The cold from the hidden chamber had clung to her skin long after she returned. She sat by the warm hearth, arms wrapped around her knees, the dragonling curled close like a little ember of comfort.

But inside her, everything was unsettled.

Not fear.

Not entirely.

It was something stranger. Like standing too close to a truth she wasn’t meant to see. The Dragon King hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t even looked angry. That, somehow, was worse.

His quiet disappointment lingered louder than a roar.

And now, the song no longer waited for sleep.

It hummed under her skin.

It teased her ears when she blinked too long.

A lullaby without words. A memory not hers.

Eira pressed her hands to her head and curled tighter into herself. What am I not being told?

In the days that followed, she noticed more.

The walls whispered.

The torches flickered without wind.

And the Dragon King... he watched her differently.

Still protective, yes. Still reserved. But with a gaze that lingered longer, lips that almost spoke then didn’t. Tension grew between them, not the kind that sparked arguments, but the kind that made her throat dry when he stood too close.

One evening, after a quiet dinner where neither of them said much, she rose to leave. His voice stopped her at the doorway.

“Are you afraid of me now?”

She paused. Then turned.

He stood, tall and unmoving, golden eyes glowing like firelight caught in amber. No mask. No cruelty.

Just… vulnerability.

“No,” she answered. “But I don’t know what you’re hiding.”

Silence stretched between them, full of questions and friction.

He took a step forward. She didn’t move.

Another step. Her heartbeat quickened.

“If I showed you everything, all at once,” he said softly, “you’d break.”

His voice wasn’t cruel—it was almost gentle.

“But I’m already breaking,” she whispered. “Piece by piece, every time I hear that song.”

His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered, then moved away like he caught himself too late.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet.

And then, without warning, he turned and left.

---

The next day, Eira wandered.

Not down into the deep, but higher—following a narrow path lined with windows carved into the mountain rock. Through them, she could see glimpses of the sky, soft clouds brushing the peaks.

She found Harik tending to firewood near the northern hall. He didn’t look surprised to see her.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, settling beside him.

Harik nodded.

“I’ve also been listening,” he replied, then paused. “You’ve heard it too, haven’t you?”

Eira froze.

“The song?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he handed her a small bundle of dried petals.

“Place these near your bed. It might soften the dreams.”

She stared at him. “You know what it is?”

“I know what it does,” Harik replied. “To those who get too close.”

Her voice was a whisper. “Has anyone… gone missing?”

Harik met her gaze, and in his eyes she saw regret.

“Yes.”

---

That night, she placed the petals by her bed.

The dreams didn’t stop.

But they changed.

No longer disjointed fragments—this time, she saw a woman, veiled in shadows, standing before the black pool. Her voice was the song. Her hands trembled. She was singing not to soothe, but to keep something asleep.

The melody cracked on her tongue like ice.

Behind her, a man watched.

Golden eyes. Familiar.

And bleeding.

Eira woke with tears she didn’t understand.