Elen Carvo pushed open the door to his room, where the flickering fireplace cast long, dark shadows across the floor.

"This isn't quite the outcome we had in mind," a voice emerged from the darkness.

"Indeed, thanks for your help," Elen replied, his tone laced with irritation.

"I merely spoke the truth."

The half-elf priest emerged from the shadows, pulling back his hood to reveal delicate features that, even in the firelight, seemed as cold as chiseled ice.

"Perhaps you should have been truthful with him," he suggested. "That... child is growing, and he will only become more dangerous."

Elen shook his head, closing the door behind him. "You think he would change his mind because of it? That's Scott Thirk; he won't listen when he's set in his ways."

"There are other ways," the half-elf's eyes dropped, "Some that may not be as kind... but are right nonetheless."

"Indeed, we could," Elen murmured. "But this is also a way, isn't it? The child is fond of Scott, and they seem like true brothers."

"They are not."

"I know you think it's foolish, but someone once told me memories can change a soul, and perhaps ultimately everything." Elen spoke as though trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"If the gods are to be believed, a dragon may not have a soul at all."

"Then let's call it a 'heart,' Kalebryn... hoping what he remembers can soften even a dragon's heart."

"And if it can't?"

"Then we do what we must. It's our duty." Elen's voice was bitter; if only he hadn't given that egg to Scott...

The priest bowed his head, saying no more.

...

That autumn was the last time Isty saw the adventurers gather at Thirk Castle. Lydia came once more alone afterward. Isty didn't know why, but she left in a fury, preventing him from even daring to call out her name. He climbed onto the windowsill, watching through the glass as her blurred figure receded into the snowstorm, her cloak unfurling like black flames.

The woman who laughed lazily and sweetly was seen no more.

Isty missed those lively days, the thrilling stories told by the fireplace, the smiles on everyone's faces. But since then, Scott spent more time with him, seemingly less busy. Although Isty disliked the occasional look of wistful loss on his face, having him always by his side was enough.

The winter of Isty's seventh year seemed especially cold. Isty wasn't afraid of the chill, at least not as much as he showed, but he did enjoy using the cold weather as an excuse to nestle into Scott's bed.

He remembered waking up one night to find himself alone in bed. After sitting dazed for a while, he jumped down, barefoot, and ran out the door.

Whispers echoed down the hallway, leading him to Scott's room. That seldom-used room was now bustling with people speaking in hushed, urgent tones, their faces etched with anxiety and fear. A sweet, metallic scent in the air made Isty feel waves of discomfort.

He lingered by the door, peeking in until someone noticed him.

"Good heavens! Isty, you shouldn't be here!" Lida, Scott's maid, exclaimed quietly, arms laden with towels.

"Isty!" Scott approached and scooped him up.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Now he could see the person on the bed.

Elen Carvo lay motionless, blood spreading from his neck across the pillow, his face as pale as death. Beside him, Isty recognized the half-elf priest's silver hair. He was muttering angrily under his breath.

Scott stroked Isty's face, then wrapped the boy's bare feet with his hands and whispered, "I'm taking you back to your room, alright? Stay there for me."

His voice trembled as if afraid of something.

The boy nodded, "I can go back by myself," he said, "I know the way, I'll be fine. Carvo will be fine too, right?"

Scott hugged him tightly before handing him over to Lida.

All night, Scott never returned to the room.

Two days later, Isty encountered the half-elf priest, Kalebryn, in the study. The priest, hunched over with his staff, looked even more gaunt than Isty remembered.

The priest seemed not to notice him, or perhaps chose to ignore him.

Isty watched from behind the sofa back until the priest lifted his head, sighed, and beckoned the boy over.

"Come here," he said.

Isty hesitantly approached, hands behind his back. He didn't much like the cold priest, or rather, he was a bit afraid of him.

The priest pulled back the curtain, letting the afternoon sun hit the boy's face, making him squint and turn away.

"Blue," the priest murmured, then asked, "You're seven this year?"

Isty nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably; he wanted to run away but felt the priest would catch him if he tried.

"...Do you like Scott?"

Isty nodded vigorously—a given, wasn't it? He didn't understand why the half-elf needed to ask.

The priest stared silently, his silver eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and weariness.

Then he shook his head, closing his mouth and sitting still, his eyes shut, appearing like a statue draped in millennia of dust.

Isty held his breath and tiptoed away.

Once outside, he sprinted down the corridor. Upon recognizing the familiar figure, he dashed forward and leapt onto his back.

Scott grasped the boy's arms, continuing forward, allowing him to dangle and swing.

"Where've you been?" he asked.

"The study. The priest was there."

Scott paused, "How did he look?"

"I dunno. As weird as usual, I guess," the boy replied, boredly kicking Scott's legs.

"Don't say that; he's tired. You didn't bother him, did you?"

The boy shook his head vigorously; he hadn't spoken a word.

"How's Carvo?" he asked his brother.

"He's still... alive. He'll get better," Scott crouched, letting the boy slide off his back, then pulled him in front, "Listen, I have things to do. Can you go to your room and play? Or find Lida, ask her for something to eat."

His eyes were sad and bloodshot; Isty obediently nodded. As he reached the end of the corridor, he couldn't resist looking back to see his brother still standing there, one hand covering his face as if crying.

The boy took a deep breath, suppressing the panic and unease within. In that moment, he desperately wished he wasn't a powerless seven-year-old, that he had the strength to help those he loved.

...

Elen Carvo awoke to find the priest's shadow looming by his bedside.

For the rest of his life, he did not want to see those humanoid shadows again, pure incarnations of nightmares. He didn't know how he had survived; his last memory was filled with boundless rage and despair. For a while, he genuinely wished he had died. If he had known the price from the start, he wasn't sure he would have persisted.

The shadow by the bed shifted.

"I saw the boy," Kalebryn said. "He seems well... perhaps you were right."

That awkward attempt at comfort made the warrior chuckle, but the priest's next words froze the smile on his face.

"And... I'm sorry I couldn't regenerate your right leg."

Elen's breath hitched as he struggled to sit up and look where his right leg should be. The shape outlined under the blanket was truncated, and he collapsed back onto the pillow.

"Damn, I was wondering why there was no feeling... couldn't you have started with that?"

"Would it have made a difference?"

Elen didn't answer, staring exhaustedly at the wood-carved patterns on the ceiling, not wanting to speak. Then he recognized the room.

"How did you get me here?" The place they had been was miles away from here.

"The teleportation circle in the tower."

"Oh..." He had nearly forgotten about that, "So... is it over?"

"Let's hope so."

"That's not what I wanted to hear."

"No one could survive that ordeal, but now I'm not certain," the priest said softly. "I can apologize if..."

"Did you tell Scott?" Elen's hoarse voice interrupted.

"Everything. Everything that didn't concern him."

"Maybe we can still find Nyar..."

"Forget that, Elen Carvo," the priest's voice was a whisper yet fiercely adamant, "Forget that."

A suffocating silence descended like a shroud. The warrior lay still on the bed, wondering how he had gotten himself into this mess. Of course, it was all his own choice.

A damned choice, Narya almost lost her father—after already losing her mother.

"Damn it all, I'm going home," he said, "Don't come looking for me before this world falls to hell and burns to ashes."

"I could escort you part of the way," the priest seemed unsurprised.

The warrior glared at him, "I won't let you know where my home is, my daughter likes your kind."

The priest chuckled lowly, "You'll do well, Elen Carvo, live to see your hair turn grey and die in your bed."

"...You know what? I'm never going to trust you again."