The wind tore around them as Ella soared higher, her wings cutting through the icy air with effortless power. Below, the mountains sank into shadow; above, the sky darkened as the storm approached. The group huddled close on the dragon’s back, Coin gripping a spike on Ella’s spine like a child on a roller coaster. Ellas children flew behind them.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Oliver muttered.

  “You’d better not,” Valeria snapped. “We’re still above the cliffs.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Nyxara called out over the roar of wind.

  “To an old friend,” Ella replied, her voice tense. “Someone who may understand more about what’s happening. He... owes me.”

  They flew on in silence after that. Only the occasional crack of distant thunder and the deep, slow beat of Ella’s wings filled the space between them.

  It wasn’t long before the mountains changed.

  From jagged black rock, the peaks began to smooth, covered in soft layers of frost that glittered with an unnatural sheen. The air itself grew sweet – not just cold, but fragrant, like sugar and old magic.

  Coin gasped. “It smells like... dessert.”

  And then they saw it.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  A plateau, hidden between curving mountain ridges, gleamed like a forgotten dream. Crystalline trees stood in frozen bloom, their bark pale gold, their leaves translucent. In the center, nestled in a ring of glowing ice, lay a massive form – coiled, regal, and unmistakably strange.

  The Vanilla Ice Dragon.

  His body was a swirling mixture of pale cream, soft peach, and delicate violet. Frost clung to his antler-like horns, and his breath came in gentle puffs that smelled like spun sugar. He opened one eye – the color of crystallized honey – and blinked slowly.

  “Ella,” he rumbled. “You bring guests.”

  “I bring trouble,” she corrected as she landed.

  The dragon uncoiled, rising to his full, majestic height. “I guessed as much. The air is full of broken patterns.”

  “Patterns?” Nyxara slid from Ella’s back and stepped forward. The sword of Half-Truth still clung to her hand, though it now felt heavier.

  The Vanilla Ice Dragon turned his gaze on her – slow, calm, but ancient. “You carry a blade that has not sung in centuries.”

  Oliver frowned. “Sung?”

  “Figuratively,” the dragon said. “Although... I suppose it did once sing, long ago. In the voice of its maker. But now it only hums in silence. Half of what is, half of what might be.”

  Nyxara stepped closer. “What do you know about it?”

  The dragon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lowered his head to Coin, who was now petting one of Ella’s babies again. “Hello again, little spirit,” he said warmly.

  “Hi!” Coin beamed. “You’re even bigger than Ella!”

  “Only in form,” the dragon replied.

  Ella snorted softly. “Stop showing off.”

  Then the Vanilla Ice Dragon turned serious. “There is something inside that sword. Not just truth, not just lies. A key. But it does not open doors. It opens realities. And someone is testing you... to see which one you belong in.”

  Valeria narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  Before he could answer, the air shivered. Not the wind – the very world trembled, as if reality had been pinched.

  Then: a flash.

  Something flickered behind the dragon. Not quite a creature. Not quite a shadow.

  A mirror.

  Floating in midair, smooth and black. It showed not their reflections – but versions of them. Broken, twisted, or brighter. In one image, Nyxara was laughing. In another, she was crying and injured.

  “Oh gods,” Oliver breathed.

  The Vanilla Ice Dragon growled. “They’ve found you.”

  Ella’s wings snapped open. “I told you this was happening too fast.”

  The mirror cracked.

  From its center, a hand reached out – long, thin, and almost human.

  And behind that hand, a voice whispered through the storm:

  “Phase Two: Echo Initiated.”