He wasn't sure why he had bowed, so gracefully bent to touch the cold earth beneath the soft snow—to give himself time to recover? Save face, work up some courage after that sickening moment of not knowing who he stood before? Or simply as a joke, playing along with the way she'd demanded his submission?

One thing was certain, though; she should not make it a habit to tell him to bow. Mauja had an iron spine and glacial pride, a free beast with a free will. He bowed when he willed, and lashed out when the hand upon his back pushed, and forced.

But he didn't think she would demand he bowed again. It didn't seem like something Kahlua would do.

Sunlight—so precious after days and days trapped underground—struck her, gliding along her white face and dark-patched body, casting stark blue shadows, glittering along the snow's surface.. and the world held it's breath for that short moment, wondering what she would answer, waiting to hear it, until her joyous voice spelled out the truth for them all. Mauja's face froze in its expression, the shields going up behind the crystalline, sunstruck blue depths of his eyes, guarding whatever secrets nestled close to his heart.

It wasn't long that he stood frozen—maybe just a heartbeat or two, but it felt like an eternity, an eternity of thoughts chasing one another rapidly through his erratically spinning mind. Kahlua—Queen of the Edge? With someone called Kaj? The Moon had descended from the sky, to bestow the gift of a crown upon them?

Why them? It was a moment's black, spinning jealously, of disappearing swiftly down a roaring dark hole, the ground sucked out from underneath him—why them and not him? He had been chosen once, led it, prospered in her silver light, waning and waxing, held fast against the enemies until they had all allied against him.. wouldn't this have been a chance to turn back time? Set things right again?

But though his jaw was clenched with the spasms of his dying bitterness, he knew why: because he had lost faith in himself. He hadn't dreamed. Hadn't aspired. He was nothing but a roaming ghost.

"I'm glad," he responded in a mechanical fashion, before blinking. Mirage. What had she said about her? His attention had zoned out when she mentioned the Edge, but she'd said something about Mirage. He was positive of it, and frowned slightly, trying to call it back into his mind. She's gone, Irma interjected. He blinked again. Mirage—gone? If he'd been without an audience he probably would've pranced around a bit, laughing and tossing his head at the sky, the dragonwhore is gone!

He didn't, though. Because he had an audience. "She's gone," he whispered under his breath, eyes casting to the sky, where the pale shape of Irma was visible, glowing in the harsh light. He didn't know what to feel—relief, that there was one dragon less in Helovia. Anger, that he was (for now) robbed of his chance to kill her. Anger at himself, for the weakness of being glad she was gone.

She'd fled, and left the truth behind.

His eyes went to Kahlua again, still bright blue with the sunlight. He didn't know what to say.