It was cold, as if there was ice in the bone marrow.

Isis has never been afraid of the cold. As a child, even in the harsh winter when the water turned into ice, he could run around the corridor barefoot and in thin pajamas. Whenever he was at home, Scott would always grab him and relentlessly wrap him in a thick garment so thick that he could roll straight down the hallway like a ball.

He used to cry out of discomfort and tear off his clothes layer by layer, while Scott just sighed and put on him layer by layer, and sometimes he would lose patience and just stare at him with a straight face, until he sobbed and wrapped his clothes back in a mess, and threw himself into his brother's arms for forgiveness and comfort.

In retrospect, Scott never explained the "why." It's like he's never explained who Is's mother really is, why he has night vision, why the wounds on his body always heal so quickly. And the people in the castle and my brother's friends always turned a blind eye, as if everything was normal. Only Alan Carvo occasionally tells him that there are things that can never be known to strangers, because "people are afraid of people who are different from themselves".

But he never explained why Iss was different from the others.

Iss had asked "why", all sorts of whys, and if Scott had a look of embarrassment, he would never have asked a second time.

Now he wants to ask "why", he wants to know the truth hidden behind all those "different", but there is no one to answer.

He cowered in a corner of the room, curling himself up as small as he could. His fire-burned and torn clothes hung in tatters, and the dried blood turned into dark red lumps, but he had no wounds on his body.

There were no wounds, no scales, no dagger-sharp claws. Iss really hoped that everything was nothing more than a nightmare, that someone would open the closed iron door and let him go home. But the door hadn't opened since he woke up.

He didn't know where it was, but he knew there was someone outside the door all the time. The sound of footsteps came and went, and there were fierce arguments outside, and he heard every word, but could not understand the meaning. When people open the small window in the door and look in, there will be a dim light of fire falling on him. He wanted to avoid the gazes of those who seemed to be watching a terrifying and disgusting beast, but the room was too small for him to escape.

He didn't want to touch the food that came in from the window, so he let it fall to the ground. There was a sink in the corner of the room, and he didn't know where the water was coming from and where it was going, but the sound of running water sometimes made him almost insane.

Sometimes he would think in a trance that he was back in that little room in the tower of Chrysers Castle, abandoned by Scott, by the whole world, and no matter how much he shouted, no one could hear him.

He fell asleep and woke up in a groggy state, and the irrepressible agitation and anger rushed through his mind, like a thousand wild horses running madly back and forth. He vaguely remembered what he seemed to have done as he roared wildly and pounded the heavy iron door, the sound of his sharp fingertips cutting through the metal was insanely harsh. Maybe it was a dream, maybe it was real, he couldn't tell the difference.

When Ed's voice came through the window, which wasn't much bigger than the palm of his hand, he really thought he was dreaming.

"Iss, Is!" the voice in the dream cried out unrelentingly, making him inexplicably irritated.

He looked up, a small bit of fire shining on his face.

"Is!" the voice grew louder and clearer.

Isis jumped up and rushed over, the room seemed to be half-sunk underground, and the windows were too high for him to see out of the window even if he stood on tiptoe.

A hand reached in, fumbling wildly.

"Is, are you there!" Ed cried out anxiously outside.

Isis reached out and grabbed his friend's hand, tears welling up uncontrollably.

"I thought you were dead. His voice was staccato and staccato.

There was a moment of silence outside the window.

"Are you crying? Is, don't cry, I'm still alive and well......! But you're totally, completely fine! Are you hurt?"

"No...... Where is this?"

"Underneath the Collins Temple!" Ed sounded furious, "I can't believe it! those bastards are building a prison under the temple!!I fucking came here to be a paladin...... Well, I didn't really want to!Nalya was locked up in the house by them and couldn't get out, and Alan hadn't come back yet...... Is, Is, don't worry, I'll get you out!"

Isis heard footsteps, and Ed's voice became panicked.

"How did you get in!" someone shouted, "Where's the guard?!"

"You don't care!" Ed yelled back, "what right do you have to keep people here!"

"He's not human!" said the man impatiently.

Ed's hand was dragged out, and Iss was pressed against the door, shivering.

―― It's not a human being, so what is he?

"You're not human!let go of me!" Ed seemed to be caught, scolding and kicking his foot against the iron door, "You still have the face to call yourself a paladin! shameless! no unclothed orcs would bully children!......"

The shouting faded away and finally disappeared.

Iss stood quietly by the door for a few moments, then retracted into his corner and clutched his head weakly.

What the hell is he?

It was difficult to tell the time in the darkness and silence, and fear and anger tore at his reason back and forth again. Everything in his mind was lost little by little with time, leaving a huge void, and only the residual warmth in his memory was like a slender but unusually tough thread, barely maintaining his consciousness as a human being.

On several occasions Isis seemed to hear the very distant, deep voice again, in the language unusually familiar to him that he had heard in his dreams, but only to disappear when he listened attentively.

When Isis began to feel thirsty and hungry, he finally heard the long-awaited footsteps.

One was light and the other was heavy, and there was a muffled sound of a piece of wood wrapped in cloth hitting the floor.

He was standing there when the door opened, just as Alan Carvo had opened the wooden door to the tower room many years ago, and the little boy with blond hair and eyes stood there, looking up and calling him "Scott".

"Allen......" Iss whispered, but there was no longer only confusion, grievance, and helplessness in his golden eyes.

He was sober and vigilant, with pent-up anger and a natural pride in his erect pupils that changed with the beating light of the fire. It was something that Alan had never seen in the eyes of the quiet and introverted Is.

Alan took a deep breath. It wasn't that he hadn't anticipated the situation in front of him, and he thought he had prepared for everything, but now he realized that it was not enough.

Celebryan once said that they have too many secrets, and one day those secrets will collapse like an avalanche and bury them without mercy.

He would rather be facing an avalanche now, or simply an ice dragon completely controlled by anger, than being here full of bitterness, not knowing how to explain to an innocent teenager the pain he shouldn't have suffered.

"Alan Carvo, what the hell am I?" the young man asked in a young voice.

qidian.

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