The dream itself was horrific, awful, and painful as her own heart shuddered and wept at the pain their dream visitor endured. A brother who had been left behind? A world that tried to end them all? Lovers who passed in the embrace of one another? Her heart ached at the information she quickly absorbed, processing it as the images of the dream visitor’s memory (and their reality) flickered before her gaze.

Perhaps, this was the Celestial Dragon’s will.

And this was why the Dragon had brought them all to this place, to this world.

Perhaps, the blood of the Dragon was meant to save the world.

At the option of three doors, opening wide through the formation of those pulsing, glowing runes the dream visitor had once spoken about, Fen paused, her decision paralyzed.

Three doors to choose from.

A safe option: one she knew her father would hope and wish for her to take. But it was similarly an option that did not resonate with the young Phoenix.

A second option: To save the tree from certain doom as ghostly apparitions attempted to rip it apart. She could finally put her sparring lessons to good use…

And a third option: One in which could take everything from her, as a chained wolf howled and cried into the wind. She could save him.
Or she could kill him.

Her paws briefly turned toward the third door, rising against her chest as she readied herself to feel the warping sensation of the third door.

But she stopped.

Hesitated.

And cast a cautious gaze toward Door Number 2.

What would happen if she died? She wondered. What would her father do? Her mother? Her sister? What would the Dynasty do if their phoenix lost everything, even if she wished to save the world, even if her reasoning was good?

What was success if she wouldn’t be around to enjoy it?

Fen pushed herself through door number 2 before her mind could tell her otherwise.

Immediately, she was before that glowing tree, watching as violence and death and despair erupted around her.

But where one might’ve felt fear, Fen felt a fire rage within her. Is this what her father felt when he rushed into battle?

She raced forward, jaws agape and a scream atop her lips as she surged toward one of the glowing wraiths attacking the tree; certain that if she moved fast enough, hit hard enough, she could do some powerful damage.

What were the odds that Elvie would come to another world on the cusp of devastation? On the brink of war, just as her own had been. Was it fate that brought her toward another plane of existence, one that called for saving, when she had not been able to save her own? Was it punishment?

Perhaps she would never know.

Maybe it would never have mattered in the end.

The dream visitor’s words were sobering in her ears, and she stared at the choice laid out in front of her. Door one, two, and three; each calling out to her with promises and hope that she wished to deliver. She would have to try to save one of them, did she not?

And though her heart ached at the thought of a wolf, a soul, trapped in the chains of a world that wished to tear him apart—she could not shake the feeling of pain and sorrow that engulfed her spirit at the thought of a tree—of nature—dying.

The choice, in the end, was easy.

She moved through door two with certainty, with grit, and with determination to rid the wraiths that wished to tear root from soil. Even at the cost of her own body and spirit. She could not stand by and watch a piece of nature—balanced and healing—be torn apart by the epitome of death and destruction.

Elvie wasted no time in surging forward, a snarl atop her lips as her teeth—glistening ivory in the pulsing magic that wept from this Tree of Life—as she aimed for one of the ghostly apparitions that clawed and bit at its roots.

She bulleted toward it.

A scream—a cry—on the cusp of her lips as she aimed to sink teeth into flesh (or whatever sludge these beings were created from).