A dragon like no other I have ever heard of pursued us—a creature wreathed in shadow and frost. It seemed tied to the veil Persephone spoke of, that twisted mirror of our world. This dragon should have been long dead, and yet it harbors unfinished business with Sir Thorismund and Lady Vayra.
It spoke of “Wish.”
What have they done? And how many others now hunt them because of it?
We found temporary refuge in a cave, one clearly once used by Fey of the Autumn Court. The magic here is palpable—a tree with a hollowed trunk and beating hearts still inside it, as though it grew for this purpose, a river of blood winding through the stone.
After the dragon collapsed the main exit, it seems the river is our only way forward.
For a fleeting moment, we rested and allowed ourselves to speak as companions.
Ailwyn, as it turns out, is not always so insufferable.