**The Arrival in Veilheim** Beneath the mountain's edge, Bones waited, neither fully alive nor gone, glowing dimly where frost met flame. His hide - a mix of bronze, pearls, and patches like river clay - shone with something close to wet stone under moonlight. Tall and twisted, his back arched like roots pulled from soil, yet carried itself with unnatural grace. Atop it all sat a skull dressed in green moss and wide white blooms, pulsing slightly as if breathing cold air. Winter sun touched it weakly, making edges blur - now horse, now hollow frame hanging between worlds. Each foot, dark and hooked like old bark, pressed into snow without sound but left trails that coiled upward, vanishing slow. Wind carried pine smells through Veilheim, mixed with frost that stung the nose. Breathing felt different though, not because of ice, but due to unseen energy humming under the skin. Down in the valley, homes once sparkled during festive days, filled with noise from kids and bright strands hung on every post. Now silence sits heavy, lamps dark, only starlight peeking down like forgotten memories. Everything stolen - tinsel, green boughs, glowing bulbs wound around poles - all dragged up by scaled creatures with claws. Their fortress perches on stone fingers above, stuffed full of holiday things, winds screaming there like hungry animals snapping at air. Bones stood puzzled by the dragon's act, unsure what drove them or how to stand in their way - still, trying felt necessary. For ages he’d seen climates change, eras pass, light give way to dark, then return again - he knew imbalance when it stared him down. Up ahead, the peak cut into the sky like broken stone, its edge sharp against the fading glow. Wonder tugged at him just as hard as fear held him back. Stealing trinkets? That wasn’t the heart of it. What vanished weren’t just glowing baubles strung on trees. Something deeper slipped away - the weight of shared moments, the hum of old songs sung together, the quiet power that turned cold nights meaningful. Bones shifted, slow at first, eyes drifting toward the trail ahead. A gust swept through, bringing with it the low rumble of dragon mirth - faint, like something half-remembered from years gone by. Movement started now, no delay allowed. **The Journey Begins** Footsteps barely making a sound, Bones picked his way between the trees, each step placing weight gently on frozen ground. Not just any woods, this place - Veilheim held its breath under snow, roots tangled in vines that gave off a pale shine when daylight failed. Shapes in the limbs above looked too planned to be random, like signals stitched into bark and bough, hinting at what waited farther in. Quiet resolve drove him forward, even as ice coated narrow ledges and footing turned unsure. Where the trail narrowed, stone became glass beneath hooves, hard to trust. From hollows beyond sight, wind stirred low sounds, shifting dead leaves as if voices hid among them. Climbing higher, cold air snapped at his skin, thin and harsh, like the peak wanted to lock him where he stood. Though built part lich, part horse, and long familiar with frost, this land held a strange edge beneath its spellwork. A soft jade light pulsed across his fur, tiny pearls set into his hide pulling what little moonlight slipped through, glowing just enough to whisper of his passing - to magic alone. The woods watched. Not silence, but trees breathing, wind shifting, mist twisting slow among limbs - as if each had noticed. A space opened up ahead, trees curving into a ring, limbs twisted above as if holding secrets too old to name. Stopped moving. Listened closely. From inside that round patch of ground came a soft ringing, tune-like, yet nothing made by wings or breeze. One slow step went forward. Then another. On a knotted root sat a large owl, feathered thick, its gaze fixed - two pools of liquid amber. Words arrived without sound, pressing gently behind thought: Watcher of brightness, move with care. High stone sees. Bones tightened his gaze, feeling the weight behind those words. Once someone said he wasn’t fully an animal, not quite a ghost either - now even the air acted like it knew. Onward he stepped, darkness dancing under each hoofbeat. Then, a breath later, the breeze changed path. Out from blackened branches came a form - not solid, not sound - an animal made of pale light, eyes sharp with memories older than names. Silence held between them until it slipped away, melting into white nothingness, frost humming where paws touched. **The Path Toward the Dragon's Den** Bones climbed the last stretch of ridge, wind screaming around sharp cliffs, sounding like people in pain. Overhead, the dragon castle appeared, built from dark rock and crooked towers, gold tips pointing up like claws from a creature resting. His hooves kept steady despite deep, lumpy snow - the quiet crunch underfoot breaking silence between each gust. That high, the sky felt heavier, filled with an odd calm, as though the peak itself waited without moving while dragons stayed near. The trail was dangerous, yet he stepped forward sure-footed, used to rough ground by now. Close up now, smoke hit him - pine ash mixed with something sweet, almost metallic, like hot coins left in the sun. Dragon breath had stained the wind sharp, hard to ignore. This place swallowed light instead of giving it back. Up high, fake greenery hung on twisted iron rails, each loop dripping with ornaments too shiny to be real. Wires ran jagged over old stones, blinking unevenly, as if trying to remember warmth they never earned. Below, inside those wide-open mouths of entryways, ribbons and glass balls crowded every ledge, things ripped from doorframes and trees miles away. Not built for battle, not meant for worship - it served hunger. These weren’t warriors or priests. They took more than treasure. Took what made people hum songs in winter dark. Bones stopped where the ground began to rise, back rigid, caught between fear and resolve. Facing wraiths before - those murmuring about lost deities - had tested him. So had battles against restless souls bent on unraveling life itself. Yet none of that scraped at his nerves like what waited ahead: not one foe, but several. Creatures built for ruin, dragons carried skies with their wide wings, exhaled fire thick as tar. Worse, these beasts thrived - heavier now - from feasting on joy ripped away. Even so, doubt did not slow him. Silence pressed on Veilheim, missing the hum of joy, starved of winter's light. Walking that edge - life one step, death the next - that had been his way for years. Now a different task awaits. Air bit deep into his chest as he breathed in, frost tracing each breath. His shadow crept along the stone, twisting like smoke finding its path. What others saw as odd in him might be what makes it possible. A sudden twitch of his tail sent Bones moving ahead, foot meeting stone. From far off, on shifting gusts, came a dragon's deep chuckle - soft, rolling, like thunder under earth. That laugh might have been about him; he let the idea sit, just briefly. Thinking too hard changed nothing. Going back was not an option. **The Confrontation** Open came the heavy doors of the dragon's hall, showing wide space lit by pilfered lights. Glitter fell everywhere, tangled, wild - ribbons drifting without wind, shiny balls dangling above like starlight caught mid-fall. This brightness did not sing; instead it whispered of want, sharp and quiet, gathered by beings who took too much. In the middle, dragons rested, huge shapes curled tight around heaps of bright things, watching with eyes that burned not with pride but thirst. Bones moved ahead, each step silent on the patterned tiles, his shadow twitching in time with his breathing. From the depths came the biggest dragon, its body covered in golden plates glowing like liquid fire, broad wings stretching so far they could swallow the room's glow. It raised its head, eyes locking onto Bones through one lazy, knowing blink. A whisper came, rough as burnt leaves. Not you, it said without saying. Different. Always been Bones stood still, unshaken. “What I have to be - that is who I am,” his words seemed to hum, deep like a drum from long ago. The dragon snorted, a sound of amusement and irritation. "You're clever. But you are not the first to try and take what we have." It coiled its massive form, the stolen garlands shifting like spilled treasures. "Why do you seek what is already ours?" Bones lowered his gaze, his gilded skull catching the dim light. "Because you do not understand what you have taken. The lights you hoard are more than baubles. They are the light of memory, of love, of joy. They do not belong in a cage." Wings cracked open, heavy as old sails splitting in the wind. A dragon - smaller, bright green, staring sharp - broke the quiet. Its voice cut through without waiting. “What could you possibly try,” it asked, “creeping thing? Steal back something already claimed?” Bones stayed quiet. Not a word came for seconds that felt longer. His pause hung there, heavy as the damp sky pressed down nearby. After waiting long enough to make it matter, he lifted one hoof. Darkness clinging close began reaching out - like spilled ink bleeding across wet paper. What broke through wasn’t rushed. It was measured. Calm. “Taking isn’t my aim,” he told them finally. “Putting back what’s been lost - that’s where I’m headed.” Out of silence, chaos broke. Roars ripped through the air as flames burst from wide-open mouths. Into smoke and heat, Bones charged without slowing. **The Return to Veilheim** Darkness settled slowly on Veilheim, yet the hush broke into soft murmurs, something hadn’t been felt in too long. Freed from dragon piles, the taken trinkets dangled again among valley branches, shimmering gold and silver spilling down alleys like old dreams waking up. Instead of hunger-heavy breezes, cold fresh gusts swept through, sharp with frost’s return. Above, untouched snow flickered - not just white but stitched with flecks that caught the dim like quiet sparks. At the village rim, Bones paused, starlight sliding across his white skull while the change took hold. Not far off, trees - once bare and still - began to shimmer, wearing back the ornaments that vanished years ago. People stepped outside, eyes wide, caught in the glow of what used to be called the Festival of Light. Sound came alive again, laughter threading through lanes like an old tune hummed after silence. Cold gave way slowly, replaced by something gentle, something human. Freed at last. Gone were the dragons, slipping into smoke because someone took what they clung to so tightly. Not strength broke them - it was absence that opened their eyes. For once, maybe ever, they glimpsed how joy grows when passed on, not locked away. A breeze wound itself through the dark shape standing still, and slowly, silently, Bones let go of the burden he carried. Still, he understood - this story wouldn’t live in pages or echo through crowded rooms. Out there, beyond sight, moved someone else entirely. Those who glimpsed his form found it slipping away by dawn. Half-dead, half-alive, built from ash and glow. Not meant for records or remembrance. Yet somehow present now, standing just off the path, carried on cold air, caught between one breath and the next. Turning away from the village, vanishing slowly into the fog as if a vision was dissolving, the glow of lights flickered again - just briefly - and then it felt like everything had noticed he was still there.