The Hunter and His Dragon

GET OUT, The Past Sadness

Upon the second time he opened his eyes the world went into focus with gradual blinks. Maia's face loomed over him, her worried frown telling him all too easily what state he had to be in. What happened before I passed out? It was hard to remember with the massive headache drumming away in his skull.

"If he kept going I'm sure he would've been."

Another voice. This one from farther away. Magnus turned his head to the owner, finding none other than Ragnor Fell. His good friend was flipping through a newspaper, like the sight of a disgruntled Magnus was just an everyday Tuesday thing. To be fair, it had been once upon a time. Back when he was experimenting. But those men and women did nothing to satiate the feelings bubbling up in him. Only one man, well, dragon had been capable of doing so thus far.

The thought of Alec was what had him shooting up from his bed.

"Alexander!"

The previous events of the past few hours played out like some sick horror tale. The unease Alec carried, his selfish demand, the wicked smile his Father wore as the collar was slid around Alec's neck, the loss of emotion on the prince's neck as dark magic took over the light in his eyes. Nausea came with the headache now. Unable to help the rising bile in his throat, Magnus coughed out.

"L-look away."

"Look away for wha—"

His answer was an expulsion of that nasty fluid. A sickening puddle on once pristine bedsheets.

"Oh." Maia stared at the puddle and then him, clearly disgusted. "That's just gross."

"Sorry. Ugh."

Ragnor just waved a hand. A tissue appeared in front of Magnus. He took it, gingerly wiping away the slop from his lips. Of course, the sight of his hands almost had him vomiting again. Bloodied. Bruised. Split open knuckles. Those were some of the terms used to describe what he was looking at. Tiny splinters stuck out of his pinky and one of his forefingers. One look at the door and it's busted in frame retold the hours he had put in trying to get out. The dark blotches on his arms were less discerning, but just as painful when touched. He hissed as Ragnor put a finger under his chin, lifting his head up to meet his gaze.

"Don't talk. Not right now. Save your strength until after you've taken this." A thin vial was passed to him, it's suspicious contents a swirl of mysterious garnet. Bubbles were sprinkled inside too. They popped the same way nasty tar did, hot and airy. He did not yet smell it, but it was clear how disgusting the scent would he.

"What is this?" He was glad not to stutter this time, taking the vial. A strange heat emanated from it, making his eyes attempt to flutter shut for the second time that fateful day.

"Not your concern."

Unscrewing they cork at the top, the smell entered the open atmosphere. And Magnus found himself barely holding on to whatever was left over in his gut. The stench was that rank, the liquid that nasty. He instantly felt bile yanking it's way up his poor throat and for a second he was covering his mouth with his other hand, forcing himself to breath through the sleeve like he was in a smoke infested building instead of the comfort of his own room. Maia's odd looks she shot his way were understandable, as was the disdainful snip Ragnor shot his way. All of this strain left him more exhausted than before —if that was even possible— body threatening to shut down with the newest wave of tiredness.

Except Ragnor would not let such a thing happen.

"Don't fall asleep Magnus." Ragnor pinched his cheek the second his eyelids began to flutter shut. The pain was so startlingly he jolted in place, causing fingernails to dig deeper.