Poisonous Crystal Scales

He is still not awake?

Scarde approached the towering gates of the castle with careful, measured steps, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the weight of the unconscious boy on his back, a constant reminder of the strange events that had unfolded in the forest. The castle, bathed in moonlight, stood as a beacon of safety and power, but tonight it seemed to carry an unnerving stillness.

As he neared the entrance, two guards, dressed in silver armor that glimmered in the soft light, stepped forward. Their expressions were stern but confused as they noticed the prince carrying an unfamiliar figure.

-Your Highness,- one of them spoke, bowing slightly. -Who is this? Shall we summon the healers?-

Scarde hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to explain what had happened. The boy on his back was a mystery even to him. -Yes,- he replied quietly. -Summon them at once. I found him near the edge of the forest, gravely injured.-

The guards exchanged quick glances but followed orders without further question. One of them disappeared inside to alert the castle staff, while the other stepped aside, allowing Scarde to pass through the gates and into the courtyard.

The air felt heavier as he walked beneath the grand archways, the familiar cobblestone path leading up to the castle’s main doors. Every step felt like an eternity, his mind filled with unanswered questions. The barrier had let them both through without hesitation, but what if... What if the boy wasn’t just an innocent victim of the forest? What if there was something far more dangerous hidden beneath that fragile exterior?

Scarde’s mind flickered back to the dream—those haunting, blue-eyed creatures, the sense of overwhelming dread that had clung to him when he first saw the boy lying in the stream. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something, some crucial piece of the puzzle.

Pushing open the heavy doors, Scarde was greeted by the warm glow of the castle’s interior. Servants rushed forward immediately, concern etched on their faces as they saw the prince’s burden.

-Prepare the healing chambers,- Scarde ordered, his voice low but steady.
-He’s been hurt badly.- The boy stirred slightly on his back, but remained unconscious.

As they hurried to do as instructed, Scarde followed them deeper into the castle, taking the quieter, more concealed halls to avoid unwanted attention. The festival was still ongoing, and though the castle was quieter than usual, the last thing he needed was a crowd gathering with rumors swirling about the boy’s identity. For now, secrecy was his ally.

Finally, they reached the small, private healing chamber at the far end of the castle. The room was lined with shelves full of herbs, ointments, and tools used by the royal healers, the air thick with the scent of lavender and medicinal oils. Scarde gently laid the boy down on the soft bed prepared for him. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows on his pale face, and for a moment, he looked peaceful, almost ethereal in his unconscious state.

The lead healer, an older woman with sharp, knowing eyes, stepped forward. -We will do all we can, Your Highness. You may leave him with us now.-

But Scarde hesitated, unable to shake the feeling that this boy was tied to something far greater than either of them understood. -I’ll stay,- he said quietly. -I need to know who he is... and what happened to him.-

The healer nodded, sensing the prince’s unease, and began her work, carefully examining the boy’s wound and checking his vitals. As Scarde watched, he couldn’t help but feel that this moment marked the beginning of something far more dangerous and mysterious than the simple rescue of an injured stranger.

And as the castle settled into the quiet of the night, the thought that lingered in Scarde’s mind was the same one that had followed him from the edge of the forest: What had really brought this boy into his life?

The days turned into weeks, and yet the boy remained in his deep, unbroken sleep. The healers came and went, doing their best to tend to him, but every report was the same: there was nothing physically wrong with him anymore, and yet he did not wake. His wound had healed quickly, almost unnaturally so, leaving behind only a faint scar as the sole reminder of his injury. The healers found nothing unusual about him, at least nothing they could detect, and they were perplexed by his condition.

Scarde, however, found himself preoccupied with the growing responsibilities of his princely duties. The festival had ended, but with it came a string of diplomatic meetings, council sessions, and royal events that demanded his attention. Though the mystery of the boy weighed on his mind, he could not spare the time to visit him often. Whenever he did, he would stand at the doorway of the small, secluded room where the boy lay, watching for any signs of change. But each time, he left disappointed, the boy’s chest rising and falling steadily, his face serene but lifeless.

There were times when Scarde wondered if the boy would ever wake up. He caught himself thinking about the strange series of events that had led him to the cursed forest that night, about the eerie calm of the meadow, and about the boy’s peculiar appearance in the moonlit stream. It was as if he had been drawn there for a reason, but no answers had revealed themselves.

The court grew curious too. Whispers began to circulate about the mysterious stranger lying in the castle, under the prince’s protection. Some said he was a creature of the forest, others claimed he was a spy, while a few believed he was simply an unfortunate victim who had gotten too close to the dark woods. None of them had answers, and Scarde was in no mood to entertain rumors. Yet, the more time passed, the more the mystery gnawed at him, lingering in the back of his mind even as he attended to his royal duties.

One late evening, after a particularly long and tiresome meeting, Scarde found himself wandering the halls of the castle alone. His feet carried him instinctively toward the healing chamber, the quiet of the castle wrapping around him like a heavy cloak. When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment before pushing it open. Inside, the boy lay just as he had for weeks, still and silent.

Scarde stepped closer, looking down at him. His pale skin and silver hair seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, as if untouched by the passing days. The prince sighed softly, leaning against the wall beside the bed. -Who are you...?- he whispered, his voice barely audible in the still room. -And why can’t I shake the feeling that you’re important?-

He stayed there for a while, lost in his thoughts, until the flickering candles signaled the late hour. Though he had little hope of receiving a reply, he felt a strange pull toward the boy, a need to understand the secrets hidden within his still, sleeping form.

But as Scarde turned to leave, just before his hand touched the door, he thought he heard a faint noise behind him. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. Slowly, he turned back to the boy. The room was silent again, but something felt different. The air was thicker, charged with an unfamiliar energy. Scarde’s eyes darted to the boy’s face, and for the first time in weeks, he noticed the slightest flutter of the boy’s eyelids. As the moonlight shone through the mosaic window onto the boy's face, his pale skin glowed beautifully. His eyelashes trembled, as if a gentle breeze had caressed them. Suddenly, the wind chime hanging by the window chimed softly, releasing a sweet, delicate ringing sound.

His heart leaped in his chest.

Was the boy finally waking up?