“LORIAN!” Caelus’s voice shattered the stunned silence, raw and trembling with desperation. He scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic, nearly tripping over his own exhaustion as he pushed forward. Relief and disbelief warred on his face, his wide eyes brimming with unshed tears as he sprinted toward the scene.

Magnus had already reached Lorian. The towering mage knelt beside the younger man’s fragile, dirt-streaked form, his shoulders hunched as though he bore the weight of the world. With infinite care, Magnus unfastened one of his heavy, silk robes, the fabric shimmering faintly with the remnants of his protective runes. His hands trembled as he draped it over Lorian’s shoulders, adjusting it with the gentle precision of someone afraid the slightest wrong touch might shatter him.

“Lorian,” Magnus whispered, his gentle voice cracking as he spoke the name. His usually steady hands rose, brushing away the strands of damp, white hair plastered to Lorian’s forehead. His fingers hovered for a moment, hesitant, as though he feared his touch might prove the boy a phantom. Finally, he cupped Lorian’s cheek, his palm warm against the cold pallor of Lorian’s freckled skin.

The sunlight pierced the clearing, filtering through the canopy to illuminate the smattering of freckles that dotted Lorian’s face like constellations. Magnus’s breath hitched, his usually stoic demeanor crumbling as the realization struck him fully. “You’re alive,” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath, as though saying them aloud might anchor this fragile reality. His voice carried a mix of disbelief, relief, and a joy so profound it bordered on pain.

Lorian, clutching the soft robe tightly to his chest, offered a weary smile. “I think so.” His voice wavered, but the spark in his eyes—alive and present—was enough to melt the tension gripping the group.

Magnus’s expression broke into a relieved smile, a rare, unguarded display of warmth. He ruffled Lorian’s hair with a familiar, comforting touch, his fingers tangling briefly in the boy’s messy locks. “Good,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he let out a shaky laugh. “You’re not allowed to scare us like that again.”

Caelus skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into Magnus and Lorian. Without hesitation, his hands clamped down on Lorian’s shoulders, gripping them firmly but not enough to hurt. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving from the frantic sprint, but his eyes—wide and filled with a mixture of fear, relief, and disbelief—were locked entirely on Lorian. He shook the younger man gently, as though trying to confirm he was real.

“Are you hurt? Does anything feel off? Tell me!” Caelus’s voice cracked under the weight of his emotions, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush. His gaze darted over Lorian’s frame, scanning his arms, his face, his chest—everywhere—searching desperately for any sign of injury. He turned Lorian slightly in his hands, inspecting him as though Lorian might shatter under his scrutiny.

With a small, reassuring smile, Lorian gently shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said softly, his voice carrying a calm steadiness that belied the chaos of the moment. “Really, I’m okay.”

Caelus’s grip didn’t loosen immediately, his fingers trembling as they remained anchored to Lorian’s shoulders. He scanned Lorian’s face again, his own brow furrowing deeply. “Don’t lie to me, Lorian,” he insisted, his voice lower now but no less urgent. “I need to know—are you hurt? Anything feel wrong? Anything at all?”

A soft chuckle escaped Lorian, light and almost incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe Caelus was this worried. “I promise, Caelus,” he said, his tone gentler this time. “I’m fine. See?” He raised his hands slightly, palms outward, as if to show he was unharmed. “No bruises. No scratches. Nothing.”

Still, Caelus’s shoulders didn’t relax. He studied Lorian for a moment longer, his piercing gaze searching for even the faintest crack in his words. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he released his grip, his hands falling to his sides as relief began to creep in. “You scared me,” Caelus admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought—I thought we lost you.”

Before Lorian could say another word, a blur of yellow launched itself through the air with surprising speed. Cheese, small and determined, collided with Lorian’s face like a sticky cannonball. The impact sent Lorian stumbling a step backward as the gelatinous slime latched onto him with the grip of a creature far larger.

Lorian’s muffled protest came from somewhere behind the quivering slime, his voice strained and barely audible. He coughed and sputtered, flailing slightly as the enthusiastic slime wrapped itself tighter around his head. Magnus suppressed a snort, and Riven crossed her arms, smirking beneath her hood. Even Seraph’s lips twitched as she fought to maintain her composure.

With some effort, Lorian managed to peel Cheese off his face, holding the trembling slime at arm’s length. Its gelatinous surface shimmered faintly, undulating with emotion. "Cheese..." Lorian began, his exasperation giving way to fondness as he pulled it closer, cradling it in his arms like a squirming child.

But then, to the astonishment of everyone present, Cheese’s eyes began to glisten with tears. A sudden, high-pitched wail erupted from its tiny form. "Waaaaaahhh!" The sound was so piercingly loud and unexpected that Darius winced, his hands instinctively going to his ears, while Pip squeaked in surprise and darted for cover behind Magnus’s neck.

The absurdity of the noise was matched only by its sheer drama. Cheese’s trembling became more pronounced as it hiccupped between sobs, its gooey body quaking in time with its cries. The sound echoed through the clearing, part heartbreaking and part utterly ridiculous, a wailing lament that seemed to encapsulate all the sorrow in the world. Cheese let out another wailing, high-pitched cry, a heart-wrenching sound of pure, unfiltered sorrow. The gelatinous creature’s normally vibrant, sunny yellow hue dimmed as each anguished sob wracked its small, quivering form. Tears of water—slick, tear-like rivulets—poured out of its tiny, bulging eyes in a relentless stream.

With every anguished cry, the tears flowed faster and faster, a flood that seeped from its limbs and melted onto the ground beneath it. Cheese’s usually plump, rounded form began to sag, the once resilient, bouncy shape deflating into a pitiful, puddle-like mess of goo. Its skin flattened, losing its usual elasticity, forming a translucent puddle of slime.

“Is it... crying?” Riven asked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned against a tree, trying to mask her amusement.

Lorian, however, took the outburst in stride. He tightened his hold on Cheese, his arms wrapping protectively around its quivering form. "Shhh, it’s okay, Cheese," he murmured softly, swaying slightly as if comforting a weeping child. "I’m here, see? I’m okay."

Cheese’s cries softened slightly at his words but didn’t stop entirely. Its gelatinous body wriggled and clung tighter to Lorian, letting out little pitiful squeaks between sobs.

Magnus let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I think it missed you more than we realized.”

Seraph finally broke, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Who knew Cheese could be this dramatic?"

Adding onto that, Darius grunted, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Sure knows how to make an entrance.”

Even Caelus, still shaken by the ordeal, found the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the absurdity of the scene. Amid all the chaos, grief, and relief, Cheese’s heartfelt—and wildly exaggerated—reaction brought a moment of levity that the group desperately needed.

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Seraph approached cautiously, her steps hesitant. She knelt beside Lorian, wrapping her arms around him in a tentative embrace. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. “Before I regret not giving you one.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. Lorian returned the hug, his arms gentle but firm, Cheese clinging to his back like a living backpack. “Thanks, Seraph,” he said quietly, his tone laced with gratitude.

Caelus let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping as the weight of fear finally began to lift. Behind him, Darius approached, his massive frame looming like a reassuring presence. He clapped Lorian on the back with a heavy but warm hand. “I knew you wouldn’t go down that easily,” he said with a small, crooked smile.

Riven lingered in the shadows, arms crossed, her expression as neutral as ever. But there was a tension in her stance, a subtle shift that betrayed the relief she felt. She gave a short nod, her voice dry but carrying an undertone of warmth. “Took you long enough.”

Pip, perched on Magnus’s shoulder, chirped hesitantly before hopping down. It leapt onto Lorian’s head, then onto his shoulder, nuzzling against his cheek. Its tiny ears twitched as if it were trying to communicate its own quiet joy at his return.

“Hey!” A familiar voice interrupted. Elira’s voice. “What about me?”

All eyes turned as Elira, standing in the distance, realized the state she was in. Darius, barely containing his laughter, tossed her armor and clothes in her direction. “Catch.”

Riven groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh, for the love of the gods, put something on before you start talking, you moron! There are children here!”

The group erupted into laughter, the tension in the air breaking at last. Seraph helped Elira back into her armor, while Riven muttered under her breath about dignity and timing. Once dressed, Elira marched over and scooped Lorian up, tossing him onto her shoulder like a sack of grain. “Sup, little guy,” she said with a grin, lifting him into the air before catching him again.

Lorian laughed, a sound full of relief and lightness, as he clung to Cheese, who jiggled happily in his arms. “Missed you too.”

As if sensing the reunion, the dragons emerged from the forest, their massive forms moving with surprising grace despite their size. Their eyes, glimmering with intelligence, darted around the barren clearing, their postures stiff with confusion. The dragons hesitated, their heads swinging back and forth as they took in the absence of the town that had been there moments before.

Azurath, Caelus’s sleek, blue-scaled companion, sniffed the air warily before nudging Caelus with his snout, a questioning rumble emanating from his throat. The others followed suit, their behavior a mix of unease and curiosity as they padded cautiously around the area. It was clear they had expected to find the village they had been in, not this eerie emptiness.

Magnus’s green dragon, Verdant, strode straight to him, pressing its head against his chest. Magnus cupped the creature’s face with both hands, his voice soft. “You were worried, huh?”

Elira turned her gaze to Caelus as Azurath, his sleek, blue-scaled dragon, settled beside him with a low rumble. The dragon’s luminous eyes reflected the soft light of the clearing, its tail curling protectively around its rider. Elira’s brows knitted together in concern, her voice tinged with confusion. “What happened back there?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “One moment, I was talking to that man at the stables... and then... nothing. Just darkness. And where’s the town?” Her sharp green eyes darted around the desolate clearing, as if hoping to find a trace of the bustling village they’d left behind.

Lorian, perched lightly on Elira’s shoulder like a precariously balanced ornament, hugged Cheese to his chest as the little slime finally settled down. He tilted his head, his auburn hair catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the sparse trees. “Same here,” he chimed in, his freckled face serious for once. “I can’t remember a thing. One second, we were there, and then... nothing. It’s all blank after that.” He shifted his weight slightly, clutching the soft fabric of the robe Magnus had draped over him as if grounding himself.

Caelus ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, letting out a heavy sigh. His hand rested on Azurath’s neck for a moment, drawing strength from the steady presence of his companion. “It was the creature,” he said finally, his voice heavy with the weight of what had transpired. “It touched you, both of you. And then... you were just gone. Like you were never there.” He clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “I thought you were—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “But when we killed it, you came back. Just like that. No warning, no explanation.”

Azurath sniffed at Caelus, its eyes narrowing as if it could sense the remnants of battle. Its snout nudged his shoulder, a silent question in its posture.

“I think it was an illusion,” Darius said, his deep, rumbling voice cutting through the uneasy silence. The dragonborn warrior stood with his halberd planted firmly in the ground, his scaled hands resting on its haft. His piercing, green eyes scanned the barren clearing, the weight of his conclusion hanging heavily in the air. “Everything disappeared the moment we defeated that creature. The town, the people—it wasn’t real.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances as his words sank in. The village had felt so genuine. Yet now, there was only desolation—a chilling emptiness that sent shivers down their spines.

Nearby, the dragons stirred, their massive forms shifting as they processed Darius’s explanation. Azurath, with his sleek blue scales shimmering faintly in the fading light, tilted his head toward Magnus’s green-scaled Verdant. A low rumble passed between them, a wordless exchange that carried a strange mix of curiosity and understanding. Their luminous eyes seemed to reflect the weight of the revelation, as if saying, Ah, so that’s what it was.

Verdant snorted softly, her nostrils flaring as she stretched her long neck toward Darius. She nudged his arm gently with her snout, her warm breath stirring the edges of his cloak. It was almost as if she were acknowledging his insight, her bright, emerald eyes studying him with an intelligent gleam.

Azurath, meanwhile, crouched low beside Caelus, his tail curling neatly around his body. He let out a quiet, contemplative growl that seemed to resonate with the others. The dragons began to exchange subtle gestures—snorts, tail flicks, and quiet rumbles—like an unspoken conversation only they could understand. Their collective energy shifted, the initial tension dissolving into a shared sense of clarity.

Darius’s gaze lingered on the dragons for a moment, his expression softening as if he could hear their unspoken thoughts. He turned back to the group, his voice steady and measured. “It makes sense,” he continued. “The creature must’ve conjured the illusion to lure us in, to manipulate us. It wanted us to believe that we were in something real.” He glanced at the empty clearing, his scaled brows furrowing. “But in the end, it was just a trap. A mirage.”

Elira’s eyes widened, her grip tightening on her amulet. “Not real? But we saw people there. We spoke to them.”

“Exactly,” Caelus said, his voice low. “We thought we were in a real place with real people. But now...” He gestured to the barren land around them, his jaw tightening. “Now, there’s nothing.”

Lorian swallowed hard, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with quiet unease. “So, what? We were lured here? Tricked into fighting that thing?” His freckled face was pale, his fingers absently stroking Cheese’s quivering form for comfort.

Riven frowned thoughtfully. “But why go through all that trouble? What was it trying to achieve?”

Darius sighed, his tail flicking behind him. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Was it after us specifically, or was this just... something it did?” His grip on his halberd tightened, the sharp edge of his weapon gleaming faintly in the fading light. “Either way, it’s dead now. Whatever its purpose was, we stopped it.”

Elira’s hand instinctively went to the amulet hanging from her neck. Her fingers brushed over the crack that now marred its once-pristine surface, a jagged line that caught the light like a scar. “It’s damaged,” she murmured, turning it over in her hand. The red crystal at its center, bearing the emblem of Helia’s royal guard, was fractured, its glow dimmed to a faint pulse. “What does this mean?” she asked, her voice tinged with unease.

Lorian glanced down at his own tear-shaped pendant, a simple token he’d always worn tucked beneath his tunic. The crack running through it was unmistakable, a splintered line that seemed to radiate out like a spiderweb. “Mine too,” he said quietly. “Do you think it... protected us? Or brought us back?”

Magnus stepped closer, his keen eyes examining the fractured artifacts in Lorian and Elira’s hands. He ran a finger thoughtfully along the jagged edges of Lorian’s cracked pendant, the glimmer of the broken crystal catching the fading light.

“Strange…” Magnus murmured, his voice tinged with curiosity and reverence. “Whatever happened out there, it seems they protected you in the end.” He straightened, his gaze serious as he looked at the others. “We’ll owe King Rowan our thanks—these might have been his doing, whether he intended it or not.”

Caelus exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. His lips curved into a small smile, tired but genuine. “Whatever it was... I’m just glad you’re back.”