Stephan's boots crunched in the sand as he moved slowly across the plateau, eyes darting to every edge of the barren expanse. Nothing but wind and dust greeted him. The faint, violet light of the Soul Desert was fading as dawn's first gold washed over the jagged stones.

"He couldn't have left," Stephan muttered, his voice low but edged with steel. His gaze swept the dunes, the cracked spires, the trails of shadow snaking from the cliffs. "He gave me until dawn. Something might have taken him."

Death stood a pace behind him, still as a statue carved from pale marble. The shifting shadow-mist clinging to her form curled tighter, like breath drawn in.

"Yes, my Lord," she said softly, without hesitation. "He was taken."

Stephan stopped, turning sharply to face her. Her shimmering eyes were lowered, but the flicker of blue-violet light inside them was sharp, focused.

"You seem… certain." His voice deepened, almost a growl. "Do you know something I don't?"

Death lifted her chin just enough for their eyes to meet. When she spoke, it was calm, quiet, yet the words felt like a blade sliding free of its sheath.

"Your friend was taken by elves."

Stephan blinked once, the words not sinking in at first. Elves. He remembered Olath scoffing about them, swearing they seldom roamed this part of the Soul Desert. That their kind avoided the wastes entirely. The mention of them now felt wrong, like a memory from another world bleeding into this one.

"Elves?" Stephan echoed, incredulous. "Olath said they seldom roamed these parts. Orcs too. No settlements, no patrols. How do you know it was elves?"

Death's expression did not change. Her pale hands folded loosely in front of her, the drifting mist curling around her wrists like chained smoke.

"I can feel their presence here," she said softly. "It lingers, thin as ash but unmistakable. They were here. Two of them."

Stephan's pulse spiked. His eyes darted to the sand at their feet, then the ridges of the plateau, searching for signs he'd missed, tracks, marks, any evidence at all. There was nothing. Only the creeping certainty in Death's voice.

Two elves. Here. Waiting. Watching.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. The wind picked up, carrying a faint, alien scent. A whisper that did not belong to the Soul Desert.

He exhaled slowly, fighting down a surge of dread. "Then we're not alone."

"No, my Lord," Death said at last, her voice a low echo of mist and moonlight. "We are indeed alone."

Stephan's brow furrowed. His grip on the sword at his hip tightened. "You mean… they took him and left?"

"Yes." Death's eyes flickered faint violet as she turned her head, scanning the horizon without moving her feet. "But I can still sense their energy. They aren't far from where we stand now. If we leave immediately…" She paused, those shimmering eyes narrowing. "…we might catch them."

Stephan felt the hairs on his arms rise. He turned slowly, searching the cracked ridges of the Soul Desert, but to his eyes there was only sand and stone. "How?" he asked quietly. "How do you sense them? I can't feel their soul energy at all. Could it be… Ki?"

Death's lips curved in the barest hint of something that wasn't a smile. "Not Ki, my Lord," she said softly. The shadow-mist clinging to her form pulsed once, like a heartbeat. "This is older.A stain left behind by what they are, not what they wield."

Stephan's eyes narrowed. "Then what?"

She lowered her voice until it was almost a whisper. "Elven resonance. It lingers on the wind like ash after fire. You would not feel it, not yet. But I was born of chaos and forged of your will. Such echoes… call to me."

A faint shiver ran down Stephan's spine. The desert around them seemed suddenly larger, emptier, the silence heavier than before. He exhaled slowly, his breath hissing between his teeth.

"All right," he said finally, squaring his shoulders. "Then show me the way."

Death inclined her head. The mist around her hands coiled tighter, a predator's readiness in every line of her body. "As you command, my Lord."

The desert wind whispered across the broken ridges, carrying with it the faint taste of ash. Stephan stood in silence, weighing Death's words. She had spoken with such certainty that doubt barely found room in his chest. Yet his heart beat faster now, Elves. If they had Olath, then time was already slipping through his fingers.

Death turned her head toward him, violet hair spilling down like liquid fire, her pale features calm but unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped back. Shadows began to ripple outward from her feet, swirling in thick coils that climbed her body like living smoke.

Stephan's eyes widened.

Her form stretched, her frame elongating, bones cracking like thunder in the silence. Scales of pale ivory erupted across her skin, glowing faintly in the moonlight. Horns extended, curling upward, her limbs twisting into something monstrous, majestic. The ground trembled beneath him as her body expanded into the massive frame of a dragon, wings unfolding with the heavy snap of a war banner caught in storm winds.

Violet light flared within her eyes as the transformation completed. Death, the servant he had forged from a soul that once tried to destroy him, now towered above him in terrifying beauty. Her wings stretched wide, each membrane etched with faint glowing veins of shadow energy. The sight stole his breath.

Then her voice rumbled, deep yet unmistakably hers, echoing within his chest.

"Mount me, my Lord. I will carry you."

Stephan staggered back a half step, staring up at her immense form. The invitation struck him harder than he expected. Ride a dragon? His stomach clenched at the thought. He had fought Asriel in her dragon form, barely survived her violet fire, and now another dragon, his dragon, was asking him to climb onto its back.

His first instinct was to refuse. "I… I don't know about this," he muttered under his breath.

Death lowered her massive head until one violet eye the size of a shield locked with his. Her breath rolled across him, hot but not burning.

"You doubt me?" she asked.

"No," Stephan said quickly, shaking his head. His throat felt dry. "I just… this is new."

A low, rumbling chuckle came from her throat, vibrating through the ground. "Then trust me, my Lord. Trust the bond you forged."

He looked at her again, at the sheer size of her wings, the power in her coiled muscles, the calm certainty in that violet gaze. His heart hammered, but he forced himself forward. If he hesitated now, if he showed fear, he would never forgive himself.

With a deep breath, Stephan climbed up the curve of her scaled foreleg, finding handholds where the ivory plates overlapped. The scales were cool and hard, like polished stone under his palms. He hauled himself higher, muscles straining, until he reached the ridge of her shoulders. There, the shadows themselves formed a saddle of swirling mist, rising up as if molded by unseen hands.

He settled into it, gripping the shadowy reins that appeared in his hands, their texture both solid and ethereal. His pulse raced.

Death's wings stretched wide, blocking out the starlight.

"Hold tight, my Lord," she said.

And then she launched.

The ground dropped away in a violent rush. Stephan's stomach lurched as the desert floor blurred beneath them. The wind slammed into him, roaring in his ears, tearing at his hair and clothes. His fingers clenched around the reins until his knuckles whitened. For a heartbeat, panic clawed at him, he had never flown, never felt the sky tear past him at such speed.

But then, slowly, the fear shifted. The sensation of weightlessness, the sheer speed, the endless sky stretching out in every direction, it was overwhelming, exhilarating. The desert spread below them like a vast, cracked sea of silver sand and black stone. The horizon burned faintly orange with the coming dawn.

Stephan drew in a shaky breath, his chest rising against the crushing wind. A smile tugged at his lips despite everything. He was riding a dragon. His dragon.

Death's voice drifted up to him, calm yet edged with something proud.

"You see, my Lord? The sky bends for us."

He let out a short laugh, the sound half-wild. "You're insane," he shouted into the wind. "But this… this is incredible!"

She angled her wings, banking smoothly to the left. The world tilted, and Stephan's stomach flipped, but he held fast. His heart raced not from fear anymore, but from the raw thrill of it. He felt like he could reach out and touch the stars.

Then Death's tone shifted, sharper.

"There."

Stephan leaned forward, following her gaze. At first, the desert was only ridges of black stone and rivers of pale sand. But then, faintly, he saw movement. Tiny figures gliding swiftly across the wasteland. Horses. Two riders, cloaked and swift, their mounts kicking up plumes of sand as they sped toward the jagged horizon.

Even at this distance, something about them was unmistakable, too graceful, too sharp in their posture. Elves.

Stephan's smile vanished. His chest tightened.

"They have him," he said, his voice low but certain.

Death's wings flared wide as she circled above, her massive shadow gliding over the desert floor.

"Do we strike now, my Lord?" she rumbled.

Stephan's eyes narrowed as the wind whipped past him, his mind burning with urgency and rage.

"We don't have a choice," he said.

And with that, the dragon angled downward, violet eyes burning as they descended toward the fleeing riders.

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