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Chapter Text

The shackled prisoner straightened up, alert to the unusual sounds piercing the usual silence of her confinement. It was an odd time for such a disturbance; the guards' shift changes at dawn and dusk were the only punctuations to the monotonous quietude of her days and nights. 

Midday was a time of stillness, yet here was a ruckus that hinted at something out of the ordinary. A surge of anticipation coursed through her. After enduring the relentless solitude, any deviation from the norm was a welcome ripple in the stagnant pool of her seclusion.

And just like that, with a sudden clamor, the doors to her quarters swung wide. It had to have been ages since anyone but her guards had crossed that threshold. Yet, the sight that greeted her was one she wished were just a haunting vision.

There, in the flesh and crimson scales that shimmered with a dreaded authority, stood the dragon she knew all too well. A pang of anguish lanced through her. This creature was once her brother, now donned in the mantle of a King, as the guards would murmur—King Buzzard. Vexation flickered in her eyes, sharp and scrutinizing, as she observed him.

Yet, the intensity of her stare did not seem to perturb her brother in the slightest. His own eyes, glacial and unyielding pools of gold, held hers as he treaded lightly into her confines, surveying the surroundings with a mock appreciation. A scoff escaped her, muffled by the muzzle that bounded her snout. 

'You've arrived,' she declared first, though not through tongue. That was made impossible by her muzzle. Instead, she was forced to communicate through the animus blessed properties the muzzle had been possessed with thanks to Buzzard: telepathy.

After all, he was born with animus magic, same as she was. Yet, throughout her whole life, she had never witnessed him use his magic for anything. He'd always been very vocal, almost boastful, about his self-imposed exile from the use of animus magic. 

She expected his resolve was rooted in the legends of their tribe that warned of the magic's corrupting influence. The tales of old painted a chilling picture of transformation where the souls of those who used the magic carelessly were contorted into something dark and unrecognizable, soon stripping them of their capacity to feel any empathy and giving them an insatiable lust for power and destruction. 

Buzzard seemed determined not the fall in their ill-fated footsteps, opting for a more mundane existence that would possibly shield him from tragedy. 

He embraced his role as the Skywing's only Goldsmith, leading a quiet, peaceful existence in his forge nestled beneath the mountains that cradled their kingdom. Often times, he would pour himself in his work, not coming out for days. But, when he did end up emerging, it was with stunning jewelry and impressive weapons to present to Queen Carmine and the tribe's council. 

And now, he'd meticulously forged her restraints and infused them with powerful, specific enchantments well in advance to the day of her descent. It was evident he had long harbored skepticism towards her, given he had went against his own preachings and entire lifestyle to make her chains. How thought of him. 

But, in an act of somewhat twisted courtesy, he had fashioned her fetters from nothing less than the purest of gold, and magic of course.

She couldn't identify the exact spells that were woven into her shackles, but a few things were clear: her animus powers were quelled, she gained telepathy so that she may speak with dragons nearby without actually being able to open her maw, and she was immune to death by starvation or dehydration. However, Buzzard had conveniently ommitted any spell to numb the agonizing pangs of hunger and parching thirst. 

'Have you come to gloat, or seek forgiveness Buzzard?'  

Her brother crept closer, the light from the torches that hung high in the prison illuminating his features. Golden adornments, still punctuated his visage and talons—a badge of honor he wore with pride. Yet, despite the precious metal's luster, it couldn't mask the deep furrows of his scowl, his expression twisted in what was unmistakable anger.

"Neither," he answered, his voice echoing off the stark walls, hollow and haunting. "I'm searching for some shred of truth before you stand trial. So please, explain to me, how did you bring yourself to end our mother's life?"

She raised her chin defiantly, the golden irisies of her eyes reminiscent of molten sunfire, flamed with a tempered ferocity as they collided with his unwavering stare. 

'It is as I've always told. I never harmed our mother'

 The icy detachment that once filled Buzzard's eyes began to dissolve, giving way to a simmering concoction of annoynace and ire. His glare, now a piercing beam directed at her, was laden with silent threats and unspoken promises of retribution. Her words, though spoken with intent, seemed to ring hollow in his ears. 

He advanced with deliberate, threatening strides, the sound of his bejeweled yet battered and burned talons clacking against the cold stone floor. 

"My own eyes bore witness, fool. There is no slithering out of this," Buzzard snapped, his temper momentarily getting the better of him. But, he managed to muster restraint, pausing and inhaling deeply before proceeding. 

"I've sent the guards away. So let's just be straight with each other here, shall we? I mean, we all know mother meant to pass the throne to you, no blood required," Buzzard slowly began, but towards the end, his voice began to waver as he tensed— a physical confession of the anxiety that was gnawing at him.

He then began to pace back and forth in front of her, a predator in the cage of his own making before her. His gaze darting feverishly around her cell as if he was hoping the answers he sought would be etched on the walls. 

"So why did it come to this, Amaryllis? I mean, I don't wish it to be, but was it the fabled dark urge brought upon by the animus magic you so carelessly used? Did it tempt you to seek the thrill of watching the mother who adored you die by the very claws she nurtured?" Buzzard crossly questioned her, shaking his head back and forth as he went on, growling lowly. 

Amaryllis dropped her gaze to the floor, studying  her gray and grimy, yet, once delicate white claws as she laid coiled in tense silence, thinking of how she could even begin to break through the mountain of mistrust. But, after a pause, she finally broke the stillness that had began to settle between them. 

'I know you've never had faith in me, brother. But, you must trust me. Just this once. Mother meant more to me than just some throne.  She was my everything, as she was yours,' she willed her voice soft, compassionate, as she strived to let her words reach him. And as he turned, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, she pressed on, digging into his wavering resolve. 

'You're aware how illogical it all is. I loved mother. You know I would never hurt her!' Her voice thundered in the clouds of his mind, causing him the wince and shake his head. 

"I know no such thing!" He retorted, his voice shaking the confines of her prison, prompting her to retreat into the safety of the shadow to avoid harm. 

But, then, his demeanor began to soften. His crimson scaled wings began to droop wearily onto the cool stone as he slouched before her, a picture of defeat. 

"I see it is a waste. But, I worry not. Come tomorrow, the trial shall begin. And with the 'generous' gift you bestowed upon our tribe, the truth shall be laid bare for all to see," Buzzard declared sharply before rising back fully onto his talons, beginning to turn his back on her as he always had.  

The sight of it ignited a fire within her, compelling her to surge forward, straining against the chains of gold and animus that anchored her to the cell's wall and floor. She was desperate to reach him. If she wanted to strike or simply halt his departure, it was unclear to even her at the moment. She was, however, sure of one thing: she wasn't about to let him walk away without putting up a fight.

'You mustn't leave me here! Take me up there now: let me show my innocence on this day! My claws are clean, and I deserve to be freed!' 

But, he did not seemed bothered by her outburst. He only sharply glared at her as he opened his massive wings to their full length, pretending to stretch. But she knew better. He obviously meant to torture her with the freedom that her own wings were denied. He was teasing her. 

"Not going to happen. You're going to stay down here and, maybe, the cold of the night will finally bring you the courage to speak truth," Buzzard slickly spat, turning his gaze to the door as he began to depart through it. But, he paused just at the edge of her confinement. She could see, only just barely, that his face was now etched with frustration. 

"Just as a friendly heads up, there will be guests attending the trial from beyond our tribe. Not my idea, of course. You know how I feel about having other tribes in our kingdom," Buzzard growled as he began to reach towards a lever just beyond the cell's interior, giving it a slight tug, causing the bulky metal door to gradually inch shut. 

"They'll serve a purpose, though. Once they see the havoc you've envoked on our family, they'll take the news back to their lands. It won't be long before every dragon is talking, and then, at last, every fool will finally understand what I've known all along: animus dragons like you need to be controlled and, if necessary, eliminated for the greater good." 

 The venom in his words almost caught Amaryllis off guard. Almost. 

Afterall, she wasn't exactly a stranger to getting the cold shoulder from him. His contempt for her casual wielding of animus magic, her rightful claim to the throne he likely coveted, and her mixed heritage were all too clear.

Her father was a mere medic among the Rainwings while Buzzard's late father, Petril, had come from a noble linage of royal guards. And yet, it was she who was fated to ascend the throne, not Buzzard. 

The customs of Pyrrhia hierarchy had always favored the females, granting them first and foremost claim to the crown—a custom that was  shared by all the tribes of the continent. 

So, was that what all this was about? Was he really going to parade her as a cautionary tale to the entire continent because of things entirely out of her control? She never asked for any of it—to be born female, to weild the burden of animus magic, or to be a half-blooded welp. 

Though, Amaryllis wouldn't let herself succumb to the weight of her shame. Instead, she ceased her strain against her chains, drawing herself back and straightening herself so she would stand tall and strong, a vision of defiance as the door was almost entirely shut.

'Let them all come and witness,' she hissed fiercely, penetrating the stubborn fortress that was her brother's mind, caring not how her words would undoubtably anger him more. 

'I'll make them all see the truth. And once all has been set right, it'll be YOU wearing the chains,' she vowed, her menacing promise rattling both of their very ecessenses. 

Buzzard swiftly turned and casted her a sharp, side eyed glare towards her, his eyes narrow and festering with annoyance. Yet, in the midst of their intense exchange of heated glares, a subtle detail caught her attention—the edge of his mouth was curled. Was he smiling? 

Before Amaryllis could even think to decipher it, the doors had finally came shut, and they did so with an ominous, echoing thud. 

Once more, she found herself forsaken, left to decay in solitude. Now, utterly isolated, her aching body gave way to the icy embrace of the hard stone beneath her. 

A battle raged within as she fought back the overwhelming desire to succumb to tears. But, she managed to fortify herself, determined to remain unbroken. 

After all, she was innocent: she hadn't slain Queen Carmine! The whole thing was a twisted scheme, a cunning ruse crafted to paint her as the villian. And yet, amidst her resolve, there lingered a sliver of doubt, a subtle but persistent unease that nawed at her gut.

But, she swiftly dismissed her doubts, banishing them with a determined shake of her head. After all, Amaryllis had held her mother Carmine in the highest esteem, but her affections were not rooted merely by blood. 

Her mother had reigned over the Skywings with unwavering integrity and was loyal to their prosperity. Her heart was untainted by the greed for gold or the lust for power that seemed to consume all the other monarchs of the continent. 

Carmine had masterfully woven peace into the fabric of all of their lives by steering clear of the futile power struggles that the other Queens were constantly consumed by—relentless conflicts over land, treasure, and plain age-old grudges. 

She had always seen to it that her dragons would only take up arms and brave the dangers of combat when it was absolutely essential. 

And what's more, Carmine's generosity flowed freely to those in need, be them Skywing or not. She held a firm belief that all dragons were on equal footing, and she embodied this principle by ensuring her realm provided all dragons within it with ample food, clean water, safe shelter, and unbiased medical aid.

Her edict was clear: the Kingdom of Sky was to be a sanctuary, and no desperate dragon would ever face rejection at her borders. 

 Amaryllis had aspired to one day succeed her mother, to perpetuate the tranquil livelihood of the Skywings and honor her legacy. 

She had studied her ways, supported her mother at every turn, and truly believed in her cause. Yet, fate had other plans for her it seemed. The dream she had nurtured and held dear was in ruin, lifeless as her mother now was. Yet, it was crucial to note that the deed had not been done by Amaryllis's talons. 

Though, what troubled her most about it all was the realization that her memories of that night were fragmented. Yet, within the shards of her memory, she recalled arriving at her mother's chambers as darkness enshrouded the sky. She had showed herself inside, which was part of the norm. She always visited her mother unannounced, night or day: it wasn't out of the ordiany. 

And there she had discovered Queen Carmine standing by the balcony, her eyes imbued with joy as she observed the nocturnal hustle and bustle of her subjects below. And, bathed in the soft silver glow of the three moons that shined above, her mother's scales took on a life of their own, each one alight with the luster of a star-kissed sky, transforming her into a vision of otherworldly beauty. 

Amaryllis wrestled with the mystery of her visit, still not comprehending the late hour's whispering call that had drawn her to her mother's side. Yet, there was some clarity in what they had discussed. There had been plans for a celebration to honor Buzzard's upcoming hatching anniversary. 

With a playful glint in her eye, Amaryllis had proposed a whimsical gift—they could find a female companion to coax him from the sooty confines of his blacksmith den. And, with some luck, she envisioned this muse would instill some grace into his gruff demeanor and perhaps teach him to see his existence as less of a relentless torment. 

Her mother's laughter, rich and warm, a resonant and heartfelt symphony, had cascaded through the chamber—a tune Amaryllis would always treasure. 

So, what was it? There truly was no animus between them that night. There was no chill of fear nor heat of rage. Yet, Amaryllis was tormented by nightmarish visions—vicious white claws cutting through the darkness, venom flying through the air, her mother's desperate pleas for her mercy. But, how could it be? It was unfathomable. How was it that she was found, a figure of despair, clutching her mother's dead, disfigured body as Buzzard and the guards, alerted by the screams, forced their way into the sanctum? And worst yet, why was she drenched in her mother's blood? 

Amaryllis fiercely slammed her claws against the stone beneath her, indifferent to the seering pain that surged through her arm. The very thought she could be capable of such violence was ludicrous! She would never commit such an act! 

Yet, a shroud of uncertainty lingered in her thoughts. Was it possible that her dabbling in animus magic had actually tainted her soul and drove her to madness as foretold?

Amaryllis rejected the notion outright with a defiant shake of her head, causing her shackles to clink in discordant chorus. That was nonsense. Surely she would have sensed such a malevolent darkness lurking within her own soul? 

Adored by her mother, treasured by her people, Amaryllis was graced with every luxury and privilege her heart could want, and she found solace in her destined role as the future Queen. Unlike the power-hungry heirs of neighboring tribes, she harbored no fierce desire for the crown. She trusted in the natural passage of time, wishing for the transition of power from her mother to her would be a peaceful and bloodless affair. 

In the meantime she reveled in the joy of using her innate magical gifts, not for personal benefit, but to bring to fruition the dreams and aspirations of her subjects, and her mother. 

Imagine a woven basket, enchanted with the power to conjure any delicacy you crave at a mere thought—Amaryllis made it a reality. Envision a scroll with the uncanny ability to reveal the truth behind a dragon's deceitful words—she brought it into existence. Picture a blanket made of sheep wool, as soft as the morning dew, with the miraculous property to heal even the deepest of wounds—she gifted it with a wave of her hand. 

Her talons outstretched, her heart devoid of greed, she lavished her tribe with these miraculous gifts. Despite understanding that each spell she conjured might fray the delicate threads of her soul, she continued to give, and give, and give. 

Fury smoldered in her chest, hotter than any fire she could summon. With one accusation, their graditude, wonder, adoration—it had all turned to ash. She was sure they reveled in her downfall, their silence speaking volumes of their fickle loyalty. 

Amaryllis let out a profound exhale as she tried to ease into the most comfortable position her chains would afford her, her eyelids falling shut. She wouldn't let bitterness steal yet another night's rest from her. She had to keep her wits keen for the trail. 

But then, just as she was on the cusp of sleep, a murmur breached her conscious—elusive and muffled, filtering through the oppressive walls of stone that entombed her. 

Amaryllis's eyes flickered open, darting anxiously around the cell. Maybe it was trival, merely the echo of the guards conversing in the halls. 

But before long, the hushed tones returned, weaving through the stillness of her chamber once more. The words themselves were lost, a soft, indiscernible symphony. Yet, one thing was clear to her. 

The whispers that caressed her ears carried a novelty in their tone—tinged with the exotic inflections of an accent foreign to her. Was it possible that Buzzard had housed these new, intriguing visitors within such an intimate distance from her own chamber?

An ember of hope ignited within her. This, at last, could be the turning of the tides, the moment she had been waiting for.

Amaryllis stood there, her breath caught in the suspense of the moment, her mind racing with possibilities. 

Each thought was a spark, igniting strategies on how to turn the current circumstances to her favor. And as she pondered and schemed, a steadfast resolve anchored her thoughts.

Her brother, King Buzzard, along with all his cadre of loyalist who had once pledged their support to her only to retreat when she needed them most, would not be spared from justice. Each dragon who had chosen to turn a blind eye to her plight would come to feel the full consequence—there would be no shelter from the storm she would bring upon them, a tempest of rightful vengence for the loyalty they had forsakened. 

- - - 

Dear Readers, 

Thank you for taking the first steps into this new world with me. Your journey through the prologue is just the beginning. I hope it has sparked your curiosity and that you're as excited as I am to discover what lies ahead for Boundless Skies. Happy reading, see you very soon!

And, if you’d like, you can scroll to view some art done of Amaryllis herself! Sorry if the image is quite large, I tried my best to make it a little less so but, to no avail,, 

Warmly, Breezy 🩵

Chapter Text

The dying light of the day painted the desolate SandWing city in shades of burning amber, a sight that never ceased to stir something within Solitude. As he navigated the crowded streets of his home, the city of sand, his presence parted the throng like a boulder diverting a stream.

His broad shoulders brushed against the scales of several dragons, their eyes wide with a mix of recognition and fear. No one dared to utter a word of protest; to challenge Solitude was to court disaster. Especially on a day like this with the weight of the grim news still weighing heavily on his mind.

The death of a comrade was no small matter— the ripples of its impact were being felt throughout the ranks. Solitude knew that the answers he sought about the circumstances surrounding his ally’s demise would only be found with one dragon—Mirage. Mirage, however, was not just any regular old Sandwing; she was Solitude's mother, and she was a figure of power and authority who oversaw the Sunscorch Conclave—a formidable band
of Sandwings that had established domanice over the city of Sunspire for the last 10 years.

As Solitude mulled over the nearing conference with his revered mother, the entrance of the Conclave's den came into view, the silhouettes of the Sandwing guards materializing in the soft glow of the waning sun. Clad in the shimmering armor reflective of their guardianship-status within the Conclave, they stood like stone sentinels, unmoving and vigilant. Yet, their keen blackened gazes followed Solitude's every movement with unwavering attention. And as he drew nearer, the guards gradually inclined their heads in a show of silent recognition.

With an air of confidence, Solitude strided past the guards, slowly parting the velvet silk curtains that served as a gateway to the Conclave's domain.

And upon crossing that thershold, he found himself in a realm where the atmosphere starkly contrasted with the relentless, blistering heat of the desert beyond—it was pleasantly cool and inviting. It served him as a refreshing sanctuary that enveloped him in its soothing embrace.

And as Solitude stepped into the room, his gaze was immediately drawn to the opulent tapestries adorning the walls. Each tapestry was a masterpiece of their own right, depicting scenes from distant lands with remarkable percision and vivid detail. The dragons' expertise in crafting these paintings had always been readily appreant to him with their mastery of art shining brightly through the critical attention to detail that graced each landscape they portrayed in their canvases.

The portait of the Night Kingdom, however, never failed to captivate Solitude's gaze. Although he hailed from the kingdom of Sand, he harbored a deep curiosity for the Night Kingdom, as it held a part of his heritage through his Nightwing father. So it wasn't surprising he felt a sense of belonging when he immersed himself in the intricate work of the Night Kingdom that adorned the walls, feeling as through the ethereal presence the art gave off possessed a magnetic pull, effortlessly drawing him deeper into its shadowy embrace.

The painting of the Night Kingdom excluded a mesmerizing charm with their vivid depictions of dense dark forests of towering emerald pines, castles of ancient and weathered stone reaching towards the three moons that hung in the starlit skies as if seeking to reach the heavens. And amongst the shadows casted by the moonlight danced a plethora of shadowed dragons, each of their forms enigmatic. Their eyes were painted to glimmer like distant stars, reflecting the mystery of the world’s cosmos and hinting at untold depths of knowledge and wisdom that the Nightwings were all too known for.

The scene depicted in the Night Kingdom's portraits stood in stark contrast to the desolate place that Solitude called home. The kingdom of the SandWings was a harsh and unforgiving land where the vast expanse of barren sands offered little but hardship and pain. In this unforgiving landscape, there was no room for the nuance of mystery or the grace of wisdom to exist among the shifting dunes.

Instead, the sands bore witness to a relentless cycle of conflict and competition among the Sandwings, often over trival gold pieces or, at times, nothing at all. It had always been a Kingdom where strength and brutality held sway, and the glint of gold outshined the value of a life.

Yet, Solitude tried not to dwell on his kingdom's horribleness. After all, the tapestries were merely the beginning of the den's grandeur. The room was a veritable treasure chest, brimming with the riches reaped from countless victories and forced tribute they had extracted from the citizens of Sunspire. Coins of gold and gemstones lay strewn about with a casual disregard, their natural luster enhanced by the soft, erraticm glow of torches that lined the walls.

However, Solitude was all too aware of the danger that lurked behind the allure of these treasures—everything in this den belonged to Mirage, and the consequences for so much as touching them were severe. A recent incident had served as a stark reminder of the conquences; a young recruit had attempted a discreet theft by slipping a single gold piece into his satchel, only to be caught red-handed by Mirage herself.

She had swiftly commanded one of her enforcers to restrain the young Sandwing, and as they held him down, they severed one of his talon's off as punishment for his transgression, and after that, he was exiled from their city, threatened with worse to come if he dared return.

In the wake of that event, Solitude's approach to his mother's opulent displays of wealth transformed profoundly. He learned to appreciate the lavish display of riches before him while maintaining strict control over the impulse to lay his talons upon them.

And, at last, his gaze finally came to rest upon the heart of the den, beholding his mother and the formidable leader of their Conclave, Mirage, who was seated regally upon her blistering throne of iron and gold. Her pale flaxen scales gleamed with a pristine brilliance, illuminated by the flickering torchlight that danced around her.

Resplendent like a mirror reflecting the sprawling desert that cradled their city in its embrace, her presence excluding an undeniable aura of power and authority that brooked no room for uncertainty.

It also seemed to him she had been anticipating his arrival for an eternity, positioned regally upon her throne, leisurely sipping from a bejeweled chalice filled with crimson wine—a picture of serene elegance that masked the sharp alertness he knew lay just beneath the surface. And as her gaze fixed upon him, a subtle shift occurred; her once unwavering stare now took on a more narrow and irritated quality, hinting at the annoyance beginning to brew underneath her composed exterior.

Without squandering another moment, Solitude advanced towards her grand throne, his head dipped in a deep, respectful bow that momentarily obscured the lines of their familial bond, substituting it with the formality of rank and obedience. With his eyes solemnly closed, readying himself to convey his thoughts and intentions with the utmost respect and sincerity.

"Mother," he uttered, his voice subdued and gentle, suffused with reverence as he boldly took it upon himself to utter the first word between them.

"Welcome, Solitude. As you may have already heard, a traitor has emerged from the shadow of Sunspire, daring to spill the blood of one our own," she pronounced with a snarl that oozed with venom, as potent and malicious as the strike of a Death Viper.

Solitude kept his head inclined, showing her absolute submission while his imagination effortlessly conjuring the fearsome sight of his mother at this moment: he envisioned her jet black eyes were ablaze with the familiar fiery wrath that instilled terror into the hearts of every dragon in Sunspire, including his own.

Her petite yet magestic beige wings were also likely unfurled to their greatest length in an attempt to appear grand and imposing—a common momentary display of her dominance and power. And, undoubtably, a fierce scowl was etched across her visage.

And as her words sank in, Solitude finally grasped the gravity of the situation. It was true: there was a murderer loose in their streets.

He felt his jaw clench in a subconscious effort to maintain composure. Her reaction to the news, the visible ripple of distress that it sent through her, struck a chord deep within him. It was as if a dormant beast stirred, the assassin in his blood beginning to rouse from its slumber, awakened by the tension in the air.

"Identify this dragon to me," he demanded with a low, rumbling growl, lifting his head to finally lock eyes with her, a display of unwavering attention. He assured his tone carried a commanding presence, devoid of weakness. After all, any sign of vulnerability was perceived as a chink in one's armor in Mirage's city.

Mirage's growing irritation was evident as her barbed tail twitched sharply, its venemous tip clicking against the side of her throne while a plume of smoke began to curl ominously from her flared nostrils, adding to the air of tension and unease around them.

"The imbecile's name is Nymph; a common Rainwing. They're hiding at the Dune's Delight Inn like a scropion under a rock. You will find him there, indulging in the illusion of safety," she spoke with clear distain while her gaze settled intently on her talons, as if admiring them offered her a distraction from the simmering rage within. It was tactic rooted in vanity, a way to uphold the facade of composure by acting like her only worry was if she had chipped a talon.

Solitude's heart quickened at her words. He had been trained in the art of stealth and combat from a young age, but his experience was limited to SandWings within the confines of their kingdom. The thought of assassinating a dragon from a different tribe, especially one from the most dangerous species of dragon on Pyrrhia, stirred a nervous apprehension within him. They rarely received visitors from other tribes, and the prospect of taking a life outside of their own kind was a daunting challenge.

But, with the familiar pressing weight of duty upon his shoulders, Solitude quietly inclined his head once again, accepting and understanding her expectations. This assignment mirrored countless others he had performed in service to his mother in the past. The only thing different this time was that instead of a barbed tail and fire to worry about, this dragon could spit venom and camoflouge. But, he vowed to find a way to make it simple, swift, and clean, just the way she liked it.

"Your will shall be executed by the first light of dawn, Mirage," he pledged, his loyalty unwavering and resilient, much like a steadfast dune braving the relentless fury of a sandstorm.

In the moment of his solemn vow, Solitude caught a rare softening of Mirage's typically rigid expression from the corner of his eye—a gentle smile that momentarily graced her features.

"Marvelous. Upon your return, join us in the banquet hall.  There, we shall celebrate a righteous deed done by my one and only son,  side by side," she declared, her voice imbued with warmth as she uttered the last words, skillfully tugging at his emotions—a familiar dance of affection when she desired a favor.

Solitude acknowledged her apparent adoration with a brisk nod, offering no words in return. He then pivoted and set off with purpose in his stride, his determination palpable with each step he took.

His path was clear, his mission set forth by his mother's command. He would vanquish the adversary that dared murder his comrade, and by this act, he would once again win a taste of his mother's love.

Thus, he ventured into the welcoming shadows of twilight, deftly avoiding the gaze of the sentinels that still stood guard. His eyes rose to the heavens above where the sky was cloaked in a profound, somber crimson; a color that forboardingly hinted at the gravity of the night that was to unfold.

- - -

As Solitude approached the Dune's Delight Inn, the sun was now dipping low upon the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over city. The inn stood like a sanctuary in the middle of a weathered and battered city, its walls
crafted from sun-bleached wood and adorned with colorful banners that fluttered in the desert breeze, seemed to beckon wearily-travelled souls that prowled the city's streets.

A few lanterns hung outside, their soft orange glow a promise of light and warmth in the encroaching darkness of the desert night.

The sound of converse and muffled music drifted out from within, a harmonious contrast to the desolate silence that had came to rest upon Sunspire.

Solitude paused in front of the imposing wooden door of the Inn, his talons hovering on the rough surface before he exerted a gentle push. With a soft creak, the door swung inward, revealing a vibrant tableau overflowing with vitality and warmth. Laughter cascaded through the night air, interweaving with the sweet melodious hum of chatter and the light clinks of tankards.

As his eyes adjusted to the flickering light within, Solitude took a moment to survey the scene before him. The heart of the inn was bustling with activity— Sandwings of all shapes and sizes engaged in vocal conversation, their laughter mingling with the crackling of the fire. The air was rich with the familiar and alluring scents of exotic spices, sizzling meats, and the unmistakeable fragrance of the inn's famous ale: Sunfire brew. Each note took its part to create an intoxicating aroma that never ceased to tantalized even his senses.

Wooden tables and chairs were spread throughout the room, each hosting groups of Sandwings who were deeply immersed in animated discussions or partaking in the inn's popular games, seemingly oblivious to his arrival.

And, nestled in the center of the bustling room, a grand hearth radiated warmth and light, its flames flickering with a mesmerizing golden hue, casteing shadows that danced across the worn walls.

The bard, a young Sandwing dragonet, was positioned beside the hearth, skillfully strumming his lute. It filled the air with a lively and enchanting melody that breezed comfortably through the inn, rich with enchantment and cheer, layering an extra dose of merriment onto the already vibrant and inviting atmosphere of the inn.

And as he took in the scene before him, Solitude was surprised to find a sharp pang of envy stabbing at his heart as he took witnessed the camaraderie and warmth. Here, Sandwings from all walks of life gathered, connected by a mutual yearning for companionship and unity, their hearts light and spirits high.

Solitude knew he was merely an outsider peering in. Despite the apparent joy and merriment that filled the room, he harbored the certainty that his reputation as an assassin would forever bar him from truly being welcomed at any of their tables.

Solitude made a conscious effort not to dwell on his isolation. His mind, resolute and focused, was occupied by the weight of his purpose in this inn. He reminded himself that he was not here for fun or acceptance; he was on a mission that demanded his undivided attention and skill.

Solitude began to ease his way through the crowd, his presence as inconspicuous as a whisper in a storm, his movements fluid and silent like a delicate stream. His eyes, as sharp as the point of a spear, scanned the crowd.

Admist the swirling sea of faces, his searching gaze eventually settled onto the lone figure perched elegantly at the bar—Nymph the Rainwing. But what caught him off guard was the striking youthfulness of the dragon before him, appearing to have just surpassed his dragonet years. This unexpected sight stirred a sense of unease deep within Solitude, causing a chilling ripple of appheresion to shoot down his spine.

Fortunately, he found himself with ample time to collect and contain his emotions. Nymph was completely absorbed in the languid enjoyment of his solitary drink, lost in his own world. He stuck out of the backdrop of the crowded tavern like a vibrant ruby admist a swirling sandstorm, a splash of color in a world of dominated by muted shades and hues. This made singling him out an effortless task, unlike the usual difficulty posed by his Sandwing targets who would seamlessly blended into their surroundings due to their likeness to the desert's drabness.

Thus, with the solemn vow echoing through his mind, Solitude advanced towards Nymph. His lethal tail was tightly coiled and taunt with tension, exuding a silent symphony of impending doom and menace that lingered in the charged atmopshere like a foreboding melody awaiting its crescendo.

But as Solitude drew nearer, Nymph raised his eyes from his drink, meeting Solitude's gaze with unexpected warmth. A disarming smile immediately gracing his features, softening the insenity of the moment. And despite the haze of intoxication within them, Nymph's vibrant eyes of ruby hue shimmered with a gentle allure, extending a subtle invitation through their tranquil depths.

"Hello my perculiar friend. Care to join me?" he offered, gesturing to the vacant stool beside him. "It seems like we could both use a good drink."

The offer hung in the air, as delicate and rare as a desert bloom. He was momentarily caught off guard by the Nymph's gesture, disrupting the usual certainty of a swift and precise strike. This unexpected offer sparked a flicker of curiosity within him as he began to truly assess the new the siduation with a mix of caution, and intrigue.

And eventually, the allure of the offer proved too potent for Solitude to resist. With a deliberate and calculated grace, he seated himself beside the Rainwing, mirroring the fluidity of a shadow enveloping the night.

The sound of glasses meeting in a quiet toast echoed in the private space, punctuating the air with a subtle yet significant note of unity. In a city where death and danger lurked around every corner and alligences were as fragile as spun glass, this shared gesture of sipping from their glasses together represented an unlikely truce admist the predator and the prey.

"You seem... troubled," Nymph observed, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "What burdens weigh upon your shoulders, friend? Perhaps a listening ear will lighten the load."

Solitude's made sure his response was measured, each word chosen carefully as to not reveal too much. "I have a significant task tonight." The words hung in the air, a confession veiled within a seemingly straightforward statement, only just hinting at the responsility that weighed on his soul.

Even though he didn't privy all the details, Nymph nodded, understanding coloring his tone. "I too am on a mission," he shared, his voice tinged with determination. "I must journey back to the rainforest with the antidote for SandWing venom. It's a crucial step in compelteing my healer's trial."

As he spoke, his dreams spilled forth, painting a future bright with promise and purpose. He wanted to be a healer, to serve his tribe, to make a difference and preserve lives. The notion of persuing such a noble and commendable path made Solitude's scales prickle with unease.

He then found himself unable to suppress the surge of sorrow that washed over him, feeling as well a delicate pang of sympathy for the dreams that might remain unfulfilled. The once clear mission now seemed to teeter on the edge of uncertainty, obscured by the mist of unexpected kinship and the trust that came with the sharing of their respective burdens.

"Why choose Sunspire of all places for such a task? This city is hardly known for its hospitality towards outsiders, especially those from different tribes, " Solitude murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, touched with melancholy. Nymph, attunded to the seriousness behind his words, responded with a hefty sigh, his talons tapping against his glass as he contemplated the best way to explain himself.

"My mentor had tried to warn me, but he tends to be overly cautious about everything. So, I ignored his warnings," Nymph confessed, a touch of regret coloring his words. "Yet, it turns out he was right. I've only been here for two days, and I've already brushed with death," he recounted solemnly, his eyes betraying a glimpse of anguish.

Solitude's curiosity was piqued, evident in the way he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Nymph. "Oh? Please, enlighten me. What happened?"

Nymph quickly began to shake his head, his talons, once steady, now clutching the fragile glass with a newfound fervor. It served as a poignant indicator of the inner turmoil he grappled with, a visual cue to his efforts to summon the bravery required to lay bare his tale of tragedy.

"All I wanted to do was ask a merchant in the square some questions about the cactus blossom juice used for the venom cure. But out of nowhere two SandWings appeared demanding that I pay 'tribute' to some gang. I tried to explain I had no coins to spare, so they attempted to take my satchel as collateral. I stood my ground and held onto it, and then they began attacking me," Nymph recalled, his voice quivering as he struggled to communicate the depths of his anguish. It was evident the encounter had left behind a web of cracks in the once sturdy fortress that had been his sense of security.

"They started trying to stab me with their barbs. I was terrified—I had no choice but to fight back. And in the midst of the chaos, I managed to strike one of them in the face with my venom. That slowed them down and gave me the opportunity to escape to the closest place that would harbor me—this Inn."

Solitude studied Nymph's demeanor intently as he recounted the tragedy. The loyalist part of him yearned to dismiss Nymph's story as desperate fabraication: a feeble attempt to evade responsibility for the unjust murder his comrades from the Conclave had ascribed to him. However, a feeble voice within him whispered justice and empathy, urging him to entertain the notion that Nymph might actually be speaking the truth.

The death of Ox, the dragon in question, proved to be a far more complex siduation than Solitude had originally perceived. Afterall, when he really thought about it, Ox did have a reputation for engaging in intimidation and extortion on the behalf of the Sunscorch Conclave. But, Solitude had been led to believe by his fellow Conclave members Ox had been a victim of an unprovoked attack.

As a creeping realization began to dawn on him, an ancient suspicion gradually emerged, causing his blood to run cold in his veins. He had suspected it before but, it was clearly evident now that his comrades, particularly Mirage, had conspired to deceived him tonight as they likely had done before.

They orchestrated a clever little scenario in which he unwittingly became a pawn in their game of chess—manipulating him into unknowingly eliminating a dragon who had merely been acting in self-defense. This Rainwing, who they had painted as a treacherous and murderous intruder, was merely a survivor of a shakedown gone wrong.

A maelstrom of emotions churned with Solitude, a potent blend of anger and betrayal that threatened to consume him. The veil of deceit and manpuilation that had clouded his judgement seemed to fully lift itself, revealing to him the web of falsehood of which he had been ensnared.

He'd always been the epitome of a loyal son, faithfully carrying out his mother's command without wording a hint of doubt or hesitation. From a young age, he was molded and shaped to be an efficient tool of the Conclave, his obedience unquestionable and his loyalty absolute. He'd killed more dragons than he could even count on all his talons, and now he dared to ask himself: for what? They all could've very well been innocents like Nymph, but he'd never given any of them a chance. He’d slaughtered them all.

A profound sense of sickness washed over Solitude while grief and guilt worked side by side, cutting into his heart with their merciless claws. The once seemingly unshakeable convictions that had guided him all his life were falling apart like fragile sandcastles crumbling into the tide.

And as Solitude delved into the depths of all he knew, he experienced a subtle yet profound shift, akin to delicate flower unfurling its petals under the nurturing light of the sun. Nymph's actions were merely a bid for self preservation and a courageous stand against the oppression and tyranny of the Conclave. In his defiance, he saw a reflection of his own secret yearing for justice and liberation—a desire he had buried deep within the recesses of his heart long ago.

"I actually heard about that incident, but from a different perspective," Solitude murmured, his voice laced with frustration, catching Nymph off guard. He stared at Solitude, his eyes round and alight with curiosity.

"The group you encountered is known as the Sunscorch Conclave. They've really got it out for you for taking the life of one of their own. They've tasked me with eliminating dragons for deeds far less severe than yours," Solitude revealed, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with Nymph, eager to see what impact his words would have on the young Rainwing.

"You're with those thugs?" Nymph questioned, his lithe body, finely tuned to react to danger, instinctively began to edge back in his seat. The vibrant colors of his scales had started shifting rapidly, each hue blending into the next before settling on a bright banana yellow. It was a clear indication of the fearsome realization dawning on him regarding Solitude's true loyalties and allegiances.

Witnessing Nymph's fear and vulnerability, the storm of emotions within Solitude had new accomplices—the pang of empathy, and the sting of conflict. Despite the obligations imposed on him by his mother and the Conclave, causing harm to Nymph was a burden that he refused to bare.

"Yes, I come from the Sunscorch Conclave. My mother is their leader, and I her dutiful child. But not tonight," growled Solitude, his words breaking through the silence between them like a crack of thunder ripping through a storm-laden sky, the cumbrous weight of his decision that would upend everything he had ever known ever so present on his mind.

"I cannot will myself to comply to her demands. But do not mistake this for safety. If I do not claim your head tonight, she will have some other dragon do so by noon on the morrow," Solitude informed him, his violet eyes darting around the bar, ensuring their conversation remained between them before daring to continue forth.

Forutunately, the rest of the dragons in the Inn were still blissfully engrossed in their relvery, oblivious to the covert exchange happening within their midst. Even the bartender, wise in the ways of the Conclave, maintained a good distance away from where Solitude and Nymph sat, positioned at the far end of the bar where the raucous laughter and music drowned out any chance of eavesdropping on their discussion.

"I shall escort you to the edge of the city, and from there, it shall be up to you to make your way back home."

Nymph's expression morphed from one of shock, fear, and caution to a steely resolve as he placed his glass down at the bar with delicate care. The lucious red hues began to return to his scales, a stark contrast to yellow that had begun to dominate his appearance, his gaze locked with Solitude's. And within that intense gaze, alight with purpose and commitment, the lingering effects of the drunken haze completely dissipated.

He firmly nodded his head as he uttered three simple yet powerful words, his voice steady and resolute, cutting through any lingering shadow of doubt between them.

"Lead the way."

- - -

As the darkness of night fully evenloped the city, the three moons illuminated the city below with their ethereal glow, Solitude and Nymph stood at the outskirts of the urban sprawl. The late hour brought with it a profound silence that shrouded the streets in stillness. The only sound to disrupt the peace was the gentle rustle of tapestries from differing markets dancing in the wind, adding a whisper of movement to the otherwise motionless scene.

Solitude gestured towards the expansive sky beyond the city walls, promoting Nymph to turn his attention east-ward.

"From here, continue east without faltering, and you should reach the rainforest before the sun fully ascends to the sky," Solitude instructed, his voice firm with strength and assurance.

Nymph acknowledged Solitude's guidance with a slight nod, his eyes of red hue gleaming a blend of gratitude and anticipation. Yet, despite his efforts to appear joyous and composed, a subtle shadow of doubt crept onto Nymph's face, betraying the inner turmoil that troubled him.

"And what about you?" Nymph inquired, his voice carrying genuine concern, his eyes holding a glint of persuasion that silently plead for companionship.

"You'd be safe from all this in the rainforest," Nymph reassured him, his voice soft and compelling, coaxing Solitude to consider his offer. "No tribe dares to go beyond our borders. You'd be ensuring your safety too if you choose to come with me."

Solitude stood rigid as he contemplated the enticing invitation. He tried to search for the right words, the right action to take. He despised the Conclave, but strangely, the idea of severing ties with them sent a shiver down his spine. Was he truly prepared to abandon the organization that been his refuge all his life? Would he truly be welcomed elsewhere, or would he be condemned to a life of perpetual isolation and rejection?

"I—," he began, his voice trailing off as he still struggled to formulate a response that could be adequate.

And, upon consideration, the notion of embarking on a journey to the rainforest was overwhelmingly daunting prospect. Known far and wide as a perilous domain, the rainforest held a fearsome reputation, often deemed as a deadly labyrinth by those familiar with its dangers.

The Rainwings, a formidable and protective tribe, stood vigilant guard over every inch of that forest, their watchful eyes everywhere. Those who dared trespass would be facing the possibility of having their very faces melted down to the bone by their venom if they were caught prying into the forbidden territory. And, even if one somehow managed to evade the Rainwings, the rainforest itself posed a formidable threat. It was rumored to be teeming with malevolent creatures and lethal flora, all lying in wait to ensnare unsuspecting interlopers.

However, a nagging doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind, challenging the widely accepted narrative of the rainforest's dangers. Nymph, a clear native inhabitant of the rainforest, had extended unexpected and undeserved kindness to Solitude the first time they met eyes by offering him that drink— a gesture that seemed incongruent with the harsh reputation of his homeland. And as sugar on the cream, Solitude was a clearly a hybrid dragon. No tribe harbored any love or care for his kind. So, could it be that the tales of the rainforest's dangers were exaggerated, or even entirely fabricated? Perhaps there existed a deeper layer to the story, one his mother and her Conclave companions had conveintely ommited from their accounts.

But before Solitude could collect his scattered thoughts and form a comprehensive response, a sudden disruption ensued—the sharp and unmistakeable sound of wingbeats pierced through the air, startling him and drawing his gaze upwards towards the source of the commotion.

There, emerging from the shadows of the sky above, appeared two formidable figures silhouetted against the fragile light of the clouded moons. With an air of power and authority, the two dragons descended with a fluid grace that belied their massive size. They executing a flawless landing, their colossal forms striking the sand with a resounding thud that reverberated Solitude's very being.

A sense of despair washed over Solitude as his eyes locked onto the newcomers. They were no regular Sandwings; they were esteemed members of the Conclave. The first of the duo he recognized instantly—Boulderback, a massive and imposing figure who's mere precsense emitted a sense of unquestionable power and authority.

And beside Boulderback stood Snivel, a smaller dragon in comparison but no less intimidating. Despite his diminutive size, Snivel possessed a sharp intellect and a cunning nature that made him a force to be reckoned with. Unlike Boulderback's forward approach to combat, Snivel's tactics were subtle and calculated, his every move guided by a keen trategy. Beneath that seemingly unassuming exterior lay a dangerous and ruthless individual, one who could strike with deadly precision when least expected.

And as Solitude studied the fierceness of Snivel's scowl and the intensity that danced within his deep black eyes, he felt a frisson of fear run down his spine. Snivel was none other than Ox's little brother, the very dragon who's life was cut short by Nymph in his act of self-defense. The bond between the brothers had been strong, and the abrupt loss of Ox had undoubtably left Snivel profoundly wounded, and furious.

"What treachery is this?" Snivel's thunderous voice echoed throughout the alleyway, bounding off the cold worn walls of the buildings surrounding them. "Solitude, do you dare consort with the wretch that took my brother's life?" Each syllable dripped with raw emotion, his voice a rugged symphony of sorrow and betrayal, resonating with his fractured heart.

As a protective measure, Solitude swiftly positioned himself in front of Nymph, extending his wings of dark, dusky hue to create a sort of sheild-like barrier between the two of them and the potential threat of the two Conclavers. And as he peered back to observe Nymph, he noticed the young Rainwing was cowering, his scales flashing between yellow and a pale, pinkish red. It was evident that Nymph was firmly ensnared by terror, his psyche likely haunted by the memory of his narrow escape from death at the Conclave's talons before.

The sight of Nymph in such a shattered and defenseless state unleashed a terbulent whirlwind of emotions within Solitude. A forever and unyielding anger coursed through him, kindled by a burning resentment towards the injustice perpetrated by the Conclave against a dragon of such innocence. Solitude resolved to no longer suppressing his anger.

"The true treachery lies within you all and my mother. I refuse to keep acting oblivious. This is merely another one of your manipulative schemes: making me think that this Rainwing carelessly murdered Ox in cold blood, when in truth, he was a reckless bully who got what he deserved!"

His words clearly only fanned the flames of fury within Snivel, seeing that his slender, barbed tail had begun to quiver and thrash against the coarse, sandy stone beneath his talons. And, simultaneously, the muscles in his jaw clenched with a vice-like grip, accentuating the stark lines of tension that etched themselves across his countenance. He clearly harbored the desire for retribution, to unleash his wrath upon Solitude, to tear his eyes from their sockets—a brutal fantasy brought by the raw intensity of his anger.

However, despite the desire for blood, Snivel exhibited a exceptional level of self-control and restraint, holding his ground and resisting the urge to act on his violent impulses. He likely understood the futility of engaging head on—it would lead to his inevitable defeat. So, he remained composed, choosing to await an opportune moment for a precise strike.

Boulderback, on the other talon, appeared unfazed by the daunting arua eminating from Solitude, even though recognizing him as a well-trained assassin. As the eldest among them by a significant margin, his seniority was evident not only by his demeanor but also by his scales. They may have once been aglow with vibrant shades of gold in his prime, but they now bore the weight of time and experience, their brilliance now draped in dull, muted and somber shades of gray.

Yet, it was not just the transformation of his scales that illustrated his journey. Adorning his mighty form were a multitude of scars that ran across his entire physquie, each of them a chapter in the saga of battles and conflicts he had weathered, painting him as a indomitable and unyielding character. And on top of it all, he easily loomed over each of them without rival, his massive and muscular frame emphasizing his imposing prescence.

And with a comptemptous sneer, he boldly
advanced towards Solitude and Nymph with purpose and dedication in his stride. Wisps of smoke curled from his battered snout, his narrow oily black eyes gleaming with irritation. And with each deliberate and powerful step, he stirred up significantly massive clouds of sand.

Solitude, observing his approach with a mixture of trepidation and admiration, felt a stone of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't fear that captivated him, but a profound respect. Through their shared history of serving the Conclave, he had always held Boulderback in high regard, recognizing his unwavering commitment to honor and loyalty in his actions. Solitude never imagined finding himself at odds with him, but their paths were now converging to a confrontation that he feared would be unpreventable.

"Don't act recklessly, dragonet," Boulderback cautioned, his voice carrying the weight of his authority seamlessly. "You are well aware of the consequences of defying Mirage's commands. However, if you kill him now, we can return with his head as proof of compliance, and this entire incident can be erased. Everything can be as it was."

As Boulderback made his proposition, his gaze shifted past Solitude's wings towards Nymph, his eyes narrowing further, alighting with true distain as his barbed tail began to coil and rise, a silent threat that conveyed his readiness to take matters into his own talons if needed.

Solitude experienced a sinking feeling in his heart, akin to a stone casted into a river, as he absorbed the words of his elder from the Conclave. Doubt tip-toed into his thoughts, mingling with a growing sense of unease as he grappled with the decision looming before him. Was the path ahead truly worth sacrificing everything he had come to know?

Time seemed to slip through his talons like grains of sand in an hourglass, leaving him little room for introspection or hesitation. He couldn't counting to falter or let doubt cloud his judgment any longer, not while Nymph's life hung in the balance. He wouldn't risk another innocent, another flicker of light in the darkness, being extinguished. Taking this stand is what he owed to each silenced soul whom he had deprived of their chance to speak their truths.

Gradually, he turned his gaze back to Nymph, who silently affirmed his understanding with a nod. In a flash, the duo propelled themselves into the air, conjuring a whirlwind of sand and debris that engulfed Snivel and Boulderback. The sudden onslaught forced the two to hastily raise their wings in defense, momentarily hindering them to the ground and affording Nymph and Solitude a valueable headstart of which they sezied without hesitation. Within the blink of an eye, the two had already surpassed beyond the confines of Sunspire's looming walls.

"Stop them! Stop them now!" Snivel shrieked, his voice quaking with fury as he swiftly brushed the gritty sand from his eyes, shaking off the disorienting effects from the sand attack. And with a vigurious and determined leap, he launched himself into air. However, despite his rapid recovery, he was still disadvantaged; Solitude and Nymph had already gained a significant lead.

Solitude, satisfied with the knowledge that Snivel and Boulderback were lagging critically behind, allowed himself a moment to survey their surroundings. However, it held no surprises for him. The desolate landscape that stretched out before him was the same old vast and seemingly infinite sea of sand, interrupted only by the rare skeletal remains of long-dead trees and shrubs, their contorted forms casting eerie shadows across the sand. To an outsider, this might appear as a barren wastelan, devoid of any sanctuary or means of deliverance.

However, on the horizon, Solitude's keen eyes descried a powerful sandstorm barreling its way across the desert. It was a tough call to make, espically considering Nymph's Rainwing linage and complete lack of experience navigating such tempestuous conditions. Despite the inherit risks, Solitude knew they had no other choice: they would have to brave the storm. After all, Snivel possesed impressive endurance and agility that would allow him to catch up with them before they even set eyes on the rainforest.

"Nymph, keep close and follow me! We have a chance to lose them almost the chaos of the storm," Solitude cried urgently, though his tone was betrayed a touch of anxiety as he feared that Nymph would think of him as crazed for leading them into such a siduation.

Nymph fixed his gaze upon the rapidly approaching sandstorm with disapproval and reluctance lighting his eyes. Yet, to Solitude's surprise, he valiantly nodded affirmatively. "Understood!"

Swiftly racing through the dimly lit sky, their frantic wingbeats harmonizing into a desperate melody that cut through the tranquil air of night. They veered towards the clossal sandstorm that loomed ominously on the nearing horizon, its imposing shadow consuming the desolate sands of the desert below.

Initially, the faint rumble of the approaching storm was barely auible admist the cacophony of wingbeats, a mere whisper. However, with each passing moment, the low growl of the tempest grew in both intensity and power, gradually asserting a chill through Solitude as he braced himself for its harsh embrace.

"We're almost there Nymph! Brace yourself!" Solitude's voice pierced through the howling wind, struggling to be heard admist the escalating castrophious storm. He also made sure to swiftly take a glance back towards Nymph, ensuring that he was keeping pace behind him.

And as he looked upon his companion, he immediately detected the unmistakable fear that was etched across his visage. The features of his face had twisted into a grimace of dread, his widened eyes reflecting sheer terror, transfixed by the encroaching wall of swirling sand that drew nearer with each passing second. He seemed to be rendered speechless by the impending threat and rattled via the prospect of soon hurtling into the perilous chaos of the black blizzard.

Fortunately, Solitude focus was locked on him in that critical moment: Boulderback, just a few tail-lengths away, was gearing up to unleash a breath of fire, the telltale fiery glow emanating from his mouth serving as a definitive signal of an impending fireball.

"Nymph! Quickly, move to your right!" Solitude urgently cried out, his voice tinged with dread. His aerial agility began to momentarily waver as he readied himself to intervene should the fiery projectile find its mark on Nymph.

Thankfully, Nymph's reflexes exceeded all of their expectations. With remarkable speed and skill, he executed a swift and precise turn to the right, a maneuver that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, dodging the incoming fireball with ease. It sailed wide of its mark, missing Nymph by a considerable margin, much to Boulderback's dismay, whose frustration took form of a thunderous roar.

As a result of Boulderback's inability to strike them, Nymph and Solitude maintained their advantage and advanced further, finally venturing into the maelstrom. The world around them dissolved into a tumultuous spectical of whirling sand and shadow, engulfing them into a frenzied whirlwind of chaos. Their visibility plummeted as debris clouded their vision, scoured against their scales, and muddled their senses.

Despite the challenging and daunting conditions, Solitude, having been shaped since birth to navigate and endure the harshness of the desert, seized the lead. Each wingbeat was calculated and deliberate, guided by a combination of instinct and experience. He could almost sense it now: they were surpassing the heart of the storm.

"Nymph, stay close! We just need to go a little further," Solitude called out, his voice strained against the howling wind.

Nymph, his voice barely auidble over the roar of the sands, responded with determination,"I'm right behind you Solitude! Just keep going!"

"We can't lose them in the storm. Mirage doesn't accept failure—Keep going!" Boulderback's voice boomed above the tempest, his command echoing through the tumultuous winds.

The tone in his voice suggested that they were losing their edge, teetering dangerously close to the edge of failure. Solitude felt some relief at the realization, but in his celebratory haze, he had lost his nerve and nearly failed to notice the gigantic dune that had emerged unexpectedly from the sandy mist. He barely managed to dodge around it, with Nymph mimicking his evasion, missing the dune as well but only by a hair.

As he navigated around the dune, more seemed to materalize out of thin air, each one presenting a new peril that could send them tumbling from the skies at the slightest miscalculation. And as he strained against the howling gale, a glimmer of hope appeared: a rugged outcropping of boulders loomed ahead, promising a much needed sanctuary from their pursuers and the releantless sandstorm.

"Head for the rocks Nymph!" Solitude shouted as he extended a talon out towards the distant outcropping, hoping Nymph would be able to spot the rocky refuge through the still ever-swirling veil of sand.

"Gotch. Headed there now!" Nymph shouted, his voice laced with exhaustion. However, despite his wariness, he surged forward with remarkable speed, his wings driving him directly towards the rocks. His swiftness allowed him to outpace even Solitude, reaching the refuge and making his landing well before Solitude even came within its bounds. But, eventually they both finally found their solace from the storm within the safe embrace of the outcropping.

However, Solitude remained vigilant. As Nymph dropped to the ground, resting his wings and savoring the brief respite, Solitude stayed high on alert.

"Don't get too comfortable Nymph. We're not safe here," Solitude warned, his eyes fixed onto the chaos of the sandstorm above, searching for any sign of Boulderback and Snivel. "The sandstorm may shield us for now, but it's unpredictable. It could clear at any second, leaving us completely exposed." His gaze shifted to Nymph, his voice carrying an unmistakable weight of urgency. "We need to keep moving."

"Are you sure? My wings are so tired...I'm not sure I can go any further," Nymph whimpered, his eyes of crimson hue reflecting a pitiful and desperate plea for leniency.

Solitude sighed, hesitating for a moment as he observed Nymph's weary form. He longed to head straight for the rainforest, but seeing Nymph in such a weakened state thwarted such goals. Reluctantly, he began to consider an option he never thought he would have to even entertain.

"Fine, Nymph. But we can't stay here. There's a place close by that will offer safer refuge than this."

Nymph expression betrayed his skepticism, a deep frown etching lines across his face. However, despite his doubts, he eventually nodded whilst pushing himself onto his talons once more. He gave his body a vigorous shake, dislodging a some fo the debris that clung stubbornly to his scales.

"I suppose you haven't led me astray so far, so alright. But, where exactly is going to offer us protection from a whole hoard of angry thug Sandwings? No offense, of course."

With a scoff and shake of his head, Solitude allowed a small smirk curl the corners of his mouth. He stepped towards the edge of the cave-like dwelling, casting a keen eye to observe the storm outside and eventually settling his sights towards the east.

"I wouldn't say it's very protected, but my mother never imagine in her wildest fantasies that I'd go there," Solitude muttered, a grimace marring his features as he forced the next bitter words past his lips, making even effort not to retch.

"We'll need to stay with my father."

- - -

As a treat, here is another artwork, but this time it’s of Solitude, the good boy! Or, well, trying-to-be-good boy 💜

Chapter Text

As night enveloped the desert, the searing heat of day transformed into a stark, chilling cold. The air, now cool and bitter, whispered across the dunes, carrying with it a serene stillness that blanketed the landscape. The vast expanse of sand and rock was lavished in a soft, silvery glow cast by the star-studded sky above. Thousands of them adorned the welkin, each a miniature beacon of light pierceing the profound darkness, twinkling with a mesmerizing shimmer.

The moons, resplendent and luminous on this night, were ascended to their highest points in the sky. Their collective radiance painted the desert in shades of silver and blue, crafting an otherworldly pageant that seemed almost dream-like in its beauty. Yet, despite the generous illumination from above, the desert floor still remained a dynamic interplay of light and shadow, constantly shifting.

Small lizards, their scales ranging from dusty browns to wary tans, nimbly darted between the shadows casted by the towering dunes of sand. Their movements were swift and precise, each flick of their tails and scuttle of their tiny feet perfectly timed to ambush the nocturnal insects that buzzed and fluttered in the cool night air.

Scattered cacti stood in solitare, their thick, spiny arms reaching skyward. These hardy sentinels collaborated with the dunes to create a labyrinth of shadows, and admist the defensive flora, the bleached bones of long-deceased animals lay strewn across the desert floor. The skeletal remains, picked clean by scavengers and bleached white by the relentless sun, were scattered haphazardly with ribcages jutted out of the sand like macabre sculptures and skulls left half-buried, their empty eye sockets staring blankly into the night.

Admist this moonlit desert, two dragons soared across the night sky, their powerful wings cutting through the air with a clear sense of purpose. At the forefront was Solitude, his scales of dark umber-brown and regal plum purple rendering him nearly invisible within the velvety darkness that surrounding them. He glided through the heavens like a spectral phantom, his presence so seemlessly intertwined with the darkness that he seemed to be apart of the night itself, almost like a shadow given life.

Nymph trailed closely behind Solitude, striving to replicate his elusive stealth and grace. His scales, an adaptive marvel, seemlessly absorbed and reflected the ambient darkness that enveloped them. Instead of their usual shade of red, they had transformed into a a murky, oily black. This impeccable camouflage provided the young Rainwing with an extra layer of crucial security from any potential dangers that might emerge from the ever-shifting shadows.

And finally, after their brief journey, they found themselves at their destination: a rugged, rocky promontory that cradled his father's dimintuve abode. The structure was unpretentious, hewn into the rocky landscape with a design so unassuming that it seemlessly harmonized with the natural terrian. To an untrained eye, it was nearly invisible, hidden in plain sight among the timeworn stones.

"That's it, Nymph. Down there—that's my father's hideout," Solitude called out, directing Nymph's gaze with the point of a talon towards the sceduled dwelling below. Nymph's gaze followed his direction, settling on the inconspicuous structure as he let out a long, gusty exhale that seemed to release all the pent up fatigue and strain accumulated during their journey, the sound faintly echoing through the cool night air.

"Well thank the three moons above! I don't think I would've made it any further," the young Rainwing exclaimed, his words tinged with palpable relief. Without a moment's hesitation, he folded his wings tightly against his body and pitched into a dive, hurtling towards the desert floor with renewed vigor at the imminent promise of respite.

Solitude synchronized his descent with Nymph's, and together they touched down gracefully on the threshold of the doorway. However, before either of them could take a step further, the heavy wooden door, its surface worn and battered by years of exposure to the harsh elements, began to emit a long, groaning creak as it gradually began to open.

And from the shadowy recesses of the dwelling stepped a sizable, yet harshly aged Nightwing. His scales, as dark as polished obsidian, seemed to drink in the meager light with an almost ravenous hunger, endowing him an almost ethereal aura. However, his body was alarmingly gaunt, the sharp contours of his skeleton casting stark, elongated shadows against his dark hide.

Once sleek and pristine, his scales were now coarse and marred, a far cry from their once flawless carriage in the past. Draped loosely over his frail form was a thin, almost translucent sand-colored cloak that started from atop his shoulders, running down his spines and ending at his hip joints. The garment's edges were frayed, unraveling into delicate threads that fluttered gently with each of his movements. Its surface was peppered with tears, each one substantiation to the many years it had protected him from the tenacious elements.

Nevertheless, despite the evident toll the unforgiving desert had inflicted upon him and his tattered wears, his eyes, a vivid violet, retained a striking vitality. They glimmered with spirited joy as he beheld the dragons before him, alight with an unmistakable elation.

"Solitude," whispered the weary Nightwing, his voice a wistful blend of sorrow and longing. "It has been ages..."

Solitude narrowed his eyes at the Nightwing, a calculated gesture to mask any lapse in his vigilance. Afterall, despite the Nightwing's outward display of frailty and vulnerability, Solitude was acutely aware of the formidable cruelty that lurked beneath that guise. Thus, Solitude measured each word and every action with meticulous caution, his mind ever weary of falling prey to deception.

"For very good reason, Fortuneteller. I'm only here since this is the last place Mirage would think to find me. Don't mistake this as a reunion."

Fortuneteller couldn't conceal his disappointment; the glimmer of hope in his eyes dwindled, giving way to the shadows of sorrow and regret. His shoulders slumped slightly, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips, betraying the turmoil within. However, despite his plight, he managed to briefly glance towards Nymph, examining the Rainwing with a detached and indifferent demeanor, as though the vibrant dragon held no interest for him. His gaze did linger momentarily, void of any warmth or recognition, before he slowly stepped aside, wordlessly granting permission for the two to enter.

Fatigued beyond measure, Nymph charged into the den with reckless abandon, his desperate need for respite overriding any sense of caution. Solitude, driven by the protective instincts engraved within him, pursued him with haste, determined to safeguard him from any negative fallout his impulsive behavior might provoke.

However, as Solitude crossed the threshold into Fortuneteller's keep, he was met with a stunning revelation. The den's interior had undergone a dramatic transformation since his last visit, and unfortunately, it was a change for the worse. The walls, which had previously been adorned with mystical symbols of Nightwing culture and vibrant tapestries, were now cracked and barren, the symbols faded and obscured by layers of dust. The air, once filled with the comforting scent of lilac incense and herbs, now carried a musty, stagnant odor that hinted at neglect and decay.

Though the foreroom had retained its sparse furnishings much like he remembered, a new and striking element of difference dominated the scene—his father's crystal ball now rested conspicuously on the stone table at the center of the room.

The orb radiated an enticing aura, shimmering with a beauty and power that was both captivating and unsettling. Its surface seemed to puslate with an inner light, shifting through hues of deep indigo and vibrant emerald, casting a mesmerizing glow across the room.

He had known Fortuneteller to be extremely vigilant when it came to his animus-touched crystal ball, only unveiling it to those he trusted deeply. It was his most precious artifact. He'd safeguarded it with the utmost care before, never showcasing it openly. Yet now, it was inexplicably left out for all to see, as if Fortuneteller no longer concerned himself with its concealment. This careless display was profoundly out of character, raising questions and heighting Solitude's sense of foreboding.

Moreover, the room had devolved into a state of considerable disarray. Most of the furniture lay broken and covered in layers of dust, neglected and forgotten. Bestrewn pieces of shattered glass glittered ominously in the light cast by the orb, adding an erie sparkle to the scene. The once-welcoming hearth, a center of warmth and comfort, was now cold and lifeless, choked with ash and debris.

This dramatic decline was a stark contrast to the pristine and orderly environment his father had once meticulously maintained with unwavering diligence. Every corner, once organized and perfectly clean, now spoke a loss of control and purpose. Fortuneteller appeared to be letting everything slip through his talons, relinquishing his former relentless pursuit for perfection and control.

It was a truly sad sight to see the room, which had once captivated him with its grandeur and mystery when he was just a dragonet, reduced to such ruin. However, despite the sorrow that lingered in his heart, there was a measure of grim satisfaction within him. Justice, in its own imperfect way, had been served. The once-great Fortuneteller, who had stood tall with an aura of infallibility, was now entrapped in a prison of hardship and loneliness. He couldn't surpress the thought that Mirage would have taken pleasure in the sight.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'll fetch some water and perhaps a few dried lizards from the kitchen," Fortuneteller warmly offered, beginning to maneuver his way past Solitude. The foreroom was narrow, its limited space forcing him into an uncomfortably close passage. And as he brushed past Solitude, their close proximity suddenly seemed suffocating, making Solitude's chest tight with tension. The air seemed to thicken, each step echoing louder than the last in the confined space.

Yet, Solitude managed to maintain his composure, remaining immobile, his presence almost statuesque. Every muscle in his body remained taunt, ready to react at a moment's notice. He scruntizied Fortuneteller's every gesture, suspicious of the sincerity of his offer, inspecting him for any signs of deceit or aggression.

Nymph, on the other talon, acted without hesitation. He swiftly perched himself upon the edge of the stone bench that cradled the table, his movements fluid but enervated. His wings, heavy with fatigue, dropped down to touch the floor, their dim hues fading back to their usual crimson red.

With a weary sigh, Nymph leaned forward, resting his head on the cool surface of the dust-ridden table. His eyes, glazed and bleary, fixed on the ball of animus property before him, its enchanting glow reflected in his jaded gaze. He seemed to study it with a sort of detached fascination, his mind likely drifting as he sought solace in its quiet and ethereal presence.

"We've no need for your pleasentries," Solitude growled, his voice laced with irritation as his eyes bore into Fortuneteller, radiating a fierce aura, his patientence clearly wearing thin already. "All we need is shelter for the night."

Fortuneteller's shoulders slumped as he shook his head slowly, the weight Solitude's rejection pressing heavily upon him. He then began to lurch towards the crystal ball, causing it to glimmer with an intensified brilliance. It seemed to recognize its master and was eagerly preparing to divulge the visions Fortuneteller held within his gifted mindscape once more.

"Unfortunately, I cannot offer you the sanctuary you so desperately seek," Fortuneteller murmured, his voice tinged with genuine sorrow. "Once the first rays of dawn break the horizon, the Conclave's agents will descend upon this place in search of you."

He then paused, letting the gravity of his words settle upon them, a grim frown deepening the lines on his weathered face, underscoring the seriousness of their perdicament. And then, he continued, his voice now imbued with a faint glimmer of hope,"However, if you'd allow me, I can guide you to the safest path for your journey."

Nymph suddenly straightened, his posture rigid with a newfound alertness. He casted a puzzled glance towards Fortuneteller, his brows knitting together in confusion. "Well," he began, his voice a mix of uncertainty and defiance,"we already know which path to take. The rainforest isn't much further from here, we won't need any help getting there."

Fortuneteller's eyes brimmed with a great pity as he looked upon Nymph, his gaze weighted with sorrow. He then extended his trembling talons hesitantly towards the crystal ball, betraying the depth of his inner turmoil. And finally, as a deep mournful sigh escaped his lips, his talons made contact with the slick, glassy surface of the orb, its ethereal light casting ghostly reflections in his eyes.

"There are numerous paths laid out for you, pitiful Rainwing" Fortuneteller murmured, his voice serene yet laden with the weight of insight. "However, I can illuminate the path you seek."

The crystal ball began to shimmer, its surface rippling as Fortuneteller's vision began to materialize. A projection spilled out from the ball, spreading across the table like liquid light. It was as if they were peering into a perfectly polished mirror that reflected their immediate surroundings. The effect was uncanny, yet, there was a deliberate and practical purpose behind this display. It was not a mere spectical; the radiant tableau would soon relay Fortuneteller's vision, bringing his insights to life before their very eyes.

Suddenly, the projection sharpened, revealing a startling scene: Solitude and Nymph standing at the center of a menacing assembly of Rainwings, deep within the heart of their kingdom. The Rainwings', said to typically be adorned with a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, now displayed scales that glistened with an ominous sheen of dreary black.

They encircled the pair, their movements synchronized and deliberate, obviously well practiced in coordination. Each member of the circle fixed their intense gazes on Solitude, their eyes brimming with animosity. It was evident that was his mere presence was an affront to them, stoking the fire of their fury, which blazed in their intense glares.

For those that spared their gazes for Nymph, their expressions bore a rich blend of emotions, primarily rooted in betrayal and seething anger. Their eyes, reflecting both pain and resentment, conveyed the magnitude of their perceived treachery, as if Nymph had irrevocably shattered their faith in him.

Admist the electric atmosphere, a few members of the circle mouthed words, but only an eerie silence prevailed. They seemed to be voicing accusations, grievenances, and retorts, yet not a sound could be heard. However, their words didn't need to be audible; their nasty spats and nettled expressions conveyed everything.

And Nymph, his face streaked with tears, stood with his scales awash in a vivid, blinding yellow, outshining even the brightest flowers of the rainforest. His face was a portrait of utter despair, his eyes wide and filled with raw anguish. His mouth moved frantically, forming silent, desperate pleas as he edged forward to stand in front of Solitude. He had his tiny trembling wings spread out as far as they could go, desperate to prevent the approaching confrontation between his savior and his tribe.

An ominous shadow began to creep across the vision, darkening it like the encroaching presence of a storm. Admist the growing gloom, a Rainwing warrior emerged, advancing towards Solitude and Nymph with slow, deliberate steps. Clutched in the warrior's talons was a spear, its sharp tip gleaming menacingly in the dwindling light. The warrior's eyes were fixed on Solitude, their gaze unyielding and filled with deadly purpose. He was posed and ready, preparing himself to land the lethal strike that would bring Solitude down.

Solitude, however, was not going down without a fight. He sprang out from behind Nymph, his venemous tail arcing through the air, striking with unerring precision. Its barb pierced the Rainwing's heart, the venom working its deadly magic almost instantly. Their eyes widened in shock and pain as they crumpled to the forest floor, their body convulsing in the throes of death.

But Solitude's victory was short-lived. The nearest of the Rainwings onlookers reacted with swift and coordinated fury, springing a synchronized and deadly attack. He fought with the ferocity of a cornered beast, his claws slashing through the air and his tail striking like a whip. However, the Rainwing's numbers and their strategic prowess quickly overwhelmed him.

Within moments, Solitude found himself pinned to the forest floor, his struggles growing weaker as exhaustion started to settle in. The final blow came swiftly—a spear, expertly wielded by one of the Rainwings, drove through his chest. The force of the impact sent a spray of blood arcing through the air, splattering across the dense undergrowth, staining it in a stark crimson red.

With a horrified gasp, Nymph's talons flew up to his mouth, his eyes wide and glistening with a mix of shock and sorrow. "No...T-That cannot be," Nymph stammered, his voice quivering as he struggled to accept the horrifying vision as reality. "The Rainwings have always welcomed visitors from other tribes!"

Fortuneteller's gaze, once obscured by the misty depths of the crystal ball, slowly lifted, revealing violet eyes that seemed to pierce through Nymph with deadly intensity. And as the ethereal mists within the orb settled, his expression grew increasingly grave, clearly troubled by Nymph's reaction to his vision.

"Dragonet, how many of those visitors were hybrid Conclave Assassins?"

Nymph was momentarily immobile from the startling revelation, but after a few tense moments, he managed to tear his gaze from Fortuneteller and slowly turn towards Solitude. Solitude was clearly struggling to maintain a façade of calm, but the intense fear that was gripping him was evident in the subtle, involuntary tremors that coursed through his body.

His mind raced, replaying the vivid image of his own demise that the vision had shown. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that had they not stopped to seek Fortuneteller's insight, he would have almost certainly met that grim fate.

However, Solitude managed to regain a semblance of composure, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. With a deliberate effort, he forced a veneer of nonchalance, lifting his shoulders in a casual shrug. His eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, as if in effort to erase the terrifying vision from his mind.

When he opened his eyes again, he met Fortuneteller's gaze, his expression a carefully constructed mask of calm. "Well," he began, his voice betraying him as it tremored slightly. "I'm sure there's another way." The words hung in the air, a fragile attempt to inject hope into the suffocating fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

Fortuneteller gave a faint nod, his gaze lingering on the crystal ball before him. His long, gnarled claws slid down either side of the glass sphere, the motion deliberate and meticulous. And as his claws made contact, the lingering image within the crystal dissolved, replaced by swirling mists that began to coalesce into a new vision.

"There are plenty more paths for you to take, younglings," he murmured, his voice low and resonant. His eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light as he concentrated on the emerging vision. "Allow me to show you the one I deem best for your travels."

The new vision gradually came into sharp focus within the ball, the swirling mists parting to unveil a breathtaking scene. Solitude and Nymph were depicted soaring high above a rugged, mountainous terrain, their shilloutes illuminated by the radiant glow of the rising sun. The early morning light bathed the land in a warm, golden hue, casting long, dreary shadows that accentuated the wild beauty below.

The landscape was a dramatic spectical of nature with its jagged, snow-capped peaks jutting skyward, their sharp edges glistening like diamonds in the sunlight. The steep valleys between the monsterous peaks plunged into mysterious depths, shrouded in early morning mist that had its tendrils wrapped around the bases of the mountains like a silken veil.

Every element of the scene was rendered with stunning clarity, from the icy blue snow sparkling under the sunlight to the deep green, verdant forests clinging resolutely to the rugged slopes. It was a breathtaking visual of nature's artistry, a perfect blend of harshness and beauty.

Solitude heart quickened as he finally recognized the land before him. It was a place he had only read about in discarded and battered scrolls of old. The distinctive features of the terrain left no doubt in his mind. This was the Skywing Kingdom.

Without warning, the vision shifted, leaping forward in time. Now, Solitude and Nymph were depicted kneeling before a grand, occupied throne. The figure seated upon it was imposing, its very precense commanding the attention from all the onlooking Skywings surrounding them. Yet, its features remained oddly distorted and unclear, shrouding the royal before them in a veil of mystery that left Solitude with a discomforting feeling in the pit of his stomach. Fortuneteller's visions had never struggling depicting anything before. Was his father deliberately trying to conceal the identity of this dragon from them? To what end?

No matter. Despite the obscured visual, Solitude was not fooled. The regal bearing, the faint outline of elongated wings, the sense of authority radiating from the figure—it was clearly Queen Carmine, the legendary ruler of the Skywing Kingdom. She had governed the Skywings for generations, long before even the birth of Fortuneteller.

Vistors of Sunspire had recounted numerous tales of Queen Carmine's unparalleled wisdom and might, painting her as a near-mythical figure whose devotion and kindness transcended all boundaries. Her benevolence was legendary; she welcomed hybrids, outcasts, and dragons of all likeness without hesitation. Her kingdom was a sanctuary for those shunned by Pyrrhia's society and those who sought refuge.

How had he not realized it sooner? Naturally, Queen Carmine would welcome them with open wings. Her kingdom was a perfect refuge for a couple of dragons down on their luck and fleeing the possible pursuit of a murderous band of Sandwings. It was more than ideal for them to finally have a place where they could finally rest and recover without fear of being hunted. Afterall, Mirage knew better than to try her luck with Queen Carmine. If she led an attack on the kingdom of the most beloved Queen of all the land, she would certainly face dire consequences.

Before Solitude could fully study the scene before him, another abrupt transition ensued, thrusting them into the final stage of the vision. Nymph and Solitude now found themselves standing within a chamber that exuded warmth and comfort. The room was furnished with inviting beds made of soft, plush sheep's wool, promising a restful slumber. It was also lavishly lit by numerous ever-burning torches, their flames dancing and flickering, casting gentle, welcoming light across the room.

Despite the cozy surroundings, an unexpected figure accompanied them: a large, robust Icewing. His icy-blue scales, characteristic of his species, bore numerous scars from countless endured battles. The most prominent of these scars ran diagonally across his left eye—a deep and jagged line that spoke of a near-fatal encounter, lending his glacial gaze a fierce intensity.

He was draped in a magnificent suit of silver armor encrusted with shimmering sapphires and topazes, making it not only functional but also a work of art. The armor had intricate patterns of frost and snowflakes etched into its surface, giving the armor an almost gossamer-like quality and making it appear almost weightless despite its obvious durability and strength.

Atop his head he wore a helm of dark, tempered steel, lined with the soft white fur of arctic foxes and crowned with a crest of silver feathers. This impressive regalia, with its blend of practical design and opulent detail, gave off the unmistakable air of royalty. It was a pecuilar sight that raised a pressing question: how did an Icewing, a member of a tribe typically isolated from the Skywings, come to possesss such regal status within their realm?

"This is your second option," Fortuneteller murmured, interrupting Solitude's train of thought, his voice tinged with faint hope, and dire caution. "The Sky Kingdom will offer you both shelter," he continued, his eyes searching Solitude's for understanding. "But know this; it will not come without its challenges."

Solitude's mind raced as he absorbed the two contrasting visions. The Rainforest loomed with the inevitability of his demise, its dangers unquestionable. Meanwhile, the Skywing Kingdom beckoned with the promise of survival and, perhaps, even a chance at belonging. He couldn't help but envision himself, much like the Icewing, donned in resplendent armor, his prowess finally harnessed for a meaningful and righteous purpose.

However, he chose not to dwell on his own fantasies for too long. Instead, his focus shifted back to Nymph, who was still visibly trembling from the impact of the first vision. He couldn't afford to be selfish at this moment. What truly mattered was rectifying the wrongs inflicted by the Conclave. This young dragonet, barely having reached full maturity, had his entire life upheaved by the Conclave's actions.

Nymph deserved a chance to return home safely and live a peaceful, meaningful life as a healer. With the innate kindness and warmth he effortlessly bestowed on Solitude, he was destined to do great things for his tribe. And here Solitude was, lost in dreams of being some hero in shining armor, basking in blooded glory and undeserved acceptance. How could be justify yearning for such accolades when Nymph's future, so full of promise and potential, hung in the balance? His mother's harsh words echoed in his mind: perhaps she was right about one thing—he was indeed a selfish little lizard.

"Sky Kingdom it is, then," Solitude murmured, his steady as his turmoils began to settle. He noticed Nymph's eyes widening with anxiety and hurried to assure him. "The Skywings are friendly," he continued, his tone more soothing. "They'll make sure nobody comes to harm—neither you nor me. We'll be under their protection, and they'll help us find a way to get you back where you belong."

Solitude hoped his words would bring comfort to the young dragonet, whose future was now in his hands.

Nymph gazed at Solitude, his eyes shimmering with gradtitude and a faint glimmer of hope. A small, tentative smile played at the corners of his lips as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper,  weighed down by his relief.

"Thank you, Solitude. I mean, truly, thank you," he said, each word entwined with sincerity. "I barely know you. No, I don't know you at all, actually. Yet, here you are, still putting your neck out to help me find my way home safely. How can I ever repay such kindness?"

Solitude attempted to appear unbothered, shrugging casually as he leaned against the cold, dust-covered stone table. The ancient surface felt rough against his scales, and left him feeling a little uncomfortable. But, he didn't let himself falter. He let his gaze shift over to his father, fixing him with a harsh, piercing look that cut through the dim light of the cavern, a silent challenge for his father to dare disagree with his upcoming statement.

"Being a good dragon doesn't call for reward," Solitude declared, his voice firm, mixed with frustration and conviction.  "I did what I did because it was the right thing to do. Something some dragons could learn a thing or two from."

Fortuneteller seemed to understand the pointed nature of Solitude's words. Slowly, he let his talons fall away from the crystal ball, the intricate patterns of light within its depths ceasing their dance and fading into their usual dull and dusky hues. The orb, now without its master's mindscape, now lay insert and silent, much like the bond between father and son.

He took a step back from the table, another characteristic sigh escaping his lips as he folded his talons inward, pressing them against his chest as if to hold his aching heart. The weight of his son's rebuke settled over him like a shroud, and he seemed to struggle to maintain composure. And his eyes, once filled with the clarity of his foresight, now seemed clouded with a mixture of regret and sorrow, as usual.

"Well, you always did have a good heart, son." Fortuneteller began, his voice softer now, laden with a melancholy that spoke of years of regret. "I knew it from the first time Mirage let me lay eyes on you all those years ago. You're destined to be a light that shines even in the darkest of time. Use your brightness to forge a path that I was too afraid to walk."

Solitude softened for only a moment as he absorbed his father's words. The sincerity in his Fortuneteller's voice, the raw, unfiltered emotion in his words, wrapped around his heart like a vice and broke through the layers of defense he had constructed. He felt his rigid stance loosening, his talons, which had been clenched in tension, relaxing, and his squared shoulders easing.

But, as he studied Fortuneteller's woeful gaze, a torrent of memories came rushing back— he could see Mirage tossing and turning in the dead of night for hours until awakening in tears. He remembered holding onto her talons, feeling the tremors of her sobs reverberating through him, her tears wetting his delicate and soft dragonet scales.

Solitude could only watch helplessly as her kindness turned to bitterness, her love to cruelty, her elegance and strength to cunning and under-handing. Those nights of desolation had birthed a leader who trusted no dragon, who commanded through fear and violence. The blame rested solely on Fortuneteller, and with that knowledge, any vestiges of compassion Solitude held for his father dissolved.

But just as he peeled his lips back into a snarl, ready to snap at his father, Nymph quickly stepped off his bench and slipped in between the two, his crimson scales now blotching with dark gray and some fainter spotting of white. It was almost comical to witness a puny Rainwing interposing himself between dragons that embodied night and death, making it difficult for Solitude to maintain his seriousness. He ended up clenching his jaw, suppressing his snarl and momentarily disarming the brewing storm of hostility that Solitude eagerly wished to unleash upon his father.

"I usually avoid prying into family ordeals," he said, his voice light and melodic as he turned back and forth between the two dragons, searching both of their gazes for the answers he sought as he continued, "but, I feel this is quite important. What is it that has you two at such odds? You're his father, you're his son. What could ever come between that?"

Solitude growled softly, a low rumble emanating from deep within his chest as he shook his head. He tried to find a way to articulate the tangled web of pain and betrayal his father had woven throughout his past, but, the memories were like a chaotic storm in his mind, and he struggled to grasp onto them, to form any coherent picture that Nymph would understand.

Therefore, Fortuneteller decided to step forward, approaching the table once again, his talons outstretched but not yet touching the crystal ball that lay upon it. The orb glowed faintly, its surface swirling with an inner light, mirroring the brewing tempest of emotion Solitude felt in his heart.

Fortuneteller's eyes became distant, heavy with the burden of old memories. His talons, trembling slight, caressed the edges of the crystal ball with a reverent touch, coaxing it to bring forth its full potentional. The orb responded eagerly, its surface coming alive with a vibrant display of colors, some of which Solitude had never seen before. The hues swirled and danced within the ball, creating a mesmerizing and lively spectacle that spilled across the table. It had reached its full brilliance—it was projecting Forunteteller's memories, allowing them to peer into his rendition of how son and father had reached such fallout.

The crystal ball pulled forth a vivid image that Solitude could only imagine was the grand hall of the Sandwing Palace. The hall's high, arched ceilings soared above, adorned with intricate mosaics of gold and amber that glowed warmly in the ambient light casted by gold-encrusted torches. The walls, a masterful blend of sandstone and cobble, were lined with vibrant artworks depicting epic battles and legendary triumphs, their rich colors a stark contrast against the pale stone.

In the heart of the grand hall, a large circular table made of polished obsidian dominated the space. Around it sat a combined council of both Nightwings and Sandwings, a rare and significant sight. Solitude's heart quickened as he took in the assembly of dragons, their faces a mix of curiosity, suspicion, intent, and hope.

His gaze was immediately drawn to one dragon he reoconized without hesitation—Queen Seraph of the Sandwings. Her scales, shimmering like molten gold, her eyes, a pierecing black that held a cold, steely intensity that could freeze even the bravest of dragon in their tracks. She sat with an impeccable posture, an unreadable expression, and she was tapping her talons against the arms of her seat, perhaps hinting at some boredom, maybe anxiety, maybe impatience. He couldn't begin to imagine which it could be: she was an enigma.

However, after a moment of careful study, Solitude realized Queen Seraph wasn't the only Sandwing he recognized. There, among the council members, sat his mother, Mirage. But the sight of her left him utterly bewildered. Her recalled that her scales as a pale and dull flaxen color, their luster long faded by the harsh desert sun and worn down by hardships. But now, they gleamed with a youthful vibrancy that, in the light of the torches, reflected a dazzling array of golden hues.

Her posture was poised and self-assured, exuding a elegance that seemed almost completely foreign from her current, more hardened demeanor. She carried herself with a grace and confidence that belied her youth. Her black eyes glinted with a familiar, hungry fire as she stared across the room at the Nightwings that spoke of ambition and interest. Every movement she made was seemingly deliberate and calculated, which was something Solitude finally did recognized about her—she acted like she was in complete control of the room and every dragon in it.

Beside her stood a hefty, rugged Sandwing with a massive frame that was etched from horn to tail in countless scars. This could only be Brimstone, Solitude's grandfather, who was a legend in his own right. Brimstone wasn't just an ordinary solider but the brother of Queen Seraph's long-deceased father, cementing his place in the royal lineage.

Despite the passing of nearly a century, he remained as the direct overseer of the Sandwing's army, his tactical prowess and sheer might continuing to shape their military dominance. Yet, even with such an illustrious and enduring legacy, Mirage often spoke of him in a tone embedded with resentment. She described her father as a ruthless, loveless brute, a dragon whose heart was as hardened as the scales that protected him. Mirage's words had painted a picture of a tyrant rather than a father, a figure of fear rather than familial warmth.

However, the vision that was unfolding told a different story. In this moment, Brimstone and Mirage sat side by side, their expressions and postures relaxed and softened. They exchanged muted words and shared smiles that reached their eyes. Occasionally, they even seemed to chuckle together, a contrast to the harsh image Mirage had previously conveyed about their relationship. It seemed as though they had once been more than just civil; they had been close, perhaps even loving in their own way.

He went on to study the vision further, his eyes scowering the sea of black and gold in. Eventually, he recognized his father admist the throng of dragons, though he looked incredibly different from the dragon standing across the room from Solitude. His father was adorned in extravagant amounts of jewelry, gold and gems glinting from his neck, horns, and limbs, clearly reflecting his high power and status among the Nightwings.

His violet eyes, now subdued and weary, now shone with a brilliance that rivaled the desert sun, radiating confidence and vitality. His scales, usually dulled by age and wear, were polished to a gleaming finish, reflecting the light that surrounded him instead of consuming it. However, Solitude couldn't help but notice how much smaller and youthful his father appeared compared to the other dragons in the hall. Even Mirage, who he knew to be a similar age to his father, towered over him in stature.

And, just behind Solitude's father was a Nightwing he instantly recognized as Queen Nocturna. Her appearance was quite modest compared to all the dragons surrounding her, making it clear that she needed no excessive display of wealth to assert her high stature. Only her ears and horns were adorned with fragile, polished emerald jewels that matched her striking forest green eyes. They seemed to pierce through everything, as if she could perceive the very essence of those around her.

However, one more detail confirmed his conclusion that she was the ruler of the Nightwings: the unique coloration of her scales. Unlike the typical dark hues of black, purple, and green that characterized most Nightwings, her scales were a striking silvery gray, reminiscent of moonlight shimmering on water, interspersed with spots of deep, oily black, creating a mesmerizing pattern that seemed otherworldly.

This distinctive coloration set Nocturna apart from any Nightwing known to history, making her instantly recognizable. It was a pattern that bespoke of not just rarity, but a lineage of extraordinary significance.

"I met Mirage on an escapade that Queen Nocturna tasked me to lead," Fortuneteller finally spoke, his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene with a smile beginning to play upon his lips, as if the vision before him evoked fond memories. "She wanted me to share my visions to the Sandwings, to offer our knowledge and visions in hopes of gaining their trust and forging an alliance."

Fortuneteller then paused, his smile falling before he continued,"You see, the Sandwings possessed the most gold of all the tribes by an overwhelming margin. Their wealth was unparalleled, and having access to it could significantly bolster the Nightwings' influence and enhance our sway in the world."

Solitude couldn't help but snort, his gaze hardening as he glared at his father. His voice oozed with bitterness and his words charged with years of pent-up anger and disappontment as he muttered,"Yeah, and I know what happened after that. You ruin not only my mother's life but the only chance there had ever been for an alliance between our two tribes."

Nymph casted a wide-eyed, distresse glance at Solitude, his expression etched with concern as he spoke,"Be patient Solitude. Perhaps things aren't as dire as you see them." His tone carried a mixture of reassurance and fear, a desperate attempt to calm the rising tension.

Nymph then let out a nervous, soft chuckle, tilting his head in a gesture of playful bemusement. "I'm sure you remember that I placed my faith in you from very beginning, without hesitation or doubt. And I'm only still breathing now because of that."

Solitude grunted, turning his head to avoid Nymph's gaze, instead glaring at his father. This spurred Nymph to continue with his voice holding a quiet plea beneath hislight-hearted exterior. "Trust has been my most powerful ally out here in the sands. Why not extend just a tad of it to your father? What harm could it possibly bring you?"

Solitude pivoted sharply, his eyes flashing with anger as he glared at Nymph. Yet, despite his seething frustration, he found himself unable to entirely dismiss the Rainwing's plea. With a visible effort, he forced himself to calm, his rigid posture softening as he allowed the tension to drain from his body. He crumpled onto the cold, hard ground of the foreroom, his limbs sprawled in a display of reluctant surrender.

With a deep sigh, Solitude spoke through clenched teeth, his voice embedded with apprehension. "Alright. Go ahead with it, then." And before he continued, he swallowed, making a conscious effort to rein his fury. "But just know that whatever you show me won't change a thing. I already know how it ends, that's all that really matters to me."

Fortuneteller gave him a sad, yet understanding nod, his eyes reflecting a deep empathy for Solitude's inner turmoil. With a heavy sigh, he turned his gaze back towards the ball, allowing the vision to unfold further, his shoulders drooping slightly as he braced himself for what was to come.

The vision shifted slightly further into the future, revealing Fortuneteller standing before an ornate pedestal that supported his current crystal ball. It projected its vision high above, forming a looming, squared imagine that ensured every member could witness the unfolding scene.

It depicted a harrowing battle where the once-proud Sandwing Kingdom stood in defense against a horde of furious Icewings. The Icewings were relentless and merciless, cutting through the Sandwings with their eyes burning with a cold, punishing rage. And as they advanced, they left a trail of destruction in their wake. Homes were reduced to icy and fiery rubble while scattered injuried Sandwing subjects had their mouths open, wailing their despair, painting a vivid picture of chaos.

The Sandwing forces, though valiant and determined, struggled to hold their ground. They fought with every ounce of strength they possessed, but it just wasn't enough. The Icewings used their icy breath to freeze the weapons they wielded to ice in seconds, even their barbed tails weren't of any use in a frozen state. It was a scene of utter devastation, where hope seemed as fragile as the ice that coated the battlefield.

"I showed Seraph and her council the nightmare that had haunted their dreams for years," Fortuneteller began, his voice heavy with the gravity of what he had witnessed. "The Icewings, nursing a deep-seated hatred over the death of their King in a battle they lost to to the Sandwings, were planning to bring war to their doorstep."

He paused, clicking his talons against the orb as he scanned the faces of the projected council, each one marked by a mix of fear and resignation. "The scale of their army was staggering, and Queen Seraph quickly understood that the Sandwings would never be able to go toe-to-toe with them."

Yet, admist the darkness, there was a glimpse of hope—his projected vision shifted to a vivid picture of Sandwings and Nightwings fighting side by side, their differences forgotten, united in purpose and strength as they turned the tides of battle. Sandwing warriors now clashed head-on with the Icewings with their fiery breath and multiple of refined weapons of metal and steel.

Meanwhile, the Nightwings put out equally powerful but more precise and sly strikes of fire at the Icewings, using their cunning to aid the Sandwings. And within moments, the once-daunting Icewing horde, who, despite their ferocity, were forced to flee, saving the Kingdom of Sand from any ruin.

But as young Fortuneteller presented his vision to the wide-eyed and awed council, he seemed to become distracted. The projection of the vision, which had captivated both Sandwing and Nightwing council members, began to falter as Fortuneteller's attention drifted. Instead of maintaining the focus on the delicate task of presenting his prophetic insights, his gaze wandered to Mirage.

Her perscene seemed to mesmerize him, and he studied her features with a look of astonishment. But, his fixations had their downside: his projected vision began to waver. The once-clear images he had presented began to flicker and distort, causing the captivated council members to exchange puzzled and concerned glances towards each other, grimacing. And eventually, his connection to the crystal ball abruptly shut down the projection and returned to its dull, lifeless glory while Fortuneteller's face flushed with embarrassment.

But, he had done what he needed to do. The Sandwings were riled, exchanging anxious and skeptically charged murmurs with fear clearly etched on their faces. The image of their Kingdom brought to the brink of destruction left them shaken, and the abrupt end only seemed to have heightened their unease. It seemed as if the Sandwing council was on the verge of  descending into chaos, but as Queen Seraph sat up, they all seemed to stop in their tracks, their jaws snapping shut.

Queen Seraph advanced to the edge of the obsidian table, resting one her large, scarred talons onto it while her intense gaze scorched the Nightwings across from her. Though she kept an unbreakable and unemoting expression, she gave a slight nod in their direction, confirming that she was in favor of the unity presented to her.

"Queen Seraph was quick to agree. Afterall, what choice did she have?" Fortuneteller murmured, a happy chuckle escaping his maw. His eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and mischief as he continued. "And even though I'd just completed my first ever mission on behalf of my tribe, I didn't care one bit. Afterall, servicing my tribe wasn't the reason I was at that meeting."

"I had come to find the dragon I'd been seeing in my visions for months. And, my, was she even more beautiful and brilliant in reality."

Solitude's throat rumbled with a low growl, his talons clenching and digging into the floor of the foreroom as he tried to contain his fury. "And you managed to destroy it all."

But Fortuneteller seemed not to hear Solitude, or had elected to ignore him entirely. His attention was riveted to the next chapter the crystal ball was presenting. Now, at the center of the hall, the two queens Seraph and Nocturna stood face to face, their eyes locked as a silent understanding passed between them—a shared recognition of the necessity of their alliance.

With a quick and brutish fashion, Queen Seraph extended one of her jewel-encrusted talons towards Nocturna, leading the Nightwing Queen to mirror the gesture, extending one of her more modest and plain talons outward. The two queens then clasped talons firmly, symbolizing not just a pact between leaders, but a future merging of their tribes' destinies.

Beside them, Fortuneteller and Mirage imitated their queens' actions. Fortuneteller's talon, shaky and timid, reached out to meet Mirage's. Her talon was steady and assured, grasping his without hesitation while she peered upon Fortuneteller with a ferocious ambition.

"When our Queens agreed to the alliance, they recognized the necessity of appointing dragons to oversee its wellbeing," Fortuneteller spoke. "Without hesitation, I offered my services. And to my delight, Mirage stepped forward as well. She was young, brimming with determination and a strong desire to make a name for herself."

Nymph gazed up from the vision at Fortuneteller with unrestrained awe, his scales undergoing a dramatic transformation. His crimson colored scales shifted into an all-encompassing, blinding shade of bright pink. Even his frills, which typically maintained their black and purple coloration, succumbed to the same nauseating pink as the rest of his body. Solitude couldn't help but scowl at the sight of the comical display.

"That's super sweet! Love at first sight! Or, I guess, first vision," Nymph cooed, his eyes sparkling with giddiness. Fortuneteller's breath hitched slightly as he tried to respond, the depth of his feelings momentarily overwhelming him.

"Love? I'd dare not call it that, Nymph. Love is special, something to be treasured," Solitude hissed. "What they had was nothing but some horrible fling." His harsh words sliced through the warmth in the room like a blade, his entire being rejecting that there could have been anything meaningful in the relationship Fortuneteller had had with his mother.

"Fling? Love?" Fortuneteller echoed. "No, what Mirage and I had wasn't so simple. It was bond of soul, and mind." He proclaimed, his gaze studying the orb before clicking a talon against its smooth surface. The orb responded instantly, its colors spinning like an angry sandstorm as it began to flash forward in time, its depths revealing another memory long past.

The scene it displayed was one of ethereal beauty, drenched in the silvery glow of moonlight. Fortuneteller and Mirage sat side by side at a table inside what appeared to be an ancient, yet well-maintained library. Its stone walls, though weathered and dulled, were intricately carved with a familiar grace and wisdom of countless generations. This was a place he had only seen in the delicate strokes of his mother's tapestrys—the Kingdom of Night, this was one of their grand libraries, a sanctuary of knowledge and mystery.

The two of them huddled close together, their forms illuminated by the moonlight that streamed through the library's arched windows. Before them, a sprawling scroll lay unfurled, its delicate parchment etched with the symbols of a language Solitude himself couldn't understand. However, they were absorbed in the text, their heads bowed close, almost touching, as they studied the scroll's contents. Yet, it wasn't the knowledge that held them so near—it was something far more intimate.

Their bodies pressed gently against each other, scales brushing as they enjoyed a quiet companionship. Mirage's wings were partially draped over Fortuneteller's small frame, creating a sense of comfort and closeness as she tenderly nuzzled her snout against his tear-dropped cheek. The tension of the outside world seemed to melt away in this secluded heaven, leaving only the soft whispers that passed between them.

But, beneath this tranquility, something dark was brewing. Secrets, no matter how carefully kept, had a way of unraveling, and this was no exception. Just beyond the two interlopers, hidden in the shadows of the hall that lay just behind them, a pair of prying violet eyes gleamed with a cold, seething fury.

The eavesdropper was most certainly a Nightwing, Solutude concluded, and they sent a crawling chill down his spine. But it wasn't her seamless blending with the darkness that made him uneasy—it was the frightening raw intensity in their eyes and the thin tendrils of smoke that billowed from their nostrils. And though they remained hidden, there was something terrifying in their restraint, a sense that the longer they held back, the most devastating their eventual outburst would be.

"Sadly, we had only just begun persuing each other romantically before my mother discovered us," Fortuneteller breathed, old emotional wounds seeming to reopen as he spoke, leading him to clench his jaw and shake his head to try and disapate the pain that jabbed at his heart.

"It was inevitable, really," he continued, a bitter and mock smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "After all, she was a grand seer herself. There was nothing I could do to escape her gaze. And within hours, we were torn from each other's side and thrust back to where we had begun."

The vision abruptly flashed returned back to its origin—the royal Sandwing hall, where tensions now ran high. The two councils, all of their faces contorted with anger, seemed to hurl accusations with little regard for diplomacy. In the center of the storm was Mirage who stood strong, her head whipping back and forth with her maw open, clearly attempting to defend herself.

And admist the sea of enmity, Fortuneteller remained near the edge of the room, close to Queen Nocturna. Her imposing figure loomed over him, her wings unfurled in a protective arc that shielded her most valuable seer from the chaos. Fortuneteller was only able to merely peer out from under his queen's wing, looking upon Mirage with pain as everything began to shatter beyond repair.

"They were all furious..," Fortuneteller started up again, his gaze faltering from the orb and dropping towards the ground, as if the upcoming scene was too painful for him to watch. "Queen Seraph was beyond enraged. She demanded retribution, insistent that Nocturna have me executed for consorting and manipulating a member of the royal family."

His voice began quieter, overflowing with acidity. "But Nocturna wouldn't give me up just like that. I was her most powerful seer, her most powerful asset. To her, I was irreplacable."

Fortuneteller's gaze, which had still been fixed on the floor, suddenly lifted. His eyes, filled with a mix of guilt and regret, found Solitude's. There was hesitation, a reluctance to reveal the depths of his shame, but the words came nonetheless, driven by a need to finally unburden his soul.

"And during the chaos, I managed to slip away. The two tribes were so consumed with their anger that they didn't notice me slipping out from under Nocturna's wing and fleeing into the shadows," he confessed, his voice starting to tremble as he took notice of Solitude's talons digging into the dirt as a way to keep himself grounded and not fling himself at his father.

"Solitude, I promise I would've taken Mirage with me. But there was no future I could see of us both making it out of there alive!" Fortuneteller pleaded, the pain of the decision he had made making it hard for him to keep a hushed tone. "I left her there, it was the only choice I had. And I had foreseen that by the next morning, the heat  was likely to have cooled, and I could retrieve her at dawn."

Solitude hissed, a low, menacing sound that reverberated throughout the chamber, echoing off the walls like the growl of a distant storm. He could feel the heat buliding inside him, a fiery rage that churned in his chest and flared up his throat, manifesting in the thick plume of smoke that curled from his nostrils. His muscles tensed, the anger coursing through him like molten lava, searing and unstoppable.

"But you never did come back at dawn, did you?" Solitude spat, his gaze locked with Foruneteller's with an intensity that was hardly bearable for his cowering father. "You left her there to face them alone! And instead of returning for her, instead of being the savior you promised yourself you'd be, you slithered away like a cowardly little snake, hiding in a little hole while she was—" his voice broke, his accusations nearly choking him. And with a sudden burst of energy, he rose from the ground, his wings unfurling in a sharp, aggressive motion, shaking them as if preparing them to take him across the room in an assault on his father.

"You abandoned her. You left her to suffer while you ran away. And now you stand there, trying to justify it, as if there's any excuse for what you did. But there isn't. You betrayed her, and in effect, you betrayed me," he growled, his words dripping with contempt.

However, the intense flame of Solitude's aggression began to wane as Nymph suddenly leaped back into his view, a flash of vibrant colors cutting through the dark and standing directly in Solitude's path. The hues of his scales shifted with his emotions, swirling from deep, fearful purple to soft, calming greens, as if trying to soothe the raging storm within his companion with a warming display of colors.

"Solitude," Nymph implored, his voice gentle yet urgent. "I know that this is a very challenging conversation, and I can see how it's hurting you to have so much pain be unearthed. But please, just relax. There's still more to be told. You owe it to yourself to hear the whole truth, not just the pieces of it that fuel your anger."

Solitude fixed Nymph with a hard glare, his eyes burning with remnants of the rage that had consumed him moments before. Yet, he began to falter as his once outstretched wings slowly folded back against his sides. But even as his posture softened, the thick plumes of smoke that had been pouring from his snout now dwindled to faint, intermittent wisps, like the dying breaths of a fire that had nearly burned itself out.

"Go on then. Finish up your justification, asshole," Solitude grumbled, the harshness of his words more of a defense mechanism than anything else, a desperate attempt to shield himself from the vulnerability that was slowly creeping in.

Fortuneteller's face contorted to a grimace. "Well," he began, his voice strained. "I did come back at dawn like I promised myself I would. But, to my dismay, the worst of possibilities had come true."

Foruneteller's shoulders drooped, displaying  the crushing weight of his failure. "To my dismay, they had already taken her from the palace. She was gone, cast into the sands."

Fortuneteller's eyes flickered back to the orb, his brows furrowing concentration as he urged the swirling energies within the orb to present the next stage of his vision. The orb obeyed, its surface rippling like water touched by a sudden breeze, spiraling until a new image took shape.

It revealed Mirage laying crumpled in the searing sands of the desert, limp and defeated. And just beyond her was the gates of a city Solitude knew all too well: Sunspire, the city his mother now had wrapped around her talons.

Above her, casting a dark shadow across the sands, stood Queen Seraph. Her face was a twisted mask of rage, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles along her neck and face visibly pulsed. It was as if she was holding back words too vicious to speak, but her silence was somehow more threatening than any roar. Additionally, her talons dug into the sand, curling and flexing as if she were imagining them around Mirage's throat, squeezing the life from the traitor who dared soil her prestigious bloodline.

But Seraph was not alone. Flanking her was Brimstone whose eyes were fixed upon Mirage, but they held no trace of the fury or hate that burned so brightly in Queen Seraph's gaze. Instead, his eyes were clouded with sorrow and deep, unspoken shame while his battered face was now marred with a pain not born by physical means—it was the pain of a father watching his child fall from grace.

She was his daughter—his blood—and yet there she lay, cast out and broken at the gates of Sunspire, the most dangerous city in all the Sand Kingdom. And though Brimstone stood beside his Queen, there was no mistaking the deep, unspoken grief that clung to him like a spider to shadow.

"They left her outside of Sunspire as a twisted form of 'mercy' on Brimstone's behalf," Fortuneteller growled. "He refused to let his daughter be executed outright, so they settled on exile. And, of course, if she was ever to be spotted in any other Sandwing city, she would be killed."

As he spoke, his talons gripped the edges of the orb with a heated fierceness, urging it to reveal the final vision. The sphere pulsed under his touch, responding to the force of his order as it swirled once again, bestowing the final visions before them.

The vision showed Fortuneteller in the heart of what was now his foreroom, though, the space was vastly different from the eerie sanctum it had become for him now. The walls were simply just barren stone and the floor was coarse expanse of sand. The only piece of furniture in sight was a rough chunk of wood, crudely fashioned into a makeshift stand to support the magical orb he held today.

But it wasn't the starkness of the room or the ill-gotten orb that captured Solitude's attention—it was the projection of Fortuneteller. His demeanor was frantic, his movements erratic as he hovered over the orb, his talons shaking with desperation. The orb pulsed with light same as it did now, visions flashing within its depth. Yet, Fortuneteller merely skimmed over them, feverishly darting from one vision to the next. It was as if he was searching desperately for something within his visions that remained agonizingly out of reach.

"I knew if I persued her into Sunspire, I'd have gotten us both killed. But on her own, she stood a chance. And stood she did. She became resilient, strong, and respected in that forsaken city. But, with that strength came a bitterness," Fortuneteller whispered feebly, his talons slipping from his orb, no longer in need of its help. He turned to face Solitude once again, his dready violet eyes shimmering with unshead tears, a rare sight.

Dragons were not creatures prone to tears. Their pride, their strength, their very nature made such displays of emotion unthinkable, almost impossible. And yet, there stood Fortuneteller- a dragon Solitude thought of callous and without heart—on the brink of weeping. The sight filled Solitude's belly with a crushing feeling, as though he had swallowed stones.

"With each passing day, her hatred for me grew," Fortuneteller's voice quivered, his breath hitching as he dared continue. "It wasn't long before I could no longer see any visions of us together. Every reunion I dared to glimpse ended in my death, or worse, both of ours."

His voice broke on the last words, the sobs he had been holding back finally breaking free. His violet eyes, once full of mystique and wisdom, now shattered like fragile glass, tears spilling down his moon-droplet cheeks.

"I-I stayed away," he choked out, the admission hanging in the air like a confession, raw and unvarnished. "I let her live on without me, I let her hate me for what I had done, for what I had taken from her." Fortuneteller's sobs came harder now, his chest heaving with the effort to keep speaking through the overwhelming grief.

"This was the only way. I promise you, if there had been any path that would've brought me back to her, to you, I would've taken it. There's nothing I've wanted more than to return to her side, to hold you both in my wings, to shield you from the harsh reality we've been forced to endure," he insisted, his teary eyes pleading as the rambled on.

"But this...This is all there was. It was the only path where death did not fall on any of us," Fortuneteller paused, clearly struggling to find words at this point, but he still stumbled onwards. "I know you think of me as selfish, that I persured Mirage only for my own desire, but you have to understand that I truly believed that I could find a way for us to prevail and be a family together."

He then raised a trembling talon towards Solitude, as if in feeble effort to try and draw his pity in. "But I was a fool. I didn't make the right moves; I miscalculated, and I lost my way. I believed I was strong enough to shape our destiny, but I failed!" Fortuneteller cried, letting his talon go limp and hit onto the table beneath him as more tears of grief flowed forth.

"I lost the love of my life, I lost my chance at being a father to you, and any hope of a future where we could've been a family. But even knowing that, I promise, I've never stopped trying! I search every vision I get hoping that somehow, someway, we can still have our happy ending."

Solitude couldn't hold back any longer. Despite the years of endless training and the harsh discipline he had recieved to cultivate him into an unfeeling solider, something deep within him finally shattered. The mask he had worn for so long—hardening by years of being forced to surpress every emotion, every hint of vulnerability—began to crumble, piece by piece. His chest tightened, his breath hitched, and tears began to play at the corners of his eyes, defying all his instincts to stay strong. He had fought against this moment for so long, but there was no more room inside of him to keep it buried.

The tears, those tiny, rebellious drops, broke through the stoic exterior he had crafted, spilling down his face like raindrops on a forgotten battlefield. And in that moment, Solitude was no longer the unfeeling assassin he had been molded into. He was simply a dragon, broken by the truth he had not fully recognized.

Solitude's voice trembled with a volatile mix of fury and disbelief as he spat out the words. "What the hell are you saying?" His eyes burned with an intensity that could cut through stone, locking onto Fortuneteller's, demanding answers he knew he would not obtain. "You never bothered to say a damn thing about any of this when mother and I found you cowering in this pitiful hole all those years ago!"

Nymph, eyes wide with worry, dashed to Solitude's side. He pressed his much smaller and limber frame against Solitude's imposing, rigid body, trying to ground him, to keep him from spiraling into the rage that threatened to consume him. His talons came to rest on Solitude's shoulder, as if the mere touch would bring him some comfort.

"Hold on, Solitude," Nymph said, his voice soft yet firm. "Calm down. Let him finish."

Fortuneteller slowly pushed himself away from the table, his cloak billowing slightly, catching the air as he moved. And as he stepped towards Nymph and Solitude, he appeared more fragile than ever—his posture lacking any strength or balance, making him seem incredibly frail, as if he might tumble over at the slightest touch.

"I didn't tell you the truth back then because Mirage wouldn't have believed a word of it. She'd have killed me on the spot, accusing me of lying," Fortuneteller whimpered, having to relive the moment of his bittersweet reunion with the love he had lost causing him more pain than Solitude could bare to think. "So, I told you both that I ran, that I was just a coward trying to save my own hide. It was safer to let her believe the worst of me; it would satisfy her anger and confirm her suspicions. But now, with you here, alone, I can finally reveal the truth."

Fortuneteller managed to summon up the remainder of his dignity and strength, extending one of his battered trembling talons towards his son. It was a tentative gesture that was filled with longing. And of course, Solitude at first acted instinctively—his body tensed, his teeth bared into a snarl, and a thin stream of smoke hissed through the gaps.

But then, he saw something in his father's teary eyes—an earnestnessty and desperation that cut through his walls. His gaze held not a single reminant of deceit, only a plea for understanding, for a chance to finally set things right. And imperceptibly, Solitude began to soften, giving way to a flood of emotions. And for the first time in his life, he felt the touch of his father. The rough, weathered talons brushed gently against his cheek, wiping away the tear that begun to fall unbeknownst to him. The gesture was tender, filled with a love that had been denied, misunderstood, and forgotten.

As Nymph quietly stepped aside, giving them space, Fortuneteller moved in closer, the subtle rustle of his cloak echoing with each movement he made. He straightened to his full height, unfurling his wings from beneath the cloak, wrapping them tenderly around his son, cocooning Solitude that bestowed a warmth onto him that had been absent for far too long. It was too much to resist.

Solitude's guard was successfully destroyed, leaving him vulnerable with no defense, but he no longer cared. He surrendered to the embrace, allowing himself to be pulling into the comforting fold of his father's wings. And, for the first time, Solitude reached out with his own talons, wrapping them around his father in a deep, desperate hug. Solitude felt a sense of peace and relief wash over him that came from finally letting go and allowing himself to be held, truly held, by his father for the first time.

"I'm not sure what I should even say to you now. What is there to say? What is there to do?" Solitude's voice trembled, a raw plea. The weight of everything—his mother's suffering, his own anger, and now the sudden the closeness of his father—pressed heavily on his chest, constricting his breath.

Fortuneteller gently loosened his hold, enough to pull back and meet his son's gaze. Their violet depths were softened, the tears now halted. But then, his gaze wandered towards the edge of the foreroom where the faint rays of dawn had filtered through the small cracks and crevices of the home. His gaze suddenly turned sharp and concerned at the sight of the light.

"Say nothing, son," Fortuneteller murmured in a hushed, yet urgent whisper. "Dawn is coming." He gestured towards the cracks in the walls, making sure Solitude recognized the approaching danger. "The Conclave is on their way. Hurry, take your friend and go to the Sky Kingdom. That's where you'll find your destiny." His eyes, deep pools of violet reflecting urgency and fear.

"And know this, my son," Fortuneteller said, lifting one of his talons and touching it gently against Solitude's chest, right where his heart beated strong and steady beneath the scales before continuing. "If you ever shall need me again, I will always be right here."

Nymph stared upon the two with his scales shifting into a warm array of colors. Soft pinks blossomed across his them, mingling with bright yellows and flashes of silver, displaying his conflicting emotions. And despite the tranquility of scene before him, Nymph's frills flicked nervously at the sides of his face, a behavior that portrayed his buliding discomfort and fear.

"Powerful seer and loving father. Awesome, great!" Nymph exclaimed, clearly trying to inject some levity while his gaze flitted back and forth between Fortuneteller and Solitude, searching for reassurance. "But, uhm, Conclave? Coming?" He continued, his words coming faster now, driven my nervous energy. "We go, like, now?"

Nymph's voice rose an octave or two as he gestured urgently towards the door, his previous exhaustion completely forgotten in the face of the imminent threat almost upon their doorstep.

Solitude gave Nymph a nod of understanding and taking a deep breath before untangling himself from his father's embrace and moved towards the entrance, shaking his wings to ready them for their extensive upcoming flight. But, he hesitated at the doorstep, casting one final, lingering glance back at Fortuneteller.

His father stood there, cloaked in the dim light of the room, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sorrow, still glistening from the tears that had fallen. The sight struck Solitude in a way he hadn't expected, a pang of worry slicing through him. "Will you be okay staying here?" He asked, beginning to worry he might be leaving his father to a grim fate at the talons of his certainly furious mother.

Fortuneteller nodded as he leaned heavily to the side, reaching out towards a corner of the room where a dust-covered satchel lay, its fabric frayed, looking as though it was hardly holding itself together. He pulled it up from the spot it seemed to have laid for some time, holding it within his talons for a few moments as if hesitant before shuffling towards Nymph and Solitude with his talons outstretched, offering the satchel to them.

"Oh no worries, they'll leave me be when they realize you aren't here. But, here. Take this with you."

Nymph stated curiously at the satchel, blinking in puzzlement before grasping the worn strap and beginning to rummage through it. "Oh, how kind of you!" Nymph chirped, his voice carrying both surprise and gratitude as he pulled out the first item. "Let's see...A little ruby ring, super cute!" He held the delicate ring up, studying it before sneaking his claws back into the satchel and shifting through it before pulling out yet another item. "And uhm, a silver amulet, also very nice."

And as he reached deeper into the satchel, his talons clinked against something quite solid which he quickly pulled out. It seemed to be a pair of gleaming gold wrist cuffs that were engraved with ancient runes and symbols that Solitude could not identify. "And ah...A pair of gold wrist cuffs? Well, thank you, Mister Fortuneteller," Nymph added, his tone still polite but not tinged with a hint of confusion.

But as Nymph remembered their current siduation, his earlier enthusiasm giving way to skepticism. "But what do we need these trinkets for? Won't these just rattle around and get in the way? We need to be quick, not weighed down by...Accesories."

"Maybe he means for us to sell these, gather some gold," Solitude suggested as he eyed the items within Nymph's talons. He shrugged slightly, as if trying to justify the thought in his own mind. But just as the notion settled, Fortuneteller's reaction was immediate and dismissive.

"No, no, definitely don't sell any of that!" Fortuneteller scoffed, a hint of exasperation sharpening his tone. He stepped closer towards the two of them, his head shaking vehemently.

"Those are animus-touched items, and they're worth far more than any amount of gold. They could very well mean the difference between life and death on your journey."

He reached forward, his talons steady as he grasped the golden cuffs resting in Nymph's talons. He carefully lifted the cuffs, giving them a tiny shake. "These cuffs I stole from the Nightwing treasury before my escape, along with my seer orb. When worn, they will give you resistance to elemental attacks like frost breath and fire."

Without pausing for questions, Fortuneteller moved onto the next item, taking the amulet resting in Nymph's talons with his free one. The small charm dangled from his talons, appearing dull and mundane. "And this is an amulet that provides the wearer with infinite stamina. You'll find it invaluable for the long journey ahead."

He then carefully placed the amulet back into Nymph's palm while swiftly shoving the golden cuffs into Nymph's own secure satchel that was clinging to his side. The young dragon flinched in surprise, obviously not expecting Fortuneteller to touch anything on his person. But, he managed to keep calm and still, simply nodding compliance and understanding to Fortuneteller with a shaky smile.

Fortuneteller's gaze darted back to the old satchel, his eyes widening as he noticed the last item still nestled within. He reached in, retrieving the small ruby ring, admiring the climbing crimson red ruby engraved into it before holding it out towards Solitude. "And of course, the ring, do not forget the ring. This one is particularly special."

Fortuneteller's expression suddenly softened as memories seemed to flicker within his eyes. "I acquired both this and the amulet from a Seawing many, many years ago. He was in desperate need of insights only I could provide. In exchange, he offered me these treasures. What a steal!"

He let out a short, almost nervous laugh, though the sound lacked any real humor. "Anyways, this ring provides its wearer scales of stone. With it equipped, any attack will simply bounce right off, leaving you untouched. It'll make you as resilient as a mountain! But," his voice dropped to a near whisper,"these are my most precious possessions. So make sure you treat them with the utmost care. Even though they are imbued with powerful magic, they're still just jewelry pieces."

Solitude regarded his father with a solem expression, his eyes locked onto the tiny ring nestled in Fortuneteller's palm. He reached out, his talons brushing against his father's before firmly grasping the delicate piece of jewelry. He held it up to the scant light, turning it slowly, admiring the rich crimson gem that seemed to pulse with a quiet but stoic power.

Solitude slipped the ring onto one of his middle talons, noticing immediately how snug the fit was. He then gave it a little test by waving his talons back-and-forth, watching as the stone gleamed with each subtle movement, as if it was awakening to its new wearer.

Satisfied, Solitude let his gaze drift back to his father. The usual guardedness in his eyes had softened, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the crack of a smile dared to crack across his father as he stared at his father. And with a deep breath, Solitude bowed his head to show his gratitude.

"Thank you for these gifts, father. Don't worry, we'll take good care of them," Solitude assured him, his gaze remaining steady as he searched his father's face for any sign of lingering doung, but all he found was warmth and compassion in the smile his face word.

"Well, I sure hope so. Now, go! Head on to the Sky Kingdom!" He shouted, his wings unfurling with a swift, decisive movement that sent a gust of air through the small chamber. The sudden shift in his demeanor caught Solitude and Nymph off guard, and before they could fully process it, Fortuneteller advanced towards them while flapping his wings, the leathery membranes stretching taut as he forced them out the doorway.

Solitude let out a low, rumbling chuckle directed at his father's sudden burst of intenisty before turning his sights onto the familiar vast desert stretching out before him. The first light of dawn was just beginning to kiss the tops of the dunes, the pale, golden rays spilling over the desert like a blanket, chasing away the shadows of night. The sky above was a canvas of soft, pastel hues—pinks and purples melting onto the deep blues of the receding night. As Solitude gazed across the landscape, he felt a sense of calm wash over her, the beauty of the emerging day offering comfort.

"Alright Nymph," Solitude called out, turning his attention to his little Rainwing companion who was just managing to regain his composure. "Are you ready?"

Nymph nodded quickly, his movements brisk and full of nervous energy as he came to stand beside Solitude. His wings, normally kept tight to his sides, were now fluttering out and back again in a series of restless motions, as though he were testing their readiness for the journey ahead. He glanced down at the amulet hanging around his neck, the silver catching the first light of dawn and gleaming brightly against his iridescent scales. Despite the gift's undeniable value, Nymph was gazing at it with clear discomfort.

"Uh, yeah!" Nymph blurted out, his voice higher than usual, betraying his unease. "It's just a little weird, you know? Us Rainwings don't ever wear stuff like this. We're all about the natural, blending in, and this..," He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the amulet with a flick of a talon while his frills fluttered slightly, reflecting his uncertainty.

"But, hey!" He continued, his tone growing more upbeat as he tapped the amulet lightly. "It's making my sore wings feel practically weightless, which is...well, it's great! Like, really great. So, yeah, I'll get used to it. I guess I have to, right?"

Solitude nodded, a faint flicker of humor in his expression, a lightness that momentarily lifted the weight of the night's revelations. "Yes, yes, you'll have to," he replied, his voice conveying both amusement and gentle insistence. "Now, let's go. Conclave on the way, remember?"

Without waiting for a response, Solitude shifted his stance, his muscles coiling with anticipation. In one fluid movement, his unfurled dusky wings stretched to their full length, their dark and muted colors contrasting sharply against the golden hues of the sun. With a powerful leap, he launched himself into the air, his wings beating steadily as he ascended into the sky.

Nymph was right behind him, his wings fluttering with that bit of that initial nervous energy. But, once they found their rhythm, he fell into an effortless flight, trailing just behind Solitude as they soared higher.

But as Solitude ascended higher into the sky, he found himself unable to resist the pull of one final glance back. He twisted his neck, casting his gaze downward, and there he spotted his father standing in the doorway. He had his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket, shielding him from the early morning chill that would soon be demolished by the heat of the desert sun. He also had one of his front talons extended high into the air, waving it back in forth as his goodbye.

Solitude felt a pang in his chest, wishing he could’ve stayed a little longer, to savor the newfound connection, to soak in the love he had rarely known. A part of him even dared to imagine a future where they would meet again, where the shadows of the past would be forgotten. He pictured them together, side by side, perhaps sharing that lizard they had spoken of earlier.

But the sky called to him, and the journey ahead was long. With a final, wistful smile, Solitude turned his gaze back to the horizon. They would see each other again, and when that day came, they would share more than just a meal; they would share stories, laughter, and finally relish in the bond they had reclaimed.

- - -

Hello again, dear readers!

I’m excited to share another chapter with you all, though I must admit, this one took a bit longer to polish up due to my obsessive attention to detail. There’s still some work to be done, with a few more tweaks and corrections needed here and there, but I couldn’t wait any longer to get it out to you.

I hope you enjoyed diving deeper into the story with me! I have such a soft spot for Fortuneteller and Mirage’s relationship, or more accurately, the lack there of. There’s something so compelling about their tragic story, the way their lives intertwined and unraveled, that really tugs at my heartstrings. I’m a sucker for those kinds of narratives!

Also, apologies if it felt like Nymph didn’t get much of the spotlight in this chapter. Rest assured,he’ll get lots of attention in the next one!

As always, thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts! As an additional treat, here’s some concept art of Solitude :) ~ Breezy 🩵