23 - The Beauty of Flight
| Session 1 | Session 22 | Session 23 | Session 24 | |
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite | Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Brolin Frostbite |
Into the palace
The wind pushed open the heavy door behind them. Frostbite turned, quietly shutting it again. A bad omen, perhaps. Or just the wind. He stepped out onto the balcony. The air was thick with anticipation. Far in the distance, the specks - the birds - were drawing closer. Were they coming for them?
A knock. A familiar voice. "I don’t want to fight." Endalyn says from the other side. "Neither do we," Maeve replied, trying to sound calm.
The hag entered without further invitation, calm and composed as ever. "If we fight, I will die. And so will some of you. This I know. Though I will live again tomorrow… you won’t." Her words hung like mist over a grave. "What do you want?" Endalyn asked. "What we lost," Maeve said simply. Endalyn answers "You know what to do. And don’t forget to take Skilla."
That was the trigger. Maeve erupted. A storm of frustration poured out - too many requests, too many layers, the hag’s tangled web tightening every time they tried to move. Frostbite barely registered it. The noise became background static. He focused on the sky instead. Still no birds.
Endalyn didn’t flinch. When Maeve finally paused to breathe, she only asked one thing: "Where is Zephyr?" None of them had noticed he’d slipped away. The party hesitated. Innocent denials didn’t fool her. Endalyn gestured. "Come. Follow me."
Frostbite and Brolin exchanged a look and stayed behind. Let the talkers talk.
Time passed. Eventually, the group returned - with Zephyr, now apparently convinced that Skilla needed to join them. At his call, Skilla appeared, Frostbite wondered what her story really was. "Kelek has a bodyguard," she warned, "Warduke. But together, we can take them down."
Frostbite tuned her out. More plots. More people. More problems. He didn’t want revenge. He wanted peace.
The Beauty of Flight
And then - they arrived. Seven majestic cranes, wings spanning wide like living sails, descended to the balcony. Frostbite felt something stir in his chest. Reverence. Longing. Belonging. One of them lowered its head to him. He reached out, gently touching its feathers.
"Let me speak to you," he whispered, invoking the Moon’s favor.
And the bird answered.
They soared. The wind rushing past felt like a ritual. The crane spoke not in commands, but in stories - tales of open skies, mountain thermals, rivers glittering like glass. Frostbite’s heart ached with a feeling he hadn’t known he missed.
And then, something changed. Inside him.
The dragonblood stirred. From his back, he felt wings bloom - not feathered like the crane’s, but scaled, strong and seemingly made of frost. A gift of growth. Of grace. He didn’t need them now, and let them fade. But he smiled.
The Palace of Heart’s Desire
The crane’s tone changed, as he told Frostbite of his only fear, the dragon, protector of Zybilna. Though their big brother would protect them if required.
"There - below. The Palace of Heart’s Desire."
Frostbite’s breath caught.
"That’s not my heart’s desire," he whispered.
"It is the Palace of Heart’s Desire," the crane corrected gently.
A pang of disappointment hit him. Of course he knew that. But… he’d wanted it to be more. Just for a moment.
They landed in the garden, vast and frozen in time - butterflies suspended mid-flight, bees paused between flowers. The others marveled. Music and voices echoed from the pavilion nearby.
A massive dragon soared overhead, vanishing into the skies behind the palace. Frostbite’s eyes widened.
"This is our chance," he said. "Free the Queen, and let her fix what’s broken."
The others drifted toward the pavilion. Curiosity over conviction. Frostbite didn’t wait. He walked toward the palace alone.
The double doors, grand and regal, were sealed. A symbol above - a deer in a circle - surely the mark of Zybilna. No lock… but no entry either.
Frostbite could see more doors at borh sides of palace. Frostbite turned to the ones on the left.
There, in a chamber of faded opulence, rested a glass carriage drawn by glass pegasi, matching wings attached to the carriage still and butterfly-fragile. Frostbite stepped forward, his reflection warped in the mirrored surfaces. A vehicle fit for a queen.
There were more doors still, leading deeper into the palace.
And Frostbite? He wasn’t turning back.
| Session 1 | Session 22 | Session 23 | Session 24 | |
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite | Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Brolin Frostbite |
Updated on: 17:09
