Amelia stared at the hand resting on her shoulder.
For a moment, she said nothing.
But slowly, the tension in her shoulders began to ease—just a little. She reached up and gently took Zyon’s hand, gripping it tightly. Her other hand wiped the last of the tears from her eyes.
"I know I’m not alone," she whispered. "But it feels like it. Every second. Every breath. I feel like I’m the only one who still believes we can save her."
"You’re not," Evelyn said firmly. "We believe it too. That’s why we haven’t left your side since."
Freya nodded. "That’s why we need to plan. Not act on emotion. If we lose ourselves to recklessness, we’ll fall into the same trap again."
Amelia didn’t reply right away.
But her eyes slowly softened. She looked to each of them—Zyon, Evelyn, Freya. And for the first time since she’d woken up, she let herself feel it:
"Alright," she finally said, her voice steadier than before. "Let’s talk. We need to know who we’re dealing with. We need to find out what they want."
Zyon spoke first, voice low but resolute. "We’ve already started gathering any sort of intel we can. Art’s been moving non-stop—hopping between regions, chasing every whisper. But for now, we haven’t found anything substantial."
Freya crossed her arms, leaning against the nearby cabinet. "That being said... from what we do know, there’s a chance your abduction and your mother’s disappearance might be connected."
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?"
Evelyn stepped forward, her expression serious as she elaborated. "Art went back to the Black Market cellar—the exact spot where you were found encased in ice. He discovered something there. One of the assailants... had a note on him."
Amelia’s brows furrowed. "A note?"
Evelyn nodded. "Yes. It mentioned something strange. A ritual. One designed to reverse a wounded dragon."
Amelia echoed the words softly, uncertain. "Ritual to reverse a wounded dragon?"
Freya gave a small nod. "Exactly. But here’s where things get weird. Dragons are rare... they’ve been nearly extinct for centuries. They were last seen during the Second Great War of Cronica. You know that."
Evelyn raised a hand to correct her. "Not just rare, Freya. Extinct. Not a single recorded sighting since the end of the war. It’s not like looking for a phoenix or hydra. Dragons are gone. Erased."
Amelia’s fingers subconsciously clutched her sheets tighter. "Then what could that message mean? Some kind of code?"
Zyon shook his head slowly. "We thought so too, at first. But the instructions on that note were too detailed to dismiss as metaphor. It outlined mana flow patterns... points of focus on the body... even exact vitals to strike in case of interference."
Amelia’s eyes widened. "That’s way too specific. It’s like—like a manual."
Freya nodded grimly. "And that’s what concerns us. Whoever wrote that note didn’t just know theory. They understood dragon biology. Deeply."
Zyon leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward the ceiling as he spoke. "This whole thing feels... off. Like a trap, but also not quite a trap. You weren’t taken. They failed. Which leads me to wonder... was that failure intentional?"
Freya blinked. "You mean—like letting her go was part of the plan?"
Before anyone could respond, Evelyn suddenly jolted upright, her voice sharp with urgency.
Amelia flinched, startled by the outburst. "W-What?"
Evelyn stepped closer, eyes alight with a sudden realization. "Why is the Everhart family crest a white dragon? There’s got to be something more behind that, right? Maybe an old legend or some forgotten tale?"
Amelia blinked, confused at first. But then—slowly—her expression changed.
"...Wait. Yes. Yes!" Her voice rose with building energy. "There is an old superstition. Something Mother used to tell me."
Zyon and Freya leaned in, interest piqued. Even Evelyn looked hopeful.
Zyon asked carefully, "Are you implying this... white dragon symbol isn’t just symbolic?"
Evelyn nodded. "Exactly. I think there might be a real connection here. Maybe not literal—but something more. It wouldn’t hurt to explore it."
Amelia took a deep breath, eyes distant as memories surfaced. "Mother used to say... our family descended from a White Dragon. A being unlike the others. While most dragons were violent, territorial, and prideful, this one was... calm. Serene. It didn’t seek domination. It didn’t burn villages or revel in its strength. It existed to protect."
Her voice grew softer, touched with awe and a trace of sorrow.
"She used to say, during the Second Great War, when the dragons turned on humanity... this White Dragon refused to join the massacre. It was hunted down like the others. But before that... one of our ancestors saved it. And according to the tale... they fell in love. Even had a child."
Freya blinked. "Wait—your family is saying you’re... part dragon?"
Amelia shrugged lightly. "It was always just called a ’superstition.’ A bedtime tale, not something we were meant to believe literally. But... maybe there’s truth in it. Maybe that’s why our crest bears the white dragon’s image."
Evelyn’s eyes gleamed. "That could explain the note. The ritual. Maybe it wasn’t about any dragon... but the White Dragon."
Amelia nodded slowly, voice growing firmer now. "There was something else my mother always said... a prophecy, or something close to one. ’When the bloodline weeps, the White Dragon will awaken. And in its grief, it will unleash a fury no enemy can endure.’"
The room fell silent at those words. The weight of them pressed down like gravity.
Zyon spoke softly, almost reluctantly. "If that legend has any truth... then someone may be trying to force it to happen."
"Or manipulate it," Freya added. "Either to awaken something in you... or use your mother to control it."
Amelia’s gaze hardened. The thought chilled her—but it also clarified her purpose.
"...Then we’re not just trying to rescue my mother. We’re trying to stop something much, much bigger."
Zyon nodded. "Exactly. And we need to act before they succeed in whatever it is they’re planning."
Amelia looked toward the window again. The moon was high now, casting its pale glow across the ward floor.
’Mother please be alright.’