Healing Ruin

The first time I saw the creature, it was ravaging a village, shattering houses into dust with talons that could slice through stone. I should have ended its life then, any rational man would have. And yet, I met its gaze, void-black eyes aflame with a fury I somehow recognized, and I hesitated. I let it live.

Ever since, it has been mine.

But Ruin is no tame pet or simple companion. It is a living catastrophe, a storm incarnate, a being shaped from darkness and tempest, more fury than mere flesh. To everyone else, it is an embodiment of terror. To me, though, it is a fragment of my own soul, forged in rage and bound by mysteries we both fail to grasp. It trusted only me, a truth that had never wavered.

Until now.

Now, Ruin is dying.

I kneel beside him, heart pounding in sync with his shallow, trembling breaths. Where once his body radiated raw power, it now lies limp, a shell of its former self. The black scales that typically gleamed ominously along his back are dull and fractured. Something is terribly amiss, beyond my understanding, and for the first time in years, I feel overwhelmed with helplessness.

From the trees, I catch whispers among the villagers, their hushed voices carrying hope and dread in equal measure. They think that Ruin’s death is a blessing, that with his end they might finally find freedom from the monster they’d long feared. They don’t comprehend that he is not just a burden, I share his blood, his fate, his very kin. I cannot bear the thought of losing him.

Then she appears.

I hear her footsteps before I glimpse her, light and sure as a feather drifting in the wind. A woman steps into the clearing, the dying light of dusk catching in her dark hair. I rise instantly, positioning myself between her and Ruin. “Stay back,” I command, my voice taut with anxiety. “He’ll tear you apart.”

Yet he does not.

Ruin lifts his head, slowly, feebly, and there is a softness in his rumble that I have never heard before. It isn’t a growl but a gentle, almost welcoming sound. I remain frozen, every instinct screaming to move, every breath laden with internal conflict. As she steps closer, her gaze fixed solely on Ruin, I sense no fear or hesitation in her eyes. It is as if she has done this a thousand times.

“Who are you?” I demand, torn between protecting him and the inexplicable pull I feel toward her. She offers no reply. Instead, she kneels beside Ruin, placing a delicate hand against his battered scales. The instant she touches him, he exhales, a long, resigned sigh that speaks of relief and an intimate understanding of his pain. Anger warps inside me. I should protest, demand that she explain what she’s doing and why, but I find myself paralyzed. I know her, or rather, I know her face, from the dreams that have haunted my sleep, from the persistent echo of her beauty upon waking. I have longed for her presence even without knowing its purpose.

Then she begins to hum, a strange, unfamiliar tune that nevertheless stabs at my heart with an unexpected ache. Golden light gathers at her fingertips and seeps into Ruin’s cracked scales, slowly mending the damage, restoring his former luster. His ragged breathing finds a measure of steadiness. His eyes shine with a burgeoning vitality. It seems impossible, yet it's unfolding before me. She is saving him. As the last sparks of light fade, she turns and meets my gaze. And in that quiet moment, I catch the faintest glimmer of recognition in her eyes, a recognition that chills me with both hope and confusion. She knows me, too. But how? And why now?

“Where have I seen you before?” I whisper, torn by the collision of longing and suspicion.

Her smile reveals both an answer and another question, a beginning tangled with an ending.

“You already know.”