Varelor chose to walk the path through the ruins they had once crossed. The two moons crept closer to their eclipse, casting twin glows that bathed the place in silver.

Tomorrow would mark the Moons' Festival. If the king Erathrin will finally be alright, Varelor knew he'd celebrate it with his usual splendor--firelight, feasts, and the illusion of peace.

But Varelor's thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To her.

The dragon's silhouette broke the horizon, vast and graceful, a shadow against the moons' nearing embrace.

"What have I done?" he whispered, the words raw, his voice catching in the cold.

Weaponless now, he sprinted toward the creature, his weary heart hammering against his ribs. The wind cut sharp, but he didn't stop. As he reached the place where she lay, his knees buckled, crashing onto the ice streaked with spattered gold.

"Elduriel. Elduriel, hear me out," he called, voice trembling, eyes scanning her vast form for the wound he had inflicted.

"I--" he faltered, breath hitching as he reached out, hand trembling in the frigid air. He paused, inches from her shimmering scales, silently asking for permission.

"I need to fix this. I... I need to heal your wound."

The dragon's sapphire-amethyst eyes opened, sending a shiver through him like a sudden gust of winter air. His breath caught--but he didn't falter. With trembling resolve, he stretched out his hand once more and touched the great head resting helplessly before him.

Her gaze held his for a breath, deep, before her eyes closed--slowly. As if surrendering her fate to the young elf who had once meant her harm.

"I was wrong," he whispered. "You didn't mean to kill the elven people. Your fire... it could have, but--"

His words caught as his fingers brushed the cold, glass-smooth scales. They shimmered beneath the moonlight, a sight he had only imagined in the worn pages of the castle's library. And yet, standing here in the presence of a creature of legend, joy was fleeting. Guilt and fury clawed deeper.

He rose, taking a sharp breath. "I'll find herbs. Something to help."

His feet had already begun to move, crunching over frost as he turned toward the dark silhouette of the evergreen forest.

"It's not too late," he muttered to himself, the words desperate, stubborn. "There has to be a way to fix what I did."

It was not long when a flicker of shadow stopped him. "Who is that?" he asked.

"You see now, Varelor?" a familiar voice asked from behind. As he looked behind him, his blue eyes once again met the same woman he saw before.

"You again?" asked he.

"They poisoned you too. I was right. He changed you," said Kaelira, pulling back her woolen hood. Her silver-blonde hair, once tied in a neat bun, tumbled loose as she stepped closer to Varelor.

Varelor stood frozen, words caught somewhere between his mind and his mouth. Right and wrong had blurred beyond recognition.

"Having the Wind Emerald was once the pride of the Mhydrille tribe," she continued. "It was a gift from the deities themselves. We were meant to protect it--not hand it to that king you all worship."

She stopped just in front of him, her gaze sharp.

"But the king... he's--not what you think," Varelor murmured.

"No. He's not what you think, Your Royal Highness," she said with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Have you ever seen the elvish lands? The ruins of this kingdom?"

"I saw them, but--"

"I was banished, Varelor. Just like the others. And yet somehow, I know more than the prince raised behind golden gates." Her voice rose with fire. "Your king only protects those who bow to him. The rest? Banished. Executed. Or forced into chains, nameless and forgotten."

"Is that what he did to you?" Varelor asked at last, his voice trembling. "You stayed loyal to the former king, and he cast you out?"

Kaelira's chin lifted as she stepped even closer, eyes locked with his. "What do you think?" she said quietly. "And now the last heir of that same crown stands before me... too afraid to listen to his father's final loyal--"

"How did I even become that heir you all keep talking about?" Varelor snapped, his voice finally breaking free, raw and shaken. "Just give me the answers--straight up! How?!"

"The ring crafted for you. Elduriel recognizing your blood. The Wind Emerald still pulsing with power, even though its true bearer was said to be long gone..." Kaelira's voice was steady, but each word struck like a blade to Varelor's chest. "Hasn't any of that made you wonder? What if the man you call father... was the villain all along?"

Varelor didn't move.

Kaelira stepped closer, her eyes blazing. "He took the sacred scepter entrusted to our tribe by the deities--a relic meant to protect all of Everdaile. Only we could wield its power without corruption. We vowed to guard it, to keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

She paused, then said it:
"Erathrin stole it. Your so-called father."

Varelor flinched.

"He knew it would fade away without its rightful guardian, so he bound its essence to you," she continued. "Used your blood--your life--to keep the magic from dying. Not for the kingdom's safety, but to preserve the power he stole. And in doing so, he rewrote history... and dishonored your real family."

"But..." Varelor whispered, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. His heart pounded, faster and faster. "He's a good king. He raised me well. Livian is my brother. He protected me. I'm a prince--I am the prince of Everdaile. What are you even saying? I'm Erathrin's youngest son."

Kaelira didn't flinch. "Do you even know what happened to the queen?"

"My mother... died giving birth to me," he said, his voice now low and distant.

And yet his mind was drifting--not to her, but to the dragon.

Elduriel.

"I have to save someone's life," he muttered. "I don't have time for these riddles and accusations."

Without waiting for a response, he dropped to his knees, snatched a peryvonrea leaf--its delicate snow-colored curves tipped with lilac dandelion wisps--and pushed past Kaelira.

He ran.

The cold bit into him. Branches clawed at his cloak. But none of it mattered.

Not long after, he stumbled through the trees and fell beside the dragon once more.

She was still. Her breaths are shallow. Barely there.

"Why are you here?" Elduriel asked, her voice faint, each breath a struggle.

"Save your strength," Varelor said softly, kneeling beside her. "I'm here... and I need to fix you."

He gently uncurled the peryvonrea leaf, its delicate petals trembling in his cold fingers. Breaking it open released a faint, sweet fragrance--almost floral, with a hint of frost. He pressed the leaf over her wound, the lilac threads curling slightly as he began to chant in the old tongue, the sacred elven words tumbling low and careful from his lips.

But then... nothing.

The wound remained.

Varelor's voice faltered. His hands trembled as silence fell once more, broken only by Elduriel's shallow breaths.

Time was slipping through his fingers like snowmelt.

"Varelor, think," he whispered to himself, breath ragged, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. "You're not a killer... you're not..."

His hands trembled, heart racing with a rhythm that didn't feel like his own. Paranoia crawled up his spine, gripping his mind like frostbite.

The Wind Emerald.

His thoughts snapped into focus.

"If it's sacred... if it really holds magic..." he murmured. "Then I can use it. I have to use it--to save Elduriel."

With chaos roiling inside him, he turned and ran--back through the snow, over broken stone and silent corridors, until the ruined castle rose before him once more.

Inside, the flickering firelight danced quietly on old stone. Livian lay curled near the hearth, arms wrapped around his leather bag, finally surrendered to sleep.

Varelor crept forward, silent as snowfall. "Just for a moment, brother," he breathed. "I only need to borrow the sacred gem."

He reached for the bag, but Livian stirred, clutching it tighter even in slumber. Varelor hesitated, teeth clenched. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. This wasn't what brothers did.

And then--he felt it.

That unmistakable sensation like ice trickling down his spine.

A presence.

A voice.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes snapped open wider. He turned.

Alfira stood there, half-shadowed by torchlight, her expression unreadable, gaze locked on him like she already knew too much.

"What is it that troubles you, Varelor?" she asked, voice calm but sharp. "Don't think I haven't noticed. What are you doing... with your brother?"

"I..." Varelor stepped back from his brother, guilt rising in his chest like a tide. He turned and moved to sit beside Alfira, his movements hushed, careful not to wake Livian. His plan was already fraying at the edges.

"Alfira," he whispered, voice strained, "I need you to craft a dream for my brother... something deep. Peaceful. Just enough to keep him asleep while I take my bag."

Alfira's brows drew together. "Why would you need your bag back, Varelor? What's going on with you?"

"I'm falling apart," he admitted, breath shuddering. "I don't know who I am anymore. The Mhydrille tribe... they've gotten in my head. They keep saying I'm the rightful heir. That everything I've known is a lie."

He looked toward Livian, his voice dipping even softer.

"Of course I don't believe them. Livian is my brother. Father would never betray the kingdom. He's not a thief. He wouldn't corrupt the Wind Emerald. He's not... he's not the monster they make him out to be."

His hands clenched over his knees. "They're wrong about him. They're wrong about my family."

Alfira studied him for a moment--quiet, unmoving. The torchlight painted her face in gold and shadow.

But she said nothing yet.

"Alfira, help me," Varelor whispered, his voice cracking. "I just want to heal Elduriel--"

"The dragon we just defeated?" Alfira interrupted, eyes narrowing. "Varelor, that's madness."

"But listen," he said quickly, desperately. "She's more than a beast. She's a symbol--a living memory of the peace that once existed between Mithril and Everdaile. Elduriel never left her post. She remained loyal, which means the hero she guarded, the one from the old stories, had Mhydrillian blood."

He leaned closer, hope and fire burning behind his eyes. "If we can find that hero--or at least do what's right--Elduriel could become an ally. Not an enemy."

"An ally?" Alfira echoed, disbelief in her voice. "She nearly leveled the kingdom."

"But she didn't," Varelor insisted. "She held back. Her fire--it's blue, Alfira. Blue fire destroys everything. But she never used it. Not once. Maybe... maybe she's not the monster we think she is. Maybe she was manipulated. Controlled. Misunderstood."

He looked away, voice faltering.

"Please. Don't let me become a murderer. Help me make this right."

Silence fell between them.

Then, without a word, Alfira moved. She walked over to Livian, knelt beside him, and gently laid down behind him. She pulled his arm around her, cradling it like a lifeline.

"Take it. Now," she whispered urgently.

Varelor didn't hesitate. He reached forward and slipped the bag from Livian's grasp.

"Bring it back when you're done," Alfira said. "And promise me--swear--you won't give the emerald to Elduriel."

"I promise," Varelor breathed, already backing away, clutching the bag.

And then he turned--his cloak trailing behind him like shadow--and ran into the cold night, racing back to the wounded dragon that could change everything.