War, war was coming. Harrow could sense it. Unavoidable, or perhaps not. It all depended on his decisions as well as the elves his son had run off with. Sometimes the crown seemed too heavy a weight to bear, and he almost regretted knowing the weight to be placed upon his son when he came of age. The king didn't wish for the kingdom's enemies killed over or for his people to die for Katolis, neither to die against Katolis, over a misunderstanding. He had to be sure first; with Callum's discovery, it seemed there was more to this. Once people knew the Crown Prince was gone, they would demand justice. No, not justice. Vengeance.

Perhaps this was his punishment for his hand in Thunder's death.

The sun appearing behind the clouds seemed to mock him, and he gently stroked Pip's feathers as the bird rested on his shoulder. "It seems it's just you and me now, huh, my friend?" he sighed sadly.

My friend. He had called Viren that once. A long time ago, he would never have doubted his truth and loyalty, not even a minute. But things had changed; they were not kids anymore; they were not even teenagers anymore able to get away with the recklessness of childhood. There was a time he and Viren had been like brothers, albeit Harrow had suspected Viren liked him as more than that, though he never reciprocated those feelings. Then...well, some things happen that you just don't expect. This, however, Harrow should have seen coming.

Harrow could say that he begun to lose Viren to dark magic as he turned to it and its...creative solutions to everything. Or maybe he could say it was when Viren finally realized that while Harrow saw him as his closest and oldest friend (his only friend, really, back then), that was all Harrow could see him as. He could say it was after...Sarai's death. Harrow wouldn't deny in his grief and anger, he had turned that rage onto Viren because he was the reason she was out there, he was the one she had gone back to save. But he knew the blame was his.

Sarai hadn't wanted to go. She had wanted Harrow to think of another way, she had warned him thatvDark Magic has a price, that it was a shortcut. But he hadn't listened, or if he had, believed the resultsvmattered more than the cost. And Harrow had paid that price; his kingdom had prospered and thrived, but the king had lost his queen.

And even then he seemed unable to learn his lesson when he asked Viren to find a way to stop Thunder. He had wanted Thunder to stop the slaughter of his soldiers, stop the slaughters of innocents who had simply wandered near the Border. He never wanted the Dragon King dead. Much less his only heir destroyed. Yet he should have known better when he asked Viren, when he knew the previous results of all Viren's "creative solutions." Viren claimed himself to be a pragmatist, and Harrow would give him that. Viren went by what he believed to be best for Katolis and went by what was sensible rather than the mindset of what was right or wrong. Maybe in his own mind, stealing the egg was in the kingdom's best interest, since right and wrong was less than just two sides of a coin and more like an elaborate labyrinth, but...why lie to him?

Had they really drifted so far apart?

For a time, Harrow had thought they were—well, not great, not so close as they used to be—but fine, at least. Though they butted heads at meetings more often than not, they had begun to fall back into their teasing banter, and Harrow could see how Viren cared for him. Yet in that throne room when he had the gall to say how all those guards were willing to give their lives for him but couldn't say he was willing to do the same, it brought back all the bad blood between them since Thunder had been killed.

He could remember that day, the horror at seeing him destroy—or thought he had—a helpless, defenseless Dragon egg (likely what may make his son's kidnapping seem justified in the assassins' eyes), the horror that had been nothing compared to when Harrow saw Viren's face afterwards, saw what the use of Dark Magic was doing to him.

Maybe the loss of trust between them had begun after that. After all, Harrow had never tried todiscuss their argument, never tried to clarify or apologize for his words of anger. For all he knew, Viren could have taken that day, the first time Harrow had ever flinched away from Viren, as the first betrayal.

Not once had Harrow ever been afraid of Viren. Not once. Not ever. Not when Viren had accidentally lit his cape on his fire with a miscast Fulminus when they were eleven, not when he had made it rain for three days in the drought-ravaged Liro Valley when they were fourteen, not when for lack of better options, he had cast a spell to drown the seven assassins sent by enemies of Harrow's father in the middle of the throne room on the eve of Harrow's sixteenth birthday.

Mages were seen as alien, for unlike 'normal' humans, they could touch the Primal Sources, and what scared most people away was how normal they seemed at first glance. Dark magic was made from drawing the energy and life from magical creatures. It was bound to make anyone iffy to be around people whose magic was gained through death.

Viren's father had been the High Mage before him, a father who showed little time or affection towards his son unless to teach him the family trade. And Harrow—only child, heir to the throne, already a survivor of multiple attempts on his life from far off enemies and close assassins in guise of allies at the grand age of ten—his youngest son's age (oh, the lengths Harrow had gone through to make sure Ezran never went through the same horrors, to see the darkness of the world so young)—had taken one look at the lonely son to the High Mage of Katolis and decided that they were both lonely and they both wanted friends, so why not be each other's friends?

While everyone else carefully kept their eyes pointed downwards, had always kept their distance and regarded him warily whether his latest act of magic was to their benefit or not, Harrow had been one of the few people who never shied away. It wasn't like he'd never seen Dark Magic before; he didn't precisely like watching Viren perform it, but sometimes it was necessary, yet in that moment when Harrow looked at him, he didn't see the man he had grown up with; he saw someone else entirely. It had always disturbed him to see Viren's grey eyes turn pure black as he spoke the words he needed to cast the spell, but a minute or two later the black would leech from his eyes. This time after Thunder's death, it was more than just black eyes; Viren's entire appearance had seemingly been altered.

To see his dark eyes and grey skin, his stark blue veins, his hair changing to white and grey, smelling of death, looking all the world more like a monster than a person...for the first time Harrow had been afraid. Both for and of his old friend.

Never once had he taken in mind the backlash Dark Magic had on its user. Never thought of the stain it could leave behind.

In that moment Harrow finally knew why Viren would sometimes excuse himself after a spell or take longer than usual to come from his chambers in the morning. Because Viren had been poisoning himself with Dark Magic. Every time he told Harrow of some simple "creative solution" that only involved a little bit of Dark Magic, what he was really doing was making himself rot from the inside.

Harrow could recall a conversation they had when they were teenagers, waiting to see what may await them in their future, when Harrow decided to bring up that maybe Viren could limit using Dark Magic because he could see that after performing a particular spell, he seemed empty, drained, hollow, cold no matter how close he'd sit next to the fire or in the rays of the warm sun, in pain, his skin ice against his own as he took his hand. Like a frozen pale thing. Like a living corpse. Sometimes smelling like death and rot, but Harrow refused to shy away from him like everyone else, not when he could see he needed him. That time he had been afraid, not of Viren, (no, never) but for him.

Dark magic has a price, Viren had said only, shrugging it off, and then groaning as he does so, loud and pained, seeming like a statue who would break if it tried to move from its frozen position. It's fine. This is worth it. It'll pass.

It would pass. And then he'd use another spell and strain himself and then he'd be back in that same position. Even Sarai, who had never truly liked Viren as much as he disliked her, had begun to express worry for him.

The greater the sacrifice, the greater the effect, Viren had said only even as he was cold and pale as a corpse and stiff as one, too.

He was only being practical.

Then one day it seemed no longer to have such an effect on him. Harrow should have seen that as a bad sign. But he had instead believed Viren when he said only that he had probably just adapted. Not had thought for a moment that the reason why the strain of Dark Magic no longer seemed like a slow poison was because Viren had become numb. Whether numb to Dark Magic's poison, numb to the pain, or just...completely numb, he couldn't tell.

Never thought once that maybe Viren was using glamours to cover up the physical tolls it took on him. That his body had become cold and numb over the years. No, he had believed him without hesitation when Viren told him, No, there's nothing wrong. Dark magic is great.

It suddenly explained the slight, almost unnoticeable changes in Viren's personality. Though practical, Viren had felt remorse during his youth when having to kill something in order to use its magic for himself or having to kill at all to the point where he tried to use only his Primal Stones except for the rare occasion when Dark Magic was needed as a quick shortcut, a "creative solution." With Viren at his side as his advisor, he had always been the practical one in their youth, showing slight regret when explaining to Harrow that though it may hurt others, this was what was best for the kingdom, that Harrow needed to think the majority rather the minority. Now he seemed practical
to the point of coldness, less sympathetic, holding less, much less, compunctions about using Dark Magic.

And now he realized maybe in that moment after Thunder's death, he had simply been finally able to see Viren for who he had become. To see how Dark Magic had corrupted and changed him from the inside and out.

It had been three weeks afterwards until Harrow could even look at Viren again. A few streaks in Viren's hair had never faded entirely months after the fact although the color had returned to his skin and the black had drained from his eyes. Harrow was reminded every time he saw the change.

Despite this, Harrow couldn't think to shy away from him now that it seemed Viren might need him most. He had never brought up the argument again, but he had done his best to avoid anymore of Viren's "creative solutions," and if he had thought he may be able to get away with it, he would have confronted Viren about the problem itself but doubted he would have listened.

Now that he knew.... Viren had lied about the egg, he had kept it from him and in the process put Harrow, his sons, and their kingdom in danger. And no amount of excuses could change that fact. Perhaps it was foolish, but Harrow hadn't thought that Viren, practical, smart, Viren, his oldest friend, would keep such a thing from him.

Now that he knew, well, he wasn't quite so sure if he could trust Viren at all. Nor if he knew him as well as he thought anymore. What further raised his suspicion was during that morning's meeting to discuss what to do about Ezran's...kidnapping. Mysteriously, Viren's two children had also disappeared, and he denied knowing where they were, yet hadn't been at all disturbed about that. Before that Harrow had been more than willing to confront Viren about his lies, but now he thought better of it, wondering if Viren had some other plans in mind.

Before Harrow had even reached adulthood, he had survived countless attacks by assassins and enemies both from various lands and in his very home, both those who had attacked in the open without warning and those who had bid their time in order to take him out, using honeyed words to make him feel safe before striking with their daggers when his back was turned, some of which he'd known since childhood. So many to the point that he had come to trust few outside his court, and even within his court

Never once though, not once, had he ever thought that Viren—his oldest, greatest, only friend—would be someone Harrow would have to watch his back against lest the high mage turn out to be one of many who tried to stick a knife into it.

Callum searched through the castle for Claudia and Soren, yet he hadn't been able to find them anywhere. He'd tried to ask Lord Viren, but his response had been that he had no idea where they were. Which was odd. The two siblings might tease or pull pranks on him, but they wouldn't leave at random without telling him. Not to mention there was something suspicious about how Viren stated that with such calmness. His children are gone only two days after Ezran had disappeared, and he's
not the least bit worried?

There were very few things Callum was good at, well, only one, and that was art. Everything else—sparring, strategy, princely duties—he wasn't so great at those. But Callum was most definitely not stupid. Certainly not that he can't connect the two.

As he searched, he thought of how useful it would be to be a mage like Claudia, not for the first time, of course. But, hey, he was no magician, he didn't have any powers, and he had accepted he was never going to have any.

He did have the Primal Stone, but he didn't see how he could use it. He didn't know any other spells but 'aspiro', and he wasn't so sure if it would even work for him. There was more to being a mage than just saying a spell; mages had an almost natural connection to the Primal Sources that allowed the Primal Stones to latch onto and flow through. Most likely, Callum didn't have that.

Stopping with a sigh, Callum decided to ask one of the guards. Surely, one of them knew where Soren had gone, he was captain of the Crownguard after all—hard as it was to believe sometimes.

The guard shrugged. "I'm sorry to say I don't know, Prince Callum, but Sir Soren and the Lady Claudia left yesterday," she said.

"To...look for the Crown Prince?" Callum asked, suspicion edging into his tone.

"Yeah, I think so?" she said with another shrug.

Callum walked out and stood in the center of the courtyard, thinking. It just did not add up. The king would never send Viren's children out as the search party—for reasons both practical and personal. For one, they were Viren's kids, Harrow would never put them in possible danger by sending them after a group of trained elven assassins, not alone. For another, they were two inexperienced teenagers who Harrow also wouldn't risk putting the severity of a rescue mission for his son and heir into their hands.

And if Harrow didn't know, then...Viren must not have told him. If the past days' events had taught him anything it was when the King's advisor, high mage, and oldest friend, was keeping things of importance from his king, bad things were sure to happen.

Could he be...? No, Viren might not like Callum, but he had never given any hint to wanting to harm Ezran. This could be just a way of getting back in Harrow's good graces after last night's argument, and Callum was just jumping to conclusions, but...this gave him a bad feeling.

He ought to head up to confront Viren, but something told him that snooping around for an hour or two might give him a clue.

Callum strode through the corridors to the entrance to Lord Viren's private study. There were no guards stationed outside. He knocked softly. When there was no answer, he tried the door. The handle turned. He eased the door open, keeping it from creaking, and slipped inside. Floor-to-ceiling shelves and cabinets lined most of the space, with the exception of tall, narrow windows on one side. The setting sun bathed the room in warm shadow. Over the mantel was a painting of Viren and Harrow in their younger days. Nearby hung a large painting of a girl with a sheep. It seemed highly out of place compared to the rest of the décor.

Callum took a step toward the wall-size painting, trying to remember if one of Ez's "secret passages" were around here when he heard a tapping sound on the other side of it that made him freeze. He dove for cover, finding it behind the floor-length curtains on either side of the windows. As he pulled the velvet around himself, the painting swung to one side. Lord Viren climbed out of the passage, tapping his staff on the stone. He turned to a glass case filled with all manner of implements and ingredients. He busied himself preparing a bowl of...something. Callum dared to peek his eyes around the curtain for a better look. Viren's back was towards him and he couldn't see anything. He
shouldn't have to sneak around but, well, Viren's never liked him and he wasn't looking forward to the reception he'd get if Viren found him over here.

After a few minutes, Viren gathered up the bowl he'd prepared and ascended to the ledge again. He pulled the entrance shut behind him. Callum waited until he could no longer hear the tap of Viren's staff, then hurried across the room. He slowly pried open the painting. Nobody there, but on this side of the wall, he could still hear a faint tap-tap as Viren made his way through the bowels of the castle.

Callum followed the sound. He took note to stay wary and silent, in case he needed to find his way back out, or duck into a quick hiding place. Carefully, he took the first couple of steps, until he could just barely see around the bend. He couldn't hear tapping anymore.

It wasn't long before the tap-tap of Viren's staff started up again. Callum darted into a crevice in the wall just large enough to squeeze into, waiting.

Sure enough, Viren's staff tap-tapped its way up the stone column, but the figure that emerged could no longer be called human. His face was pale, cracked with black veins like marble, and his eyes were black pools with vibrant, bright purple flames at their centers. Callum slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his gasp as he stood, frozen in place, putting all his faith in the darkness of the corridors to keep him from being discovered.

Lord Viren walked in an unhurried, direct line, back the way he'd come, back to his secret passage and his study. Callum would have waited until the tap of his staff faded away, but in this case, he needed an extra moment just to absorb what he'd seen. Harrow definitely needed to know about that—if he didn't already. But priorities. First things first, try to find out what exactly Viren was hiding. He could tell now this was the same path to the dungeon he took with Claudia, but with Claudia gone and Viren likely thinking no one else knew about his lair, he might have left something out. Callum could hope, in the very least.

If he was wrong, well, all he had to worry about was his dad—stepdad, he reminded himself—what Dark Magic seemed to be doing to his friend even if Callum didn't like him all that much.

Heart in his throat, he padded down the corridor and down the steps. To be honest, he had no idea what exactly he was looking for. In fact, he hardly thought he'd make it this far.

The lair was empty, glowing menacingly with all the unnatural objects Lord Viren had been collecting over the years. It still sent chills down his spine as he took everything in, as much as it had the first time.

A glint of gold sparkled in the corner of his eye, and Callum centered in on a bag of coins. He picked it up from the table harboring a variety of ingredients he really tried not to pay too much attention to. It wasn't like Viren to keep so much money around, and it couldn't help but catch Callum's attention because it was the brightest thing in the otherwise dark dungeon.

Curious, he took one coin out and held it between his thumb and forefinger, studying the face. He dropped it with a yelp, then quickly dove to grab it before it could hit the floor. That wasn't some coin engraving, what he saw actually was a face, the face of a living person, a living breathing person staring back at him with wide terrified eyes. A living—they were living, right?—breathing person stuck inside.

And more than likely it was Viren who put them there. Because there were only two mages in the castle, and Claudia, well, Claudia would never do something this—this crazy.

Upon closer inspection, he found that the person was actually an elf. Maybe not an elf he was familiar with judging her appearance, but the obvious signs were there. And while Callum would never condone this sort of treatment, he could understand why.

Still, the reason didn't matter. Elf or human, it wasn't right to do this to another person.

"Who are you?" he asked the elf, despite knowing it was very likely that even if they could hear him, it wasn't like he could hear them. Maybe if they knew sign language....but Callum wasn't sure if ASL was similar in dialect for elves, or at least similar enough. Though there were words with similar signs, different places often involved different signs and dialect to communicate in sign language. Some words might get lost in translation or misinterpreted.

The elf said nothing. Of course not. Her mouth moved, but not a sound left the tiny coin. She banged on the surface of her prison with both palms, expression wild and desperate. Scared.

"When Viren talked about keeping prisoners for interrogation, he never talked about putting them somewhere they can't talk," Callum said slowly, though he knew suddenly what exactly this was.

The elf suddenly froze in her movements, only staring at Callum with an expression of confusion he was positive mirrored his own.

"Except...this doesn't seem like interrogation at all. Seems more like torture to me."

Eyes shifted sideways, one of them bloodshot and blackened, the fearful look returning, and Callum had all the confirmation he needed to know the elf was suffering at the hands of Viren. For how long? Had to be a while if Callum had never heard of an elven prisoner. Days, weeks, months, years? Years spent trapped in a void where you can see out but never be able to call for help? Callum's eyes widened as he recalled there were more coins in the pouch.

Gently and quickly as possible, Callum emptied them out onto a clean spot on the table. He counted five in total, including the one he held. Faces frozen in fear varied between elven and human, banging on the smooth surface of their cages once they saw him and wordlessly screaming for help. Each coin had the same runes along the edges

Callum hesitated as he set the coin in his hands on the table. Then with both his hands free, he began to sign, hoping at least one could understand him. First, the initial question he asked.

Something flickered across the first elf's face. If Callum didn't know better, he'd say it was hope. Her hands moved. Am L-O-R-C-A-N. You. Help? Please. Her face was soft and desperate, eyebrows crinkled slightly.

Like Callum figured, he didn't get most of what she was saying, but he could catch a few words and understood the gist.

He thought a moment. Regardless of what she may have done to get here, no one deserved this. If he was in one of those coins, he'd want to be freed as well. Well, first he'd want to know what she did that warranted this punishment, but still....

Help? Yeah, I'll see what I can do.

She moved her hands again despite the pain that would flash across her face with each movement. You are mage?

Callum shook his head. And showing them to Viren would be admitting he'd been following him. But I will help you. I'll try.

He took back out the pouch with an apologetic expression. I'm sorry, but I have to put you away in case he comes back.

The elf's expression froze in fear again, and he knew she didn't need any prompting to understand he was Lord Viren. She didn't look particularly happy—none of them did—as Callum swept the coins into the bag.

Callum took one last look around the dungeons. After a moment's hesitation, he tucked the bag into his belt, careful not to jostle them too much.

Whether or not they were dangerous, it was certainly better than leaving them here. With Lord Viren. They all looked like they've been hanging in there. Hopefully, they could just hang on a little while longer.