Arctic collapsed onto his ice shelf.
At least he hadn't used his magic.
But the memory of that NightWing and the knife and the blood. Oh, the blood. Diamond and both looked eager and thirsty when they saw it, almost like they were going to drink that red NightWing blood. But when Arctic saw what he'd done, his stomach churned like he'd swallowed a live eel.
Was his soul already gone? How could he have murdered on purpose?
But it was justified. And anyway, how many IceWings had Foeslayer killed in war?
But no prisoners of war. No.
If not justified, his actions were necessary. He was getting Whiteout back. That was his duty as a father. He had to protect her at all costs. Any good parent anywhere would kill to save their children, surely.
But would they kill an innocent dragon, rather than the perpetrator who had stolen their child?
But there was more treachery – or more rescuing? – to do tonight. Arctic had returned to his room to hastily organize his information about the inner workings of the NightWing Kingdom and its leaders. That information would be Foeslayer's ransom. Queen Diamond was the only one who knew Foeslayer's location, so if she died in tomorrow's contest for the throne, all would be lost. Arctic had to act now.
But, exhausted by the night's events and his own inner turmoil, he collapsed into sleep.
His sleeping brain was almost immediately flooded with nightmares. Whiteout, locked in the dungeon. She turned into Foeslayer, who was then magically hauled away behind Queen Diamond. Diamond flung Foeslayer into the air, and Foeslayer shrank, small enough to fit into a light orb. Diamond took the light orb and blew frostbreath onto it so it floated up, up, up, into the stars.
Suddenly, Arctic felt a tapping behind him, and he turned. There was Darkstalker, wearing a twisted silver crown and holding a blue jewel. Queen Vigilance lay, eyes wide and staring blankly in death, in a pool of crimson NightWing blood under Darkstalker's feet.
"Hello, Father," Darkstalker said, an evil smile spreading across his face. "Bow to your king."
Arctic stared, open-mouthed, while Darkstalker bared his teeth for several long moments.
"Oh!" Arctic finally said. "I'm dreaming."
"Yes, Father," replied Darkstalker. "But I am real, and I am really King of the NightWings."
Arctic laughed, his voice cold and crackling in the dream.
"No, dragons don't have kings. I must have fallen asleep. I have to go save your mother."
Darkstalker looked angry, but Arctic didn't care. He shook himself out of sleep. Feeling strangely relieved after his nightmare ended in such a silly way, he arose from his ice shelf and got back to his work. He was going to get Foeslayer back.