Chapter Text
If the MudWing known as Clay hadn’t been sold as an egg to the Talons of Peace in exchange for two cows…
One would suppose that his life would have been rather mundane, in the grand scheme of things.
He would have grown up as the bigwings of his troop, one that fought for Queen Burn.
Compassionate, friendly, loyal… working hard and fighting harder for those he cared for.
But always wrestling with the fear that one day, he would fail to protect something irreplaceable.
Sora was battling fiercely, kicking and spitting at an IceWing, when Crane leaped towards the attacker and blasted its wing with fire. The soldier screeched, one of its wings blazing, and crashed to the earth to be consumed by a blaze below it. "Thanks," Sora panted. Crane simply nodded, before turning back to the battle.
And then she attacked.
A pristine IceWing with moon-silver scales and her teeth painted red with recent blood, lunged towards Clay's golden-brown sister, serrated claws extended and poised to slash at Crane's throat.
All time seemed to slow, hesitating from the whitewater rapids of battle to a trickling stream headed slowly downhill. Clay knew that if he didn't act, Crane would die, setting his life on a very different path; one he couldn't bear to think about. She had to live.
He would change her fate.
The cave was supposed to be a cradle of destiny. At least, that’s what Morrowseer called it when he dropped in every few months to check on them, his booming voice rattling the stone walls as he reminded them of their “glorious destiny.”
To the five dragonets trapped inside, it was just a rock prison.
Flame stretched his wings dramatically, knocking dust from the stalactites. “If one more of you whines about boredom, I’ll show you what real suffering feels like. Pain builds character. Broken bones only grow back stronger!”
Kestrel—looming in the shadows—actually smiled at that. It wasn’t a warm smile. More like a hawk satisfied with a bloody meal. “Finally, one of you is learning. Listen to Flame. He understands the meaning of strength, as all SkyWings should.”
Viper flicked her tail, the SandWing’s eyes glinting with amusement. “Strong, sure. But that’s so boring. If you want to make things interesting, you don’t just hurt someone—you make them squirm. That’s more fun.” She shoved Squid’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
“Hey! Don’t—don’t do that!” Squid yelped, the SeaWing flaring his wings before he quickly pulled them tight again. He glanced at the cavern walls as if they might be listening. His voice dropped to a mutter. “Moons above, I don’t even know who’s the scariest anymore. Ochre only cares about food, Fatespeaker is mostly nice, but the others… Viper’s a sadistic brute, Flame thinks that misery and broken bones build character and Kestrel encourages it, but Morrowseer can read minds and see the future… but who’s the most likely to eat me first?”
Ochre didn’t even look up. The MudWing was too busy gnawing on a chunk of half-stale cow leg, tail thumping happily against the cave floor. “If anyone eats Squid, can I have the leftovers?” he asked, mouth full.
“Disgusting,” Flame snapped, nostrils flaring.
“You’re disgusting,” Squid muttered back, though too quietly for Flame to hear.
Meanwhile, Fatespeaker tried her best to sound like a leader. The NightWing stepped between Viper and Squid, wings spread wide. “Come on, guys. We’re supposed to be a team. Doesn’t the prophecy say we’re meant to stop the war together? Shouldn’t we at least try to get along?”
Flame barked a laugh. “Spoken like a true weakling. ‘Get along’? Do you think Queen Burn or Queen Blister will give up the throne if we ask nicely? Wake up. Only the strongest dragons survive. The rest are just kindling.”
Viper leaned lazily against the wall, smirking. “And watching the kindling burn is the fun part.”
“See?” Kestrel’s voice lashed across the chamber like a whip. “That’s the right attitude. Real dragons don’t whimper about kindness or cooperation. They take what they want. You should all be more like Flame and Viper.”
Fatespeaker’s wings drooped, but her eyes stayed bright with stubbornness. “And if we end up at each other’s throats before we even leave this cave? What then? You can’t end a violent war with even more violence… right?”
Flame rolled his eyes. “Then just stay here, hide and wait out the war in this cave, where’s it’s safe and boring. Maybe Morrowseer can find some other NightWing to replace a soft lung like you.”
Ochre licked his claws, oblivious to the rising tension. “Does anyone have more food?”
The cave grew colder when Morrowseer arrived. It always did. The massive NightWing filled the space like a shadow given shape, eyes glowing faintly in the dim torchlight. Even Kestrel, who sneered at everything, stood straighter when he swept his gaze across the dragonets.
Flame puffed out his chest, eager for approval.
“Good,” Morrowseer rumbled, circling them like a predator assessing prey. “You’ve grown into a proper SkyWing, Flame. Vicious. Disciplined. A natural leader, yet loyal to your elders. I expect great things from you.”
Kestrel’s eyes glimmered with fierce satisfaction, as though Flame’s praise belonged to her.
Viper yawned, stretching her claws. “What about me?” she asked with casual arrogance. “I’ve been practicing my ‘making others miserable’ skills.” She nudged Squid’s tail just to hear him yelp.
Morrowseer studied her. “Cruelty comes easily to you. Good. But your lack of ambition…” His gaze narrowed. “Your talk of letting Burn or Blister fight it out—this apathy is dangerous. You will follow the prophecy. And you will follow Flame’s lead.”
Viper rolled her eyes but offered a lazy nod. “Sure. Whatever keeps me entertained.”
Morrowseer turned next to Squid. The SeaWing tried to fold himself small, but the NightWing’s gaze pinned him.
“Pathetic,” Morrowseer said simply. “But predictable. You’ll follow whoever frightens you the most. That will suffice. For now.”
Squid whimpered, not sure whether to be insulted or relieved.
Ochre, meanwhile, was busy gnawing on a marrow bone. “Huh? Are we supposed to bow or something?” he mumbled.
The NightWing exhaled through his nose. “Simple, obedient, and gluttonous. Fine. At least you won’t cause trouble.”
Then his gaze fell on Fatespeaker.
She straightened nervously but didn’t drop her eyes. “I know you want us to pick Blister, but I still think Blaze would be better. She’s not cruel, violent, power-hungry or a schemer. And isn’t that what the prophecy is for? To end the war, not just crown another tyrant?”
Kestrel hissed. “Mind your tongue, whelp.”
Morrowseer’s expression didn’t change, but his tail flicked once against the stone. “Naïve,” he said at last. “Your idealism blinds you. Blister is intelligent. Ruthless. She will rule with strength.”
“But—”
Kestrel slammed her tail down. “Enough! Broken bones make stronger dragons, remember? Pain teaches survival. Your softheartedness teaches nothing.”
Flame smirked proudly, remembering when Kestrel had once snapped his foreleg during training. “Exactly. I’m living proof.”
Fatespeaker’s wings sagged. The others never stood with her. Squid was always too terrified, Ochre too distracted, Viper too amused, Flame too eager for Kestrel’s approval. It left her clinging desperately to the prophecy itself—the only promise that there had to be a better future, if only she could reach out and seize it…
Later, when the dragonets slept, Squid crept closer to the shadows near the cave’s entrance. He’d learned long ago that paranoia sometimes unearthed truths no one else noticed. Tonight, it rewarded him with whispers.
Kestrel. Dune. Webs. And Morrowseer.
“…she’s disruptive,” Morrowseer was saying. “Her softness will breed dissent among the group. I will take her back to the NightWing tribe.”
“And replace her with who?” Dune asked warily.
“Starflight,” Morrowseer replied. “He is obedient. Quiet. He understands his role as a backup for the prophecy. With Flame as leader, Starflight supporting him, and the others falling in line, the prophecy will unfold smoothly.”
“Hmm,” Webs murmured. “If it keeps them united…”
Kestrel snorted. “Take her, then. One less dragonet whining about kindness.”
Squid’s scales prickled. His mind spun in terrified loops.
If I tell Fatespeaker, Morrowseer will incinerate me and scatter my ashes like confetti. If I don’t tell her, she’ll vanish forever—and she’s the only dragon who doesn’t treat me like a morsel of emergency food. Well, except Ochre, but he only cares if I bring him non-cannibalism snacks.
He pressed his talons to his head, whispering frantically to himself. “Tell or don’t tell? Burn to a crisp or lose the only nice one? This is not a winning choice. It’s not even a choice at all!!!
Squid curled into himself, shaking, caught between the fear of death (by Morrowseer) and the fear of loneliness and then eventual death (at the hands of Viper, Flame, Kestrel, or all three.)
And for once, the cowardly SeaWing didn’t know which was worse.
Squid couldn’t sleep. Not with Morrowseer’s words still clawing at his mind like sharks circling in the dark. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined the NightWing dragging Fatespeaker away to who knows where, leaving only the echo of her voice and the faint scent of fruit.
He curled tighter into his nest, whispering furiously to himself.
“Tell her, get roasted. Don’t tell her, she disappears forever. Tell her, I die. Don’t tell her, she dies or something even worse. Those are my options. Why is my life always a lose-lose situation?”
“Squid.”
The voice nearly made him jump out of his scales. Ochre was lumbering closer, chewing on something. Always chewing.
“What do you want?” Squid hissed, pressing a fin over his chest. “Trying to kill me with a heart attack?”
Ochre blinked slowly. “You’re talking really loud. And twitching.” He flopped onto his belly with a sigh. “I thought you might have food.”
“I do not have food,” Squid snapped. “I have problems!”
Ochre tilted his head. “Problems you can eat?”
“No!” Squid buried his snout in his talons. Then, without meaning to, the words tumbled out in a frantic hiss: “They’re going to take Fatespeaker away. Replace her with someone else. Some NightWing dragonet. I overheard it. Morrowseer and the guardians. She’s doomed, Ochre. Doomed.”
Ochre paused mid-chew. “Replace her? Why?”
“Because she’s nice,” Squid groaned. “Because she talks back. Because she thinks Blaze is better than Blister. Because she doesn’t act like Flame and Kestrel’s fire-scorched demon spawn. Pick one!”
Ochre stared at him, expression vacant. Then, very seriously, he said:
“But… Fatespeaker’s nice.”
Squid threw up his talons. “Yes, I just said that!”
“No, I mean—she’s nice. Once, she gave me the best, biggest, fattiest cow leg at supper. Didn’t even keep it for herself. Who else would do that?” Ochre’s wings drooped in genuine confusion. “Why would anyone want to get rid of her?”
Squid froze. His mind was a nest of barbed wire, full of worst-case scenarios, and Ochre had just strolled through it with a single, blundering truth.
“…Because,” Squid said weakly, “the world doesn’t work like that. Nice dragons don’t win. Nice dragons get replaced. Or burned. Or eaten, Or—”
Ochre shrugged. “Then maybe we should help her. If she’s gone, who’s going to share the best cow legs with me?”
For a moment, Squid just stared at him. Ochre, with bits of bone in his teeth and eyes half-lidded like he was drifting between worlds, had just reframed everything. Not with clever strategy. Not with paranoia. But with the blunt loyalty of someone who liked food and liked the dragon who gave it to him.
And in that moment, Squid realized something terrifying: if even Ochre would stick his thick neck out for Fatespeaker… maybe Squid had to, too.
Squid had never been good at keeping secrets. Especially the bad ones. Especially the bad ones involving NightWings with volcanic tempers and SkyWings who thought “character-building” meant “setting someone on fire.”
It all came out in a blur.
“They’re going to replace you! With some other NightWing! Some Star-thing. Star… Starlight? Starbright? No—Starflight! That’s it! They’re taking you away, and Morrowseer said you were too much of a liability, and Kestrel didn’t even blink, and Dune and Webs rolled over like belly-up lizards and—”
“Squid.”
Fatespeaker’s eyes were wide, her wings trembling. “Don’t be ridiculous! The Talons of Peace and Morrowseer wouldn’t replace me! Would they?”
Denial.
She started pacing furiously.
“Okay, maybe Kestrel would. Kestrel would replace anyone, she’s crazy and horrible and cruel and thinks broken bones are nature’s vitamins! She and Flame both laugh about it!” She smacked the stone floor with her tail. “But Morrowseer? He can’t! I’m the NightWing from the prophecy! The chosen one!”
Anger.
Fatespeaker stopped. Her breathing grew shallow. “Unless… unless he actually found another NightWing egg born on the brightest night. In secret. And didn’t tell anyone. He’s old, he’s powerful, he has spies everywhere… of course he could’ve hidden one.”
Bargaining.
“Oh, moons.” She sank to the ground, curling her wings around herself. “Why would he even need me? I’m not cruel like Flame, I’m not scary like Viper, I’m not even obedient like Squid or Ochre.” Her voice cracked. “I’m just… me. And maybe that’s not enough.”
Depression.
Finally, she drew in a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes hardened with the first glimmer of resolve. “No. If Morrowseer thinks I can be replaced, then I’ll just prove him wrong. I’ll show him I can end this war on my own terms—not with more bloodshed, but with something better. If we’re supposed to be a group of destined dragonets, then it starts with us. We succeed together, or fail together.”
Acceptance.
Squid groaned. “Oh, no. You’re plotting.”
“Exactly,” Fatespeaker said, lifting her snout. “We’ll hold a group meeting. Talk it out. Make a plan of escape and end the war, fufill the prophecy on our own terms.”
“You mean,” Squid said, “you want to tell Flame and Viper—the two dragons most likely to rip out my throat if I breathe too loudly—that Morrowseer wants to replace you, and that we should all escape?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll rat us out before you can finish your sentence!”
“Then at least I’ll know if we were even friends in the first place.”
The dragonets gathered under the dim torchlight of the cave. Fatespeaker stood tall, wings open in what she hoped was a posture of authority.
“I’ve called us together,” she began, “because we need to start acting like a group. Like a prophecy. If we’re going to end this war, we have to trust each other. That means supporting each other—even when the Talons or Morrowseer disagree.”
Flame snorted smoke. “You mean supporting you. Because you’re about to get tossed out on your tail for being dead weight.”
Viper smirked, her forked tongue flicking. “Why risk our scales for your problem? It’s not like Morrowseer or Kestrel are threatening us.”
“Exactly,” Flame said with a nod. “Why don’t we just rat you out when the adults come back? It’s your problem, not ours.”
Fatespeaker’s wings sagged. “You would really—”
“Yes,” Flame and Viper said in unison.
Ochre and Squid exchanged nervous glances. For a heartbeat, Squid thought maybe—just maybe—this was his chance to stand with Fatespeaker. Then Flame’s fiery eyes landed on him, and his courage shriveled into a husk.
“I… I guess I agree,” Squid muttered. “Sorry, Fatespeaker.”
Ochre fumbled with a half-eaten haunch of goat. “Um. Yeah. Me too. But only because Flame scares me, and if he kills me, I won't get to eat any more food. And that would be bad.”
“Four to one,” Flame said smugly.
“Four to one,” Viper echoed with a grin.
Fatespeaker’s chest tightened. She’d hoped, foolishly, that her words might spark something—loyalty, idealism, anything. Instead, her so-called prophecy siblings looked at her like she was already gone.
Without another word, she marched to the great stone blocking the cave entrance. She pressed her forehead against its unyielding surface and gave it a few dull, frustrated thuds.
“Stupid rock. Stupid prophecy. Stupid dragons. Stupid me…”
From across the cave, Squid winced. Ochre kept chewing. Flame smirked. And Viper laughed softly to herself, savoring the sound of hope cracking.
Squid woke with his heart pounding, his scales clammy with sweat. The nightmare clung to him like wet seaweed. He had been surrounded—Fatespeaker lying in a puddle of her own blood, smiling faintly as if to say, “I told you so.” Kestrel and Morrowseer stood over her, applauding like proud teachers.
“Pain makes you strong, Squid! Don’t you want to be strong like Flame?” said Dream Kestrel.
“Replaceable tools, that’s all you dragonets are. It’s nothing personal. Shrug.” said Dream Morrowseer.
Dream-Dune and Dream-Webs had lounged nearby, both shrugging like lazy seals. “What can you do? Can’t be helped when you’re a pathetic waste of air.”
Then the others had joined in. Dream-Flame sneered, Dream-Viper licked her claws…
And then the group announced that they were replacing Squid with a talking cow, who promptly mooed and received a round of applause.
“Yay! I love cows!” said Dream Ochre, happily flapping his wings.
Squid had then bolted awake, gasping, heart hammering in his throat.
It wasn’t just a dream. Not really. That was the future, his future… unless he did something—Fatespeaker today, him tomorrow. A liability. Dead weight. Next in line for disposal. The unspoken emergency food.
And so, trembling but determined, Squid slipped through the sleeping cave. Flame’s wings twitched in his sleep, Viper’s claws flexed, Ochre snored like a broken warhorn. Squid crept to the underwater tunnel, staring into the black water that smelled faintly of algae and iron. It was the only way out.
He nearly jumped out of his scales when a voice whispered.
“Squid?”
Fatespeaker sat in the shadows, her face drawn and weary, her eyes swollen from lack of sleep. Her usual bright energy had been smothered beneath Morrowseer’s verdict.
“I—uh—I—” Squid flailed, tail lashing. “I’m sorry, Fatespeaker! I should’ve stuck up for you! I’m a coward, I know, I know, but I can’t just stay here and wait for Kestrel or Flame or Viper—or even Morrowseer himself—to slit my throat while I sleep! And—and I thought maybe—maybe I could go through the tunnel, maybe there's a hidden entrance switch on the outside, maybe—” His words tumbled like rocks down a cliff.
Fatespeaker tilted her head, watching his frantic fins ripple. Then she took a deep, deliberate breath.
“Squid. Breathe. Please.”
He hiccuped air like a drowning fish.
“You had me at ‘sorry,’” she said softly. Then, with a tiny, wry smile: “And thank you for sticking up for me. Here and now. I know that’s… that’s more than most of the dragons I know of… would ever do for me.”
Squid froze, halfway between trembling panic and stunned disbelief. She… she wasn’t angry? She wasn’t mocking him? Accusing him of saving his own scales?
“Let’s make a plan,” Fatespeaker continued, her voice regaining a spark of its usual conviction. “Go through the water tunnel. If you can get outside, I’ll light a smoke signal. You’ll know where to come back. And once we have proof the outside is real and reachable… we’ll figure out what comes next.”
A loud yawn startled them both. Ochre lumbered up, blinking sleepily, a cow bone still clutched in his talons.
“What are we doing? Escaping?”
“I… yes. Yes, we are!” said Squid, drawing a nod from Fatespeaker.
“Okay! I’ll wait with Fatespeaker. Are we getting food after this?”
Fatespeaker’s eyes softened. She smiled, for the first time in days.
“I’m sure there will be lots of food once we get outside.”
“Yay!” Ochre said simply, curling beside her as if this were the coziest arrangement in the world.
For the first time, Squid saw something like hope flicker in Fatespeaker’s face. A broken trio, yes. But a trio nonetheless.
“Go on, Squid,” she said. “We’ll be waiting for you. Please… come back safe.”
He swallowed hard, staring at the black, gaping mouth of the tunnel. He could breathe underwater… but what if the tunnel didn’t open anywhere? And what if Flame and Viper caught them before he got back?
He forced his fins flat against his sides. Stop thinking. Just swim.
Squid dove, the cold swallowing him whole.
Inside the cave, Fatespeaker and Ochre sat beneath the shaft of sunlight where their smoky fire hissed and crackled. The smoke curled upward, a hopeful banner against the sky.
Ochre munched happily on a charred haunch of cow.
Fatespeaker sat beside him, calm and still. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t pace. She only smiled faintly, eyes locked on the fire as if the smoke itself were an answer.
That was the sight Flame found when he strutted in.
“Well, isn’t this pathetic,” he sneered, wings flaring. “Sitting around, waiting on Squid like a pair of abandoned ducklings. What if he doesn’t come back, hmm? What if he takes one look at the world outside and leaves you here forever?”
Fatespeaker looked up. She smiled, serene.
“He won’t. I have faith in him.”
Ochre beamed through a mouthful of meat. “Yeah! He promised me we’d go outside and eat lots of new food together! Squid would never lie about that.”
Flame blinked. Then laughed cruelly.
“When Kestrel gets back, I’ll tell her all about this. She’ll love teaching you what happens to traitors.”
Fatespeaker tilted her head, her voice as smooth as polished stone.
“Tell her what? That you need her to do your dirty work? I thought you were a true SkyWing.”
The words landed like claws. Flame stiffened. He opened his mouth, closed it again.
“I—well—Kestrel knows best—she—”
“Oh,” Fatespeaker said softly, the faintest trace of pity in her tone. “I see. You’re just trying to be her shadow.”
Flame sputtered, for the first time ever robbed of his easy cruelty. His wings twitched. His claws dug into the stone.
“You know what? No. I should just kill you right now and save everyone the trouble,” he snapped, though it came out hollow.
Fatespeaker stood, meeting his eyes without flinching.
“I’m standing right here, Flame. I’ll even let you make the first move.”
For a heartbeat, it seemed he might. His claws flexed, fire flaring in his throat—then hesitated. His wings drooped.
A new voice cut in, amused.
“Well, this is fun.”
Viper slithered from the shadows, her forked tongue flicking. “Fatespeaker, you’re hilarious. And Flame, you’re even funnier. Puffing yourself up like Kestrel’s little shadow. All snarl, no bite.”
Flame turned scarlet. “At least I don’t drool over Morrowseer like you do!”
Viper’s grin widened. “Oh, I respect him. He’s terrifying. Clever. Dangerous. But I’m not stupid—I know he’d kill me, kill all of us, the second we stop being useful to him. That’s why I want to see if Fatespeaker can actually pull this off.”
Fatespeaker blinked. “Pull what off?”
“Escaping. Playing the folk hero, raging against the heavens, sticking it to authority, fulfilling the prophecy, ending the war, etc.” Viper’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “I don’t think you’ll succeed. In fact, I know you won’t. But watching you struggle, try, fail? That will be delicious. And when it’s all over, when you’re surrounded by hundreds or thousands of dead dragons because you tried and tried and failed to make a real, meaningful difference, I’ll be there to laugh and say, ‘I told you so.’”
For once, Flame looked small beside her. A puffed-up bully, Kestrel’s echo, while Viper gleamed sharp and cold with her own cruel amusement.
Fatespeaker’s smile was faint, but steady. She could live with that. Viper’s “respect” wasn’t loyalty—but it was engagement. And in her own twisted way, Viper had given her a chance.
The ground rumbled. With a grinding screech, the great entrance boulder shifted. Dust rained from the ceiling as the stone rolled back—revealing Squid, panting, dripping, eyes wide.
“I—I found it!” he gasped.
And then everything fell apart.
Claws thudded on stone. Dune and Webs burst in, shock plain on their faces. Webs looked almost impressed. Dune looked lost. Kestrel looked like a storm given scales.
“What,” she hissed, voice like fire on steel, “is going on here?”
Before anyone could answer, another sound crashed over them—the beat of many wings.
Queen Scarlet swept into view, flanked by a squadron of scarlet-armored soldiers. Her laughter echoed like bells soaked in venom.
“My, my. What’s this? The Talons of Peace. The Dragonets of Prophecy. Or… are they, really? But they’ve left me a smoke signal. How thoughtful.”
Battle erupted. Fire and steel clashed, smoke choked the air. Dune collapsed with a spear through his chest. Webs vanished into the chaos, fleeing like a shadow into water.
When the dust settled, Kestrel and the five dragonets were bound in chains of iron, dragged before Queen Scarlet’s talons.
Scarlet’s eyes gleamed, drinking in her prizes.
“Oh, what fun we’ll have together.”