The embers of the prismatic storm drifted over the ruins of the royal court like dying fireflies. Silence, thick and heavy, smothered Twilight City. Survivors huddled amidst shattered walls and broken columns, their vacant stares fixed on the massive crater of fused glass at the center of the main plaza and the silver-haired figure swaying unsteadily at its bottom. The air reeked of sulfur, charred flesh, and the ozone tang of overloaded magic – a nauseating cocktail.
Elaine Ironstar's bare back trembled slightly in the night wind. The wound beneath her shoulder blade, torn open by a poisoned arrow, gaped deep enough to glimpse bone. Each shallow breath sent fresh waves of agony tearing through her. Blood dripped from her silver-white hair, splattering tiny crimson blossoms onto the glass shards at her feet. The searing heat of the dragonblood surge had receded like an ebbing tide, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and a profound emptiness. Yet, colder than her physical wounds were the countless eyes fixed upon her – eyes filled with fear, confusion, scrutiny, greed… and the bone-chilling, bone-white masked gaze of malice that had vanished into the high wall's shadow moments before.
She was the eye of the storm. A monster crowned with the silver hair symbolizing the elven royal bloodline's pinnacle, yet coursing with forbidden dragonblood. A meticulously crafted "Scapegoat Heir" by the Shadowmoon Cult.
"Seize her!"
The command, sharp as an ice shard, pierced the silence, laced with forced authority and underlying tremor. Silas Silversong, one of Twilight Council's high elven elders, stood upon the relatively intact wreckage of a viewing platform. His fine robes were dust-stained, his face pale. His silver-grey eyes were locked on Elaine, churning with shock, fury, and a hint of offended, bloodline-born arrogance.
"Blasphemer! Half-blood mongrel! How dare you steal the Moon Goddess's glory and desecrate the sacred rites!"Silas's voice rose with agitation, his finger trembling as he pointed at Elaine. "Silverguard! Apprehend this… this abomination! Cast her into the Moonshadow Dungeon! She will answer for her crimes!"
The command was like water hitting boiling oil. The remnants of the Silverguard, mostly humans and a few dwarves, exchanged uneasy glances, faces etched with hesitation and conflict. Elaine had been their captain. Just moments ago, she'd patrolled beside them, fought shoulder-to-shoulder against Shadowmoon cultists. But now… that unnatural silver hair… that devastating power…
"I'd like to see who dares touch her!!"
A roar like thunder erupted. Grim, the hulking half-orc warrior, moved like a living rampart, planting himself firmly at the crater's edge, a bulwark between Elaine and the shifting knights. His massive double-bladed axe slammed down, spider-webbing the stone flags beneath. Grim's eyes, wide as saucers, were bloodshot with rage, tusks bared, every corded muscle straining as he radiated lethal fury. He glared at Silas and the knights, now hesitantly drawing weapons under the elder's imposing presence.
"The Boss saved all your miserable hides!"Grim bellowed, his voice the wounded roar of a great beast. "If she hadn't charged that damned pillar, you pointy-eared old fools, and you clanking runts, you'd be dust like this platform! Now you wanna slaughter the donkey that's done grinding? You answer to Grim's axe first!"
Silas's face flushed crimson, all elven grace forgotten. "Insolence! Filthy half-breed! You dare insult a Council Elder! She carries the tainted blood of dragons! That power is chaos and destruction incarnate! Her silver hair is the vilest desecration of the Moon Goddess! Proof she's entangled with the Shadowmoon heresy! Seize them! Seize this roaring beast as well!"
Tension snapped taut. Remaining elven rangers nocked arrows, gleaming points aimed at Grim and Elaine in the pit. The human knights descended further into chaos; some backed away instinctively, others tightened grips on weapons, eyes darting between Grim, the Elder, and Elaine. Dwarven runesmiths clenched their stones, faces grim.
At the razor's edge of violence—
"Enough."
A voice, cool, weary, yet carrying undeniable authority, cut through Silas's bluster and Grim's roar. It wasn't loud, yet it silenced the tumult, reaching every ear clearly.
Prince Aerys Darkmoon, flanked by a dwarven runesmith and two grizzled human veterans, stepped slowly to the crater's edge. His silver-blue uniform was torn and stained with dust and blood. His unnaturally handsome face was still pale, silver-grey eyes haunted by the aftermath of magical backlash and the sight of the obliterating pillar. Yet now, his back was straight, the prince's bearing an invisible shield that instantly commanded the fractured crowd.
His gaze swept first over Silas, cold enough to freeze the elder's next words in his throat. Only then did Aerys look down at the silver-haired, blood-soaked figure in the pit. His expression was unreadably complex – shock, lingering terror, a sliver of survivor's relief, but mostly a heavy scrutiny and… an ineffable weight.
"Elder Silas,"Aerys's voice regained its customary calm, but it was a calm steeped in icy depths, "to condemn by bloodline without evidence, to brand the one who saved the court and prevented greater disaster a 'blasphemer'… is this the justice elves pride themselves on? Or are you merely desperate for someone to shoulder the blame for tonight's… loss of control, to appease the Council?"
Silas's face contorted, flushing then paling. "Your Highness! Her blood—"
"Her blood is a matter for the Twilight Council to adjudicate *by law*,"Aerys cut him off, his tone final. "But until truth is found, Captain Elaine Ironstar remains a member of *my* Silverguard, a hero against the Shadowmoon heresy tonight. She is grievously wounded and requires immediate healing, *not* your frigid Moonshadow Dungeon!"
His gaze shifted to the wavering Silverguard knights, his voice rising with undeniable command. "Silverguard! Protect Captain Ironstar! Escort her to the healing chambers in Moonspire Tower immediately! On my authority, no one approaches her without my direct order!"
"Your Highness! This is irregular! She is—"Silas protested.
"Irregular?"Aerys whipped around, his silver-grey eyes like honed blades striking Silas. "Tonight's 'regularity' was the Shadowmoon Cult nearly burying us all – Council included – beneath sacrilegious moonlight! Elder Silas, rather than hounding a wounded savior, should you not be organizing pursuit of the escaped cultists? Taking stock of the devastation? Calming our people? Or do you believe sowing panic and discord serves the court's order and stability better?"
The barrage of questions hammered Silas. Aerys had deftly sidestepped the direct bloodline confrontation, refocusing on urgent order and responsibility while leveraging his princely authority. Silas opened his mouth, looked at the varied gazes of elves, humans, and dwarves around him, then clamped it shut, his face a stormy grey. With a furious flick of his sleeve, he turned and stalked away, a contingent of elven rangers trailing him.
Grim's massive frame relaxed minutely, though his axe remained ready. The dwarven runesmith immediately stepped forward, raising another earthen-yellow runic shield around Elaine. The two human veterans swiftly found a tattered cloak and draped it carefully over her bare, savaged shoulders.
Elaine remained silent. She didn't even glance at Aerys. Severe blood loss and the backlash from the dragonblood surge made her vision swim; her consciousness felt like a skiff tossed in a tempest, held only by sheer, numb willpower. She let the veterans support her, stepping weakly from the crater. Each step crunched glass shards, the pain in her shoulder a bone-gnawing maggot. She felt Aerys's gaze upon her, heavy with scrutiny and an emotion she couldn't decipher.
The path to Moonspire Tower felt interminable in the heavy silence. The ruins were horrific: toppled statues, charred trees, shredded banners, and scattered festival debris – mute testaments to the disaster. Survivors huddled in corners, watching the silent procession pass. Whispers spread like plague, all eyes converging on the rune-shielded, cloak-draped figure with silver hair.
"That's her… silver-haired…"
"Heard she stopped the killing light…"
"But her hair… a curse?"
"Dragonblood… how can an elf…"
"Shh… the Prince himself protects her…"
Elaine closed her eyes, shutting out the voices and stares. Her mind struggled through pain and exhaustion. The Shadowmoon's trap was disrupted, but their goal remained – destroy the Elven Prince, shatter the Twilight Council. Her silver hair was now their weapon, a sharper, more divisive piece on the board. Was Aerys's protection gratitude? Or… a more cunning calculation? Keeping the "Scapegoat Heir"under his control was surely preferable to letting her fall to radicals like Silas.
The healing chamber in Moonspire Tower occupied a mid-level floor, constructed of pure white moonstone, life-magic runes flowing softly across the walls. The air held the cool scent of moonbloom and starwort. As Elaine was settled onto the central treatment table, carved from ancient heartwood, her taut nerves slackened a fraction. Dizziness surged over her like a tidal wave.
"All of you, withdraw."Aerys's voice echoed in the chamber's stillness, brooking no argument. The runesmith, veterans, even Grim, hesitated under his icy gaze but retreated to the corridor outside. Grim's bulk filled the doorway like a silent sentinel, leaving only a sliver of space.
Only two remained. The air congealed.
Aerys walked slowly to the table, looking down at Elaine. His gaze was now unveiled, sharp, tracing the lines of her blood-streaked, pallid face, the disheveled spill of silver hair, the savage arrow wound visible beneath the cloak on her shoulder. His fingers unconsciously rubbed a plain silver ring on his other hand – the core linked to the Moontear Pendant.
"Captain Elaine Ironstar of the Silverguard,"Aerys's voice was low, shattering the silence. "Or should I address you as… Exiled Scion of Dragonblood?"
Elaine's eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Grim hadn't kept her secret entirely. Or rather, in the heart of that prismatic storm, her secret had become undeniable.
"Prince Aerys,"her voice rasped like sandpaper, "what do you seek to confirm?"She neither denied nor admitted. Her weakness was shield enough.
Aerys leaned down. Unexpectedly, his cold fingertips brushed aside a strand of silver hair stuck to Elaine's temple. The gesture held a strange intimacy, jarring against the cold inquiry in his words. Elaine's body tensed instantly – not from pain, but instinctive wariness and… an unsettling frisson at the touch.
"To confirm your remaining value,"Aerys's voice was almost at her ear, the cool cadence of Elvish forming brutal truths. "To confirm whether this 'dragonblood bomb' that crashed onto the board will become the Twilight Council's gravedigger… or a blade to pierce the Shadowmoon Cult's heart."
His fingers trailed down her hair, stopping at her neck – where faint golden tracery, like cooling magma veins, still glowed beneath the skin. Aerys's fingertip pressed precisely where the tracery was densest. A thread of his own magic, cool as moonlight, probed inward.
*Thrum—!*
The shattered remnant of Aerys's own Moontear Pendant, destroyed in the energy storm but still hanging around Elaine's neck, resonated with a final, almost imperceptible hum! Simultaneously, the dormant dragonblood within Elaine, stirred by the foreign touch, shuddered violently like a roused volcano!
"Ungh!"Elaine gasped, her body convulsing uncontrollably. The wound on her shoulder tore open anew, blood instantly staining the pristine cloth beneath her. A searing, wild power thrashed in her veins, threatening to burst free! Her eyes snapped open, deep brown pupils nearly black burning with violated fury and icy lethality, locked onto Aerys's face mere inches away.
Aerys jerked his hand back, fingertips tingling with residual heat. Understanding and deeper gravity flashed in his silver-grey eyes. *Confirmed!* Her dragonblood reacted violently to elven magic, especially Moonshadow power! Danger… and a key?
"It seems your 'value' is even more… volatile than I anticipated,"Aerys straightened, resuming his imperious stance, though a flicker of wariness towards that raw power lingered. "The Shadowmoon has thrust you center stage. Elder Silas would burn you gladly. The Twilight Council is likely in uproar over you."He paused, his gaze like a cold blade scraping her face. "You have only two paths."
"The first,"his voice was ice, "become the Council's prisoner. Be dissected by elders terrified of dragonblood, or vanish as a sacrifice to appease the masses in some dark corner. Your half-orc friend might last a little longer, but his end would be the same."
Elaine's pupils contracted. *Grim…*
"The second,"Aerys's voice lowered, laced with temptation, "become *my* prisoner. Officially, you are confined in Moonspire Tower for 'investigation' and 'cleansing.' In truth, you serve *me*. Use this face the Shadowmoon 'chose,' use this… troublesome silver hair, use your unstable yet potent power. We cooperate. Root out the Shadowmoon's agents within the court. Discover their true purpose for all this. And…"his gaze deepened, "…find the means to break the curse upon me."
"Cooperate?"Elaine's voice was weak from blood loss, yet laced with icy scorn. "Prince Aerys, your 'cooperation' is merely a more gilded cage. Why should I trust you? Once your ends are met, won't you dispose of this 'half-blood mongrel' like a dangerous tool?"
"Trust?"Aerys's lips curved in a near-cruel smile. "In this court of lies and schemes, it's the rarest luxury. I don't need your trust, Elaine Ironstar. I need your… lack of alternatives."
He leaned close again, his cold breath almost touching her lips. His voice dropped to a whisper, a demon's murmur in her ear:
"Consider your half-orc friend. Consider the dragonblood in your veins, anathema to this world. Consider the Shadowmoon Cult, who will *never* let you be. Consider… the truth of your bloodline you've chased through exile."His finger traced the cold edge of the treatment table. "Stay by my side. Serve me. At least, until I wring the last drop of use from you, I can keep you and that oaf alive. Even… grant you access to the oldest elven royal archives. Answers you crave may lie there."
Elaine's breath hitched. *The truth of her blood…* Her deepest obsession. The drive that had pushed her through countless near-deaths. Aerys had struck the core. This elven prince was far more dangerous, and far more perceptive, than she'd imagined.
The chamber door opened softly. An elven woman in moon-white priestly robes entered, her face stern, bearing a silver tray. On it rested a crystal vial filled with a viscous, starry-green liquid – Moonspark Balm, the elves' most potent healing draught. The priestess's gaze swept over Aerys and Elaine, carrying a hint of scrutiny.
"Your Highness, the Moonspark Balm you requested."Her voice was toneless.
Aerys straightened, regaining princely detachment. "Administer it,"he commanded coolly, his eyes still locked on Elaine, awaiting her answer.
The priestess approached the table, preparing the balm with precise, mechanical movements. Only the faint chime of crystal broke the cold silence.
Elaine closed her eyes. Agony, exhaustion, Grim's safety, the dragonblood secret, the Shadowmoon threat, Aerys's schemes… weights crashed and tumbled in her mind. No retreat, only traps within traps. Aerys was right. She had no choice.
As the priestess's cold fingertips neared her wound, Elaine opened her eyes. All struggle, all weakness, was buried beneath glacial stillness. She looked at Aerys, her voice a hoarse, detached rasp, stating a fact unrelated to herself:
"I require spell-suppressing shackles."
Aerys's eyebrow arched slightly.
"Shackles to contain the dragonblood surges,"Elaine clarified, her gaze flicking to the fading golden tracery on her arm. "Until control is found. Necessary insurance. For you. For me."It was her first probe, her first line of defense – offering res