The air in Veilheim buzzed - quiet, barely there - a faint hush stuck to the old temple’s broken rocks. Light poured down, speckled and warm, slipping through gaps in the worn walls, showing tiny specks swirling slowly in the quiet. Rhoden dipped his head, pushing at a twisted vine with his nose; his coat flared behind him, a wild mix of soft browns and glowing streaks like starlit fur. When he moved, his plumes fluttered - waves of pale gold and sand - and stirred up little puffs of silence. Built for balance, wired by habit toward fairness, he stood out here among chaos, curious yet uneasy, caught between calm rules and raw wilderness. Beside him stood Ember Moon, a mare with fur like faded morning sky - soft blues swirling into silver. Her ears twitched at every distant sound, uneasy in the stillness. Those huge dragon wings, layered in rosy-tinted scales shimmering under dust-lit beams, stayed pulled close to her sides, half-folded as if hiding from view. She preferred quiet corners, watching more than speaking, yet this empty place left no shadows to hide behind. The hush pressed on her chest, making her feel loud just by breathing. Rhoden felt heat too - but his flared outward, steady and bright like banked coals touched by wind. Hers? Deep down low, slow-burning, barely glowing unless stirred. Next, Rhoden spotted it - his gaze quick, like something wild. Just past broken tiles smashed every which way lay a bunch of old flowers, bound with string that looked hand-tied. The thing sat leaned up on a stone thick with green moss. Sun and rain had worn it down, colors drained into soft browns and grays, yet it didn’t seem empty. Felt placed there on purpose, not tossed by wind or chance, more like a sign left behind. “Hey,” Rhoden said, his tone deep like distant thunder rolling across flat land. He pushed Ember softly using his snout. Ember Moon’s pale blue eyes traced where he looked, widening just a bit. Her breathing paused. That bundle throbbed softly, like a memory nearly lost. Interesting? Sure. But also... strange. Part of her wanted to step back, vanish into the dimness, while something new - something curious - pulled forward. "Feels ancient," she murmured, sound low beneath leaf whispers. “Yet delicate." Rhoden stared at the dry blooms, not blinking. From them came a thin thread of magic - quiet, almost gone - a tale stuck mid-sentence. To him, mystery wasn’t warning - it was bait, pulling him closer. His mind liked rules, yet craved answers most when things felt broken or out of place. "Yeah," he said slowly, voice low with thought. "Still… feels like it’s keeping secrets. Like an old echo, maybe? Or a sign?" He moved ahead one step, hoof breaking dust into small puffs. "We go near it, Ember?" Ember Moon kept her eyes on him, pulse thumping fast under her skin. Rhoden seemed sure of himself, which somehow steadied her jumpy nerves. His choices felt right to her, though part of her wanted to hold back. Getting close to whatever was buried there - maybe old secrets no one’s seen in ages - attracted her hard. But the age of these broken walls, that heavy quiet like history breathing down your neck, made her hesitate before touching what hadn’t been moved in centuries. What if it’s just a warning? Could be a trick. Maybe - better off unheard. “I… I am not sure, Rhoden,” she admitted, her voice softer than a sigh. “It could be anything. Perhaps it’s best to leave it be.” She shuffled her hooves, the pink scales on her wings shimmering. “We don’t know its purpose.” Rhoden glanced up, locking eyes with her. Golden as liquid sunlight, his stare carried a soft kindness. “Meaning usually shows up when you’re looking around,” he murmured, voice barely curving into a grin. Yet what’s an old ruin if not proof of goals once chased hard? That little pile… it’s like a murmur from yesterday. One we might listen to - or walk right by. He moved forward, slow at first, then quicker, till he stood face-to-face with the stone base. Nose twitched upward as he breathed in - dry petals, dusty ground, plus just a trace, really just a whiff, of something old and magical. He sensed a soft pulse of magic under his snout. Not dangerous - nothing harsh or cruel about it. More like an old whisper after someone prayed, leftover warmth from a true desire. With just a small push from his nose, he touched the bundle. The string, old and dry, still stayed strong - yet the blooms had lost color but kept their form, quietly showing how pretty they once were. "It's safe," Rhoden said, voice calm but firm. He turned toward Ember, tail flicking once, slow and steady. "Nobody means trouble. Just... old memories." Ember Moon kept her gaze on him, nerves fading into interest. His quiet confidence felt like relief. In his stare, she spotted real amazement - a protector’s instinct, keen to learn and protect. One shaky foot moved ahead, followed by the next. Her wings folded a little as she got closer to the stone base. The glow from the bundle brushed against her skin, like a quiet echo of the heat inside her. Not sharp or threatening - just soft, sort of sad. Still, it carried no harm. "History?" she said quietly, eyes drifting to the soft spread of petals. On a few big leaves, there were light marks - sort of like old writing washed out by rain. "Whose story are we talking about?" Rhoden pushed the bundle once more - this time harder. A quiet snap came as the string broke, spilling dry blooms in slow motion across the rock surface. The petals landed softly, pooling near the base like something royal that had slipped from a head. When they stopped moving, an old scrap of paper showed up underneath, curled at the edges and pale with age. Even that little sheet had its own tiny knot made of worn thread. “Ah,” Rhoden breathed, a thrill of discovery running through him. “It seems our bundle held more than just petals.” He looked at Ember, his golden eyes bright. “This is it, Ember. The part that tells the story.” As Ember Moon spotted the parchment, her timidity started to fade. Curiosity - usually hidden under quietness - slowly woke up. Moving nearer, she breathed just a bit quicker. The page seemed ancient beyond belief, torn at the edges, stained by years gone by. A soft hum of enchantment grew stronger, like stories stitched right into the material. “A message?” Her tone jumped, curious. “Who’s it from? Where’s it going?” Rhoden dipped his head down, nose close to the old paper. The faint smell tickled his senses - like dust, like time left behind. Touching it felt wrong, risky with his snout, might ruin something already fragile. "Well," he murmured, tone hushed but steady, "that’s exactly what we’ll see." His eyes flicked toward Ember, waiting without words. Rules pulled him forward, sure - but he wasn’t moving unless she gave even the smallest okay. Ember Moon shook off her doubts, suddenly bold. Not just from the ruin’s odd energy - also that strange parcel, plus how Rhoden refused to back down. A short nod escaped her, her wings twitching slightly, like wind through leaves. “Alright, let's find out,” she said, voice low but steady Using common sense, Rhoden tapped the parchment lightly - his split hoof, good at small moves, pushed it slow. That made more appear. Faded marks stayed clear enough to see. This wasn’t just old writing; it carried whispers from Veilheim’s forgotten time, spells buried deep in symbols. Rhoden started reading, his voice barely above a whisper in the still wreckage. Although old-fashioned, the lines made sense to both him and Ember. Not just sorrow - more like goodbye mixed with begging. About a watchful presence tied to the place, staying put through endless years. The dried blooms stood for love, one last gift as moments slipped away. The note begged to be remembered, a soft call ahead - hoping peace here would stay, its calm kept safe by those who pass. When Rhoden talked, Ember Moon sensed a deep link with the presence. Quiet and withdrawn by nature, she got that longing for calm - the kind only alone time brings. In wilted flower pieces, she spotted grace; in old paper, silent resilience. Now the wreckage didn’t seem eerie - instead, it was shelter, proof of years spent true to purpose. Once Rhoden was done, quiet spread easily between them. The old stones hummed low, like they’d finally relaxed. He slid the paper toward the stone stand - then slowly, real careful - he tucked the dry petals back into place, fixing the bunch how it had been. Ember Moon kept her eyes on him, light seeping through her scales, not just from flame but something deeper, something that made sense. “He wishes only for peace,” Ember whispered, her voice filled with a newfound serenity. “And for us to remember.” Rhoden dipped his head, sunlit spots dancing in his gold-flecked eyes. "That's how it'll be," he replied. A calm sort of rightness settled in his chest. He’d moved forward, poked around, then stumbled not on threat - but on history, a plea, some lost scrap of Veilheim’s past. His stare shifted to Ember, wordless curiosity flickering across his face. Ember Moon held his gaze, nerves gone - now calm, maybe even curious. “Happy we came, Rhoden,” she whispered, a small grin tugging at her mouth. “Matters somehow… hearing what he went through.” Rhoden gave a gentle rumble of agreement. He nudged the plinth once more, a gesture of respect. “Then let us leave him to his peace, and carry his story with us. A story of remembrance, hidden within a bundle of dried flowers.” They both walked away from the old temple, magic in Veilheim still glowing soft - just clearer now, thanks to what they’d found among those wilted petals. The small bunch of dry flowers stayed where it was, tucked on the green stone ledge, untouched. Its hidden meaning? Held safe by two people who bothered to look closer - not just passing through, but actually paying attention.