Veilheim normally buzzed with a quieter magic when snow came - less wild force under the soil, more sparkle hanging on frozen branches or flickering inside glass lamps. Instead of that glow, cold stillness settled this time around. The atmosphere seemed stretched tight, fragile, like frost about to crack. No decorations lit up anymore, no strings of warm light, none of the usual festive shine; everything just faded into dull dusk that never lifted. Iris, a horse with a wild mix of blue-black splotches across her coat, usually sparkled in shifting colors with each move she made - today, though, that glow sat flat, dimmed by the hush around her. Her skin, once alive with flickering light that twisted reality into something bright and messy, now just echoed the dull sorrow hanging over Veilheim. She thrived on unpredictability, always darting about with mischievous energy - but right then, her chest felt tight. The loss clinging to her land didn’t feel distant; it cut deep, like someone had reached in and taken more than just peace. Rumors spread fast - crisp like winter wind - talking about dragons. Not random ones, yet a full group, shimmering in old gold and flaky iron tones, guarding loot from festivals piled up beyond the Hallowed Peaks. Still, Iris noticed something off beneath it all. A trace of magic she knew, somehow twisted into something worse than flame or fang. A thin thread of light magic - barely there - twisted through the thick, raw smell of old dragon hide. Not warm. Cold-edged, clean, exact. The kind she’d felt before. Hers. North’s. Her sister by blood, if not by choice. The thought slammed into Iris - sudden, freezing. Up north lived her sister, part of the same bloodline, different in every way. That a horse dappled in dark blues and black, its hide shifting like stormy water under starlight. The shine on her skin sparkled cool, sharp - not warm, never inviting. She moved with focus, no room for hesitation or guilt. Anyone in her path got pushed aside without a second look. Light bent at her command, used not to guide - but to control. Iris’s typical playful vibe, usually full of sudden moves and wild ideas, turned sharp - focused. Not just because of the dragons this time - it tied back to North. To her sister, who’d always chosen the opposite route, sure, but never one so openly cruel toward where they both came from. She grabbed her stuff - trinkets laced with old magic, a bag of thick illusion powder, yet this feeling nagging deep down it wasn't about saving anyone but stepping into disaster. The Hallowed Peaks stabbed upward like cracked bone under a sickly purple sky, always choked by snowstorms. Kinda makes sense - this showdown’s rooted in a family falling apart. The climb felt like endless punishment. Yet the wind sliced through fur, cold and biting, pulling at her hair. Despite that, ice covered each shaky step she took. Instead of big flashy magic, she relied on smart tricks. While using glowing energy, she made fake shapes float around her - her body blurred into the white world, vanishing now and then like colored mist. Tiny flashes of wild energy zapped bits of risky ice, opening short-lived safe routes. Her colorful glow, normally clear, gently bent the light nearby, fuzzing her outline, almost like she was fading. As she moved up, the air got lighter, filled with an odd, sharp smell - part dragon, part unknown - a weird buzz of packed light power. The fortress came into view, a huge chunk of black rock with ragged towers, sitting on the tallest cliff like a hunting bird waiting. Yet what hit her hardest was its twisted charm: captured glows hung loose, not for joy, but show. Strings looped like bindings, trinkets flashing in each crack, forming a bright, mocking copy of Veilheim's faded warmth. These flickered cold blue, echoing with North’s nearness. Infiltrating the fortress meant dodging danger at every turn - risky moves followed by narrow escapes. Huge dragons, old as time, circled the outer walls, eyes glowing like liquid metal, scales worn down from centuries of greed. Iris moved fast, a flicker in the dark, hiding under waves of magic that twisted her path and blurred her shape. She slid past them, unseen - not quite there, never still. Inside, things looked wild. The huge room stretched out ahead, packed - right up to the sky-high roof - with all the pilfered decorations. Piles of shiny glass balls sat everywhere, streams of sparkly ribbon snaked across surfaces, thick clusters of fake ice spikes and blinking bulbs covered every wall. Yet it wasn’t pretty - it felt wrong, twisted somehow. The dragons - big, dark shapes in the pilfered glow - felt less like protectors, more like users, jerking nervously around their shiny pile. Humming through everything was dragon magic, hungry and wild, mixed with North’s sharp, icy control. There she stood. North perched on the biggest heap of taken glimmers, outlined by throbbing blue brightness behind her. Not just glowing now - her shine burned fierce, harsh enough to hurt your eyes, throwing jagged shadows across the dragons underneath. A twitch of her ear sent them moving; quick actions, queen-like poise, zero feeling showing through. If you saw her gaze flash in the light, it looked cold, sharp - as if winter had cracked into pieces and settled there. Iris blinked back a tear - this time because her heart ached watching everything vanish into that hollow mission. “North!” she shouted, the word slicing through dragon rumbles like glass on stone. North spun around, head cocked just a bit - like she didn’t get what had happened. No shock showed on her face, no friendliness either, not even a hint that she remembered who Iris was, just quiet sizing-up. "Iris. Well… now this is odd," came her words, slick like frost-covered glass. "Did you show up here trying to grab your little knickknacks again?"