After settling down in a chair positioned next to him, I proceeded to share everything I knew about magical crystals—their origins, their properties, their extreme rarity. Arvid listened intently, absorbing the information while continuing to eat slowly. When I finished my explanation, he fell into deep contemplation, clearly processing the implications.
He finally replied with a thoughtful, pensive "I see," his voice indicating he understood the gravity of what I'd told him.
"There are approximately nine known tombs of dragons scattered throughout the ancient world," I continued, sharing additional crucial knowledge that I had learned from Aiona about these burial sites. "Five of those tombs were already extensively harvested for their magical resources since the ancient age, centuries or even millennia ago. They should be completely empty by now—stripped of anything valuable long ago. The other four tombs were deliberately protected by wise kings at the time who understood their significance, and their precise locations have been kept secret. Those locations are currently unknown to the modern world."
As I spoke these words aloud to Arvid, a question suddenly occurred to me. "What about your tomb, Aiona?" I asked her internally, genuinely curious. "Where were you buried? Is your tomb one of the protected four?"
She fell into complete silence at that direct question, not answering immediately. The pause stretched uncomfortably. After quite a while, she finally answered in a quiet, subdued voice.
"I don't have a tomb," she said simply. Then she paused again before adding, "I was completely incinerated. There was absolutely nothing left of me—no body, no bones, no remains whatsoever."
It was my turn to be utterly stunned by this revelation. But how was that even possible? She had explicitly told me herself that only dragon flame produced by another living dragon could burn and destroy a dragon's nearly indestructible body. But Aiona was supposed to be the last dragon in existence. There were no others.
"How?" I asked her, completely confused and trying to work out the logical impossibility. "How could you be burned if you were the last dragon? Who could have produced dragon flame?"
She let out a heavy, weighted sigh that seemed to carry centuries of pain.
"Well, you've heard the famous legend about the legendary huntsman who supposedly killed the last dragon Furaniona, right?" she began. "That huntsman was actually Rulha himself—the dragon god—using a human vessel to walk the mortal world. Apparently the heavens themselves shook violently because of my terrible crimes and all the destruction I caused. So many innocent people died because of my actions, entire cities reduced to ash."
She paused, her mental voice thick with old shame. "And as the Dragon God, the divine protector of all dragonkind, it was Rulha's sacred responsibility to look after his kin and maintain cosmic balance. Naturally, he wasn't at all thrilled about what I had done—I had violated everything dragons were supposed to represent. So he personally hunted me down using that human vessel as his avatar, and he used his divine dragon magic to burn me completely into fine ashes, erasing my physical form from existence."
She fell silent again for a long moment before continuing in a smaller voice.
"It wasn't a quick or merciful death," she admitted, and I could hear the trauma still echoing in her words even after a thousand years. "It was absolutely harrowing, excruciatingly painful, and felt like it was everlasting—like the burning would never end. I was deeply traumatized by that experience. That's actually why I instinctively dodged that elf Arandial's fire attack back in Gorei, even though I knew intellectually that his ordinary magic fire could not actually harm me in my current form."
She let out what sounded almost like a bitter laugh. "It's funny, really. And kind of deeply ironic when you think about it. My own greatest specialty and strength was always fire magic—I was a master of flame. And now I'm genuinely scared of fire itself, terrified of it on an instinctive level because of how I died."
"I'm so sorry that happened to you," I said to her with deep sincerity and genuine sympathy. "It must have hurt tremendously, both physically and emotionally."
Aiona fell silent once again, retreating into her memories.
"Yes, it did hurt," she finally replied quietly. "It was the most painful thing imaginable. I wouldn't wish that death on anyone."
---
"So we're dealing with four ancient dragon tombs whose locations we have absolutely no idea about?" Arvid said aloud, bringing my attention back to the present conversation. He sighed heavily with obvious frustration. "That doesn't make finding them or protecting them from whoever is harvesting crystals any easier at all. It's like searching for needles in a continent-sized haystack."
"Maybe there's something useful about those lost tomb locations in the Royal Archives of the Draga library," I suggested thoughtfully. "Especially in the heavily restricted section that most people never get to access. Even though that restricted part of the archives is absolutely vast—so enormous that even though I personally spent years reading in those archives, there's still so much material I never got around to reading—it's possible there are records or old maps hidden there."
I looked at him earnestly. "I could teleport back there and search for relevant clues and information. It would be quick."
Arvid immediately shook his head with vehement rejection, his expression hardening. "Absolutely not. No way are you teleporting back to that deadly place where practically everyone is actively out to kill you. No way am I allowing that!"
He rejected my proposed idea quite firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
I gently placed my hand on top of his in a gesture meant to be both reassuring and persuasive.
"Don't you trust me and my abilities, Arvid?" I asked him directly. "I am strong and very capable. I can absolutely take care of myself against any threat. I can return here completely safe. And if you don't want me to linger there and put myself at risk, I can simply grab the relevant materials quickly and teleport immediately back here with them. That way I could search through the documents safely from here in Arpa. Please, I genuinely want to help you solve this problem."
He stared at me for a long moment, clearly torn between his protective instincts and his recognition that I was right about being capable.
"Alright," he finally said after letting out a long, defeated sigh. "But only to grab materials quickly and come straight back. Don't linger there at all. And don't start prying into how your former people are doing now or get emotionally involved again. You are far too soft on them for your own good, too forgiving. Meanwhile, those same people are completely ready and willing to kill you just because they irrationally think you might someday turn into a monster, based on nothing but superstition and fear."
"I promise I'll be quick and careful," I replied to him with a sincere, reassuring smile.
When Arvid had finally finished eating his meal—consuming considerably more than I think he'd initially intended, which pleased me—I stood up and helped him wash his hands by carefully pouring clean water from a ceramic jar over them into a basin. Then I poured some fragrant tea for him into a cup. He took an appreciative sip as I sat back down beside him.
"Oh, that reminds me—there's something important I need to tell you," he said suddenly, setting down his tea. "We learned some crucial information about that mysterious elf after extensively questioning both the musical troupe and the dance troupe that the assassin was part of."
He shifted in his seat to face me more directly. "They came through the Sarga Kingdom, which is technically under my rule. Sarga is a vassal state—they pay Selon taxes and tribute each year, and we have mutual defense agreements. There have been marriage alliances between our royal families too, creating blood ties. The previous royal princess of Sarga married my grandfather the emperor when he reigned, creating a political alliance. Her son was my fourth uncle, Imperial Prince Yarun—you actually met him at the wedding. He's not an ambitious man at all, perfectly content with where he is in life."
Arvid continued, "The current king of Sarga is actually Prince Yarun's maternal uncle—his mother's younger brother. So we have pretty good familial relations with them, stronger than just political alliance. And since Sarga is strategically located on the border of the Selon Empire, serving as our gateway to the western lands beyond, we maintain a permanent garrison of ten thousand soldiers stationed by that border for mutual protection."
He took another sip of tea before continuing. "The performance troupes came from territory beyond that western border. While they were traversing the harsh, barren lands of the west on their journey here, they made camp one night. And during that camp, they encountered a particular elf woman who seemed to appear out of absolutely nowhere."
Arvid paused to gather his thoughts. "They said she simply materialized by their campfire and politely asked to join their group for warmth and safety. They agreed and let her stay. The troupe members described her as having pale skin that was notably lighter even than yours, with striking green hair and unusual brown eyes—an uncommon combination. When they asked where she was traveling to, she answered somewhat mysteriously that she was heading north. She wore clothing in the style of the western kingdoms, so initially they assumed she must be from the west originally. But when pressed, she claimed she actually came from the ancient northern forests."
"She traveled alongside them for three full days," he continued, "until they finally reached the official border crossing to enter Sarga Kingdom proper. During that time, she particularly made close friends with our assassin—the Dergu woman who attacked us. They spent hours talking privately together, though no one else paid much attention to what they discussed specifically."
Arvid's expression darkened. "But here's the strange part: just as they reached the guard post at the western border, just as they were about to cross into Sarga territory where there would be witnesses and official records, the elf woman simply vanished. She disappeared like she had never existed in the first place, leaving no trace. One moment she was there, the next she was gone."
He took another sip of his tea, then stood up. "Based on the detailed descriptions from multiple witnesses in the troupe, we had a skilled court artist create a portrait of her."
Arvid walked over to one of the wooden cupboards positioned by his side. He opened it and carefully removed a rolled scroll from inside. Then he deliberately undid the scroll, unfurling it fully, and turned it toward me so I could see the image clearly.
There, rendered in remarkable detail, was a portrait of a hauntingly pretty woman. She possessed the distinctively pointed ears that marked her as elven. Her green hair had been carefully braided in an elaborate style. Brown eyes stared directly out from the parchment with an intense, knowing gaze. She looked utterly serene and otherworldly even in her painted two-dimensional form, possessing an ethereal quality that was almost unsettling. And most notably, she had a mysterious, all-knowing smile playing across her face—the expression of someone who knew secrets and found them amusing.
I stared at the portrait, feeling a chill run down my spine despite the warm evening air coming through the windows.