The dragon hybrid doesn't approach, not yet. His wings are folded tight against his back, his tiara slightly askew—a rare sign of disarray. His eyes, usually sharp with challenge and fire, are dulled with something unspoken. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

He finally takes a step closer, his heels crunching against the grass. He doesn't look at the figure—his gaze fixed on the horizon, just as they are.

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves of a nearby oak. Somewhere far off, a bell tolls—the distant sound of a village going about its day, unaware of the grief that clings to this quiet corner of the world.