That elf's unsettling face had genuinely traumatized me, haunting my thoughts. Sleep completely eluded me that night despite my exhaustion, so I simply remained awake, staring at the ceiling and replaying the portrait in my mind.
Earlier in the evening, I had sent Arvid to his own palace to rest properly. I had personally helped him bathe, washing away the stress and grime of the day, and then tucked him carefully into bed to ensure he would actually get some desperately needed sleep. He had protested weakly, wanting to stay and discuss strategy further, but I had been firm.
After I myself had finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep much later, I experienced a series of vivid, disturbing dreams where I repeatedly saw that same mysterious elf woman. But frustratingly, the specific content and details of those dreams had dissolved completely like sugar stirred into water as soon as I jolted awake. The images and narrative simply evaporated, leaving nothing concrete behind.
All I could remember with any clarity was her hauntingly musical voice saying something urgently: "Remember... you have to remember." The words echoed in my mind, but provided no context or meaning.
I had absolutely no idea what she meant or what I was supposed to remember. And it wasn't as if I could recall anything else about that dream anyway, no matter how hard I concentrated and tried to grasp at the fading fragments.
Frustrated and unable to return to sleep, I walked across my bedchamber toward the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows and opened them wide, revealing the spacious balcony that lay beyond.
Southern people genuinely loved having big, elaborate balconies on their buildings, I had noticed. Every single one of their important structures featured them prominently, as if such outdoor spaces were absolutely inevitable and essential to proper architecture. Meanwhile, we Northerners were decidedly more of a rooftop kind of people culturally. Our every significant building traditionally had an open rooftop that was accessible, and we frequently used to hold social gatherings up there under the brilliant starlight.
In winter, those beloved rooftops would be completely blanketed with deep snow. I used to enthusiastically play energetic snowball fights with my dear friend Salime up there on the castle roof, laughing until we could barely breathe.
I had to admit I did genuinely like the novel feeling and convenience that a balcony brought—you could access fresh air and an outdoor view without having to climb and ascend an entire set of stairs at any time of day or night. That was undeniably practical.
The night air here in Arpa was notably cold, much like the desert nights we'd experienced during our journey. It wasn't quite cold enough to make you actively shiver the way the biting Northern wind did at night, but it was still formidable and bracing, raising goosebumps on exposed skin.
Standing there in the darkness, I suddenly found myself missing the misty mountains of the North with their perpetually snow-covered peaks. And most of all, with an almost physical ache, I missed the snow itself—the way it fell silently, the way it blanketed everything in pristine white, the way it crunched under your boots.
Then a thought struck me with sudden excitement. "Wait, I can make snow myself!" I said out loud to the empty night. "I can use magic to create it!"
"What are you talking about, girl?" Aiona's irritated voice suddenly cut into my thoughts. "Don't you know that proper sleep is absolutely important to dragons and their vessels? Why in the world are you still awake at this hour?"
She sounded terribly annoyed at being disturbed, clearly having been resting peacefully until my exclamation woke her.
I couldn't help but giggle at her obvious irritation, finding her grumpiness oddly endearing.
"I'm sorry for waking you, Aiona," I apologized sincerely. "I genuinely couldn't sleep tonight. That elf woman from the portrait kept showing up repeatedly in my dreams, and then I suddenly felt intensely homesick for the North. The feelings just overwhelmed me."
"You dreamed of her? Of the elf?" Aiona asked, her mental voice suddenly sharp and intensely intrigued, all traces of sleepy annoyance instantly vanishing. "What exactly happened in the dream? Tell me everything you can remember."
I felt terrible having to disappoint her obvious interest and curiosity.
"That's the frustrating thing," I admitted with genuine regret. "I can't actually remember any concrete details at all. The dream just evaporated when I woke up. All I can clearly remember is her voice telling me urgently that I have to remember something—which is incredibly unhelpful since I don't remember what I'm supposed to remember."
I answered her honestly, feeling genuinely bad about being so incapable and useless.
Aiona remained thoughtful and silent for some considerable time, clearly processing this information and working through possibilities.
"Well, there must be something serving as a connection," she finally mumbled, mostly to herself. "It's like she's using an anchor of some kind, but how exactly? What could she be using?"
I didn't understand even half of what she was mumbling about or the implications.
"Ah, Aiona, I don't understand what you're saying at all," I told her with frank confusion. "Can you explain more clearly?"
She sighed with what sounded like patience. "The elf is definitely using some kind of magical object or connection to deliberately appear in your dreams," she explained. "She's actively trying to deliver a message to you specifically. But apparently whatever anchor or conduit she's using isn't quite strong enough or properly calibrated to deliver the complete message. So you're only getting fragments—just enough to know something is being communicated, but not enough to understand what."
I felt even more dumbfounded and confused by this explanation. What kind of magic was that?
Aiona sighed again, recognizing my continued confusion. "Well, in the olden ages, ancient elves used a rather particular and specific method of long-distance communication," she began explaining patiently. "They would carefully engrave certain magical runes into doors or doorframes in certain rooms—specific locations where they knew their target would eventually go. Once the intended person entered that specially marked room, the elf who had placed the runes would appear in that person's dreams to deliver their message. It was commonly used to deliver non-urgent messages and information across great distances."
She paused. "There are other, more immediate magical methods available for truly urgent messages that require instant delivery, but—"
I interrupted Aiona abruptly, a sudden realization hitting me like lightning. "Wait! Runes engraved in doors, you said?" I practically screamed in sudden epiphany. "Oh gods, that's what those were!"
So that mysterious carving I had noticed on the conference room door was what it was—not mere decoration, but an elven communication rune!
---
As the sun gradually breathed life into another morning, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I had sent word inviting the young seer boy Rahu to meet with me in my open reception hall as we had previously arranged.
We were promptly served fragrant tea and an elaborate selection of traditional Southern sweets by attentive servants, since it was still too early for a proper breakfast meal. But I genuinely doubted that I could eat anything substantial after consuming this many rich, sugary sweets. They were delicious but incredibly filling.
Rahu sat across from me, nervously nibbling on delicate biscuits that had been made primarily from sweetened milk and flour. He looked profoundly anxious, his hands occasionally trembling slightly. Then he took a careful sip of his hot tea, clearly trying to calm his nerves and gather his courage.
Then he finally looked up and made direct eye contact with me for the first time. This happened after we had been sitting together for half an hour during which he hadn't dared to meet my gaze even once.
"Your Majesty," he finally managed to voice, his words coming out somewhat strangled.
"You can speak completely freely, Rahu," I told him gently and reassuringly. "Despite the undeniable fact that there's an ancient dragon spirit residing within me, I'm absolutely not going to eat you or harm you. You're safe here."
"I know that intellectually, Your Majesty," he said quickly. "But please pardon me for being so visibly frightened all the time regardless. I know it's no valid excuse for my behavior."
He suddenly took a deep, steadying breath, clearly preparing himself. "I saw something, Your Majesty. Something important that I felt I had to report to you directly."
His voice grew more urgent. "There's a person currently here in this palace—someone living and working among us—who possesses long pointed ears like an elf. But they're deliberately covering and hiding those ears with illusion magic, disguising their true nature. And I feel very strongly that they mean harm to someone, though I'm not certain to whom. It's just what I feel through my gift—strange premonitions or intuitions, something like that."
He managed to get all of this out in one rush of words.
Oh. The answer to my earlier question about who had placed those runes had just arrived.
There was an elf here. In this imperial castle. Right now.