It was not long before the kingdom began to choose favorites.
The people loved Glow. His light soothed the sick, his voice calmed disputes, his very presence filled dragons with hope. They named him the Sun-Child, the Prince of Peace.
Dwarf heard their words too — but in whispers, not cheers.
"He is small."
"He is dark."
"His eyes burn too hot."
Each murmur was a thorn lodged in his heart.
One night, beneath a red moon, Dwarf sat in the caverns under the palace. The air was damp, the stone cold, the silence deep. His claws scraped against the floor.
"Why should he shine while I am shunned?" he growled. "Am I not my father's son too? My fire burns just as strong. Why then do they look at me with fear?"
The shadows seemed to lean closer. And in the stillness, something ancient stirred.
"Because you are more than they deserve," a voice whispered. "You are the night, Dwarf. And night devours the day."
The words coiled inside him like poison — bitter, yet sweet.
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