The wind outside howled through the jagged rocks, pressing against the stone like a voice trying to break in.

Eira sat alone in the chamber lit by the soft flicker of lantern light, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them. She could still hear his voice. The quiet edge of pain beneath his words. The way his golden eyes had lowered when he spoke of loss—not what, not who, but the weight was real.

She didn’t know why it lingered.

Maybe because she hadn't expected him to have any softness. Maybe because she was beginning to realize he wasn’t a monster… at least not in the way she’d been taught.

Still, Eira refused to fall so easily.

Kindness didn't mean trust. Pain didn't mean goodness.

She had grown up with stories—twisted things meant to control girls like her. Pretty ones were offerings, quiet ones were virtuous, obedient ones were safe. But now, she wondered: Was the ritual ever truly sacred… or just cruel?

A whisper of cloth pulled her attention. The long corridor to the right swayed with cold air. She stood and followed it, lantern in hand. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—only that the ache in her chest wouldn’t let her stay still.

---

The hallway opened into what looked like an old storage room. Dust floated like snow in the lantern’s glow. Stone shelves lined the walls, filled with objects that looked untouched for decades—carvings, rusted vessels, a broken harp. Her gaze landed on something tucked into the corner: a small wooden box.

She knelt, brushing off the thick dust. Inside, wrapped in worn velvet, was a silver mirror.

Not just a mirror—an old one, oval with vines carved around its edge. When she lifted it, the metal was cold and heavy. She expected her reflection… but instead, saw a flicker of another girl’s face. Pale. Wide-eyed. Mouth moving silently.

Eira gasped and dropped it.

The mirror didn’t crack—but her breath caught painfully in her throat.

"Just a trick of the light," she whispered. But her voice trembled.

She left the mirror and turned to leave—

And then it came.

The song.

Closer than ever before.

Not an echo in the distance—this time, it was here. Soft and strange. Notes like water on glass. It curled around her bones, pulling her into stillness. She held her breath and tried to find the source, moving quickly down the corridor.

Nothing.

Just cold stone and emptiness.

Except the music kept playing. Not through her ears now, but somewhere… inside. She touched her chest and it shivered through her fingers.

"Who are you?" she whispered into the dark.

Silence answered.

---

That night, she sat by her small window, the stars glimmering above like a thousand forgotten truths. Her fingers played absently with the edge of her sleeve. She was supposed to be afraid of him. She was supposed to serve, to obey, to accept.

But now…

She remembered the Dragon King’s eyes.

The grief that shimmered beneath that pride.

The way he looked almost—human—when he thought she wasn’t watching.

And she remembered the villagers’ silence.

The priest’s distant stare.

How no one had dared to touch her as she was led up the mountain.

There was something wrong. Deeply wrong.

And she wouldn’t ignore it anymore.

---

Eira rose and walked to the door. She pressed her hand to the cold stone frame and whispered to the empty corridor beyond:

"I’m not just here to survive this. I’m going to understand it."