My Trash Talent Is Actually OP!

There were different types of dragons. Not just in size or strength, but in something deeper, like age, memory, purpose.

Some dragons were Seated, powerful souls that once held positions of order and leadership among their kind.

These were the First to Thirteenth, each with a name lost to time, waiting to be recalled by one who bore the will to command them. They weren't just beasts. They were legends, kings and queens, warlords and sages.

Others were mature dragons, those that had reached the peak of their natural life, powerful but never seated. They remembered war and ruin. They were prideful, dangerous.

Then came the immature dragons. Young but not weak. They followed the call of instinct more than duty, often rebellious, unpredictable. Some had died too soon, their lives cut short in the Great Purge. They still raged inside their bones.

Infants....barely formed, often tied to the dreams and memories of fallen mothers, existed in a strange, half-real state. They weren't always physical. Sometimes, they were born from memory alone.

And then… there were Others. The broken. The hybrid. The forsaken. Dragons fused with machines. Dragons cursed by magic.

Like Cinder, Zero and Nova, Dragons that would either be hybrids, cursed, or fallen.

The apartment was quiet when Sinnett helped Asher through the door. Zero had vanished with the dragons.

Not a trace of them remained in the air, no scent of smoke, no shimmer of magic. Just the silence of normalcy wrapped around them like a thin blanket.

It was past midnight. The city outside hummed low, distant engines and late-night murmurs too faint to feel real. Inside the apartment, warm lights glowed softly.

A blanket tossed over the couch, a cup of cold tea still sitting by the armrest.

Hannah, looked up the second they stepped in.

"Asher?" Her voice cracked with worry.

He gave her a tired smile and nodded. "I'm fine."

Her eyes flicked over his torn clothes, the dried blood on his fingers. "That doesn't look like fine."

Sinnett offered a quick nod, placing a steadying hand on Asher's shoulder. "He'll be alright. Just needs to rest."

She looked between them, not entirely convinced, but she backed off, her lips pressed tight.

She'd learned long ago not to ask too many questions about the strange things her children were caught up in.

Especially Asher.

Sinnett led Asher down the hall to his bedroom.

The door creaked softly as it swung open, revealing the familiar space, walls covered in sketches and notes, a cracked mirror in the corner, and a small shelf of books mostly about dragons and history, that he had gotten to like after deciding to get used to this world.

"Shower," Sinnett said. "You smell like grave dirt and rotten meat"

Asher didn't argue.

By the time he stepped out, towel around his waist and hair damp, Sinnett was waiting. His locs moved gently. They wrapped around Asher's arms and chest, weaving tight but soft bandages, till all part of his body was completely covered with the bandage.

Asher didn't flinch.

He'd gotten used to Sinnett's strange hair a long time ago.

When it was done, he sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, as he slowly got relieved.

"You should sleep," Sinnett said.

Asher nodded. "Yeah."

Sinnett left him there, pulling the door halfway closed.

The hallway was dim, the floor cool beneath his bare feet as he padded toward the kitchen.

Alya was already there.

She sat at the table, sipping from a chipped mug, her legs pulled up beneath her. Her hair was tied messily to the side, and her notebook lay open, half-filled with messy lines and old math.

Sinnett grinned.

"You're up late."

She looked at him, eyes bright with something between surprise and something softer.

"You're loud when you bandage people."

He stepped into the kitchen, leaned against the counter. "You missed the real show," he said as his locs slowly shrunk behind him.

"You always bring the weirdness with you," she said, "That whole hair magic, you might as well not even use your hands too ".

He stepped closer. "You like the weird."

She flushed just a little. "Maybe."

Sinnett reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second longer than needed. Then he bent down and kissed her cheek.

"Still studying?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. "The exam's tomorrow."

"You'll pass," he said.

She looked at him. "You always say that."

"Because it's true."

Sinnett poured himself a glass of water and sat beside her.

He watched her scribble in silence for a while, then said quietly, "You should think about training with the academy."

"But then I'd miss the way you pretend not to want me here."

Alya scoffed "I'm not pretending, besides I'm not training in that school."

Another laugh, a sarcastic one from Sinnett giving "We'll see about that."

Then his mouth was on hers.

He didn't ask. Sinnett never did. But he always knew the answer.

Always knew she'd lean into him, that her fingers would grip the edge of the counter for balance, that she'd let out that soft, breathless sound when he deepened the kiss. While heer tea cooled on the stove

"You look like a patchwork doll," she teased after they broke the kiss with a soft wet sound.

He leaned against the counter, eyes flicking up and down her frame with amusement. "You still think I'm cute, though."

She rolled her eyes, "Shut up."

He didn't. Instead, he leaned in again, brushing his fingers along her jaw, letting the moment stretch. Alya's breath hitched when he lowered his head, and this time locked lips with her, but deeper.

Her hands curled around his shirt, pulling him closer as their mouths moved in rhythm.

Sinnett kissed like he fought, slow, but perfect, with a focus that made it feel like the world could end, and he wouldn't notice as long as she was still beneath his touch.

They broke only for air, and he smirked against her skin, lips trailing to the corner of her mouth, then her neck.

"You've got this habit of distracting me," he murmured.

Alya laughed, still breathless. "You started it."

Sinnett didn't argue. He nuzzled her throat before pulling back enough to meet her eyes. His smile faltered, not from doubt, but from the weight of Something he wouldn't want to even say, even to himself.

"You know…" he began, "you might not be around to see what I want to do."

Alya froze.

"What does that mean?"

He didn't answer immediately. Just rested his forehead against hers.

"Asher and I might be gone for a very long time, and then wars, Alya. A real one. One that'll break more than bones."

"But you'll be fine, right?" she asked, with a worried tone, that almost made him loose his cool.

Sinnett nodded slowly. "I've walked through death before. I'll walk through it again. But you… I don't want you anywhere near that."

She clenched his shirt. "I'm not leaving."

"I know."

He kissed her again, slower this time. Memorizing the way she tasted, the way she clung to him, and the way her fear bled into love without shame.

And the fact she still kept feelings knowing how he was and who he was.

When he finally pulled back, his fingers traced her cheek, brushing a tear she hadn't noticed.

"Don't worry," he said softly, "I'll be with you till eternity."

"Even though Asher cuts my head for it."