David led Yue down the manor's corridors, her child-like form rigid with nervous energy despite her centuries of experience. The warm crystal light light that flickered along the walls seemed to highlight the tension in her small shoulders as they approached the recovery room where Princess Sylindra waited.

"Are you certain you're ready for this?" David asked quietly, his hand resting on the door handle.

Yue's response carried decades of regret that her youthful appearance couldn't hide. "I should have been there when it happened. Whatever 'it' was." Her voice held the weight of someone who had spent years wondering if their absence had cost lives.

From David's shadow, Luna's presence stirred with subtle alertness to the emotional undercurrents flowing through the hallway. Something about this reunion carried implications that went beyond simple relationships.

David pushed open the recovery room door, allowing light to spill into the hallway as Yue stepped forward. Her enhanced elven senses immediately detected the familiar magical signature that had drawn her here, and her breath caught as she saw the bandaged figure sitting upright in bed.

"It can't be..." Yue whispered, her voice barely audible.

Princess Sylindra turned toward the doorway, her restored eyes meeting Yue's shocked gaze. The recognition that passed between them carried the weight of shared history, lost time, and unspoken tragedy.

Yue's emotional cascade was visible in her changing expressions, first disbelief as her mind struggled to reconcile the magical signature with the physical state before her, then recognition as she saw past the healing injuries to the unmistakable features of her former student, and finally devastation as the full implications hit her like a physical blow.

Her small frame began trembling as understanding crashed over her in waves.

Princess Sylindra rose from the bed with newfound strength, her arms opening in invitation. "My.... dear... teacher..." she said, her voice now healed but carrying years of longing and pain that no magic could fully repair.

Yue rushed forward, her child-like form enveloped in the princess's embrace as both women clung to each other, student and teacher, survivor and exile, hope and grief intertwined in a reunion neither had dared to imagine possible.

But the joy of recognition quickly gave way to the weight of unasked questions.

Yue pulled back from the embrace, her hands framing Sylindra's face as she searched for answers in features that bore subtle scars of hardship. "Sylindra... my precious student... what happened to you? What happened to our people?"

The weight of untold tragedy hung in the air between them like a physical presence. David positioned himself respectfully near the window, understanding that this moment belonged to them while remaining alert to the strategic implications of whatever revelations were about to unfold.

Princess Sylindra's expression shifted from joy to anguish as Yue's question sank in. She began to speak, then stopped, touching her scarred throat unconsciously as if the words themselves carried physical weight.

"I... I cannot speak of this. The words..." Her voice failed, and she looked at David with desperate eyes that sought understanding.

David's calm observation carried practical compassion. "Then don't speak. Show us."

Sylindra nodded gratefully, her fingers beginning to move in elven sign language. The gestures were hesitant at first, as if she were testing whether her body could bear the weight of communicating such memories.

Yue positioned herself to translate, her child-like form tense with dread as she prepared to voice whatever horrors her former student had witnessed.

"She says..." Yue's voice already carried strain. "'What I must tell you will shatter your understanding of our people.'"

The signing itself told a story before any translation began, fingers trembling with remembered trauma, gestures breaking midway as if weighed down by the enormity of what they attempted to convey.

Sylindra's hands began moving in fluid gestures, describing what seemed like beautiful visions, then shifting to sharp, jerky motions as the memories darkened. Her muscle memory for elven sign language remained intact, but trauma made her pause mid-gesture, repeat certain signs compulsively when overwhelmed.

"It began two years ago," Yue translated, her voice already showing signs of strain. "My brother, Aelindros, started having... dreams of power."

As Sylindra's signing continued, she sketched wings in the air with graceful movements, then jerked her hands back as if the very memory had burned her fingers.

David's strategic mind focused on actionable intelligence rather than emotional devastation. "When did these dreams change from visions to commands?"

Sylindra's response came through increasingly violent gestures, her hands cramping from the intensity of her communication, forcing her to flex her fingers before continuing.

Yue's translation carried growing horror. "The dreams became... instructions. Promises of godhood for our people, but delivered by..." She hesitated, covering her mouth as Sylindra attempted to sign a name, fingers trembling violently before she shook her head in refusal.

"She won't sign the name," Yue whispered. "Just—'the one with wings like shattered starlight.'"

Through trembling gestures, Sylindra described an entity that defied comfortable categorization: wings that bent light in ways that hurt to perceive, a voice like salvation wrapped around laughter like breaking glass, a presence so fundamentally wrong that even the World Tree's leaves withered when she passed beneath its branches.

From David's shadow came Luna's barely audible whisper: "Not again."

The Aetenus's presence became agitated, ancient memories stirring in ways that made her essence restless. David filed this reaction away for later questioning while maintaining his focus on the unfolding revelation.

Sylindra's signing became more violent as she relived the confrontation that had destroyed her family. Her hands mimicked aggressive movements, the trauma showing in desperate, almost frantic gestures that spoke of barely contained emotional devastation.

"Father demanded to know what foreign influence had corrupted his son," Yue translated, her voice beginning to crack under the weight of what she was voicing.

Sylindra's hands paused in their narrative, then slowly formed the sign for 'betrayal' with such deliberate precision that it felt like watching someone sign their own death warrant.

The physical memory played out through her gestures, hands mimicking a sword's downward arc, the splash of blood spilling, then the terrible stillness that followed.

Yue choked as she forced herself to continue. "Father's last words were..." She paused, struggling with the translation. "'The throne is not worth your soul.'"