The chamber around me was massive. Built from ice that pulsed with a faint, unnatural glow. No torches. No fires. Just the walls themselves radiating a soft, steady light. Like the ice was alive.
I barely felt the cold anymore. I should have. My body should've been wracked with shivers, breath fogging the air, but everything felt distant. Like my nerves had given up. A creeping numbness settled in my bones, dulling the pain to a low, constant throb.
I was still alive.
For now.
A figure moved toward me and I tensed. Tall, slim, sharp features. Pointed ears.
An elf.
I'd seen their kind before—merchants, diplomats, the occasional mercenary wandering through human lands. They kept out of wars like ours. Watched from the sidelines, advised when it suited them. This one, though, looked right at home in this frozen prison.
He knelt beside me, muttering something under his breath. A small warmth stirred over my skin—not much, but enough to push back the worst of the cold in my limbs. I let out a shaky breath as some of the tension bled out of my body.
Then I noticed her.
She hadn't moved. Still standing at the edge of the chamber, watching like she had on the battlefield. Amused. Detached. Like this was all some minor diversion. Like I didn't matter.
She spoke.
The voice was smooth, almost gentle. But I didn't understand a word. The language was old and sharp, each syllable sliding under my skin and setting my teeth on edge.
Draconic.
I didn't need to speak it to know what it was. The language of dragons. Words shaped by power itself. I'd heard the rumors. That a dragon's true name, spoken aloud in their tongue, could rip the world in two.
The elf answered her in Elvish. Calm. Measured. This wasn't some quick translation—it was a real conversation. One I wasn't meant to follow.
I only caught scraps.
Why. Humans. Magic. Weapon. Kill.
My gut tightened at that last one.
Her eyes landed on me again. She said something else, slower this time. Her voice curling through the air like a knife.
She doesn't know I can't understand her.
The elf looked at me, then said something else I didn't catch. I understood a few words here and there, but his pace was fast, and the vocabulary was beyond me. I wasn't fluent. Barely even conversational.
After a beat, he switched to Common.
"Where did you get the spear?"
I hesitated. My mouth felt dry, tongue heavy. Every instinct in me screamed to watch what I said.
"I don't know," I said. "It was from the sorcerer. He wasn't exactly in a talking mood."
Then added, "Well, he kind of was. Just not in the helpful way. We were sent to kill the cultists. That's all."
The elf nodded and turned back to her, relaying the answer in Elvish.
Can he not speak Draconic? I watched his mouth, picked up a few familiar words, but they slipped through before I could make sense of them.
She spoke again. Another question. The elf turned back to me.
"Why?"
I exhaled slow, watching the air mist in front of me.
Why? Because it was a job. Because a fat noble handed us coin and pointed us at a problem. Because leaving fanatics armed with ancient relics seemed like a worse option.
"They were dangerous," I said. "They had powerful artifacts—stuff no one should've had."
She didn't react. The elf translated, and once again, I could only pick out a few words.
Hunting. Kill. Dangerous.
Something felt wrong.
"Who did this cult serve?" the elf asked.
I swallowed.
Good question. After all the bodies and blood, we still didn't know.
"No idea. We figured they were just madmen. Maybe one of the northern kingdoms pulling strings."
The elf repeated it. This time, her expression shifted. Not anger. Just sharp. Focused. The air in the chamber thickened, pressure crawling along my skin like a storm about to break.
She spoke again, and this time, the words hit different. Heavy. Coiled with something deeper. My chest tightened just hearing them.
Draconic.
Didn't matter that I couldn't understand it. I could feel it.
The elf beside me tensed. He hesitated, then finally turned to me.
"She wants to know where you learned Elvish."
The question caught me off guard. I blinked, then forced myself to answer in kind.
"Helped humans. Many seasons. Taught." My Elvish was choppy. I never needed to be fluent. Just enough to bark orders and not get stabbed by accident.
The elf's face didn't change, but I saw something flicker in his eyes. He didn't like that answer.
The dragon spoke again. Something cold slid behind her voice. The elf tensed.
She said it again, this time with heat behind it.
He flinched. Turned back to me with a stiff jaw.
"She wants to know why humans are using magic like this."
I frowned.
"We're not," I said. "That wasn't ours."
"You were," he said, nodding toward the spear in her hand.
"That wasn't me!" I snapped. "We were sent in to take it away. I don't care about their relic or their cult. It was just a job."
He watched me for a moment. I saw doubt in his eyes, but he nodded and turned to translate. I only caught fragments again.
Sorcerer. Job. Kill. Why.
The dragon didn't react. No anger. No approval. Just… silence.
I didn't trust that silence.
She said something else. The elf started to respond—but something in his voice was wrong. Too calm. Too short.
He's changing my answers.
I couldn't stop the words before they came out.
"Wrong."
The elf went stiff. The dragon exhaled, low and slow. A sound that sent chills up my spine.
She spoke again. Louder. Harsher.
The elf froze. Didn't breathe. Then he sucked in air like he'd been drowning, clutched the front of his robe, and nodded.
He raised a hand and traced something in the air. A sigil. It flared and disappeared.
Then his voice came low and steady.
"Now, human. Tell me everything."