
Once his goodbye is said, Minho feels himself beginning to float from the pain and the shock his body is undoubtedly going into. Death is close. Why not let himself meet it halfway. So Minho allows himself to close his eyes and give up his hold on consciousness. The last thing he remembers is the incredible view of the sunset from up in the sky. A peaceful scene to lull him into his forever slumber. For just a moment, he forgets about the beast carrying him. About dragons.