The air rapidly grew colder until I could see my own breath. Aside from the panting of the horse and the squeaking of the cart's wheels, the Serpentine valley was dead silent. Frost nipped at my nose and fingers as the horse galloped into snow.

Time seemed frozen like the landscape in the Serpentine Mountains. The valley looked like I'd left it, with snapped trees where the dragon, Oleander, had crash-landed. Pulling on the reigns, I brought the horse to a halt near the lakeside.

I hopped off the cart, landing in the snow with a soft crunch. There was still no sign I was being followed by either Oleander or Ytel's men, who didn't seem to have received the message their master had been dead for several weeks now.

I was alone. With a cart full of clothing, a horse, and an evil artefact I was supposed to wield. This was the place where it had all begun, and the place where it would end.

I had the queen's staff in my hands. The blood-red gem glinted dangerously in the light. A thin layer of snow had started covering the wooden part of the staff, but not the Changeling itself. The gem seemed to repulse the cold, even if I didn't feel any heat when I moved my fingers near it.

Breathing in and out deeply, I let my eyes fall closed as I prepared myself to touch the evil artefact. Not that I had any clue how I was supposed to 'prepare' for a challenge the Changeling would or wouldn't pose. My heart drummed in my ears. I was scared, but I had promised Oleander I'd help him. I couldn't turn back—I'd promised him I wouldn't.

I opened my eyes, determined to get my unpleasant task over with. But as I reached for the gem with trembling fingertips, hooves clopped on the road behind me. One of the mercenaries with his sword raised high above his head, and he had already seen me. Cursing, I dove behind the cart for cover so he couldn't cut my throat easily from horseback.

"You can't hide forever, lord Montbow!" the man taunted me. 

Something heavy thumped against the wooden cart. I thought it was another arrow at first, but then a pungent and acidy smell reached my nose, making me gag. A reddish brownish fluid trickled down the railing of the cart and dripped onto my shoulder. I grabbed my shirt, pulling the fabric taut, and immediately saw what it was. Blood. The mercenary had pelted the cart with old, fragrant blood. Depending on the direction of the wind, every dragon inside these mountains would catch the scent and believe there was a feast waiting for them in the valley.

My horse realised the danger, too. The mare nickered and danced in place nervously in front of the cart. The mercenary spurred his horse on and galloped closer. I rolled underneath the cart with the staff clenched in my hands so he couldn't reach me. But the mercenary didn't seem to come after me. His sword sang, followed by several snapping noises. I didn't realise what the man was doing until I saw a leather strap slouch into the snow. He was cutting my horse free.

"Wait!" I called out, crawling out from underneath the cart. "You don't need to do this, Ytel is dead! If it's coin you're after, I can pay you more!"

The mercenary smirked at me as he cut the last strap and my horse dashed away, disappearing behind the trees. His horse was nervous, too. The white of its eyes were visible as it threw its head back, and the mercenary struggled to keep the animal standing in place. 

A low rumbling came from the mountains. The mercenary looked behind him at the cliffs, then turned to me and grinned. "Ah, it looks like they've smelled the blood already. Enjoy you dragon fight, lord Montbow. And my sincerest condolences to your family."

With a barking laugh, the mercenary spurred his horse on and took off towards The Last Stop. I stood, and in a surge of panic, tried to brush the blood off my clothes. It only made the problem worse, spreading the thick, brown liquid further across the fabric. Shit, I couldn't take my clothes off in this biting cold.

A loud screech resounded through the valley. Large, winged creatures appeared on the cliffs in the distance, attracted to the blood.

"Please attack the cart first," I quietly pleaded with the dragons. Then I ran for the caves in the cliff face. I couldn't remember the layout of the valley, but I hoped I was making for the same cave I'd used before. The last thing I needed was to accidentally enter some other beast's lair and literally getting bitten in the ass while I tried to use the Changeling.

The moment I found shelter in the cave, the first dragon landed in the valley beside the abandoned cart. It spread its maw, and with one single bite, ripped the entire left side of the cart to shreds. The dragon shrieked and spread its wings as two others joined it in the valley. The three dragons bit and snarled at each other, fighting over a non-existent prey.

It wouldn't be long before they'd realise there was no prey and smelled the blood smears on my clothes. If I was going to wield the Changeling, I needed to do it now.

I allowed myself one deep breath, and then pressed all my fingertips to the Changeling.

Its effect on me was instant. I felt a shadowy presence creeping up my spine. It was gentle at first, but as it slithered to my neck, screams filled my ears. An icy chill spread across my entire body from the inside out, numbing all sensation safe for a searing pain in my chest. 

It was pulling my storm-touched magic out of my body through my mark. 

As magic drained from my body, my heartbeat slowed, my breathing grew shallow, and my mind somehow became untethered from my body. If I kept my hands on this gem, it would take everything. Oleander was wrong. This wasn't a test. This thing would kill me.

I tried to yank myself free, but the Changeling had a tight grip. It wasn't only my fingers touching it anymore. It wasn't only my magic being sucked out. I was being sucked into the Changeling. My entire being was melting together with the evil artefact like many before me. Horrified, I realised those were the screams I heard. The people whose blood was used to create this thing. I was next. 

"H-help," I breathed, but there was nobody to help me. 

All I saw and heard were dragons. More and more were gathering in the valley, fighting over the pungent blood. There was also movement in the distance. I squinted, watching a small, moving figure approach. It came nearer until I could make out a rider on a horse. Oleander.

"No," I groaned. "Don't. Don't come here."

The horse noticed the danger before Oleander did. It reared, throwing Oleander off its back, and then ran the other way in a blind panic. Oleander was on the ground. I couldn't see, but I could sense his presence somehow. He was injured and bleeding, and I wasn't the only one who had noticed.

Tired of fighting over the blood and the cart which wasn't a live prey, one dragon sniffed the air and picked up Oleander's scent. Oleander seemed to realise he'd been spotted, stumbled to his feet, and started running. But there was no way he could outrun a flying dragon unless he shifted as well. I didn't know if he could shift right now. And if he could, if he could fight off another dragon in his state.

"No," I groaned again. I fought to make my limbs move, but I couldn't. They no longer seemed mine. 

With a growl, I tried to summon my thunder. I pushed back with all my might against the presence invading my mind but it was like trying to punch a stone wall. I was caught in a deadlock until I saw a dragon open its maw wide, razor-sharp teeth gleaming as it reached Oleander.

"You will do as I command!" I yelled, focusing all my magic in one final burst against the Changeling. I forced the dark presence back into the gem and beyond. The screaming in my head subsided, and a new, pulsing power I had never felt before flowed into my veins. An endless pool of magic that allowed me to see things clearer than I ever had. 

I saw the mountains and the dragons, and I saw their true form.

There was no snow in the valley. Not all the dragons were truly dragons. I struck the real ones with lightning but left the ones who had been changed into something they weren't untouched.

The world around me collapsed and in the blink of an eye rearranged itself in what it was supposed to be. The icy wind subsided abruptly, stilled like the sudden stillness in my mind. A warm breeze brushed through my hair, the sun shone, and the valley was filled with naked elves, looking around dazed and confused. 

There were at least ninety of them standing in a landscape which was now green and lush. The mountains were still there, but they were no longer snow-covered and cold. Several dragon corpses where scattered across the valley. The ones in the lake spread red clouds in the water.

The Changeling was hot. When I looked down, I realised it had dislodged from the staff as I'd wielded it. I had only the gem in my hands. The queen's staff itself was on the ground, nothing more now than a glorified stick. There were burn marks in the wood where the gem used to be confined. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the Changeling was no longer a deep, blood-red colour either. The red had somewhat faded like an old shirt. Sparks of other colours, green, blue, and yellow, whirled below the surface. My personal touch on the Changeling. 

I felt its presence through the mark on my chest like it was an extension of myself now, which made me wonder if the person who previously wielded the Changeling knew I had taken over. If they were still alive. It was unlikely, given how long ago the war ended.

I looked up at the mountains. Regardless of whether the previous owner of the Changeling noticed my intrusion, we couldn't stay here. The Serpentine mountains and the valley had changed tremendously. The last bit of snow was rapidly melting underneath the burning sun, and the people from The Last Stop could see the changes from their homes. They'd come to investigate shortly.

After a few more moments of stunned observation of how much the valley had changed, I snapped myself out of it. I crawled to the entrance of the cave. 

"Oleander?" I called out, standing up on trembling legs and stumbling into the valley.

The moment the elves standing near the cliff face turned to me, I realised it was a mistake drawing attention to himself. A few raised their fists. They yelled something in elven and took threatening steps forward. The commotion drew the attention of the other elves in the valley, and none of them looked at me kindly.

"No, wait, I'm not your enemy," I said, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference.

The elves looked ready to kill me until Oleander squeezed himself past them and blocked their path. He grabbed the ringleader by the shoulders, hissing something in elven. "This is a friend," Oleander then added in the human tongue. "He just freed you by wielding the Changeling." 

Oleander pointed at the artefact in my hands. The elves' eyes grew wide as they saw it. Most of them lowered their fists. I still received wary looks all around, but they no longer seemed ready to bash my skull in.

I sighed. "Not to mention it almost killed me to save you," I muttered. "So you're welcome." 

Despite Oleander defending me, I felt the need to hold my free hand up in a sign of goodwill as I slowly made my way to the cart. I sat on the ground beside the cart while Oleander handed out clothing to dazed elves. I was meet with more suspicion and hushed whispers in elven, but also curiosity as the elves looked at the Changeling in my hand.

The valley was relatively calm for a moment until someone yelled up ahead. "Sage Farun!" a voice rang out. "Sage!"

One man pushed his way through the crowd, wildly looking left and right. He had nearly white blond hair and when I saw his face, I immediately recognised him from the portraits on the wall. I gaped at the man.

"Is that..." I started.

"Prince Malte of the humans," Oleander informed me with a faint amusement lacing his tone. "How curious."

"Was he a dragon, too?" I asked, dumbfounded. 

Oleander hummed. "I don't know. Last we heard, he wasn't coming to the mountains. He was ordered to remain in the woods and wait. I assumed he'd ran back to his dad with his tail between his legs the moment we departed."

While we whispered, an elven man pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of elves. He had long dark brown hair and a brown skin with a faint greenish hue. 

"Malte!" he called out.

The two men ran at each other and fell into each other's arms. 

Oleander shook his head with a smirk. "And that would be Sage. Or, Farun, as we know him."

"Sage Farun," I repeated, wondering why I had never realised that was why we called him Sage Farun. "Farun is not his surname."

"No," Oleander replied. "We don't have surnames. You would only be Laurence to us."

I smiled. "I much prefer that to being lord Montbow."

"We can discuss elven customs at length later." Oleander promised with a pat on my shoulder. "...Hey, are you alright? You're very pale." 

"I'm fine," I replied. "Rattled by the Changeling. It tested me alright, but I'll live. You?"

Oleander looked down at his own body. He had more wounds that only the one on his shoulder now. Parts of his clothing was soaked in blood, but he managed a smile. "I've had worse," he said. "If we're both alright, I guess I have a large group of very confused elves to attend to now. We'll talk later and I will...thank you." Oleander bit his lip and looked me up and down. "Elaborately."

We exchanged a smile. Then Oleander grabbed two sets of clothing from the cart, walked to Sage and Malte, and handed them the shirts and pants. Not knowing what else to do with myself, I followed Oleander where he went. But I stayed near the prince as Oleander marched to the centre of the group, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention.

Oleander started speaking in elven. I assumed he explained how we all got here in the valley, because all the elves listened intently to what Oleander was saying. Occasionally, eyes traveled to the artefact in my hands and I saw the suspicion of me in the elves' eyes, but nobody tried to take the gem from me.

The only one who didn't seem to pay attention to Oleander was prince Malte. Perhaps he also didn't speak elven like me. It would make sense—the people taking the effort to learn elven were far and between. In olden days only people in an ambassador role or some merchants living close to the woods would go through the trouble. After the war ended and the elves disappeared, there was no reason left to learn. The only humans who attempted it were historians like master Dagon.

When Oleander finished his story, one of the elves, who had already dressed herself and looked older than others, stepped forward and muttered something in Oleander's ear. They separated themselves from the group, together with two other elves, to speak in private.

I didn't try to join their conversation. They elves distrusted me enough as it was, and I had a feeling they'd probably try to beat me into a pulp if I made any sudden movements. I couldn't entirely keep my eyes to myself, however. When figures you only knew from legends and paintings stood right next to you, it was extremely difficult to ignore them. I couldn't help it. My treacherous eyes kept darting to Sage and especially Malte, the prince of the humans.

The stories of the star-crossed lovers spoke of betrayal. Of prince Malte leaving his elven lover, Sage, behind and playing an important role in the humans' victory. If that story were true, I'd find it hard to believe that he and Sage would embrace the way they just had, and would be comfortable staying in each other's presence.

I kept darting glances at the prince until he suddenly caught me. Our eyes met, and a jolt went down my spine. I felt my face turning red as the prince made himself free from Sage for a moment, and stepped closer to me. In my panic, I immediately bowed deeply like I would for any member of the royal family.

"Prince Malte," I breathed.