The wolf was clearly aware that it was being followed. The way it periodically stopped to glance back over its shoulder, checking to ensure we remained in pursuit, provided ample evidence of its conscious guidance. Thanks to our horses, we had managed to keep pace with the creature without difficulty, maintaining a steady distance behind its purposeful trot through the undergrowth. Because we posed no delay, it didn't need to express the impatience it had shown in my dream—no whimper of frustration, no annoyed huffing at our slowness. Instead, it simply moved forward with confidence, occasionally verifying our presence before continuing deeper into the forest.
The wolf led us onward for what felt like an eternity but was likely only twenty or thirty minutes. The forest seemed to close in around us, branches reaching overhead to form a canopy that blocked out most of the weak winter light. Finally, we emerged into another clearing, this one smaller and more irregular than the previous one. The wolf paused at the center of this open space, turned to look at us one final time with those unsettlingly intelligent eyes, and then simply ran away—vanishing into the opposite tree line and deserting us in that clearing without ceremony or explanation.
I stopped my horse, momentarily dumbfounded by the creature's abrupt departure. Had we come all this way for nothing? Had I misinterpreted what the wolf's guidance meant? Confusion and frustration warred within me as I looked around the apparently empty clearing, searching for any sign of what I was supposed to find here.
Then the smell reached my nostrils—a scent so unexpected in this context that it took my mind several seconds to process what I was detecting. It was a foreign smell among the organic perfumes of the forest, utterly out of place amidst pine and snow and decaying leaves. A particular fragrance, a specific cologne or perfume that I had grown so accustomed to inhaling back in Draga. The scent belonged to someone specific, someone whose presence I associated with home and safety and normalcy.
Recognition hit me like a physical blow.
I dismounted from my horse immediately, not bothering with grace or propriety, simply throwing myself from the saddle with such haste that I nearly stumbled upon landing. I began moving around the clearing with my nose raised like a hunting hound, tracking that precious scent to its source. My behavior must have appeared deranged to the soldiers watching, but I didn't care. The smell grew stronger as I moved toward one section of the clearing, leading me to a spot a few feet from where I had dismounted.
The snow in that particular area looked slightly elevated compared to the surrounding ground, the surface disturbed and uneven in a way that indicated something lay beneath it. My heart began hammering against my ribs as terrible understanding dawned.
Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees and started digging through the snow like someone possessed, scooping away the white powder with bare hands that quickly went numb from the cold. I dug frantically, desperately, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I worked to unearth whatever—whoever—lay buried beneath. Behind me, I heard the soldiers dismounting, heard Arvid calling out orders, and then multiple pairs of hands joined mine in the excavation.
Within moments, we had uncovered enough to reveal what the snow had hidden.
It was a person. A man, his skin alarmingly pale, his lips tinged with blue, his clothing soaked through and frozen stiff.
It was Jiao.
The sight of him—this man who had always been so vibrant and energetic, now lying motionless as a corpse—made something crack inside my chest. How long had he been here? How had he ended up buried in the snow in the middle of nowhere? Was he even still alive?
---
We fled back toward Gorei Castle as quickly as the horses could carry us, speed taking priority over all other considerations. One of the soldiers had immediately stripped off Jiao's wet, frozen clothing with efficient movements, wrapping him instead in thick, dry furs from their saddlebags. They cocooned him completely, trying to preserve whatever body heat might remain and prevent further heat loss during our desperate ride back. The soldier who held Jiao in front of him on his horse kept checking for signs of breathing, for the faint pulse that would indicate life still persisted.
Throughout our frantic return journey, a single terrible thought haunted me with relentless persistence: we might be too late. We might have found him only to watch him die anyway, only to have arrived mere minutes or hours after the point when intervention could have made a difference. The possibility gnawed at me with every stride the horses took, every moment that passed without Jiao showing signs of consciousness.
When we finally reached Gorei Castle, Jiao was immediately taken to the infirmary for treatment. Healers swarmed around him the moment he was carried through the door, their faces grave as they assessed his condition. I was ushered out despite my protests, told firmly that I would only be in the way while they worked. So I found myself relegated to the corridor outside, where I paced back and forth with anxious energy, unable to sit still, unable to do anything but walk and worry and wait.
The stone floor beneath my feet had likely never been traversed so thoroughly. I wore a path back and forth in front of that closed door, my mind spinning through terrible possibilities and desperate prayers in equal measure.
"Why was he there?" Katherine asked at one point, her voice carrying genuine bewilderment. She had been stunned to see Jiao being carried into the infirmary—shocked both by his presence here so far from home and by his obviously critical condition. She knew him, of course. Everyone in Draga knew Jiao, since he regularly passed through Ferne on his way to Selon with his merchant caravans. He was a fixture of our society, a familiar and welcome face, someone whose competence and reliability were taken for granted.
But as for the question Katherine had posed—why Jiao had been out there in the middle of that godforsaken forest—I had no answer. The question plagued me as well, spinning through my mind alongside my worry for his survival. It wasn't as though he was a stranger unfamiliar with the route to Selon. He had made that journey countless times over the years, knew the roads and paths better than almost anyone. But to travel entirely alone, without guards or companions, without even servants to assist him? That was madness. That was actively courting death, especially in winter conditions like these. The forests between here and Draga were dangerous even in the best of circumstances—filled with wild animals, bandits, and natural hazards that could kill the unwary. To attempt such a journey solo was beyond reckless.
Why would he do such a thing? What could possibly have motivated such desperate action? I kept asking myself these questions over and over, turning them like puzzle pieces I couldn't quite fit together, but no satisfactory answer presented itself. The only thing I knew with certainty was that something must have gone terribly wrong, something urgent and dire enough to drive a sensible, experienced man like Jiao to take such extraordinary risks.
I would have to wait until he regained consciousness to learn the truth. If he regained consciousness. The healers' grim expressions when they had taken him offered little comfort.
---
The wait felt interminable. Hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. The healers came and went through that door, their faces revealing nothing, refusing to provide updates beyond vague reassurances that they were doing everything possible. I refused to leave my post despite Katherine's gentle suggestions that I should rest, eat something, take care of myself. How could I possibly rest while Jiao's fate remained uncertain?
Arvid joined me at various points throughout the vigil, standing silently at my side or sitting beside me when I occasionally collapsed into a chair from exhaustion. He didn't offer empty platitudes or false reassurances. He simply remained present, a steady anchor while I floundered in anxiety and uncertainty.
Finally, after what felt like days but was likely only eight or nine hours, one of the healers emerged to inform me that Jiao had stabilized. His condition remained serious, they cautioned, but the immediate danger had passed. He had been moved to a private recovery room, and I was welcome to sit with him while he rested. However, they warned me not to expect him to wake for quite some time. His body had suffered tremendous trauma from exposure and needed time to recover.
I ignored that last bit of advice and immediately made my way to his bedside, settling into the chair positioned beside the narrow infirmary bed. I had every intention of being there when he opened his eyes, whenever that might be.
As it turned out, "quite some time" proved to be a considerable understatement. I sat vigil through the remainder of that day and well into the night, watching the shallow rise and fall of Jiao's chest, monitoring the gradually improving color returning to his face. Exhaustion eventually claimed me despite my determination to stay alert, and I dozed fitfully in the uncomfortable chair.
"Rhia?"
The weak, hoarse voice penetrated the fog of my half-sleep, jerking me immediately to full wakefulness. My eyes snapped open to find Jiao staring at me with confusion evident on his gaunt features. It was the middle of the night now; I could tell by the quality of darkness beyond the window and the deep silence that had settled over the castle.
"Am I dreaming?" he added, his voice barely above a whisper, rough from disuse and dehydration.
Relief flooded through me so powerfully that tears immediately sprang to my eyes. "No, you're not dreaming. I'm really here," I assured him, reaching out to take his hand in both of mine. His skin was warmer now, no longer carrying that deathly chill. I rubbed his hand gently, trying to help ground him in reality, to reassure him through touch that this was real and he was safe.
He didn't respond immediately, and for a moment I worried he might slip back into unconsciousness. Then his face contorted and he let out a painful, rattling cough that sounded as though it originated deep in his lungs. The sound made me wince in sympathy. He had clearly been through an ordeal of unimaginable difficulty. The question that had haunted me for hours rose again with renewed urgency: why had he been out there at all?
"Why were you there?" I finally voiced the question that had been consuming me, keeping my tone gentle despite my desperate need to understand. "What happened, Jiao?"
At my words, his eyes widened dramatically, taking on a look of barely contained panic. Something urgent and fearful wrote itself across his features in an instant, transforming his expression from confused relief to acute alarm. He tried to sit up abruptly, but his weakened body betrayed him. He only managed to rise with my assistance, and even then he swayed dangerously, forcing me to brace him with one arm while adjusting the pillows behind his back with the other.
"My queen, please—you must help Draga," he said with obvious difficulty, each word seeming to cost him considerable effort. His throat was clearly dry and damaged, his voice rasping painfully.
I waited, my heart sinking with dread, as he gathered the strength to continue.
"There's some sort of illness running through Draga," he explained haltingly, pausing frequently to catch his breath or suppress coughs. "The elders first, then some of the older families—they all went pale one day, as if their very blood had been drained from their bodies. They collapsed and fell ill, bedridden most of them. The healers are baffled. Nothing they try seems to help. Even Salime has fallen ill."
My breath caught at that revelation. Salime—strong, vital Salime, who had never been sick a day in his life as far as I knew.
"His fiancée cares for him now," Jiao continued, "and she has taken up the mantle of leadership in his absence. It was she who sent me urgently to seek your assistance. She gave me the fastest horse, the best provisions, and sent me alone because she couldn't spare any guards—too many are needed to maintain order as panic spreads. I rode as hard as I could, but the weather turned worse than expected, and somewhere along the way..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if the details were too painful or too confused to articulate.
Every word he spoke carried grave weight, painting a picture of catastrophe unfolding in my homeland. Before I could fully process the implications of what he had told me, before I could formulate questions or begin considering solutions, Aiona's voice suddenly filled my mind with her characteristic blend of mockery and dark amusement.
"Oh my," she said, her mental voice dripping with sardonic satisfaction. "It's the Dragon-Blood Depletion Illness. And yet you persist in claiming you're not a dragon. How deliciously ironic."
She laughed then, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves.
I forcibly shut her voice out of my mind with considerable difficulty—she never made it easy when she was enjoying herself at my expense—and instead turned inward, searching through my memories. I mentally referenced every book I had ever read, every obscure text and ancient tome I had studied during my years of voracious learning. My mind raced through titles and authors and subjects until it finally stopped on one particular volume: a rather unassuming, titleless tome that had nonetheless carried significant information about the Dragon Age and the complex relationship between dragons and the other races.
In that book, approximately halfway through, beginning on the fifth page of the main text, there had been a chapter with a very specific title that now took on terrifying relevance.
*The Dragon Blood Depletion Syndrome.*
I had read that chapter with academic interest at the time, treating it as historical curiosity rather than practical knowledge. Now, that information rushed back to me with crystal clarity, every detail suddenly vitally important.
I opened my eyes and looked directly at Jiao, needing to confirm what I already suspected.
"The people who have fallen ill—have they all drunk dragon blood as part of a pledge of loyalty at some point? Or did their ancestors drink dragon blood in such pledges?" The question emerged with quiet urgency.
Jiao's brow furrowed as he considered the question, clearly searching his memory. After a long moment of thought, his eyes widened with recognition.
"Now that you mention it... yes. Yes, they all did, or their forebears did. The elder families all participated in the ancient pledge ceremonies generations ago, and some of the younger victims had personally taken such oaths when they came of age. I hadn't considered that connection, but you're absolutely right."
I let out a long, defeated sigh. My worst suspicion had been confirmed.
This wasn't a natural illness, wasn't some plague or infection that could be treated with conventional medicine. This was something far more complex and far more dangerous—a mystical affliction tied directly to dragon magic and ancient blood bonds. And if my memory of that text was accurate, the treatment would be anything but simple.
---
After I had reassured Jiao as best I could and promised him solemnly that I would ride for Draga with the first light of morning, I left him to rest. The poor man desperately needed sleep, and my continued presence would only keep him from the recovery his body required. I told him firmly to rest, that everything would be handled, that he had done his duty admirably and could now focus solely on healing.
As I closed the infirmary door behind me with a soft click, I found Arvid waiting in the corridor. He must have been alerted to Jiao's awakening and come to check on the situation. The concern in his eyes was evident even in the dim light of the wall-mounted torches.
"How is he?" Arvid asked immediately, his voice low so as not to disturb anyone resting in nearby rooms.
"He will recover," I answered, and that much at least was truthful. Jiao's physical condition would improve with time and proper care. "He's stable now."
But even as I spoke those reassuring words, my mind was consumed with a much larger worry—not Jiao's personal health, but the devastating news he had brought with him from Draga. An entire population falling victim to an arcane illness, one that could only be addressed through means I barely understood and wasn't certain I could successfully employ.
The weight of it all suddenly crashed down upon me like a physical force. I moved toward Arvid almost instinctively, seeking comfort and support. I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to his solid presence, and he responded immediately. His arms encircled me, pulling me close in an embrace that was both warm and protective. I buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent, letting his warmth enclose me fully. For just a moment, I allowed myself to feel small and vulnerable rather than maintaining the composed facade expected of a queen.
Then I lifted my head, knowing I needed to speak the difficult words, to share the burden I now carried.
"I might have to return to Draga tomorrow," I said quietly. "My people need me. They're dying, Arvid. And I may be the only one who can help them."
---
Arvid's initial reaction was predictable—immediate opposition born of concern for my safety. His jaw tightened and his grip on me increased slightly as he began to articulate all the reasons why such a journey would be dangerous, why I should send others instead, why I couldn't risk myself so readily. But I let him speak his concerns without interruption, waiting patiently for him to exhaust his objections.
When he finally paused for breath, I explained the situation in greater detail. I told him about the Dragon Blood Depletion Syndrome, about the specific nature of the illness and why my presence was not merely helpful but potentially essential. I explained that this wasn't something healers could address with herbs and poultices, that it required specific intervention of a type that only someone with my particular... circumstances... could provide. I was careful not to explicitly state that my dragon transformation made me uniquely qualified, but the implication was clear enough.
Arvid listened with growing understanding, his expression shifting from stubborn opposition to reluctant acceptance. When I finished my explanation, he remained silent for a long moment, clearly wrestling with competing impulses—the desire to keep me safe warring against the recognition that I had responsibilities that transcended personal safety.
Finally, he spoke: "I understand why you must go. But I have one condition that is non-negotiable."
I waited, already suspecting what he would say.
"I'm coming with you," he declared, his tone brooking no argument. "If you're riding into potential danger, if you're undertaking something that might put you at risk, then I will be at your side. That's not a request, Rhia. That's a requirement of my agreeing to any of this."
Relief flooded through me. I had hoped he would make exactly this demand, had wanted his presence and support even though I hadn't known how to ask for it without seeming weak or overly dependent.
"Agreed," I said simply, and saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.
—
So we made our plans. As I had promised Jiao, when the first rays of morning light kissed the snow-covered ground and painted the eastern sky in shades of pink and gold, we set out on our journey back to Draga. The route from Gorei to the Draga capital normally required at least seven days of travel under good conditions—following the main roads, stopping at waypoints to rest both horses and riders, proceeding at a sustainable pace.
We had neither the time nor the luxury for such a methodical approach.
Instead, we decided to take a more direct route through the southern border regions—a path that would bypass Ferne entirely and lead straight to the capital heart of Draga. This shortcut would reduce the journey to approximately five days under normal circumstances. But we also agreed that normal circumstances would not govern our travel. If we rode through the nights, stopping only for a few hours here and there to rest the horses and prevent them from collapsing beneath us, we could potentially reduce the journey to as little as three days.
It would be brutal. Exhausting beyond measure. Both humans and horses would be pushed to their absolute limits. But when measured against the lives hanging in the balance, against the suffering of an entire population, the cost seemed more than acceptable.
So that was what we committed to, however taxing the journey might prove.
We rode out with the dawn, a small contingent consisting of myself, Arvid, and a handful of his most trusted and capable soldiers. The cold wind bit viciously against any exposed skin as our horses carried us southward. We moved with purpose and speed, driven by urgency and the weight of responsibility.
I was returning to the land I had said goodbye to with such conflicted emotions mere weeks earlier. Returning to my home, to my people, to the land that now desperately needed whatever help I could provide.
And I prayed to gods both old and new that I would prove equal to the task awaiting me.