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theseinfernalangels · 2 months ago

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From the Inside: Threshing, According to Sawyer and Sliseag

Synopsis: We all know how Threshing went for Violet Sorrengail, but what about Sawyer Henrick, the lonely boy from Luceras who was forced to repeat? A dual perspective on the matter, presented by Yours Truly. ❤️‍🩹

Note: Includes some background lore from my ficverse, I’ve Been Big and Small.

SAWYER ⚔️

I’ve been waiting for this for exactly 364 days, give or take a few hours: A second chance, a second opportunity to prove to everyone that I am not worth being left behind. I am more than a repeat, and dammit — I’ll tear apart this whole fucking valley if that’s what it takes for me to come out alive.

I will not be left behind again. I refuse. I’ve already been in survival mode since the day I realized it was either me that would fight for my family, or no one at all. I’ve been fighting the good fight against my will for years. I already had to walk out of this valley with nothing to my name but blood running down my face and a boatload of shame.

No more. I will not go back.

Diving into the forest gives me that painful déjà vu, reminding me that I’ve been here already. I’ve played this game before, and I lost. I don’t care; I have an advantage over everyone here, even stupid fucking Jack Barlowe, who has enough audacity to walk around acting like he’s the strongest man alive.

I know the rhythm here. You run, you duck, you jump, you swing, and if you have to slash at a leg or two, so be it. Threshing isn’t for the weak of heart; I learned that one the hard way by avoiding the violence. Today, though, I’ll have to welcome it.

As far as I can tell, none of my squadmates are close to me, which is good. I trust them, even more so than I did my last squad, but I don’t want them to see me like this. To see just how hard I’ll fight in the name of proving myself. Every scar, every scream, every wound opened will be worth it. It has to be.

So I fight. I throw myself into the violence of Threshing with nothing but a year’s worth of more experience, a few blades, and my own tenacity. I repeat my mantra to myself quietly, as if I’m speaking it out loud to the two people I know for a fact would listen every time.

I will not fail. I will not disappoint you. I left for good cause, and this setback will not hit me again. I will make you proud, I promise.

It comes to a head at around noon, when the sun beats through the trees and darkens every dappled shadow that surrounds us in here. My sword clashes with someone I recognize from First Wing — no name comes to mind, though. We pivot around each other like we’re in some complicated dance, but I’ve been practicing more and know the routine better. Every so often, I feel the unmistakable feeling of something — someone — watching us, but I know not to question it. This valley may as well be a stage the way dragons sit and judge you the entire time.

Fine. They want a show? I’ll fucking give them a show.

I don’t know what comes over me — anger or pure desperation. One moment, I’m being jumped from behind. The next, I’m staring at the First Wing cadet’s body twitching as blood pours from his neck. For once, I don’t feel guilty. I’m keeping myself alive, and—

Oh.

Now I get it.

I spin around as a deep, grating rumble sounds in the air behind me. I know better than to flinch away, so I press my fingers into my palms and stare directly in the direction of the noise.

Holy gods.

I watch undergrowth and foliage give way as a dragon — enormous, strong, and ruby red — stands to its full height, pinning me in my place with slitted golden eyes.

I don’t move. I don’t even look away. In retrospect, it’s a horrible idea, but part of me doesn’t give a shit anymore. Something tells me that the dragon doesn’t, either — not when it just stares, leveling with me for a moment before I feel something shift within me.

It’s almost like a deck of cards, the way it pokes into me. The dragon picks out a part of me, scrutinizes for a second, and then puts it back in the pile. I have no idea what I am doing now; finally, finally, I’m in uncharted territory. It sees my will, my desperation to prove myself, to make my family proud, to fight as hard and often as I need to in order to move on. It sees me protecting my sisters when we were children, left defenseless in the Luceran woods for days at a time. It sees everything within myself that I’ve managed to unleash today, and then—

Shit. It sees everything else.

I can’t find it within myself to panic, but it’s truly unnerving how a dragon can peel back everything within you all the way down to your core. I’m not prepared to face it seeing my sense of worthlessness, rejection, and loneliness after what happened last year. I feel raw, exposed, and vulnerable — and yet, I notice, I’m not afraid. I feel…seen.

Something unseen surrounds me and then jolts, stabbing into my heart with what sounds like a clap of thunder. The dragon looks unperturbed, though, and sits, its scales flashing like pure flame. I go to say something, anything, but I’m cut off by a low, rumbling sigh from a previously undisturbed corner in the back of my mind.

“Well, it is about time. I’ve been waiting for you forever, Sawyer Henrick.”

I flinch a little, my eyes widening for a moment before I catch myself. No fear in front of a Red. None for it, none for me. Not when someone finally gets me. I straighten and then nod. “I could say the same.”

I have questions. So many actually, that I’m not sure where to start. My moment of hesitation is not unnoticed, though, and I’m hit with waves of…annoyance that shank me down a little, cherry-colored string that starts to glow within me.

I feel a muscle tighten in my jaw, and I stare up at it — No, him — with something akin to omnipresent desperation.

“Do you…see me?”

I expect a booming voice, a deafening roar that will rattle me to my very core. It doesn’t come. Instead, I hear a low hum down that string again, before I hear him speak once more.

“Of course I see you. I’ve been waiting for you. I am Sliseaglarann, son of Tíogairlile and Lasairdorcha of the fierce Dearghairicín line. You are mine now, and you will never be alone again. Rise from the ashes, my Ashling. We’ve got work to do.”

Sliseaglarann. Sliseag, for short. He sees me — he wants me. I’m his, and he is mine. I feel a stab of relief cut so deep I could start crying — but I don’t. Not in front of him. Not when I’m so close to getting out of this hellhole.

Instead, I straighten and then grin, joy taking possession over everything in me. Sliseag watches approvingly as I take a running start and scale up his massive shoulder — albeit a bit clumsily. Neither of us care, though, not when I slide down onto his seat and take a huge breath.

I am a rider now.

Gods. I’m a fucking rider now.

I am a rider, and I will never fucking be left alone again.

“No,” the — my — dragon agrees, disturbing the ground below him as he stretches his wings and straightens his back. “No, you won’t. We fight and die together, you and me — from the inside out, Ashling.”

___________________

SLISEAG 🐉

I watch the cadets gather by the entrance to the valley, their scents intermingled with excitement, fear, and tension. One scent rises above the rest of them to me: Pure, unbridled determination that I can smell from almost a hundred miles away.

It comes from one. I cannot tell who.

I do not care.

They are mine.

From above the valley, I make out the familiar shapes of my brethren. I spot Baide’s sleek form lying in wait, undoubtedly licking her lips in preparation to torch more than a few cadets who think they can match her thirst for violence. Deigh, my nest-mate, waits patiently in a clearing, as if he too knows exactly who he wants. He actually bothered to show up to the Presentation, unlike me — I don’t care much to incinerate cadets who I have no business with in the first place. From the edge of my vision, I can even see Tairn lingering in a rocky alcove much too small for his size. It’s clear why he’s there, though, judging from the small golden speck that dances around his legs. Still just a hatchling, that one. I have no clue as to why she is here and not in the Vale, but I suppose it is no one’s business except hers.

The cadets start streaming into the valley, and I take the opportunity to tuck my wings and glide into a spot where I know most cannot see me, because I do not want most. I want one. They will be mine by sunset, should they not be killed by another.

They better not be.

I lie in wait. I do not like waiting, but I will what for what I have already claimed. Occasionally, I see cadets come and go, but they are nothing to me. They reek of fear, and the ones that don’t are half-dead anyway. Maybe I am cruel for not stepping in — but, then again, that is not the fault of the dragon. I cannot be blamed for the incompetency of humans who are not even worthy of being here. Zihnal may be content to grant them luck, but dragons do not answer to even gods.

I still do not strike, although my claws itch to. I think I might be the most patient Red in the valley, and my nest-mates probably believe myself to be mad, but to hell with all of them. I want the one with the iron resolve, or I will not bond this year. It is written, and it will remain so.

I tire of waiting until I hear shouts up ahead of the brush I shelter behind, and wouldn’t you know it — I feel them, so close and yet so far. Their scent of tenacity is speared by that of anger and desperation, and I know now that I must intervene, lest my determined one be killed right in front of me. I coil my muscles and slowly but surely bring myself to my feet, rising above the forest floor as I stretch my limbs to their fullest.

Two humans. One alive, one dead. One with blood pooling from his throat, and the other gripping a sword as he curls his hands into fists.

That is the one.

A low rumble leaves me as I stare down at the boy, who turns and stares back at me unflinchingly. It is strange. Impertinent. Disrespectful to most of my kind. I do not mind, though — not when I am exactly the same.

Leveling my eyes with his own, I inspect him — all of him— sharply. Tall and strong, defined by years of fighting for the survival of himself and his kin. Strawberry blonde hair, a smattering of freckles, fern green eyes that shine like a summer storm on rolling hills.

And then I look deeper. I look, for the first time in a decade, inside, and I am not disappointed by what I find.

At first, I see his resolve, honed from working and fighting. I see him making a shield of himself, throwing himself in front of dangerous humans who dare to prey on those he loves. I see strength and ferocity and fire…And then I see it below.

Loneliness. Isolation. Hurt. Abandonment. The memory of walking out of this valley with nothing but blood and shame to his name. Unwanted. Invaluable. Rejected by my brethren, for reasons unknown to even me. I peel back every layer of protection that he’s built himself, every ward, every barrier, until I’m digging down into his core. I find pure steel that will not walk away from this valley until he’s on the back of a dragon, even if he has to kill for it, or set the forest ablaze until he’s the only one among the flames.

He doesn’t have to, though. Not with me.

I cast out with my power, slowly encircling his mind of quiet power and then lashing out, spearing our connection in place with a loud snap. He still does not move. He just watches. Waits. Observes.

Slowly, quietly, I exhale and stretch my wings before I settle, staring not into his eyes, but into his very soul.

“Well, it is about time. I’ve been waiting for you forever, Sawyer Henrick.”

That is the moment he unfreezes, his eyes widening by just a fraction before he seems to catch himself. He sheathes his sword behind his back and crouches to really look at me, peering at my ruby red scales that scream danger to those who have the audacity to approach me.

“I could say the same,” he whispers, staring at me as if he has found finality, an answer, something to hold on to that won’t leave him to the wolves when the time is rife.

Certainly not. Never with me.

He falters for a moment, which makes me itch with irritation. Someone with strength such as this does not falter around me. As my annoyance hits him in waves, his jaw ticks. Something in his eyes tightens, and I’m slightly put off by what he asks of me.

“Do you…see me?”

Oh. Now this boy, I must treat with care. Not pity — clearly, he’s had enough of it for a century — and I refuse to coddle a human. Still, my tone is surprisingly easy as I reply.

He blinks and then stands, posture like that of a true warrior. I watch with a tinge of pride as he holds his head high, his face lighting up with a smile that screams of triumph.

Yes, little Ashling. Stand tall, for you fight alongside me now, and I do not let my riders burn. If you fall, count on me to drop with you, for we have become one.

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