Even as blasts of dark magic whizz by them, a sense of calm falls over Iridesia. For the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, they feel completely weightless. It was as if something celestial had been unlocked, as if they could finally see the world in colour. All those ordinary parts of life that seemed so daunting before, things like walking past the mirror, meeting someone new, and hearing their name out loud, suddenly weren’t so scary anymore.     

The sinister spells hurtling towards them, and even Drakara herself, feel less intimidating by the second. Iridesia ducks through the first volley of dark magic before they bat aside another blast with their rainbow multi-tool. Through the tempestuous ripples of clashing magics, Iridesia can see the fear in their former tormenter’s eyes. It’s a familiar fear, one Iridesia had seen in their own reflection in the past as Baelia many times. Fear of life, fear of the world around them, fear of themselves. Perhaps Drakara was right. They did have something in common.

“How long did it take you?” Iridesia calls out as they swat away another spell with their staff. The first few swings they had taken with it were ungraceful and reactionary, but now, the staff seems lighter.

“What was that? You’ll have to speak up, dear!” Drakara cackles back.

“How many years did you spend trying to find your new name?” Iridesia’s question is earnest. Genuine. The dark magic erupting from Drakara suddenly wanes.

“How many years?” Drakara tilted her head, her gaze quizzical.

“Did you even try? Or did you lose yourself wallowing and brooding, like I did?” Iridesia continues, locking eyes with their former captor.

“You don’t find a name, fool, you are given one. It simply took me some time to find someone worthy of granting me a new name. She and I may have started off on the wrong foot, but over time, I proved my value and earned the name Jennumara, as well as my place by her side.”

Iridesia, still in a defensive pose, slowly lowers their staff.

“Was that place where you wanted to be, or where you felt you had to be to survive?” 

“Just who do you think you are?” Drakara snarls back.

“Iridesia. I’m certain of that now.” Iridesia plants their staff firmly on the ground, surprising themself with their newfound confidence. “But who are you?”
“Wha- Who?” Drakara’s eyes go wide, faltering in a way Iridesia had never seen before.
“Am I speaking with Jennumara, or Drakara? Do you even know?”  

For a moment, Drakara, or perhaps Jennumara, is silent.

“Well, I…” She trails off, seemingly unsure of the difference herself. Iridesia carries on, taking advantage of her hesitation.

“You called yourself Jennumara when you took my wings, yet you’re going by Drakara now. Why is that? Why don’t you go by the name gifted to you? The one that transformed you?” Iridesia does their best to keep their voice calm and level as they speak, as if trying to soothe a frightened Uni. “Even with your new name, you still can't move forward, can you? No matter what changes, you still see Drakara in the mirror.” Their voice carries across the air, reaching a set of grey ears stranded far away atop Vocivus. The chains confining him clank together as Ozzy shifts his attention to Iridesia’s voice. “That must be why you still have feathers.”  

“You don’t understand anything!” Drakara spits back, her eyes burning with anger. 

“I understand more than most. I spent years wallowing, certain I would never find a new name. Then I met people who wanted to help me find it. Find me. We were set on the same road, but didn’t go down the same path. You never took the time to find out who you are for yourself. You let someone else decide for you.”

“Enough! I know who I am, the greatest artificer Faerieland has ever seen. And you will all bear witness to the height of my talents today!” 

From the confines of her cloak, Drakara withdraws a small Hissi statue. While it is primarily of stone, a familiar purple gem is affixed to the sculpture, and it begins to gleam brightly. The glow illuminates the malice in Drakara’s eyes as she calls forth a massive serpentine shade before them. The beast spirals out from the statue, expelling noxious fumes from its nostrils with a rasping sound.

A familiar shadow, one that once loomed over Bogshot swamp, circles above Iridesia. Without warning, the shade tucks in its tattered wings and dives down. Before they have a chance to react, Iridesia finds themself shielding their eyes as a beam of blinding light pierces the beast. 

“We’ve got this, Iridesia!” 

A sense of warmth comes over Iridesia at the sound of that voice. They’d recognise it anywhere. It’s Luxinia! She’s fluttering around the angrily blinking shade, and she’s not alone. Juni lets out a scathing triple “yip” before latching onto the tip of the creature's tail with the nastiest chomp his little jaws can muster.

“Don’t stop!” Luxinia yells over her shoulder. She launches an orb of light magic that bursts in a shower of sparkles upon the shade’s snout. 

 “Thanks, Lux!” Iridesia turns their attention back to Drakara, whispering to themself. “I won’t let you down. Any of you.” 

“It seems you have your puppets, too! Our similarities never seem to cease. Very well, then. This shall be a contest of our talents.” Drakara grinds her teeth as her eyes fixate on the shifting staff in Iridesia’s hands. The fallen Faerieland Artificer readies her lance in one hand and Vira’s dagger in the other, inviting contest. 

But Iridesia doesn’t want to fight. They never have. 

“You keep boasting about your talents, but all I’ve seen you do is torment and destroy. You could craft wonders for others, for yourself,” Iridesia pleads. They need to try, just one more time. For the faerie they could have become without someone like Tavi in their life.

“My weapons are wonders! They are works of art for me and my allies to wield alone. Testimonies to our might! To our right to rule!” Drakara snaps back. Her face twists into a ferocious scowl, but her eyes betray her, darting to Fyora. 

“Is that really why you started crafting?” Iridesia watches carefully. They note every grimace, eyebrow twitch, and finger fidget the other faerie makes. 

“What are you prattling on about?” Drakara’s eyes snap back up.

“Are you sure it wasn’t to impress someone else? Maybe another faerie you looked up to…?” 

Drakara's jaw clenches so tightly she can't even open it to stammer out a retort. Iridesia has clearly touched a nerve.

“Why I started crafting?” Drakara’s glower softens briefly as her gaze looks past Iridesia, past everything around her, far back into a time no one but her can see.  “That is of little consequence, now. My scars have festered for decades. I’ve hungered for revenge for so long, gone too far down this road, made choices I cannot take back. How this all started makes no difference.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Iridesia starts softly and slowly, building up momentum as they speak. “I think how you got here makes a world of difference. What went wrong? Why did Fyora feel as though she had to take away your magic?” Despite Iridesia’s best attempts to ease Drakara slowly into the heavy topic, the latter dives in headfirst. Years of pent-up rage pour out of her as she launches into a diatribe.

“She was too naive! I was the only one truly looking out for her, the only one being realistic. I knew she would change Neopia for the better after we took the throne together, but she had too much misplaced faith. In her pursuit of peace, she kowtowed to those spineless sycophants pleading that I cease weapon development, citing potential dangers. Seems she forgot the only reason she sat upon that throne was thanks to my enchanted armaments!” 

Iridesia lets her seethe for a few moments. After a brief pause, silent save for Drakara’s laboured breaths, Iridesia speaks.

“So, did you stop?”

“I did.” Drakara starts strong, but quickly loses steam. “Out of respect for the queen, I paused my operations. Well, for a time…”

“For a time?” Iridesia asks.
“Then I did what had to be done.” Drakara’s ranting ramps right back up to top speed and ferocity, full steam ahead. “I knew taking the throne was only the beginning - that Fyora would need to drive back enemies of Faerieland, face challenges to the throne, and protect all of Neopia. New threats were appearing every day, some that would soon rival her power if left unchecked!”

“So, you didn’t stop?”

“I tried! I tried to stop, but my nightmares were relentless,” Drakara blurts out. She paces frantically as she speaks, skulking back and forth like a Kougra in a cage. “Every night, my worst fears would rattle around inside my skull. The land I loved torn asunder, the faeries I cared for, lost forever… all because I stopped following my true calling.” Drakara takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly before continuing. “So when a new, untapped power fell into my lap, I couldn’t stop myself. No matter the dangers it posed, the volatile nature it exhibited, or even the fact that Fyora had decreed it too unsafe to practice and forbade all use… I had to experiment on the Void. To find a way to harness it for Faerieland. To guarantee that Faerieland would remain sovereign, unmatched and unreachable, towering high above the rest.” 

She turns away before she continues, now speaking in hushed tones. “I never intended to use the weapons I created with it. I planned to lock them away, a dark secret I would take with me to the grave—if we were fortunate enough to never need them. I wasn’t so hopeful, no, I was certain the day would come when playing that trump card would be the only way to guarantee our survival—”

“So… you didn’t-” 

“I could never stop!” Drakara whirls around as she cuts Iridesia off, hands shaking as she fumes. “Haven’t you been listening? I was born to craft weapons! It was all I knew, all I was. You might as well ask a Shoryu to stop flying.” 

“Crafting weapons during a time of peace was truly all you could do? Surely there were other things you could have crafted — other needs that you could have fulfilled—”

“Craft something different? Nonsense!” Drakara sneers back. “I craft divine weapons, masterpieces of magic, to bestow supreme power upon those I deem fit to rule.” She looms over Iridesia now, roaring. “That is why I craft. Why I exist. That is my supreme purpose!” 

Iridesia looks her dead in the eyes and calmly exhales before they begin to speak.

“I used to craft for myself. For the joy it brought me. Then, I saw the joy it brought others around me, and that pushed me further. Being recognised by a master like Delina was an honour I never could have expected.” Drakara’s eyes narrow at the mention of Delina, but Iridesia tries to push through before Drakara gathers herself. “Her insights and teachings elevated my craft in a way I could never have accomplished alone. And whether or not you were a grey or a dark faerie, I still would have appreciated your guidance, too.” 

A softness creeps into Drakara’s eyes, transforming them into deep, bottomless pits of despair. Iridesia can’t let up now. 

“I am sorry you lost your name, your friends, your place in Faerieland. It was wrong to take that all away from you, no matter what you did. But none of that gives you the right to take that away from others, from me.” Iridesia slowly steps closer to Drakara, lowering their staff as they speak. “It’s not too late. You can still find your own name, your own path–”

Drakara blinks. The despair is gone from her eyes now. All that remains is hate and fear. “It’s far too late. For me, for her… and for you!” Drakara blasts at Iridesia without warning, knocking them down to one knee. Iridesia quickly reforms their rainbow multi-tool into a shield once more, just in time to block another blast of dark magic. 

Drakara withdraws the Acrimonious Brush from her cloak to add a torrent of Grey Paint into the mix. “Too much is riding on this for me to be swayed with honeyed words. I cannot afford to fail here today, and I shall not be stopped by the likes of you weak-willed fools!”