The castle of Volcrist was in complete turmoil. Guards ran back and forth, their boots echoing through the stone corridors as orders were shouted across the halls. Aemon's name was whispered with concern by servants and soldiers alike, the uncertainty of his condition making the air even heavier. Outside, the chaos was even more visceral. The ground was soaked in blood, and the stench of burned flesh mixed with the cold morning air. Lilith, her expression hardened, led a group of guards, cutting down the last of Dravenmoor’s loyalists who, even with their leader dead, refused to retreat.

Now, the weight of victory rested on Volcrist’s shoulders, but peace was far from being achieved.

In a dark room, illuminated only by the faint light filtering through the tall windows, Cerys, Thorne, and Cedric were gathered. The air was dense, laden with tension and heavy silences. Shadows danced along the walls, following the slow rhythm of the conversation.

— She left without looking back, Cerys said, her voice low but firm. Her eyes were fixed on the wine goblet in her hand, the dark liquid reflecting the light like fresh blood. — Fianna couldn’t bear what she saw.

Thorne, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, furrowed his brow. The weight of concern was etched into his face, his eyes fixed on the ground as if searching for answers in the cold stone.

— Her words still echo in my head... he murmured. — "This is not human." She saw something in that battle that none of us were meant to see.

Cedric, seated at the head of the table, observed the two with a cold, calculating gaze. His face was a mask of serenity, but there was something in his eyes—a subtle, almost imperceptible glint that betrayed a dark satisfaction.

— She saw the truth, Cedric finally broke the silence. — War was never meant to look human. Those who can’t accept that... don’t belong in this game.

Thorne turned sharply to him, his gaze filled with disapproval. — This is not a game, Cedric. We are dealing with kingdoms, alliances... lives. Lysanthor won’t ignore what we put their princess through.

Cerys placed the goblet on the table with a soft click, her eyes now meeting Cedric’s. — Thorne is right. Fianna may have left, but Edric saw the same as she did. If he takes these stories to her father...

Cedric raised a hand, cutting her off. — Let them. His voice was icy, sharp as a freshly honed blade. — Let them tell whatever they want. What’s done cannot be undone. If Lysanthor wishes to turn against Volcrist, let them try. They will see we are more than just a kingdom...

Silence fell over the room again, heavy as the air itself. Thorne clenched his fists, fighting the urge to confront Cedric directly. But he knew there was no room for arguments here. Not now.

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— And Aemon? Cerys asked, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. — What will we do with him?

Cedric leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. The smile that formed on his lips was subtle, but laden with meaning.

— The healer told me he will survive. The pause that followed was long, and when he spoke again, his voice carried something darker. — But he won’t be the same.

A shiver ran down Thorne’s spine. And worse... he wasn’t sure if Aemon would be ready to face what was coming.

Outside, the screams began to fade, but the stench of death lingered in the air. Volcrist had won the battle, but the war had only just begun.

The sound of wood creaking under the weight of footsteps echoed through the silent corridors of the castle. The walls, once a symbol of power and security, now seemed to suffocate under the weight of defeat and questionable choices. The atmosphere was dense, heavy with tension, as the door to the chamber closed behind them with a dull thud.

Aemon lay on one of the beds in the room reserved for the wounded, yet his presence could be felt even in his absence. What remained of his left arm was wrapped in bandages, but nothing could hide the permanent loss of the limb. The prince had survived, yes—but at what cost?

In an adjacent room, Cerys, Thorne, and Cedric were gathered once more, their expressions reflecting the weight of recent consequences. Cerys, her gaze dark, was the first to break the silence.

— It was a wise decision… she said, her voice low but laden with conviction. — Trading an arm for a life. If we hadn’t done it, he’d be dead by now.

Thorne, standing with his back against the wall, let out a dry, humorless chuckle, crossing his arms tightly. His eyes burned with restrained fury as he glared at Cerys.

— Wise? The word dripped like venom from his lips. — This wouldn’t have been necessary if you, Cerys, hadn’t come up with that lunatic plan to put Aemon face-to-face with Dravenmoor.

The silence that followed was as sharp as a blade. Cerys pressed her lips together, but before she could respond, Cedric intervened, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

— What’s done is done. He leaned forward in his chair, his icy gaze sweeping over the others. — We cannot change the past. We should be glad he’s alive.

Cerys took a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly, though guilt was still evident in her eyes.

— I made a mistake… she admitted, her voice laced with harsh honesty. — But Dravenmoor had to die. There was no other way. The other subdomains were loyal to him. If he had survived, Volcrist would be in ruins before the next full moon.

Thorne shook his head slowly, as if trying to restrain the growing frustration within him. But before he could respond, Cerys continued, shifting the focus of the discussion.

— But now the most important matter… she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. — What will we do about that egg?

Silence fell over the room once more, but this time, it carried a different weight. The dragon egg was not merely an artifact of power—it was a promise of destruction or redemption, depending on whose hands held it.

Cedric leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping against the wooden table. His eyes gleamed with a dark intensity as he murmured:

— That egg could be the key to maintaining control… or to losing everything.