It's Rayla who moves first as the sound of wings grows louder and louder.

She grabs Callum's arm, half-dragging him behind her, her blades unsheathed and gleaming. Zym rolls to his feet, ducking into Callum's shadow.

Something descends from the sky, and Callum squints, shoving the Key into his coat pocket.

Rayla darts a glance behind her, "Is that an illusion?" she asks.

"Um-yeah," Callum says, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck.

"Well, hopefully it helps," Rayla mutters, "Oh, shit."

"What's wrong?" Callum asks.

A soft thud announces the arrival of a winged elf, who carries another elf in their arms, setting them to the ground with gentleness before facing them.

The winged elf has piercing yellow eyes, and black hair that is swept severely back from their dark face, blue tattoos gleaming with a faint light.

The other elf is tall and willowy, but what stands out to Callum is the color of her horns, a stark white that almost blends into her hair. She leans on her companion, twisting a strand of hair through her fingers.

"The Archmage Ladwyr, and I think the Skywing Archmage," Rayla hisses lowly, "Ladwyr's Moonshadow, but she's always lived apart from us."

Oh crap, Callum thinks. They're gonna have to talk fast.

"You stand within Skywing territory!" The winged elf says, their voice cold and stern, "I am the Archmage Samos, accompanied by the Archmage Ladwyr of the Moonshadow. You will explain why you have unleashed such magic in the presence of the Sacred Mountain. Name yourselves!"

"Are we really that close to the Sacred Mountain?" Rayla mutters under her breath.

"Speak!"

"Uh, we didn't mean to do it!" Rayla says hurriedly. "We just had something that...uh...went off?"

"You carry an artifact and used it without knowing its power?" Samos asks, taking a few steps forward, Ladwyr following closely. "Clearly you are young, how did you come to carry such an artifact?"

"I'm not that young!" Rayla says, "I had my S'vanna two years ago. And the artifact was a...gift from a...friend."

Samos frowns. "What clan do you hail from?"

"I'm from Silvergrove," Rayla says.

"And you, hiding behind her?" Samos asks, voice pitched so as to carry.

Callum peeks over Rayla's shoulder.

Both Archmages stiffen.

"What brings a Startouch so far from the citadels?" Samos asks. "What is your name?"

"Sihr," Callum says, "Son of Zahrati."

Ladwyr makes a soft crooning sound, ears twitching as she tilts her head, looking to Samos.

"What is it?" Samos asks, voice soft.

Ladwyr hums, gesturing towards where Callum and Rayla stand.

Zym chirps, and Callum sighs.

"The Dragon Prince lives," Rayla says, "and we've brought him home."

Callum scoops Zym up, sidling out from behind Rayla.

"You-" Samos begins to say, but stops as soon as Zym coos.

Ladwyr makes a sound not unlike a choked sob, eyes wide as she stares at Callum.

"Sihr-" the sound of his name is spoken in a hoarse voice, like she hasn't spoken in a long time, "Son of Zahrati-"

"Yeah?" Callum asks.

"What bloodline claims your lineage?"

"Ladwyr?" Samos asks, confusion clear on their face now.

Ladwyr takes another step forward.

"I know these star-marks," Ladwyr says, her voice still weak, but steadily gaining strength, "For once the sight of them filled with the greatest joy."

Samos looks from Callum to Ladwyr and back again.

"I think," the Skywing elf says slowly. "We need to sit down and talk."

He is very young, standing no taller than his honored mother's hip, holding onto her hand as they walk across the smooth stones.

Ahead of them tall, white willow trees stand around a silvery pool that glows beneath the light of a full and gleaming moon.

It's summer, the soft sound of insects humming in the grass beyond, the warm wind sighing past him.

There is one tree, taller and wider than all the others, at the far side of the pool, golden ribbons tied about the branches, glittering runes written down the length of each ribbon. Prayers, he knows, to the Three.

"Thou stand within a place sacred to our people, my son," his mother says, kneeling down beside him and her eyes are warm though her face is stern. "This place is for our people, and they alone. The Gods gave it to us, and we shall keep it safe."

"Yes, 'umi." he replies dutifully.

"Now," his mother says, smiling as her star-worm wriggles across her shoulder, standing up on its back legs to wiggle at him. "Art thou ready?"

"Yes!" he says excitedly.

His mother chuckles. "Give me thy hands, child."

He places his hands in hers, and she leans her head forward so that their foreheads touch. "Close thy eyes."

He obeys.

"O Gods," his mother says, "Creator, guardian, and mother, this child of thine hath come afore thee, that Thou might grant him a companion and guide, to be bound throughout his life, and beyond. Until he might walk this world again."

Magic shifts around them, the wind's rustling growing louder and then it is quiet once more.

"There," his mother says, "Open thine eyes, my son."

She is smiling when he does.

There is something warm in his hands. Looking down, there is a small star-worm wiggling in his cupped palms.

"Pretty!" he breathes. The worm crawls up to his wrist and curls around it, and he giggles. "It tickles!"

"Thou wilt become used to the feeling in time," his mother says, amused.

"Do others live here?" he asks, looking around at the trees.

"The star-worms art created by the Gods, and when each of our children comes of age, we bring them here, that we might ask the Gods to gift us a companion," his mother says, "For this place was once the place of our Gods, where They dwelt among us so long ago."

"Do you think They'll come back?" he asks. "To walk with us again?"

"Mayhaps," his mother says. "The future is ever changing, my child. Now, come with me, there is one last thing we must do afore we return home."

"What?" he asks, following her to the very edge of the pool, giggling as the star-worm crawls up his arm to settle on his shoulder.

"Our companions art bound to us," his mother says, sitting down and pulling a knife from her sleeve. It almost seems to glow in the moonlight. "They art bound in blood and bathed in the waters of the Nexus, blessed by this sacred place."

"Will it hurt?" he asks.

"Only for a moment," his mother says, "the waters shall heal your wound."

He takes the star-worm from his shoulder. "What do I do?"

"Come here," she says, "and give me thy hand."

He steps closer, the worm in his right hand, his left empty.

His mother gently presses the knife blade to the palm of his left hand. There is a flicker of pain across his skin and when she lifts the blade away, red drips from its silver edge.

"Cover thy star-worm," she instructs, and he gently lays his bleeding hand over the worm in his other hand, tenting his fingers over it.

"Now, come into the water with me," his mother says, setting the knife aside as she stands.

She eases into the pool, extending a hand to guide him in.

The water is cool, but not freezing, nor is it deep, barely to his waist.

He keeps his hands above the water.

"Dip thy hands beneath the water," his mother says, "just for a moment."

"Won't it hurt the star-worm?" he asks apprehensively.

"No, my son," his mother says, "it will be fine."

He looks at his hands, catching a glimpse of the star-worm's glittering eyes as he peers between his fingers."You're going to get a little wet, okay?" he tells the star-worm.

It wiggles in his palm, a faint chirp barely audible.

"Into the water," his mother says softly.

He dips his hands under the water.

Magic pulses, and he feels as if he's been dunked into a hot spring, pulling his hands up again.

"There thou art," his mother says approvingly.

The worm seems to hum, curling around his wrist once more. The line across his palm has faded to a soft white line and there is no pain.

"This place holds great magic," his mother says, "and though our gods hath departed from this sanctuary, it remains a place of healing. It is the place where mighty Rahma called for aid, and where Lady Imarie brought her beloved child, Elsyth, to heal their grievous wounds. All who hath come to these waters hath received healing. If ever thou needst such, my son, and I cannot be found, come here."

"I will," he says.

His mother's star-worm chirps, and his mother half-turns her head as if listening.

"Hast thou a name for your companion?" she asks.

He frowns, thinking. "'ahmar."

His mother nods, hiding a smile behind one hand, a muffled laugh stifled.

"It is though," he says, as the worm crawls back across his hand, its carapace seeming to shift from red to purple as it moves.

"Indeed," his mother says, ushering him out of the water.

"What is your star-worm named, 'umi?" he asks, wondering why he'd not asked before.

"janān," his mother says, "for we art so entwined."

"And Alab?"

"Thou must ask him," his mother says, "I know it not."

"But you're my 'umi!" he says, "Why wouldn't you know?"

"Some things, my son," his mother says, "we keep close to our hearts. We choose to share the names of our bond-creature. Thy Alab hath decided not to share it with me, though I shared mine with him. He is a private elf, as art many."

"Thank you for sharing your bond-creature's name, 'umi," he says, grinning as she smiles at him, ruffling his hair fondly.

"Thou art my precious son," she says, "thou asked with respect to thine own bond-creature, therefore it was no trouble to my heart to tell thee."

"Will they grow to be star-moths one day?" he asks once they've dried their clothes with a quick spell and are walking home.

"One day, when thy horns hath the color of the stars above us," his mother says, "they will."

He peeks at her horns, tall and dark as ebony. "That'll take forever," he whines, drawing out the last syllable.

His mother laughs, "Be not so hasty, my son. Our years art long, longer indeed than any of our brethren. Tis a blessing as much as it is a curse. We See much, and remember much, but our lives art ever tinged by tragedy. But let us not talk of such dark things. Tonight, we celebrate thy bond."

The star-tower is ahead of them, and he can see the tall, lean figure of his father standing with a few Elders.

His mother summons a few floating lights, illuminating the path.

"Alab!" he shouts, running towards his father, "I did it!"

His father chuckles, kneeling down to greet him. "Of course you did."

"Look!" he says, thrusting out his wrist, where the star-worm wiggles happily.

"Well done," his father says, "did you find a name for them?"

"Yes!"

"He chose well," his mother says, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "A fine name indeed."

His father nods. "Good. Are you ready for the celebrations, Aaravos?"

"Yes!"

"Come on then," his father says, ushering him towards the star-tower, his mother following close behind.

Aaravos wakes slowly, no longer weary but there is something akin to content? He isn't sure, but it is a pleasant feeling draped across him like a familiar well-worn cloak.

He can, for the first time in a long while, remember his parents, their faces, their voices.

It's so strange...he remembers both the admiration and joy of his youth, and yet, he remembers they had turned away from him in the moments before he'd been shoved through the portal, into the prison from which he cannot escape.

He rises from his bed, drifting to the balcony.

It's night again, a waning moon on the rise above him.

He wonders how long he's slept. Time is strange within his prison and with the wards partially down, the rate of time passing has changed, he can sense it.

How much it has changed, he isn't sure.

Aaravos reaches for the scrying bowl, the stone warm beneath his fingertips. He doesn't speak any words, yet the water shifts nonetheless.

It shifts to a room, where a Startouch woman sits before a small shrine with red candles lit by white fire.

Her horns are the palest white, a star-moth seated upon her bowed head, wings fluttering.

Aaravos lifts the water with a gesture, allowing it to form an oval, hovering in midair, almost a replica of the mirror that sits within his study.

It is as if he and the other Startouch sit, separated by merely a pane of water, rather than worlds.

The woman tilts her head, her star-moth's soft hum barely audible.

"Who hath cast their eyes upon this place?" she asks aloud, looking around the room until her eyes settle on Aaravos.

"Stars above preserve us," she murmurs, eyes widening, shifting so as to face him fully. "Do mine eyes deceive me?"

"They do not," Aaravos says.

"How canst such a thing be possible?" she asks.

"A prison may not yet stand for thousands of years and not have its foundation crack and walls tumble down," Aaravos says. "I admit that I did not remember your face for the longest time, and my feelings after...that day were...and still are confused, 'umi."

"Thou art right to be hesitant towards me," Lady Altumanina says, and there are tears gathering at her eyes. "It is the duty of a parent to protect their child until they may protect themselves, and even after such a time has passed, it is the duty of a parent to be a support in times of strife and times of joy. To abandon one's child without care or assistance, is most heinous."

She bows her head, closing her eyes, "Words cannot express my sorrow, my beloved son. I hath allowed thee to come to harm by my inaction and condemned thee to thy prison. I hath wronged thee in all thee ways that a mother shouldst not. I cannot therefore, ask that thou forgive me my actions."

"'umi," Aaravos says, pausing as he tries to find the words that he wants to say.

His mother bows, so low that her head touches the floor. "I am sorry, my beloved son, for the harm that I hath caused thee."

Aaravos's thoughts stall. His mother is bowing to him.

"'umi," he says again, hurriedly marshaling his thoughts. "Do not bow to me. You are my mother, grandchild of the Ever-Bright Rahma, you bow to no one."

His mother shakes her head, not raising her eyes. "I hath wronged thee, my son, and I know not of how I might remedy my mistake for the Key to thy prison is lost. I hath scryed for it and seen only darkness."

"Do not dwell on it, 'umi," Aaravos says. "Please, raise your head. There is much that I must tell you."

"As must I," his mother says, lifting her head at last and looking him in the eyes, "for the years hath brought much change to this world."

"You did not wish to listen to me when last we spoke," Aaravos says carefully.

His mother smiles sadly. "I was deafened by my pride. I will listen now. Come, my son, I pray thee, speak."

They sit in a circle, and Samos does something that makes the hair on the back of Callum's neck stand on end.

"Merely a precaution that we will not be overheard," the Skywing elf says at Callum's curious look, "Much of what you have to tell us, I think, will cause great ripples through our homeland."

Rayla snorts, "You've got no idea."

"Then tell us," Samos says, settling back, their wings shifting before they still, hands folded in their lap, waiting.

"Um, where should we start?" Callum asks.

"Your heritage," Samos says bluntly. "The years are not so many so as to dull Ladwyr's memory as to what those star-marks look like."

"Well," Callum says, fidgeting. "First thing, uh, this," he gestures at himself. "Is an illusion. I...things happened before I was born so I don't actually look like I should."

He unwinds the scarf, allowing the illusion to fade.

Both Archmages study him intently.

"Your eyes remain as they should be," Ladwyr says. "The magic speaks to its truth."

"That's a new development," Rayla says, "they weren't like that a few days ago."

"I'm a half-elf, Rayla," Callum says pointedly, "No one knows what my growth is supposed to be like. Even Alab isn't sure."

"Half-human, half-startouch," Samos muses, "Even among elves, there are few enough marriages between us. Any child of two differing elven parents would take after one or the other. But no elf would have ever married a human."

"My father did," Callum says, "My mother's name was Sarai, but Alab called her Zahrati."

Ladwyr closes her eyes, hiding her face with her hands.

Samos reaches out, grasping her shoulder.

"Um," Callum says, unsure of what to say.

"Before the creation of Dark magic," Samos says, "Ladwyr and Aaravos were due to be wed."

"Oh," Callum says.

"What many know about that night varies," Samos says, "Only the Archmages, the Council of Elders, and a few others know the truth- that Aaravos survived the human Elarion's attack against him, and was condemned to a prison beyond the worlds, and Elarion was executed for her crime."

"But why lie about that?" Rayla asks.

"Politics," Samos says flatly. "The Council has long disliked humanity for daring to demand teaching for the Primal magics. With the creation of dark magic, humanity had their answer to the primal magics, and with the attack against an Archmage, against a beloved Paragon, the Council had everything they needed to force the exodus of humanity into the western half of the continent."

"Those who dissented against such a plan were silenced in one way or another," Ladwyr says, "Either condemned as living ghosts as I was or bound to secrecy by force."

"What exactly is a living ghost?" Callum asks, remembering the star-tower and Corruption's taunts to Morning Star.

"A person cut off from their emotions, no words will pass their lips, but nor do they truly live. A dead soul walking," Ladwyr says solemnly, "Only recently was I freed." Tears glimmer at the edges of her eyes. "The wards have fallen after all."

"Uh...about that," Callum says, "I only managed to get a few of the wards down, the rest are still up."

Ladwyr's head snaps up, her eyes wide, "What?"

"The wards are still somewhat up," Callum says.

"Then...he's still alive?" Ladwyr whispers.

"Uh, yeah," Callum says.

"He lives," Ladwyr says, weeping openly now, "Aaravos lives."