The Timelines She Couldn't See

by LiquifiedNonkey

Summary:

Even the brightest night couldn't contain the full power of the three moons.
Whiteout hatched a day later, and she was still caught in the blast radius.
One moon grants either mindreading or prophecy.
Two grants both.
Three amplify them to dangerous levels.
And the day after the brightest night?
That day is a different matter entirely.

When Clearsight discovers a strange artifact made of a mysterious substance hidden deep within a corner of the NightWing library, she uncovers ancient animus-touched object—a mirror that connects her to alternate versions of herself in timelines she never knew existed. The magic protecting it keeps even Darkstalker blind, hiding its secrets in shadow. As realities bleed and futures unravel, Clearsight must confront the impossible: which path is truly hers, and can she choose the right one before time itself shatters?

Chapter 1: Prologue

Summary:

This is a prologue. Not sure what I'm supposed to put here.

Roughly 2000 AS

“Don’t touch it yet.”

The voice echoed through the dusty chamber, making the animus jump.

He pulled his claw back from the surface of the mirror. It wasn’t made of obsidian or glass, but something stranger.

“What is it made of?” he asked, “You haven’t told me yet. Is it from the comet that will fall?”

“No,” Blackout replied. She tucked her wings in, wrapping them around herself. She didn’t look at him. She rarely did. “Normal skyfire isn’t suitable for this purpose. Its mind-reading suppressing powers are too weak.”

The animus shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how quiet the chamber was. “Then what…” he trailed off.

“It’s refined skyfire,” Blackout said, almost to herself. “Purified, transmuted, woven with animus spells… and anchored at the convergence point.”

The animus blinked. “Convergence point?”

She didn’t answer. Her claws moved across the ground, tracing invisible paths in the dust.

“Too many futures crisscross through this time,” she murmured. “Threads of dragons who will matter later.” Several faces flashed through her mind. “All tangled into destinies loud and bright… but none of them are important enough for this.”

He frowned. “Then who is?”

Her claw paused. She looked up. Not at him, not quite at the mirror either, but past it.

“Clearsight,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

He glanced back at the mirror. It wasn’t a reflection of anything. It was like a hole in the world, one that shimmered with heatless light and timelines just out of reach.

“She’ll find it,” Blackout continued. “Not yet. Not today. Not in a thousand years. But she’ll find it.”

The animus hesitated, then nodded. “And if she decides not to use it?”

“She will.” There was no doubt in Blackout’s voice. “Eventually. She always does.”

A flicker rippled across the mirror — a pair of dark wings, black scales, and silver teardrop scales near large, dark purple eyes. The image vanished before it resolved.

“She’ll think she’s making her own choices,” Blackout said softly. “She’ll think she sees all the timelines.”

“Isn’t she?”

Blackout didn’t answer. She turned away instead, disappearing into the tunnel behind the chamber.

Chapter 2: Chapter 1 - A Divergence

Summary:

This is quite similar to canon but has a difference at the end. Enjoy!

Clearsight

 

Clearsight woke with a pounding headache. Today’s the day I’m going to meet him, she thought. Darkstalker. She already knew what would happen, of course. Mapping out the possible futures had taken the entire day, forty-two scrolls and several inkwells. She fidgeted nervously, slowly shredding the latest scroll into tiny pieces.

“Time to wake up!” her mother called cheerily, poking her head into the room. “Today’s your first day of - Oh dear.”

“I know, look at this mess,” Clearsight said, her wings twitching. “Maybe I should stay home for just one more night to clean it up.”

Swiftwings rolled her eyes. “Today’s the day you’re going to school and you know it. Most dragonets start when they’re two. You’re already three! You can’t afford to be behind.”

Clearsight mentally checked the futures ahead. There were almost no timelines when she successfully convinced her mother to let her stay. Besides, if she didn’t meet Darkstalker soon, he wouldn't be pleased, which would lead to a myriad of dark futures. She sighed and resigned herself to her fate.

Breathe, Clearsight. Tonight. You’ll meet him tonight. You know it, and he almost certainly knows it too.

Swiftwings gingerly stepped over a fallen inkwell with ink still dripping out and straightened it. “The real mess in this room is you, sweetheart,” said her mother. “It’s time to go. Come eat a nice rattlesnake for breakfast, and you’ll feel all energized and ready for school.

“No, rattlesnake will make me hiccup during the introduction circle,” Clearsight said. “Fish could make my talons slippery so I land awkwardly. I’ll have a squirrel; I can see that that has no unfortunate consequences.”

Her mother retreated, muttering something about a “paranoid daughter.”

This doesn’t have to change everything. I’m still holding the threads. I can control what happens next.

For instance, she knew Darkstalker was going to be waiting for her right outside the school. He wanted to meet her as soon as she landed. He might try to pretend for a moment that it was all a coincidence — Who are you? Have we met? What do you mean, what destiny? But she wasn’t going to play those games. He surely had her face in his head as clearly as she knew his.

She could trick him, but only by being early. He could linger if she tried to arrive late, but he wouldn’t be able to get there with his sister as early as she could. And he wouldn’t expect it; her foresight was stronger than his.

Clearsight hesitated for a bit, reaching for one of her scrolls. Should she bring it?

No, stopping in the hall to consult a scroll every time it was her turn in a conversation would give her some very weird looks and a bad first impression.

It’s all in my head anyway.

She bolted through the other rooms, scooped up the squirrel, knocked over a bookshelf by accident with her tail, called “Sorry! Sorry, sorry! I have to fly!” to her parents, and made it to the front entrance before they intercepted her. 

“What’s the rush?” her father asked. “Suddenly you’re desperate to get to school, after dragging your wings about it for years? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Clearsight said as brightly as she could manage. He had to delay the meeting between them and Darkstalker for as long as she could, mostly to avoid a lot of awkward arguments she could see lurking in the immediate future, and because she was still nervous about meeting him. “I’m fine, I promise! I know where I’m going – I have future-telling powers, remember? Anyway, bye! See you in the morning!”

She took off, leaving her parents staring at each other with confused looks.

Outside, the night was just spilling into the ravines, with one moon already visible in the night sky. The shadows stretched all the way down to the rivers and less desirable homes at the bottom of the cliffs. Clearsight’s wasn’t quite at the bottom, but it was more than halfway down.

One day, if she helped use her power to help her queen or do something valuable for the tribe – like stopping an Icewing invasion – her family could move up to somewhere higher and more skylit, closer to the stars. That was something else she had to think about when she studied the futures. 

She spread her wings and soared up the rocky cliff face into the sky. From up here, it was easy to navigate to her school; all the landmarks were spread out below her.

The school was to the north, not far from the palace, each of them forming one side of the Great Diamond with the museum and the library on the other two sides. The palace was obviously the biggest of the four and wrapped around the mountains, but the school was designed to look very similar – both with gleaming black and grey marble terraces, hanging gardens, and long glittering waterfalls.

Clearsight had flown all the possible routes to the school six times in the last two days. She was prepared; she knew exactly where to land. Of the three entrances to the school, the quietest and least crowded was on the side facing away from the palace. Thankfully, there was no sign of Darkstalker – she was still nervous – and swooped down. Her talons landed neatly on the marble tiles and she folded up her wings.

Several other dragons were arriving and hurrying into the school, but barely anyone looked at her.

Right, she remembered. They don’t know that I’m important yet. They still see me as just another dragonet at school. Perhaps a little crazy. They have no idea that everyone will soon know my name, or that I can save them from so many horrible things.

She shivered, despite the warm night air. She had spent so much time thinking about the future, but this was now. No going back, and she could still make mistakes even after how long she had pored over the timelines and written them into her scrolls. She steeled her nerves and entered.

She stepped into to entrance, a damp, leafy space where the last rays of sunshine poured through the skylights and plants lined the room. A colonnade led from here past the library to a vast hexagonal courtyard, with classrooms lining the six sides. The courtyard was designed as an obstacle course for flying practice, full of trees, twisting vines, loops, mazes, and tricks. Clearsight already had a detailed map of the entire school in her mind, after roaming the corridors and courtyards for hours in her visions. She strode purposefully to the upper level, to the main office, trying not to look as scared as she felt.

A tired-looking dragon with black-rimmed glasses crouched behind a desk, moving piles of paper around and looked up when he heard Clearsight coming.

“Good evening, Professor Truthfinder,” she said. “I’ve come for my placement.”

“Oh,” said the dragon, pressing her talons to her temples. “Where did I put that?”

Oh, please don’t make me take all those tests again, Clearsight thought. She’d spent an entire day filling out scroll after scroll to demonstrate that she was ready for class with the other three-year-olds, instead of having to start at the beginning with the one-year-olds. She was sure she’d done well.

“Yes, yes, you did,” said Truthfinder absently. “Well enough that we could put you with the four-year-olds instead, we were thinking.”

Clearsight froze. That’s HIS class. “N-no, thank you, that’s all right,” Clearsight stuttered. “W-with the other three-year-olds w-would be fine, thank you.” So much for being confident.

Truthfinder tilted her snout suspiciously. “Something you need to tell me? Are we going to have a problem?” The silver scales glittering from the corners of her eyes declared Don’t lie — I can hear everything you think.  

“I would like to be with dragonets my own age,” Clearsight said as winningly as she could, clearing all other thoughts – especially thoughts about him – from her mind. “My parents think it would be best for my social development.” Maybe she should have brought them with her after all; maybe the clutter of their thoughts could have obscured hers.

Not that there’s anything to worry about. I am SO excited to be starting school at last! Hooray for wonderful school! Truthfinder stared her down for a long moment. Clearsight was pretty sure the smile on her face was getting a little manic, but she couldn’t get rid of it now.

The silence between them was growing awkward.

“Very well,” Truthfinder said slowly. “Three-year-olds, advanced reading group, special seer training elective. I’m including a note that your maneuvers could use extra work in flight class, with an eye to possible remedial lessons. Any extracurriculars?” “Not right now,” Clearsight said. “Thank you.”

Truthfinder gave her a stern look and made another note on the scroll in front of her. “Give this to your teacher — room 3A.” She rolled it up and passed it to Clearsight.

 “But when is my seer training class?” Clearsight asked, glancing at the scroll. “I don’t see any information about it in here.” 

Truthfinder raised her eyebrows at her. “When you are ready for it, you will know.” 

Oh dear. It’s a test, Clearsight realised. But kind of a backward one, surely. If you were good enough at reading the future to figure out where and when your class would be, then did you really need any training? 

I shouldn’t think that way. I must need training. I can’t be the best seer already – right? A really skilled seer will help me figure out how to read the timelines better and how to steer other dragons along the best paths.

So she would find the class on her own; she could do that.

“Thank you,” Clearsight said again, backing out of the room. She started down the hall and paused at one of the windows that overlooked the school’s main entrance.

There was one dragon in the milling crowd down there who stood out from all the others – one with white wings and white claws. Clearsight knew who that was – Whiteout! – which meant the dragon standing next to her, scanning the crowd with a puzzled expression, must be him.

Darkstalker.

He’s looking for me. He thought I’d be down there, arriving just about now. She felt a small tingle of glee in her talons. So he doesn’t know everything after all.  

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Darkstalker suddenly raised his head and looked up at her window. Their eyes met, and as Clearsight ducked away, she saw him start to smile and wave. 

Ack! He did hear my thoughts.

Of course he did, Clearsight, you idiot. He’s a mindreader, remember? What did you expect?

Her cover was already blown. So much for that.

She had only one advantage over him: her visions of the future and how carefully she studied them, whereas he barely bothered to glance ahead. But to use it, she needed help. She needed to learn to control her power better.

I need to get to that seer training class as soon as I can.

But on my first day? Will that throw off all my visions?

She closed her eyes, trying to see the future ahead. She saw herself in partial sunlight – so it was an early class, before night completely fell – in a circular room with no windows or doors. A tall NightWing paced the circumference, frowning at her and the three other dragonets in there.

Mostly frowning at her, actually.

But wait — there was sunlight all through the room, so where was that coming from? She squinted into the vision, furrowing her brow. The walls were impenetrable black marble, sparkling with flecks of silver and copper, and hung with mirrors that caught the light. The light from … 

She looked up. The room had no roof. Far above their heads, it was completely open to the sky, with only the tip of a mountain peak poking into view.

So it must be up reasonably high. At the top of a tower? Maybe that’s also why the walls are curved. 

Clearsight crossed the corridor to a window that looked inward, toward the courtyard and the other levels of the school. There were five towers, but she couldn’t tell from here which ones had windows and which didn’t. 

With a glance around at the bustling halls, she carefully climbed onto the sill and launched herself into the sky. Dragons were flying every which way, and she had to dodge and weave to avoid colliding with anyone. 

But once she got close enough to fly around the towers, there was only one possible choice. Four of the towers were regular dragon towers, with multiple levels open to the air and pavilions on top. But the central tower was different. At first glance, it didn’t even seem to have an interior; it was hung all about with ivy and vines that cascaded down through levels of gardens where dragons were gathered, socialising before school started. The top of it was so shrouded in greenery that it was hard to tell whether there might be a room inside. 

Clearsight spread her wings to hover in the air and checked her school map again. This tower was marked “Tower of Knowledge,” which sounded promising. She looked up at the setting sun again and guessed that this class was happening right now — the first class on the schedule. 

She hesitated. Did it make sense to start here, before checking in with her regular teacher? This wasn’t what she’d done in most of the timelines she’d examined for today, but maybe it was the best choice — maybe it would speed up her ability to control the future. 

Also, she didn’t want to miss any seer training, especially since she’d already missed two years of school. And according to her parents, this was the most important part of her education, from the queen’s point of view. 

Maybe I should wait until I know the school better. Or, really, until I can study what happens when I drop into the class — so I can find the best way to introduce myself to the other seers. 

Suddenly, a vision ripped through her thoughts. A splitting headache so painful it almost made her scream.

Something terrible was happening. Something terrible that would affect her future. It was happening a world away, but it was happening now, and it would rip apart a lot of dragons’ lives.

She staggered sideways in the air, losing the updraft for a moment before catching herself.

The green SeaWing…

Fathom.

The tragedy was happening now – the one she’d foreseen.

This was really why she needed training. Not to outwit Darkstalker, but to save lives. To make dragons in power listen to her, so she could make the changes she needed to make and help dragons like Fathom.

Then suddenly, another vision. This one was sharper, but less painful than before. She and Whiteout were standing in front of something – a wall that shimmered and rippled.

They didn’t speak in the vision. They didn’t need to. Clearsight could feel what she felt in the vision: awe. Hesitation. A tug in her chest, as if something inside it recognized the shape before her claws did.

And then – just as Whiteout reached for it – the vision fractured, shattering into light.

And that light shattered into the view of the ground, rapidly approaching. Clearsight cried out and tried to slow her fall, but it was too late.

And the world shattered into darkness.

Notes:

I'm going to try and post one chapter every two weeks.

Chapter 3: Chapter 2 - Making Friends

Summary:

Clearsight hit her head. Darkstalker is not happy.

Also she gets two new friends.

Clearsight

 

Clearsight woke with a pounding headache again. She was lying in a hospital bed, a thick bandage pressed around her head and filtered sunlight spilling across the stone floor. A dull ache radiated through her skull as she tried to recall what brought her to this place.

Right. I fell. Silly of me, having foresight and yet still crashing into the ground.

The dim lanternlight flickered overhead – too bright, too loud. She could still remember the vision.

The library. The sealed object. Whiteout’s pale claws.

She winced. It hadn’t been just a dream.

Someone nearby shifted. “You’re awake,” said a calm, measured voice. A healer, probably. “There are dragons outside to see you.”

Clearsight blinked. “I – how long was I out?”

“Two days,” the healer said, checking a scroll. “You were found in the school courtyard, near the central tower.”

Two days?! Yes, that definitely disrupted my meeting with Darkstalker.

“Would you like to see them?”

“Who?”

“Your visitors.”

“Oh – yes. Bring them in.”

The healer nodded and slipped out of the room. Clearsight leaned back in the pillow and allowed her mind to orient itself. The room was still swinging… she felt slightly sick.

The door creaked open a moment later.

“Clearsight!” came her mother’s voice, relieved. A dark shape swept across the room, and she soon found herself pulled into a hug.

“We were so worried,” her father added, slightly more composed but visibly tense. He stood by the doorway, wings tucked in, eyes scanning the bandages as though he didn’t trust the healer’s work.

“I’m okay,” Clearsight mumbled into a mother’s shoulder. “Really. Just a vision. A strong one.”

“A strong one?” her mother repeated, pulling back slightly. “Clearsight, they said you collapsed and hit your head. Do you have any idea what that does to a parent?”

“I didn’t mean to collapse,” Clearsight said, wincing. “And I didn’t even hit anything that hard—probably.”

“You were unconscious for two days,” her father said flatly. “That’s not nothing.”

Clearsight opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself. She knew that if she kept arguing, her parents’ sympathy would turn to scolding. “I’m sorry,” she apologised sheepishly.

They stayed a few more minutes – long enough for her mother to fuss over her blankets and for her father to ask five different questions about her symptoms – then finally let her rest again.

Except she didn’t rest. Because not long after they left, another pair stepped inside.

Darkstalker was first, stepping out into the light. “There she is. The mind of a thousand futures, temporarily defeated by gravity.”

Clearsight gave him a weak smile. “Glad you’re taking this seriously.”

He must’ve polished his scales.

Gorgeous, she thought.

Darkstalker offered her a small smile. “Thanks.”

Oops. I forgot he could read minds. Again.

“This isn’t how I pictured us first meeting,” Clearsight voiced aloud. “I would’ve thought it would be…”

“More romantic?” Darkstalker joked.

“More dignified,” Clearsight finished. 

Behind Darkstalker came Whiteout, silently stepping into the room.

“Hello, Clearsight,” she observed. “The loom spins clean lines, yet they tie themselves in impossible knots.”

Darkstalker’s face became more serious. “I was so worried,” he blurted. “You just disappeared from all the recent futures. I thought something happened to you!”

“I… had a vision while flying.” Clearsight looked away. “Actually.. you were in it, Whiteout.”

Darkstalker turned to glance at his sister, who blinked at Clearsight.

“I was there?” Whiteout asked.

“You were touching it. A.. box? An object. It was covered. I don’t know what it really looked like – but watching it felt, well, weird.”

“Yes?” Darkstalker pressed.

“It felt like it was watching me back.”

That made him pause. “And you fell out of the sky because of it?”

Clearsight nodded. “The pain came after. Like someone slammed a wall into the inside of my skull.”

There was a moment of silence when Darkstalker scrunched up his face and closed his eyes.

He sighed in frustration. “I can’t see it in any of my futures! Surely it would be in at least one of the likely ones, since you had an entire vision about it!”

“You weren’t in the vision,” Clearsight reminded him. She traced the paths down, watching them weave through time. And yet, she couldn’t find a future where she and Whiteout were in… wherever that place was. That’s strange. “I can’t see it either,” she realised.

His eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.

Whiteout, meanwhile, was staring at her claws. “We haven’t done it yet,” she said softly, like she was explaining something to herself. “But we will. Soon.”

“What?” Clearsight asked.

Whiteout looked up and smiled vaguely. “It’s raining in one of the other futures. The water makes it harder to see.”

Darkstalker yawned, worry wrinkles disappearing from his face. “It’s already almost midday. I need to sleep. Goodbye, Clearsight! Nice to meet you for the first time!”

Clearsight smiled. Their claws touched. Then she was hit by another vision. 

Darkstalker, crowned in shadow, roaring over a battlefield strewn with fallen dragons – black, white, blue, green…

Darkstalker, young and uncertain, offering Clearsight a scroll, which she accepted with shining eyes.

Darkstalker and Clearsight, older now, watching their dragonets play in the field.

Darkstalker, dead, Clearsight crying over his body while IceWings surrounded her.

Clearsight, dead, Darkstalker bellowing in rage.

The fire of war reflected in his eyes, as snow fell around him.

A cruel smile twisting his lips as he sealed the fate of the twenty dragons cowering in mercy below.

Darkstalker, broken and alone, clawing at the walls of a prison made of his own regrets.

A white IceWing scraping his claw across his stomach.

A white and black dragon unconscious.

Earrings slammed on a table.

A SkyWing with scales of fire.

She spiralled finally back into herself and blinked, there again, back in the present. Where none of the terrible or wonderful things had happened yet. 

“Are you all right?” he asked. 

“You didn’t see all that?” She gently pulled her talons out of his grasp.

 “I will never invade your thoughts,” he said. “I promise. I’ll stay out of your mind, always.” 

That’s true … in some futures. Not all of them.

She yawned. “I’d better catch some sleep too. Goodbye, Darkstalker.”

After they left, Clearsight settled herself and slept.

______________________________________________________

It was night when she woke up. She barely had time to open her eyes before the door creaked open again.

Two unfamiliar NightWing dragonets stepped nervously into the room. One of them was quite small, with a jumpy and excitable personality, her talons wringing together. The other was quite large, with curves that suggested she was a very successful hunter. And she had the mind-reading silver scales beside her eyes.

Uh-oh, Clearsight thought. A mind reader. That’s just what I need.

The other dragon glanced down at her claws, her wings drooping slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Clearsight said quickly. “I’m just not used to mind readers. I don’t know how to shield my thoughts or only think nice things or anything. I’ll probably think lots of horrible stuff and you’ll end up hating me really fast. Or lots of crazy things and then you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I already know you’re crazy,” she said with a small laugh. “When I walked in, your mind started doing these crazy loops like, oh my god, if I talk to her, the entire timeline will be doomed! Oh, wait, that’s the wrong one. I’m not going to destroy the world or anything, will I? By the way, I’m Listener.”

“Not as far as I can see. Hello, Listener.” Clearsight said. 

In fact, most of the paths involving Listener were a lot warmer than the paths without her, with more laughing. This friendship would definitely be a turn toward the right future. As long as they avoided that fight about Clearsight’s timeline scrolls, and that other fight about Darkstalker, and, oh dear, all the fights about Listener’s crushes on various – 

“By the Scorching, all right, all right!” Listener cried, flinging up her wings. “You’re one of those! I’ll stay as far out of your brain as I can, I promise.”

“Anywayyyy,” chirped the smaller one, “Hi! We’re, uh— I’m Mistique. This is Listener. We’re in your class.”

Clearsight blinked. “Oh… I haven’t started yet.”

“Right, yeah, we know,” Mistique said quickly. “But they said you’d be joining, so we thought we’d stop by. You know. Check in. Say hi. Be friendly. All the social things dragons are supposed to do but never actually do.”

Listener gave a slight nod.

“We volunteered,” Mistique added. “Well, I volunteered. Listener just didn’t say no.”

Clearsight raised her eyebrow. (Do dragons even have eyebrows???)

“Everyone else was too weirded out,” Mistique continued with a shrug. “They heard you collapsed and started whispering about curses and seizures and secret magic. Comettail said you were possessed by an animus statue, but he’s stupid, so we came.”

Clearsight watched them both, unsure what to make of this unexpected duo. “You didn’t have to visit.”

“Yeah, well… we wanted to,” Mistique said, suddenly awkward. “Figured it must be kind of scary. Being the new dragon. Waking up in a strange place. Not knowing anyone.”

“I’m used to not knowing anyone,” Clearsight said quietly.

“Well, now you do. Know anyone that is,” Mistique replied, a bit too fast. “Two whole dragons. That’s, like, double the usual rate.”

Clearsight glanced between them. “I’m… glad you came.”

They both beamed at her.

The NightWing healer entered. “I’m afraid you’ll have to give this young dragonet some room,” she said kindly. “I’ll just do the finishing touches in a couple of minutes, and you’ll soon be on your way,” she said to Clearsight.

Which left her plenty of time to contemplate the vision she’d had, and why she couldn’t see it in any of her futures.

______________________________________________________

Clearsight stretched her wings, testing the ache in her shoulder. It was still there, but dull now — a background throb, nothing more. She wrapped her satchel across her chest, checked that her books were still inside, and turned toward the school gates with a flutter of nerves.

Her first proper day.

Last time, she’d made it halfway to the tower before a vision knocked her out of the sky. Hopefully, today would be less dramatic.

Dragons milled around the courtyard, laughing, brushing wings, flying overhead. Clearsight kept her head low and tried not to draw attention, but her bandaged forehead wasn’t doing her any favours.

“Hey!” a bright voice chirped.

Clearsight turned.

It was Mistique again – sleek black scales and a cheerful bounce in her step. Next to her stood Listener, who offered a cautious nod and said nothing. The two of them had visited her twice more after the infirmary, bringing scrolls, fruit, and awkward attempts at conversation.

They were… nice. Which was still strange. They were quite funny, though.

“Glad you’re not dead,” Mistique said breezily.

Listener shot her a side-eye. “That’s not how you’re supposed to say it.”

“Well, it’s true,” Mistique said, grinning. “And we saved you a seat.”

“A seat?” Clearsight echoed.

“In class,” Mistique said. “Unless you’d rather sit with Deathcrusher and his brainless band of doom?”

Listener tilted her head. “You probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Oh, I say a lot of things out loud,” Mistique replied. “Want to walk with us?”

______________________________________________________

The classroom hummed with low chatter as the dragonets settled into their seats. Clearsight sat quietly near the back, still nursing the dull ache behind her bandaged head. The walls were adorned with maps of ancient NightWing territories and charts of star patterns.

She quickly sat down, with Listener to her left and Mistique to her right.

At the front stood Professor Ashwing, a middle-aged NightWing with streaks of silver along her snout and sharp, observant eyes. She tapped her claw against the lectern, drawing the room to order.

“Quiet down, everyone,” Ashwing called firmly. “Today we have a new student joining us.”

All eyes swung toward Clearsight. She swallowed nervously as Ashwing gestured toward her.

“This is Clearsight,” Ashwing said. “She’s recovering from an accident but is eager to catch up. I expect everyone to be welcoming and helpful.”

A ripple of whispers passed through the room. Clearsight glanced around — some faces curious, others indifferent, and a few smirking.

Just then, the classroom door swung open with a creak, and Deathcrusher strutted in, flanked by his usual group of tough-looking dragonets. His sharp eyes immediately found Mistique.

“Hey, Mistake,” Deathcrusher drawled, loud enough for most of the class to hear. “Ready for another day of being a joke?”

Mistique grinned widely, unfazed. “You’re the mistake, Deathcrusher.”

A few students stifled laughs, but the tension remained thick.

Professor Ashwing’s gaze hardened. “Enough, Deathcrusher. Save your theatrics for recess. Now, settle down so we can start.”

Deathcrusher smirked but reluctantly took his seat, still shooting glances at Mistique.

Then Deathcrusher noticed her. A wide grin plastered itself on his face. “Well, hello there, new dragon.”

Professor Ashwing raised her voice. “I said enough.”

“Whatever.” Deathcrusher leaned back in his chair.

According to the timelines, he was going to be a handful.

The class started, and attention was diverted from her to the teacher. “All right,” said Ashwing. “Today we’re going to learn about…”

The teacher’s lecture faded into an endless monotone that Clearsight pushed to the back of her mind. She already knew all of this from the scrolls she had studied.

Clearsight tried to focus on the scroll Ashwing had handed her — something about the migration patterns of early IceWing scholars — but her thoughts kept drifting. The ink swam in and out of focus, and the dull murmurs of the lesson faded beneath the scratching of charcoal on parchment and the occasional clink of claws.

She felt something tap her elbow.

A note.

She glanced down. Mistique had slid a folded square of parchment onto her desk, carefully angled so Ashwing couldn’t see. Clearsight hesitated, then unfolded it under the desk.

“Do you actually know what any of this means or are we all just pretending?”

Clearsight bit back a laugh. She grabbed her own charcoal stick.

“Migration patterns. Something about IceWings inventing maps. Not helpful when I already saw one fly into a future crater.”

She passed it back. Mistique opened it and snorted.

Listener leaned over slightly. “Are you two going to keep whisper-writing, or am I allowed in on the secret?”

Mistique grinned and slid her another scrap.

Listener scribbled quickly and returned it.

“I predict we will all fail this test, but I can’t tell if that’s Clearsight’s job or mine.”

Clearsight blinked, glancing up at Listener.

Mistique leaned over and whispered, “She’s a mind reader, remember? Can’t get away with anything around her.”

Listener rolled her eyes. “I do’t spy. I just... notice when someone’s brain yells ‘I FORGOT WHAT A MAP IS.’”

Mistique stuck out her tongue dramatically. “Ugh, you two are no fun. Can we start a secret code next? Like ‘crater’ means ‘Ashwing is behind you’ and ‘banana’ means ‘meet me after class with snacks.’”

“Why would we ever say ‘banana’ in class?” Listener asked dryly.

“Exactly,” Mistique said triumphantly. “It’s untraceable.”

Ashwing came their way. “Stop talking.”

“Sorry, Professor Ashwing,” they chanted.

She continued the class, but Clearsight’s mind was elsewhere—half tracing possible futures, half still reeling from the whirlwind of changes over the past few days.

Clearsight was just finishing a passable sketch of Deathcrusher as a squashed beetle (with exaggerated horns and a speech bubble that said "I EAT BOOKS") when a note slid under her elbow. Mistique again.

She unfolded it.

“Serious question. Be honest. Who do you think is the cutest dragonet in class?”

Clearsight blinked, her charcoal pausing mid-sketch. The cutest?

She scanned the rows. Several NightWing dragonets hunched over their scrolls or whispered too loudly. Most of them still looked like strangers. She could maybe recall five names, tops.

She wrote back:

“Not sure. I don’t really know anyone yet.”

Mistique’s reply came fast.

“Laaaaaame. You’re worse than Listener.”

Listener, sitting on Clearsight’s other side, didn’t even look up. “I heard that.”

“Good,” Mistique whispered gleefully.

Clearsight passed the note to Listener. She scribbled something, passed it back.

“I liked Ironjaw. He was funny. But it turns out he has basically no brain so. No.”

Mistique’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Ironjaw?? Seriously? He’s got the emotional range of a spoon.”

Listener wrote again:

“Spoons are useful.”

Clearsight giggled into her talons.

A new note from Mistique:

“Okay, Clearsight, you must have seen someone kind of cute by now. I personally vote for Slate. His wings are nice. Like, very nice.”

Clearsight blinked. Slate? He was the quiet one who chewed on his scrolls.

Another note was passed to her.

“Emberthorn is also cool. He seems... deep.”

Listener raised an eyebrow when she read that. “You mean the one who tried to eat a candle during orientation?”

“…He looked like he regretted it,” Mistique muttered. “Coming from you, as well. You used to like Deathcrusher before he became the leader of the Brainless Band of Doom.”

Another note, this time folded three times and sealed with Mistique’s best attempt at a wax seal (read: smudged charcoal):

“New rule. We rate everyone by scale shininess and wing posture. Scientific. Important.”

Clearsight and Listener nearly choked trying not to laugh as Ashwing turned from the board.

“Something funny?” he said, one brow raised.

“No ma'am,” Mistique said with perfect sincerity, tucking the note into her satchel like it had never existed.

Listener leaned in to Mistique and whispered, “I rate you a six for shininess, but a ten for chaos.”

Mistique beamed. “High praise.”

______________________________________________________

The school courtyard buzzed with restless energy as dragons milled about during the midday break. Clearsight sat quietly near a shaded fountain, watching the flickering patterns of moonlight dance on the water’s surface.

Nearby, Mistique stood chatting with Listener, her usual confident smile faltering as a low, mocking chuckle rolled through the air.

Deathcrusher appeared, striding forward with his usual swagger, flanked by three of his biggest, toughest followers. Their scales glinted menacingly in the moon, claws scraping against stone.

“Well, well,” Deathcrusher sneered, eyes locked on Mistique. “Look who it is. The mighty Mistake.”

His voice carried, loud enough for several nearby dragonets to turn their heads.

Mistique squared her shoulders, refusing to look away. “You’ve got a problem, Deathcrusher?”

He laughed, a dark rumble. “Problem? Nah. Just making sure everyone remembers who you really are. Mistake. That’s what you are.”

One of his followers snickered and added, “Perfect name for someone who tries to be friends with the new girl.”

Listener’s silver scales shimmered as she stepped protectively closer to Mistique, eyes flashing cold and unreadable.

Deathcrusher’s grin twisted. “Careful, shiny. Or you might just end up a mistake yourself.”

Mistique’s tail flicked sharply. “Keep dreaming, Deathcrusher. You’re just scared because you’re the real mistake.”

Clearsight watched from a distance, frozen in fear, not wanting to interfere. Most likely, nobody would get hurt, but…

She saw it—just for a moment. A flash of a future where Mistique snapped, wings flaring, where Listener lunged too far. Where someone bled. Where a teacher arrived too late. Where she stayed silent.

Not this time.

Clearsight stood up.

Her steps were quiet but firm as she crossed the courtyard, heart pounding in her ears. Deathcrusher was still mid-taunt when she stepped between him and her friends, tail lashing.

"Back off," she said, loud enough to carry.

Deathcrusher blinked. Then barked a laugh. “Oh? Look who decided to crawl out of the infirmary.”

“I said back off.”

“You gonna read me a scroll, weakling?” he jeered, circling around her with his thugs like sharks scenting blood. “Maybe tell me my future? Let me guess — doom and failure ?”

Clearsight didn’t flinch. “If you keep acting like this? Absolutely.”

Deathcrusher leered over her. “You’re pushing my patience, princess. Let me deal with the Mistake.”

Clearsight kept her composure “You’re just a bully and an imbecile.”

Then a shadow fell over the courtyard.

A tall, dark figure landed without a sound behind Deathcrusher, his wings folding with an elegant snap. The courtyard fell silent as several dragonets turned, whispering.

Darkstalker.

“Funny,” he said casually, his deep voice smooth as velvet. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Deathcrusher whipped around. “Wha—?”

Darkstalker’s smile was polite, almost friendly. “Hi, Deathcrusher. I couldn’t help overhearing. It sounded like you were trying to pick on someone smaller than you again. Bit of a habit, isn’t it?”

“None of your business—”

“Oh, but it is,” Darkstalker said, stepping forward. “See, Clearsight’s my friend. And so are her friends. So when someone calls them names, threatens them, tries to act big and scary… I tend to take it personally .”

Deathcrusher’s wings twitched. His friends were already backing up.

Darkstalker leaned closer, voice still calm but heavy with weight. “You want to be feared, Deathcrusher? You’re not scary. You’re just loud. And I don’t think that’s working anymore.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Then Deathcrusher snorted, eyes flicking to his shrinking entourage. “Whatever,” he muttered. “This place is crawling with weirdos anyway.”

He turned and stalked off, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Clearsight exhaled slowly. Mistique grinned and let out a breathy, “Whoa.”

Listener tilted her head at Darkstalker. “That was... effective.”

Darkstalker shrugged. “He’ll think twice before opening his mouth again. Are you both all right?”

“We are now,” Mistique said brightly. “And that was worth missing lunch for.”

Clearsight gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Darkstalker’s eyes met hers. “Anytime.”

Then he glanced back toward the school. “Actually... Clearsight, do you have time after class? I want to show you something.”

Her heart stuttered.

She nodded. “I’ll be there.”

And just like that, the courtyard was bright again.

Notes:

I'm going to try and post one chapter every two weeks.

Chapter 4: Chapter 3 - A Strange Discovery

Summary:

Darkstalker shows Clearsight the soul reader and the scroll. A bit earlier in this AU. Also they go to the library.

Clearsight

Darkstalker’s home was closer to the school than hers was, and much higher up the side of the canyon. He looked a little embarrassed as they swooped down toward it. 

“We moved up here when my father accepted his position at the palace,” he explained. “On the plus side, it’s bigger with nicer views; on the minus side, we’re closer to my grandmother, who hates all of us. But at least we have a brand-new set of nosy neighbours.” 

He waved pointedly at the snout poking out of a window below his, and whoever it was withdrew in a hurry. “Our last neighbours had terrible luck with their window boxes,” he said with a little too much glee. “Turnips kept growing in them instead of chrysanthemums or tomatoes or pear trees. It was SO mysterious.” 

“You didn’t!” she said. 

“They deserved it,” he said as they landed outside his front door. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do to these ones yet.”

She shot him a worried look, but he was already at the front door. He opened it with one claw and gestured towards the interior of the house. “Ladies first,” he said.

“Aw, you don’t have to.” She swatted his claw and he withdrew it, smiling. “Your parents won’t mind me barging in?”

“They won’t know. Mother is on guard duty at the border, and Father is at the palace,” he said. “They won’t be home for ages. It’s pretty genius. You’ll love it. Don’t look ahead!” He poked her snout. “Let it be a surprise.” 

“Okay, okay!”

She noticed a painting over the fireplace of a family together: Darkstalker on one side, Arctic on the other, with Foeslayer and Whiteout between them. The whole painting was done in shades of blue, from a dark midnight blue for Darkstalker’s scales to an iridescently pale blue for Arctic’s. It was an interesting effect that made them all look more related than they did in real life. They also all looked peculiarly kind around the eyes and mouth, more than most dragons ever did — and, Clearsight was fairly certain, more than Arctic could possibly really look. 

“Whiteout painted that,” Darkstalker said, noticing the direction of her gaze. “It’s from what I call her Wishful Thinking series.” 

He pointed to a room down a short hallway, and when Clearsight peeked into it she saw that it contained several paintings of IceWings and NightWings flying together, all in the same shades of blue as the portrait. Whiteout’s bedroom was like a miniature alternate universe of peaceful interaction between two tribes who in reality hated each other. There were also a few paintings of the three moons and different starscapes behind them, different constellations scattered across the skies. Clearsight wanted to go in and study them more closely, but Darkstalker was dancing around behind her, grinning his head off and nearly stepping on her tail.

“You can admire the gallery later. I still want to show you it!”

“It?”

“Two things, actually.”

On the surface, Darkstalker’s room didn’t look like it was hiding anything. Just a plain bed with a desk and a candle, along with a scrollshelf that contained primarily scrolls either for school, or one that every young NightWing owned.

There was a locked trunk at the foot of the blankets, but instead of opening it, Darkstalker went straight to his scroll rack and slid it to the side. He stuck his claws into the gap around one of the wall stones and slowly worked it out, revealing a hidden hole containing a square of paper and a black leather case. 

“This,” he said, taking a scroll out of the black case. He turned to her, his face aglow with hope, and one of her visions clicked gently into place. 

“What’s the other piece of paper?” she asked. 

“Oh — that’s a drawing of you,” he said shyly. “I drew it before we met, from my visions, so it’s not very good. I didn’t want my father to see it or know about you … but I needed to have it, to look at. You know, to remind myself that things were going to get better.” 

She felt a twist of guilt in her chest. She’d put off their meeting for years, afraid of what it would mean, while he had waited patiently for her. He’d always had faith that one day they would be happy together. 

Why can’t I just be happy like he is? Why can’t I trust this? 

“So,” she said lightly, taking the scroll from him and unrolling it. She could see right away that it was blank. “Hmmm. You’ve decided to become a writer? Compose tragic poetry about your tragic soul?”

He laughed. “Be serious. Can you sense it?”

“A record of all the NightWing cafeteria recipes?” she tried again. “Because if so, I demand the strawberry stew one.”

He gave her a look. “Try again.”

She tilted her head, pretending to ponder. “Okay, okay. Is it… a contract that says if you become king, I get a palace made of moonstone and my own library-slash-bakery?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, laughing again.

“You brought a scroll . What was I supposed to guess? Alright, tell me then.”

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny. It’s just a scroll I enchanted. I put all my animus magic into it.”

Clearsight blinked. “Wait. All of it?”

“Yeah. It’s easier that way,” he said, completely casual. “If I cast spells through the scroll, it keeps my soul from getting damaged. Watch. Desk, I enchant you to turn blue.”

The desk did nothing.

“You gave away your power?” she said, genuinely astonished. 

“But we can still use it — it’s just somewhere else, instead of in me.” He took the scroll from her talons and unrolled the beginning of it, setting the inkwell down gently to hold it in place. He dipped the tip of his claw into the green ink and wrote on the scroll, Enchant the desk this scroll is on to turn blue.

The desk turned blue.

“See?” He then jotted down, Reverse the previous spell I wrote.

The desk turned back to its original colour.

Clearsight studied the scroll again. “Huh. That’s actually… kind of clever.”

“Do you see what this means?” he asked, a little anxiously. “I’ve found a way to use my animus power without losing my soul or turning evil or anything terrible happening. We can cast as many spells as we want with this scroll. But because it’s all separate from me now, it won’t affect my soul. I’ll always be me.” 

He touched the scroll with one claw and studied her face. “Do you like it?” 

“Can I look?” Clearsight asked him. 

He nodded, understanding what she meant. She closed her eyes and saw the spiralling paths. Yes, she’d seen visions of this scroll before. In some futures, he’d come up with it himself. Sometimes she’d suggested it and he’d agreed, with varying degrees of defensiveness. But in more than half those paths, the scroll had been made to imitate his power, not contain it. Although she knew it was possible, that it happened in some timelines, she had never expected Darkstalker to completely remove his animus power from his own talons. And it did change the future — so many futures. The paths to happiness and peace were suddenly brighter, shining with possibility. The darkest paths faded back. The timelines where his power consumed him were almost gone.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. His hopeful face, his emerald ink-stained claws, his midnight-black wings that were shaking just a little bit. 

This is Darkstalker before he’s done anything terrible. This is the best version of him. The one who is safe to love. He gave up all his power for me.  

She threw her wings around him and hugged him so fiercely that they both fell back onto his blankets. 

“I guess that means it works,” he said with a laugh, hugging her back. 

“I can’t believe you really did this,” she said, sitting up and picking up the scroll again. “What happens if the scroll gets destroyed? Is your magic gone forever?” 

“No, then it comes back to me,” he said. “But then I’d make another scroll, don’t worry.”

“What’s the second thing you wanted to show me?”

“Oh, right.”

He turned to his writing desk and pulled out a strange-looking object wrapped in soft velvet. It clinked faintly as he unwrapped it. Clearsight stepped closer, tilting her head.

It looked like a miniature telescope—except there was a tiny golden hourglass mounted on the side, its edges traced with what had to be animus-carved sigils. The glass shimmered faintly even in the dim light of his room.

“What is that ?” she asked, curiosity sparking through her scales.

“This,” said Darkstalker, with a gleam in his eye, “is a Soul Reader .”

“A soul—what?”

He held it up like it was his most precious treasure. “Point it at someone, and it tells you how good or evil they are. Sort of a magical balance scale for the soul.”

He turned the device toward her. The hourglass began to spin. Clearsight jumped slightly, watching as the grains inside blurred into a blur of black and white.

Three slow spins. Then it settled.

Almost all the sand lay black and still at the bottom. Only a few white grains floated at the top.

“Aww,” Darkstalker said teasingly, “look how good you are.”

Clearsight stared at the white grains like they’d personally betrayed her. “Wait—how do I have any bad sand? I haven’t done anything evil!”

He laughed. “It doesn’t mean you’re wicked. Everyone has little specks of selfishness or pride or sharp words. But you? You’re practically a saint.”

“Practically,” she said dryly, still watching the sand. “And the colours—?”

“Black sand means goodness. Like NightWings,” he added pointedly, “and white for bad, like those IceWings.”

Clearsight raised an eyebrow. (I'm going to assume dragons have eyebrows.) “That’s a totally unbiased colour scheme.”

Darkstalker winked. “Hey, it’s my magic.”

He handed the device to her, and she hesitated.

“Go on. Point it at me.”

She did.

The hourglass began to spin. And spin.

Longer than before.

Clearsight’s wings twitched. “You’ve confused it.”

“It takes a moment sometimes,” he said casually, but she noticed the flick of his tail.

Finally, the hourglass stopped. Most of the sand had settled black—enough to match her, perhaps. But the white grains were noticeably thicker than hers. A subtle contrast, but visible. A quarter, maybe a bit more.

She didn’t speak right away.

“I know what you're thinking,” Darkstalker said quietly. “But I’m fine. That’s what the scroll is for. To keep me me . To stop the magic from changing who I am.”

“Wow…” she trailed off. This changed a lot of things. Even in the timelines where these objects were made by Darkstalker, they were usually much further in time. This… changed things. There were almost zero bad futures now.

“This is a good thing,” she said. “The best thing. Believe me.” 

He thought for a moment, then smiled again. “Let’s enchant something! What should we make? Anything at all, whatever you want.” 

“Really?” she said. “Even …” She hesitated. It was kind of awful to admit that she already had something in mind; that she’d considered what she would ask for, if she ever had a chance.

“Anything,” he said again, more firmly. 

“Could you make me something that hides my thoughts from any mind readers?” she asked. That was a mistake. His expression — he was so hurt, it nearly convinced her that he’d been keeping his promise all along. 

“It’s not about you,” she said quickly, and not entirely truthfully. “You know my best friend — Listener — she’s a mind reader, and so is the principal of the school. I can’t shield my mind the way you can. I’m always worried about what they might hear about the future. And now they might see something about your scroll, too. Wouldn’t it be safer if no one could listen to me?” She hesitated again. “If you want to make it about any mind readers except you, you can do that. I trust you, Darkstalker.” 

She did now, she thought so … but it was still kind of a test. 

“No, no,” he said. “I understand. You’re right, it will keep the scroll safe — and us. I can see that, too.” He took the inkwell and weighted down the scroll on his desk. “Here, I’ve been meaning to give this to you anyway.” 

Darkstalker pulled open one of his drawers and withdrew a bracelet made of woven copper wires, with three milky white moonstones caught in the middle. 

She shivered. I’ve seen that bracelet somewhere up ahead.  

Darkstalker rested the bracelet on the scroll, thought for a moment, and then wrote, Enchant this bracelet to shield the wearer’s thoughts from any mind readers . 

“The wearer?” Clearsight echoed, reading over his shoulder. “That way you can pass it down to one of our dragonets,” he said, smiling at her. “I mean, if I’m going to make a powerful animus-touched object like this, shouldn’t it be something that can be used forever?”

“Very smart,” she said. He clasped the bracelet around her wrist and she held it up to watch the moonstones glow in the torchlight.

The door creaked open and Whiteout slipped inside.

Whiteout tilted her head. “The ink is already dry on the pages you haven’t written.”

Clearsight blinked. “Um… hi?”

Whiteout padded closer, blinking slowly. “Three minds humming in harmony. That never ends badly.”

Darkstalker chuckled softly. “I think that was sarcasm.”

“Or prophecy,” Whiteout murmured, sitting delicately on her haunches. “Hard to tell, when everything rhymes and nothing agrees.”

Clearsight tilted her head. “Rhymes and—what?”

Whiteout turned her head to her brother, her voice almost singsong now. “You haven’t shown her the buried wings. Or the door with no key. Or the book that opens backward.”

Darkstalker raised an eyebrow. “Hello to you too.”

Her eyes drifted around the room like falling snowflakes, never quite landing. “This is where the threads wove tighter,” she said softly. “I can hear them humming.”

Clearsight smiled, trying to keep up. “Threads?”

Whiteout’s gaze passed over her. “Fate-threads. Possibility-threads. It’s noisy when they get tangled. Or cut.”

Clearsight glanced at Darkstalker. “Is she always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” he said fondly. “She usually doesn’t make this much sense.”

Whiteout blinked at him. “The paper is waiting. You should go where the words are.”

Darkstalker tilted his head. “You mean the library?”

Whiteout didn’t answer directly, just padded toward the door again as if she’d never stopped moving. “The books are watching.”

Clearsight blinked. “I… actually wouldn’t mind going. There’s a theory I’ve been meaning to look up.” She was actually going to try and find more information on her vision, but she wanted to keep that a secret for now in order not to worry Darkstalker.

“Perfect,” he said, rolling up his animus scroll and tucking it away. “I need a break anyway.”

______________________________________________________

The NightWing library loomed before them. Its columns, supporting the roof, were carved to look like scrolls. Its presence made Clearsight calm. She could still remember the days when she spent day and night jotting down timelines. She wondered if her private study room was still untouched.

“Do you think the scrolls whisper to each other when we’re not here?” Darkstalker joked, brushing his talons along a shelf labelled The History of the SkyWings: 500–800 AS .

“They do,” Whiteout said, her voice dreamy. “But only when no one’s listening, which makes it very hard to prove.”

“Unless you enchant the silence,” Darkstalker offered, grinning. “Or sneak up on them.”

Further down the main aisle, two familiar shapes sat sprawled across a nest of scattered scrolls. Mistique and Listener were nestled together near the poetry section, shoulders brushing, giggling at some terrible rhyme Mistique was reading aloud.

“…‘With wings like stars and breath so vile, he tripped on his tail and fell in a pile,’” Mistique recited dramatically.

Listener snorted. “That’s not even a metaphor!”

“It’s art,” Mistique insisted. “Ugly art is still art. DON’T INSULT MY POETRY!”

They looked up as Clearsight approached, offering small, surprised smiles.

“Oh! Didn’t expect to see you here,” Mistique said, nudging a stack of scrolls aside.

“We’re doing some research,” Clearsight said vaguely. “And trying not to blow anything up.”

“Let us know if you find a scroll titled How to Confuse Deathcrusher Until He Explodes, ” Listener said dryly.

“We’ll copy it twice,” Darkstalker promised with a grin.

Whiteout, meanwhile, drifted toward the back of the room, humming under her breath. She paused beside a pillar, tilting her head. “That’s not a wall.”

Clearsight frowned. “What do you mean?”

Whiteout blinked. “Nothing yet. But soon.”

Whiteout had begun humming to herself again, barely audible under the cavernous silence. She paused beside a peculiar section—scrolls with no titles, only black wax seals and faded thread bindings.

“We shouldn’t open those,” Clearsight said.

“I wasn’t going to,” said Whiteout. “They haven’t remembered how to speak yet.”

Clearsight gave her a look.

“What?” said Whiteout. “You asked me to be less cryptic once. I never agreed.”

They turned a corner into a vaulted section Clearsight had never noticed before. The temperature dropped slightly. The walls curved strangely, almost subtly, like they were nudging them inward.

Darkstalker stopped, frowning at a stone plaque etched with characters too old to read easily.

“I think we just wandered somewhere forgotten,” he said.

“I think it wandered to us,” Whiteout said, her eyes wide.

Clearsight felt a thrill of unease, but she stepped forward anyway. 

Then the vision hit her.

She saw blood first. Splashed across scrolls. Dripping from Darkstalker’s outstretched claws. Whiteout slumped against the wall, eyes blank and wrong. Herself, screaming, trying to run, too late. Something in the shadows was laughing.

It was quick. A flash of terrible futures folding in on themselves like a rapidly falling tower of cards.

She stumbled back with a gasp. “Stop,” she said hoarsely. “We can’t. Not here.”

Darkstalker turned sharply, catching her with one talon. “What happened? What did you see?”

“I don’t know what it was,” she said, breath catching. “But we die. All of us. Right there.”

Whiteout tilted her head. “Not all futures agree. But most of them don’t lie.”

“Whatever’s down there,” Clearsight said, backing away, “we are not supposed to find it today.”

Darkstalker hesitated. For a moment, Clearsight thought he might argue—he always wanted to know, always needed to understand. But then he nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The three of them turned and ran—not like panicked dragonets, but not slowly either. The scrolls and shelves flew past in a blur. Listener called out, “Are you okay?” but Clearsight didn’t stop to answer.

They didn’t speak again until they’d reached the front of the library, hearts pounding in silence.

After a long moment, Clearsight said, “Okay. I just need—some time. I think. Before we go back.”

Darkstalker gave her a sidelong look. “You do want to go back?”

“Eventually,” she admitted.

Darkstalker frowned. “Let’s just check. One peek. We won’t step inside.”

Clearsight hesitated… then nodded. Nothing bad was going to happen. Except… her future sight was blocked in the futures where they walked in deeper. Not like the stark blackness of death, but something… different. Like someone or some thing was deliberately restricting her powers.

They crept back—slowly, carefully—along the same path they’d taken. The old mosaic. The crooked shelf. The sealed scrolls. All still there.

But the archway they’d turned through?

Gone.

Now it was just a wall—smooth and solid. No marks, no shadow, not even dust on the floor to show a passage had ever existed.

Darkstalker reached out and tapped the stone. Nothing.

Whiteout stared at the wall. “I think it blinked.”

No one spoke for a while.

Then Darkstalker smiled faintly. “Now I definitely want to find out what’s behind it.”

Clearsight sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Same,” said a voice that was definitely not one of theirs.

Clearsight nearly jumped out of her scales. Darkstalker whipped around, wings flaring. Mistique stepped out from behind a shelf, totally unapologetic and grinning like she’d won a bet.

“I wasn’t spying, by the way,” she said brightly. “I was just walking by. And then Whiteout said something about the wall blinking , which, I’m sorry, kind of demands a follow-up.”

“Oh, come on—” Clearsight began.

“—You always say that when you’re about to say something suspicious,” Mistique said. “Which means I was totally right to listen in.”

“And I tried to stop her,” Listener muttered, emerging behind Mistique, wings tight to her sides. “I told her it wasn’t polite to lurk.”

“You weren’t exactly rushing away,” Mistique teased.

“I was being a good friend. You’re the lurker,” Listener mumbled, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Darkstalker blinked at them. “How much did you hear?”

“Just the blinking wall,” Mistique said. “Which, again, is objectively fascinating . Don’t worry, I didn’t catch the part where you accidentally unleashed a ghost or whatever.”

“There was no ghost,” Clearsight sighed.

“So,” Mistique said, eyes gleaming. “Do we all investigate it together? Or am I going to have to start writing mysterious unsigned notes to the Head Archivist about certain suspicious dragonets opening cursed hallways ?”

Darkstalker narrowed his eyes. “That is very specific blackmail for someone who only heard one sentence.”

Mistique smiled. “I’m just creative.”

“You’re just impossible,” Clearsight muttered.

Notes:

10,000 words! yayy

Chapter 5: Chapter 4 - Things Left Unsaid

Summary:

Chapter in Listener's perspective. Yay!!!

Some stuff mainly just school but some important plot

Listener

Six months had passed since the day Listener and Mistique found Clearsight unconscious in the infirmary – six months of normal school, studying, and trying very hard not to wonder about why Clearsight looked so shaken in the library.

And for the past two of those months, Listener had been observing a strange phenomenon with equal parts irritation and dread: the emergence of the Darkstalker Fan Club.

Listener sat at the edge of the courtyard garden, pretending to read a scroll about ancient constellations while secretly tuning in to the shrill, giddy voices just across the path.

“Oh my moons, did you see his wings today?”
“He’s so dreamy!”
“He looked at me during recess today. I swear it.”

Listener exhaled slowly through her nose. The trio of dragonets — all glittering scales, dramatic sighs, and absolutely no volume control — had clustered under the fig tree where they usually held their unofficial meetings of the Darkstalker Fan Club . Or as Mistique had once called them: The Dazzlebrains.

She let her gaze flick up briefly over the top of the scroll. One was sketching a very romantic-looking portrait of Darkstalker — possibly with longer horns and muscles that were definitely not anatomically accurate. Another was rifling through a bag of dried flowers, muttering something about which scent Darkstalker would like best. The third was writing a love poem.

She shifted, folding her wings tighter. Darkstalker didn’t even like girls like that. Not that Listener knew exactly what kind of girls he liked — Clearsight, probably — but she was pretty sure he wasn’t into swooning and star-blind sighs.

“She’s so lucky, ” one of them whispered. “Clearsight, I mean. Always with him. Studying. Talking. I bet they’re secretly dating.”

Listener’s tail twitched. She bit back a sigh. No, they weren’t dating — Clearsight had said as much. But if they ever did start dating, Listener already knew these three would implode from sheer pettiness.

“I could totally be friends with Clearsight,” the sketching one said innocently, like she hadn’t just called her a "freaky starmind" last week. “I should talk to her. You know, for tips.”

For gossip, Listener thought flatly. She didn’t even need mind-reading for that one.

She saw the girl — Moonblossom or Starflame or whatever glittery nonsense her name was — stand up and start walking toward the school hall. Straight toward the library.

Listener didn’t think. She stood too, scroll clutched in one talon, and followed. Quiet steps. Tail light. Wings tucked. Mistique called something after her, but Listener barely registered it. Clearsight was alone. That girl was going to bother her.

She slipped into the library a few paces behind her target and ducked behind a high shelf. Moonblossom (yes, that was it) was approaching Clearsight, who sat at her usual table, tail curled neatly, eyes flicking between four open scrolls at once.

“Hi, Clearsight!” Moonblossom said with a smile so wide it looked like it might crack her face. “I was just thinking about the starmap analysis you shared in class, and I was so impressed. I’d love to hear more about how you do all your… you know… seer stuff.”

Clearsight looked up, clearly surprised. “Um. Thanks?”

Listener narrowed her eyes. Her scales itched. Moonblossom was practically vibrating with fake interest. Not a single sincere thought in her whole sparkly head. Listener could hear it loud and clear: Get her talking. Get something good. Get Darkstalker.

“I mean,” Moonblossom said sweetly, “Darkstalker has been helping you with your visions, right? The two of you are so close—”

“Hey.” Listener stepped out from behind the shelf before she could stop herself.

Moonblossom flinched. “Oh! Hi, Listener! I didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed,” Listener said. She turned to Clearsight. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—” she shot a look at Moonblossom, “—thought you might want company that wasn’t so... starstruck.”

Moonblossom’s wings twitched. “I was just asking a few questions.”

“Questions,” Listener echoed. “Sure.”

Clearsight blinked between them, then calmly rolled up one scroll. “Well, thank you for the compliment, Moonblossom, but I do have some work I’d like to focus on. Maybe we can talk later?”

Moonblossom hesitated, gave an awkward laugh, and finally slinked off. Listener waited until she was gone before dropping into the seat across from Clearsight and letting out a breath.

“Sorry,” she said again. “She just—ugh. I didn’t like the way she was thinking at you.”

Clearsight gave her a small smile. “Honestly? I’m glad you came. I didn’t know how to make her stop without being rude.”

“I can be rude for you,” Listener offered helpfully.

Clearsight laughed, quiet and real. “Noted.”

Listener watched Moonblossom disappear down the hallway before turning back to Clearsight. The tension in her chest eased, but her mind buzzed with the same nagging worry — that not everyone around them had the best intentions.

Clearsight’s eyes drifted to a nearby window, where the afternoon sun painted warm patches on the floor. “I should probably get going,” she said softly. “More scrolls to study.”

Listener nodded and stood, ready to follow. But just then, a familiar voice called out from the courtyard.

“Listener! Over here!”

Mistique was waving her over with an impish grin, already settled at their usual lunch spot under the shade of a gnarled tree. Listener glanced once more at Clearsight, then headed out, leaving the heavy thoughts behind for a while.

“So,” Mistique began, her tone teasing, “you’ve been awfully quiet about your crushes lately. Anyone special? Slate? Darkstalker? Spill!”

Listener swallowed, her tail twitching slightly. “I don’t have a crush.”

Mistique snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure you don’t. Then what about way back when? I heard a certain name whispered—Deathcrusher. Is that true, or just a rumour?”

Listener’s cheeks warmed, but she shook her head. “That was a long time ago. Don’t remind me.”

Mistique laughed outright. “Too funny. You liking Deathcrusher? That’s almost tragic enough to be a poem.”

Listener rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

Listener glanced at Mistique, who was grinning like she’d just landed the best joke in the world. Despite herself, Listener felt a flutter in her chest — a quiet warmth that had been growing over the past few months whenever they were together.

She wasn’t quite sure when it started, or if she was even ready to admit it. But Mistique’s teasing, her easy laughter, the way she looked at Listener like she mattered… it was different. Good different.

“Yeah, well,” Listener said softly, “I’m glad you’re around now. I don’t think I could handle being teased about Deathcrusher if you weren’t here.”

Mistique’s smile softened, and she nudged Listener gently with her shoulder. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Listener smiled back, feeling lighter than she had all week.

______________________________________________________

The last class of the day always started slowly.

Even with glowing glass spilling dull light across the obsidian walls, half the class looked ready to sleep rather than study. Their dark-scaled wings were folded, their ears drooped, and the only ones properly alert were the few who had taken naps. Ashwing paced in front of the class like a stalking shadow, claws ticking faintly on the smooth stone floor.

“SandWings,” she announced, tapping the board behind her with one sharp talon. The scroll unrolled with a snap, revealing a sweeping sketch of a desert landscape—dunes, sandstone spires, and a golden-scaled SandWing drawn mid-pounce, tail poised in the air like a hooked question mark.

“They rule the desert,” Ashwing said, voice crisp. “Or at least they pretend to. Who here can name five traits that make SandWings uniquely suited to survival in their kingdom?”

A few claws raised slowly.

“Yes, Mistique?”

Mistique straightened a little, tail tip curling nervously. “They… um… have pale scales to blend into the sand? And black eyes, for sun resistance?”

Ashwing gave a faint nod. “Correct.”

Mistique nudged Listener and smiled. “I’m so smart.”

She flinched. Why did that feel like something else?

“They can survive a long time without water,” someone else mumbled.

“They’re light eaters,” added another.

“And venom,” Mistique said, gaining confidence. “They have a barb on their tail like a scorpion, and it can paralyze or kill.”

Ashwing flicked her tail approvingly. “Excellent. What else?”

“They’re cowards,” Torrent said loudly from the back row.

A few dragons snorted.

Ashwing didn’t turn. “Do you have evidence for that, Torrent?”

“They hide behind poison and lies,” he sneered. “Real warriors don’t need trick tails to win.”

Ashwing slowly turned her head. “And real warriors don’t underestimate survival instincts honed over thousands of years. SandWings are as dangerous as any SkyWing, and twice as cunning. You’d do well to remember that.”

Torrent muttered something under his breath.

Listener sat three seats from the front, flipping her scroll open but not writing. She could feel the tension building in the room like pressure before a storm.

“Ugh,” whispered a voice beside her, “why is Mistake talking so much?”

Listener’s ear twitched.

It was the boy behind her. She didn’t know his name. Probably one of Torrent’s or Deathcrusher’s orbiters, the type that sniggered when others got mocked but never said anything clever themselves.

“She’s so eager,” he stage-whispered. “Trying to show off. Like anyone cares what Mistake thinks.”

Listener’s claws curled.

Mistique didn’t respond. She looked like she hadn’t even heard him. But Listener had. And something about the lazy cruelty of it — the casual disrespect, the way no one spoke up — made her feel a sharp heat under her scales.

“Don’t call her that,” Listener said without looking up.

The whisperer blinked. “What?”

“It’s not funny. It’s not clever. And it’s not true.”

Several heads turned. Ashwing paused mid-scroll flip.

“Excuse me?” the boy asked, louder now. “You can’t tell me what to—”

“Torrent only makes fun of Mistique because he’s too embarrassed to admit he’s got a crush on Clearsight.”

The entire class stopped.

Everyone stared

Torrent’s wings flared wide, eyes going round. “What—?”

Listener froze. The words had leapt out of her without thought. Her mouth was dry. Her mind caught up a heartbeat too late.

Ashwing arched one brow. “Interesting. Listener, stay after class. Everyone else — write a short reflection on how SandWing camouflage traits enhance both their hunting and their political strategy. Due tomorrow.”

The scraping of scrolls and awkward scuffling of claws filled the silence as dragons filed out.

Mistique gave Listener a wide-eyed look as she passed, half grateful, half stunned. She mouthed, later and slipped out with the rest.

Torrent glared at Listener as he stomped past. He didn’t deny it.

Listener lowered her head and waited.

Ashwing didn’t speak at first. She rolled up the SandWing diagram scroll with exacting precision, tying it shut with one claw.

Listener stood near her desk, not fidgeting. Not apologizing.

Finally, Ashwing turned, a brow raised.

“You’re not the type I expected to start fights.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Listener said quietly. “It was… a correction.”

Ashwing’s expression didn’t shift, but the flick of her tail against the floor said she wasn’t impressed.

“And who told you about Torrent’s crush?”

“No one.”

“Then how—” She paused. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she tilted her head. “Oh. I see.”

Listener said nothing.

Ashwing gave a small, sharp breath — not quite a sigh. “You’re not in the mind-reading track, are you?”

“I’m not signed up,” Listener said. “But I don’t need to be.”

Ashwing crossed the room slowly, watching Listener the way a panther might watch an animal that looked too clever to be prey.

“Why now?” she asked. “That kind of slip could earn you worse than detention if you’d outed the wrong dragon.”

“I was tired of watching him tear her down.” A pause. “And he didn’t even do it cleverly.”

Ashwing’s lips twitched, like she might smile — but didn’t. “I won’t ask again: how did you know about Torrent and Clearsight?”

Listener blinked. “I said I wasn’t in the mind-reading track. I didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Ashwing narrowed her eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

For a moment, neither moved.

Then Ashwing turned and began arranging scrolls into a neat pile.

“I’m not putting that in a report,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “And I highly suggest you don’t say it again.”

Listener gave a shallow nod. “Understood.”

Ashwing didn’t turn back around. “And Listener?”

She paused at the door.

“You were right to stand up for Mistique. But next time, keep your arrows out of other dragons’ hearts unless you want one in yours.”

Listener didn’t answer.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

______________________________________________________

The moons streamed low through the tall windows of the school hallway, casting soft streaks across the worn stone floor.  Most students had already left, their voices and footsteps fading down the corridors. Only a few lingering figures remained—among them, Listener and Mistique, walking side by side, their pace unhurried.

Mistique glanced at Listener, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “You really surprised everyone back there,” she said quietly.

Listener’s gaze dropped to her claws, talons flexing nervously. “I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.”

Mistique’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t.”

Listener stopped and finally looked up. “Pretend what?”

“That the insults don’t bother you. I mean, I’m the one called ‘Mistake’ all the time, but usually I can shrug it off. But when that NightWing said it—” Mistique paused, searching Listener’s face — “you didn’t just shrug it off. You got mad. Like, really mad.”

Listener’s ears twitched involuntarily, a small gesture she thought she’d hidden better. Mistique noticed.

“I see things like that,” Mistique said, voice lowering. “Little signs. Like how your ear flicks whenever you’re upset or worried. Or when you try to hide how much you care.” She smiled, a warm, knowing smile. “You think no one notices, but I do.”

Listener swallowed, a faint flush creeping into her cheeks. She glanced away, the sudden shyness unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“I guess,” Listener murmured, “it’s easier to keep things inside. Sometimes it feels safer that way.”

Mistique nudged her gently with a wingtip. “You don’t have to do that with me. Not ever.”

Listener’s eyes found Mistique’s again. There was something quiet and steady in that gaze, a kind of understanding that didn’t need words. It made her heart beat a little faster, a flutter she didn’t quite expect but couldn’t ignore.

“Thanks,” Listener said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “That means more than you know.”

They continued down the hallway, the fading light wrapping them in a gentle glow. For a moment, the world outside felt distant—like it had paused just for them.

Mistique’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You know, maybe one day we won’t have to worry about NightWing boys or mean names. Maybe… things will just be easier. For both of us.”

Listener’s wings twitched slightly at the suggestion. “Maybe.”

She took Mistique in a tight embrace. “Thank you for being my friend.”

______________________________________________________

A few days later, Clearsight joined Listener and Mistique at their usual spot near the edge of the courtyard, her expression guarded but tired.

“So,” Clearsight said, dropping her bag beside her, “I finally went to the seer training in the central tower.”

Listener and Mistique looked up, curious.

“Well,” Clearsight continued, flicking a loose scale from her wing, “it was… underwhelming. No one there could even guess what the weather would be like tomorrow.”

Mistique chuckled. “So you’re the top of a class full of seers who can’t see?”

Clearsight smiled faintly but didn’t look pleased. “Something like that. And All-Knowing? The teacher — she was unusually hostile toward me. Like she didn’t want me there. I don’t think I’m going back.”

Listener watched Clearsight carefully. There was no bitterness or anger in her tone — just a quiet withdrawal. It was as if she was pulling away from them all, emotionally and maybe even physically, like she’d stopped needing or trusting anyone.

Listener and Mistique exchanged a worried glance. Mistique took a hesitant step forward.

“Clearsight,” she said softly, “we need to talk about the wall. About what you saw.”

Clearsight’s calm eyes flickered, but she didn’t look away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly but firmly. “Don’t investigate. Don’t look for it. It’s not safe.”

Mistique stepped closer. “But why? What is it? What did you see?”

Clearsight’s gaze softened for a moment, but then tightened again. “You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

Listener’s instincts screamed that something was wrong. Behind that composed voice was fear — deep and real. Clearsight was hiding something. She was lying.

“We’re your friends,” Listener said quietly. “You don’t have to keep this from us.”

Clearsight looked at them both, the faintest tremor in her wings betraying the steady mask she wore.

“I’m trying to protect you,” she whispered.

But Listener wasn’t convinced. She took a slow step forward, lowering her voice. “Clearsight… we’ve seen strange things, too. Whiteout said something. About a door that’s not a door and a wall that’s not a wall. It’s not just you anymore.”

Something in Clearsight’s expression broke.

Her claws clenched around the strap of her scroll bag. Her tail gave a single, sharp twitch, and then—like a dam bursting—she exhaled and turned away from them, shoulders tense.

“I saw you die.”

Neither Listener nor Mistique moved.

Clearsight’s voice was low and shaking now. “In every single future where you tried to enter the corridor, you either were faced with a wall, or you got in, and –” She sucked in a breath. “I don’t know what it was. But you were both gone. Forever.”

Silence.

Clearsight finally turned back, and tears were glimmering in her eyes. “That’s the problem. I don’t know which choice leads to saving you. And I don’t want to risk choosing the wrong one.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

Listener felt her chest ache. Mistique, silent and uncharacteristically serious, moved to Clearsight’s side and gently nudged her shoulder.

“We won’t go looking,” Listener said quietly. “Not without you. Not if it’s going to hurt you.”

Clearsight gave a shaky nod. “Thank you.”

But deep down, Listener already knew.

She was going to look anyway.

_____________________________________________________

Listener lay still in her bed, eyes open in the dark. The sunlight filtered faintly through the narrow window slits in her room, casting long pale stripes across the stone wall. Somewhere in the house, a pipe creaked, or maybe it was the wind. She didn’t care.

Sleep had been circling her all night like a wary predator, never landing. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop turning.

About Clearsight’s voice.
About Mistique’s beautiful, beautiful eyes.
About that feeling in her scales, like something had already gone wrong and they were just now catching up to it.

Eventually, her mind gave up fighting. She let herself fall.

______________________________________________________

She stood on nothing, as if an invisible force was holding her up. The air tasted wrong. Heavy.

Above her was no sky — only blackness.

Then something moved.

A dragon appeared.

She was a hybrid. White and black — not blended, but divided, sharply, like she’d been sliced into light and shadow. 

Listener’s breath caught. “Who… who are you?”

No reply.

The dragon stood silently, studying her.

“Is this a dream?” Listener asked, then winced. Of course it was.

Still, the dragon didn’t speak.

“You look like…” Listener’s voice wavered. “Like Whiteout. But the white and black parts are all wrong. So. A different hybrid?”

The mysterious dragon tilted her head at that. A faint, near-smile tugged at her snout — not amused, not kind. Knowing. Pained.

“Why are you in my dream?”

No answer.

Listener stepped forward. “Say something. Please.”

The dragon didn’t move. The silence pressed down like a weight on her wings.

“I don’t understand.”

Nothing.

“Am I supposed to?”

A pause.

Then, finally, a voice. Quiet and cold. “You’ve been asking the wrong questions.”

Listener’s claws dug into the floor. “Then tell me what I should be asking.”

The hybrid’s wings flexed. One looked heavier than the other — like she was carrying something invisible.

A star-shaped sapphire glowing with an eerie blue light.

“You don’t belong here,” Listener said softly.

Another silence.

But this time, the dragon spoke again.

“No. I don’t.”

Something cracked. Their surroundings splintered — not loudly, but silently. Hairline fractures glowed faintly, snaking across the void.

“Tell me your name,” Listener tried.

The dragon turned slightly, just enough that half her face vanished into light.

“Please,” she said.

And then, as the cracks widened and split open the sky, the dragon whispered:

“Wake up.”

______________________________________________________

Listener bolted upright in bed.

Her room was dark and still. The moon had passed behind clouds, and the shadows on the wall were gone.

She pressed a claw to her chest. Her heart was racing.

It had been a dream.

Except… she remembered all of it.

The black-and-white scales. The void. The cracks.

And the way it had felt. As if she were being pulled across space and time.

Listener didn’t move for a long time.

When she finally lay back down, she kept her eyes open.
Just in case the dream tried to come back.

Chapter 6: An Update

Summary:

just an update

Hi guys!

I'm going to establish a (somewhat optimistic) posting scheme. I'll try and post 1 or 2 chapters per week, one during the weekdays if possible and another on Saturday/Sunday. I don't know about your time zones but I'm +10.

Also I'm quite flattered that I have some subscribers already. Thank you all!

:)

Chapter 7: Chapter 5 - Beyond the Archway

Summary:

yey

The fading light of sunset slipped through the narrow window slits, casting long, soft shadows across the floor.

 Her dark eyes were open, unblinking, staring into the dimming room as if the encroaching night could swallow her tangled thoughts.

The endless web of futures she'd seen—the countless ways Listener and Mistique might step through the archway—refused to let go. Some endings were sudden and tragic, others quiet disappearances that felt no less haunting.

She touched one thread: Listener and Mistique step cautiously toward the archway, pausing at its threshold. A tremor ripples through the air. Suddenly, the world twists — and in an instant, they are gone. Nothing remains but an echo, a silence that screams in the void. They died, swallowed whole by the shadow beyond.

She pulled back, brushing away that thread, and grabbed another.

Here, they hesitate, but choose not to enter. They turn away, shaken but alive. The day passes, ordinary and quiet. Yet behind closed doors, whispers of what might have been crawl through their thoughts, gnawing at their peace.

Clearsight traced thread after thread — some ending in death, some in disappearance, others in strange vanishings, as if Listener and Mistique slipped through cracks in reality itself.

Each possibility wound tightly into the next, a spiralling maze of chances and consequences.

Why did some futures unravel into nothingness rather than death? What cruel twist of fate made the unknown so unpredictable?

A soft thump from the hallway signalled movement. Swiftwings would come soon to wake her, not realizing she was already stirring beneath the blankets of uncertainty.

A slow, steady breath escaped her snout. Maybe, somewhere within the chaos of possibilities, there was a path where they all survived.

A soft knock sounded at Clearsight’s door, followed by the creak of old hinges.

“Clearsight?” her mother’s voice called, gentle but brisk. “Time to get up, my weird little diamond. It’s nearly full dark. You’ll mess up your rhythm again if you oversleep on your free days.”

My weird little diamond? She’s never called me that before. But then, why does it sound… familiar?

“I’m awake,” Clearsight said, voice steady.

Swiftwings paused in the doorway, scanning her daughter with a hint of suspicion. “You don’t look awake.”

Clearsight offered a wan smile. “Thinking.”

“Ah.” Swiftwings raised one brow ridge. “About school?” (I’m just going with brow ridges now, as dragons apparently do not have eyebrows.)

Clearsight hesitated. “Sort of.”

That seemed to satisfy her mother, who stepped farther in and nudged a talon against Clearsight’s messy blanket. 

There was a brief silence. Swiftwings’s eyes softened slightly as she looked at her daughter, still half-sitting in bed. “Everything okay at school? You’ve been quiet lately. Not getting caught up in any of that prophecy drama, are you?”

Clearsight blinked. “Prophecy drama?”

“You know—dragonets being overly dramatic about destiny and all that. I’ve seen it before.” She waved a dismissive claw. “Some dragonet has a vision, everyone panics, next week they’ve forgotten it ever happened.”

Clearsight kept her face calm. “Got it.”

Swiftwings gave a brisk nod and turned to go. “Oh, by the way, we’re having spicy cave beetles for breakfast. Don’t dawdle or your father will eat all the crunchy ones.”

“I’ll be there,” Clearsight said.

“Good.” The door creaked shut behind her, leaving the room silent again—at least in the real world.

Inside her mind, the futures were anything but.

______________________________________________________

The dusky skies of the Night Kingdom deepened into indigo as Clearsight stepped out into the cooling air, wings tucked tight against her sides. She moved quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness over the neighbourhood. Most dragons were just beginning to wake — but her mind hadn’t rested at all.

Clearsight hovered at the edge of the path, her talons curling against the cool stone. The lamps along the terrace hadn’t been lit yet, but she could see the soft glow from inside Darkstalker’s house, faint and familiar.

She hesitated for just a breath, then stepped forward and tapped on the door with one curved claw.

It opened before she touched it again.

“I was hoping it would be you,” Darkstalker said, his voice warm. He stood silhouetted by the faint golden light behind him. “Come in.”

“I couldn’t stay in my room,” Clearsight murmured as she stepped past him. “I keep seeing timelines that end at the archway. Just… stop. Not darkness. Not death. Just nothing. ”

“Same here,” he said. “I tried to trace them again last night. I reached the edge, and it was like my futuresight turned to ash.”

He closed the door, the lock sliding into place with a quiet snap.

Clearsight let her wings settle as she looked around. His home was neater than she remembered. Scrolls arranged by size. A soft blanket folded near the fire pit, unused. No sign of Whiteout, though. Probably painting moons on the ceiling of her room again.

“Where’s your sister?”

“Off being cryptic somewhere,” he said with a crooked smile. “She doesn't really… explain her art anymore.”

Clearsight sat, curling her tail around her talons. “Did you ask her about the archway?”

“I tried. She said, ‘The ink has already dried, and yet the page is still wet.’ ” He snorted. “So that’s a no.”

Clearsight smiled weakly, but it faded quickly. “Darkstalker… why do you think it ends there? Why can’t we see anything?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes shimmered faintly in the dim light, unreadable.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I think someone doesn’t want us to.”

A long pause stretched between them. Then Clearsight moved closer.

“I saw something else. Not death, not always. Sometimes Listener and Mistique survive. Sometimes they vanish. Sometimes… I can’t even tell if they went through.”

She looked up at him. “Have you seen that kind of void before?”

“Yes,” he said. “Once. In the cave under the eastern cliffs. Remember that story I told you — about the SeaWing who fled the massacre?”

Clearsight blinked. “Current.”

“I think he died there. But I don’t know when. Or how. And it’s bothering me.” He stood. “Let’s go. Before—”

The front door creaked.

Darkstalker froze. He tilted his head, and his eyes darkened slightly.

Clearsight felt a chill crawl along her scales. “What is it?”

“My father’s thoughts. He just got home.”

She stood, her wings already half-spread. “And?”

“He’s listening,” Darkstalker growled. “ He’s eavesdropping. He’s thinking about you. About what we might be saying.”

Clearsight’s stomach tightened.

“Let’s go now,” he said, voice quiet but sharp. “Before he asks questions he doesn’t deserve answers to.”

They slipped out the back door, spread their wings, and soared over the mountains.

The air was crisp at this height, brushing over Clearsight’s wings like silk pulled tight. She flew just behind and slightly above Darkstalker, watching the quiet way his tail flicked behind him, the way his wings moved like he was barely touching the wind at all.

Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.

The night stretched wide around them, full of stars — and yet Clearsight couldn’t help but feel it was narrower than usual, like the future itself had narrowed too.

“I hate how quiet it is,” she finally said.

Darkstalker twisted slightly in the air to glance back at her. “The sky?”

“The timelines. The archway. That cave you mentioned. I can see a thousand things about tomorrow’s breakfast, but not whether Listener dies tonight.”

He didn’t answer for a moment.

Then: “Sometimes I wonder if knowing the future makes us blind to the present.”

“That sounds like something Listener would say,” Clearsight replied.

“Yeah, and I’d roll my eyes at her for it.” But his voice was gentler than usual. And Clearsight could foresee him saying it as well, when they were older.

They flew for a little while more, the cliffs gradually rising beneath them as the forest thinned into sharp stone ridges.

They both went quiet again.

After a few wingbeats, Darkstalker added, “I don’t want you going through the archway.”

Clearsight blinked. “You think I would?”

“I know you. You’d go to stop someone else from doing it. You’d go to protect Listener. Or Mistique. Or even me.”

She was silent.

“I’m not trying to control you,” he said quickly. “I just… I saw so many futures where you don’t come back. And I hated all of them.”

Clearsight looked at him carefully. “You’re worried.”

“I’m not worried,” he muttered. “I’m calculating risk.”

“Same thing.”

He glanced back, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I know.”

Below them, the cliffs finally levelled out, opening into a jagged ravine where obsidian columns jutted like broken teeth from the earth.

And they touched down on the rocky ground, wings folding, silence falling around them like a curtain.

Clearsight followed Darkstalker toward the cave entrance.

She could feel it already — a pressure, like futuresight pushing back against her instead of flowing forward. The cave was like the archway. Quiet. Disconnected.

But it wasn’t empty.

The air shifted near the back wall. There was something… a shape. Curled. Still. Blue.

Clearsight’s breath caught.

“Is that—?”

Darkstalker nodded grimly. “Yes.”

The SeaWing’s body lay in the shadows, half-covered by dried cave moss. Old blood stained the stones beneath him — dark, flaking, long dry.

Clearsight stepped closer, eyes wide.

“Current,” she whispered. “He survived the massacre. He escaped… He was supposed to live. I saw it. He fled the palace the night Albatross went mad. He swam for days. He should still be alive! In some timelines, he even got back to his kingdom with minimal damage!”

“And in this one?” Darkstalker said softly. “He died alone.”

Clearsight shivered.

She reached toward the body, then froze.

“Darkstalker,” she whispered, “he has something in his claws.”

They both crouched beside the body.

It wasn’t a gem, or metal, or obsidian. It looked like a piece of dark crystal — jagged-edged, but not broken. Its shape was deliberate. A curved hook at the top, three sharp points at the bottom, and lines carved along the side that shimmered faintly.

Clearsight extended one claw. A shock travelled up her forearm the instant she touched it — not painful, but impossibly cold , like the void between stars. Her visions sparked.

Timelines—dozens of them—rushed past her: doors opening, shadows shifting…

Then silence.

She jerked her talon away.

“It’s a key,” she said, breathless. “But I don’t know what it opens.”

Darkstalker frowned, his eyes scanning the strange object. “Animus-touched?”

“Definitely. But not recently. This feels… ancient. Like it was spelled centuries ago. Maybe even before the NightWing Kingdom was built.”

Darkstalker carefully pried the key from Current’s claws. The instant he lifted it, the cave seemed to inhale.

He gasped. “My powers are gone! I can’t mind read, or –”

Clearsight took the key again.

Darkstalker let out an agonized breath. “Three moons!”

“What?”

“My powers are back, this… thing… can restrict NightWing powers.”

“I can still see the future,” she said. “It must just be mindreading it limits.”

Darkstalker turned the key over in his claws, expression unreadable. “That’s never happened before.”

“No. It hasn’t.”

They stared down at Current’s body in silence. The SeaWing’s face was peaceful, almost serene. As if he’d found what he was looking for, even if it killed him.

Clearsight swallowed. “This key didn’t belong to him. He found it.”

“Or someone gave it to him, ” Darkstalker muttered. 

They both stood slowly. In the shifting light, the key seemed to glimmer with stars. Clearsight could feel something… watching .

“Let’s not tell anyone,” Darkstalker said. “Not yet. Not until we know what it’s for.”

Clearsight nodded, though unease coiled tight in her chest. “Agreed.”

______________________________________________________

Their wings stirred the cooling air as they landed outside the NightWing library. Sunrise was approaching, and soon everyone would be going to bed. The flight back had been quiet — not tense, exactly, but heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Clearsight’s mind hadn’t stopped spinning. Not after the cave. Not after the key. Not after the body.

Current.

Alive in almost every other future. Dead in this one.

But why?

Inside, the old library greeted them with silence and dust. They split up without needing to speak. Clearsight swept along the shelves like a dragon chasing ghosts, scanning the faded spines: Animus Theory , Prophetic Frameworks , Mind-Barriers and Memory Magic — nothing useful. Nothing relevant.

Darkstalker’s claws clicked softly on the upper level. “If anyone’s ever written about materials that can block NightWing powers, it’s not in any of the standard catalogues,” he called down. “And it’s definitely not animus magic. If it were, I’d know.”

“I know,” Clearsight said, exasperated. “I’m just trying to find anything . There has to be some kind of record. Prophecy interference, vision anomalies, memory fog, anything. ”

She slammed a book closed, a small puff of dust rising. Her futuresight still rippled and broke every time she tried to look past the archway. Like something had sliced time in half.

A soft set of talons touched the stone behind her.

“Nothing here,” Whiteout said, appearing beside them like a drifting snowflake. “I already looked. The books do not speak of keys. Or mirrors.”

“You checked already?” Darkstalker raised a brow.

Whiteout tilted her head. “While you were talking to the dead SeaWing.”

Clearsight blinked. Of course. Whiteout always moved on her own time.

“Well,” Darkstalker said, stretching his wings, “if the library’s a dead end—”

“—then we go back,” Whiteout finished calmly.

“To the arches,” Clearsight said, quieter now.

They all looked at one another. No one said anything for a moment.

Then Clearsight reached into her satchel and felt the weight of the key against her scales. Cold. Solid. Silent.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Whiteout smiled.

______________________________________________________

The tunnel to the ancient chamber had only grown colder since their last visit.

Clearsight walked ahead, her talons scraping gently over the stone. Darkstalker followed, his wing brushing hers. Whiteout drifted just behind them, silent as the shadows pooling along the corridor walls.

At the chamber’s threshold, the arches waited.

Still watching.

Clearsight swallowed. Her futuresight should have flooded her mind by now: hundreds of branching paths, thousands of possibilities. But the moment she looked ahead—

Nothing.

A void.

Still no death. No clear disaster. Just a strange, blank silence. Like trying to read a scroll that hadn’t been written yet.

She stepped forward.

The first arch shimmered faintly, its black frame outlined by something ancient and wrong. Her claws tingled as she crossed the threshold. Still nothing. Her mind groped for futures that weren’t there.

Behind her, Whiteout tilted her head. “It’s quieter this time,” she said.

“Too quiet,” Darkstalker murmured. He stared hard at the arches, frowning. “It’s like something’s watching us back.”

Then, a flurry of wingbeats from the tunnel.

A NightWing messenger skidded into the chamber, panting. His eyes darted between them and the arches, wide with thinly veiled alarm.

“Darkstalker!” he gasped. “The queen has summoned you. Immediately.”

Darkstalker turned, the faint irritation in his eyes hardening. “Why?”

The messenger straightened. “A SeaWing prince arrived a few moments ago. He’s requested a private audience — with you. Queen Vigilance thought you’d want to know.”

Darkstalker froze.

“Fathom?” Clearsight asked.

“Must be,” he said, voice low. “Of course she didn’t mention why he’s here. Or who came with him.”

Clearsight turned toward him fully now. “You should go.”

Beneath her calm exterior, Clearsight was panicking.

This has never happened before in our futures. We were supposed to meet at a party! Not in a private meeting! Why can’t I see these possibilities?

Darkstalker hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the arches. Then to her. Then to the arches again.

“Will you wait?”

Clearsight hesitated too, then shook her head. “No. If I wait, I might lose the nerve.”

Darkstalker exhaled slowly. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “There’s no death in any of the futures I can see. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t like that. She could tell. But after a long moment, he dipped his head, and his voice softened. “Be careful. Don’t touch anything—”

“Unless it wants to be touched,” Whiteout said cheerfully.

He gave her a half-smile. Then looked at Clearsight one last time. “You’ll tell me what you find?”

Clearsight hesitated. Just for a second. “Of course.”

Darkstalker stared at her a moment longer, unreadable. Then he turned and swept down the tunnel after the messenger, disappearing into the dark.

Clearsight looked up at the arch again. That cold stillness pressed around her mind like mist. Her futuresight was useless here.

“Ready?” she asked.

Whiteout nodded. “The mirror is waiting.”

They stepped through the first arch, and the world shifted.

It was quiet in the way a tomb was quiet — not silence, exactly, but with anticipated noise, not real.

The hallway had narrowed, then opened again into a domed room, its walls covered in faint carvings that looked melted by time. Stale air curled around their claws.

At the centre of the floor, half-buried in dust, sat a pedestal.

Clearsight hesitated. That feeling was back — the tug in her chest. Like something she hadn’t known she was searching for was about to be found.

She approached slowly. The pedestal held a sealed black lockbox, smooth and unmarked except for a single keyhole, curved and sharp-edged.

Whiteout tilted her head. “A fang that fits no dragon’s mouth,” she said dreamily. “Or maybe it did, once.”

Clearsight reached into her satchel and drew out the odd object they’d found near Current’s body — the strange shard, crescent-shaped and unnervingly warm to the touch.

It fit.

The box unlocked with a soft click .

Inside, nestled in ancient velvet, lay a disc of dark, reflective stone. Smooth as glass. Cold as ice.

Clearsight leaned over it.

At first, it just looked like a mirror. Her own face stared back, eyes wide with dust and flickering torchlight, her wings casting long shadows along the walls.

But something was…off.

Her reflection didn’t blink when she did.

Its head tilted half a heartbeat late.

She leaned closer. Her breathing slowed. Her claws trembled slightly, but the mirror Clearsight didn’t tremble at all.

She frowned.

Whiteout said nothing. She was gazing up at the carvings above, as though reading something no one else could see.

Clearsight exhaled slowly and stepped back. The reflection copied her, but delayed, just slightly, just enough to make her wonder.

“A mirror,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “But…oddly made.”

Whiteout turned her head slightly. “She would be pleased.”

Clearsight looked at her, startled.

But Whiteout had already wandered to the edge of the room, tracing her claws over the stone walls.

Clearsight closed the box.

She didn’t know what the object was. She couldn’t see any futures around it — her powers were still blank here.

But her mind kept drifting back to the reflection. How its wings were positioned a little differently. How the face — her face — had looked slightly older.

Or was it just her imagination?

She opened it again, reached in, hesitating only briefly, and lifted it out.

It felt heavier than it looked. Cold, like it had been waiting in shadow for centuries. Her reflection shimmered back at her, but something about it seemed just slightly wrong. The shape of her horns? The tilt of her smile?

She glanced at Whiteout.

“I’m taking it,” she said simply.

Whiteout blinked slowly. “Yes. You already have.”

Clearsight waited for some kind of argument — but of course, none came. Just another vague answer, like Whiteout had seen this moment long before it happened.

“I don’t know what it is,” Clearsight murmured, tucking the mirror gently into her satchel.

Whiteout tilted her head, voice quiet and dreamy. “It doesn’t either. Not yet.”

A soft wind rustled through the chamber, stirring bits of dust and old parchment.

Then they turned and left, the archway fading behind them — and the mirror watching, silent and unseen, from within the folds of Clearsight’s satchel.

______________________________________________________

The mirror sat by her bedside. She hadn’t told Darkstalker about it, not yet, but she promised herself she would soon. But she still felt… hesitant…

The mirror had its face turned away from her, towards the wall, but she had the feeling it was somehow watching her. Not in the literal sense, of course. But in the way her future refused to form around it. A blank patch in the threads of time.

She fell asleep late, almost midday, her wings coiled tightly around herself as if that would protect her from the dangers that lay ahead.

______________________________________________________

She was in a corridor of smooth black stone.

It was not the academy. Nor the library. It was nothing she'd seen before, yet it was familiar. Carvings shimmered faintly on the walls: constellations she almost recognized, runes that twisted out of comprehension when she tried to read them. She was alone.

Until she wasn’t.

Another dragon stepped into the corridor ahead.

At first, she thought it was a mirror image. But no, the posture was different. Calmer. Older. Her face bore the same markings, the same careful eyes… but they didn’t gleam with calculation. They gleamed with grief.

Clearsight stared. “Who… are you?”

The other her regarded her silently for a moment. Then, in a voice that sounded like hers — but layered with something deeper — she said:

“I’m you. A possible you. From a different timeline”

“…Then why are you here?”

The older Clearsight gave a sad smile.

Clearsight’s eyes flicked to the corridor behind her. “Is this about the artifact? The mirror?”

A pause. The older her hesitated, not out of fear, but caution. “It’s not time to explain. And I’ve learned…” she trailed off, then added quietly, “Some knowledge closes more doors than it opens.”

“But it’s important, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the older her said softly. “That’s why you’ll have to carry it alone for now. Just… be careful what you reflect.”

“What does that mean ?”

Another silence. Then the older Clearsight stepped closer. “Watch Whiteout. Trust her. And don’t let Darkstalker write your future for you. Not even with good intentions.”

Clearsight hesitated, then added: “What about Listener?”

The older her actually smiled, the first real smile she’d seen. “Keep her close. She’ll surprise you. She’ll be a better friend than you expect. You’ll need her.”

Clearsight tilted her head. “And Mistique?”

The older her blinked once. Then again. “Who?”

Clearsight stared at her. “She’s in my class. Funny. Kind of crazy. She was—”

“I don’t know her,” the older Clearsight said gently. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The silence between them turned heavy, and they both looked away awkwardly.

Clearsight opened her mouth — and then she froze.

Another presence. A flicker. A rip in the corridor’s air.

Another version of herself burst into being — ragged, scorched, one wing bent at a horrible angle. Her eyes were wild with panic and fury and pain.

“STOP!” she screamed.

Both Clearsights turned.

“You’re making it worse! You don’t understand ! She’s already—”

Her voice cracked, and she collapsed. Blood smeared the floor as she coughed violently, wings twitching.

The first older Clearsight flinched, stepping back.

Clearsight stepped forward instinctively. “Wait — who—?”

The dying one locked eyes with her. “Don’t trust it. Don’t trust her . Don’t—”

The world cracked.

Notes:

Yay! I'm keeping to my schedule!

also one day early.

i haven't forgot about the north beach invasion *hint*

Chapter 8: Chapter 6 - Another Mirror

Summary:

Darkstalker meets fathom and indigo. yay. also somehow vigilance knows about darkstalker's powers :(

Darkstalker

Darkstalker knew something was wrong the moment Queen Vigilance called him forward. Not because of the way she smiled, as if she was about to sentence someone to death, but because of how she looked at him, with that sharp, knowing glint in her eye.

He knew her game. He'd been in her mind.

“Darkstalker,” she said, not bothering to add the usual greetings. Her eyes, sharp as obsidian, flicked to his forehead, as though she could peel his scales back and read his thoughts. “Walk with me.”

Vigilance led Darkstalker through a maze of winding corridors, until she brought him to a room where four SeaWings stood, visibly cornered.

 Two wore the stiff postures of bodyguards, but their eyes kept scanning for exits. A third, a tall blue-purple female, masked her anxiety beneath the rigid stance of a soldier, though her heart was pounding loud enough Darkstalker could almost hear it.

And the fourth…

Prince Fathom.

The SeaWing animus.

The other one.

“Prince Fathom of the SeaWings,” Vigilance announced lazily, as if Darkstalker hadn’t already noticed him. “Meet Darkstalker. The other animus.”

Wait. How does Vigilance know I’m an animus?

How do they know? Darkstalker kept his smile smooth, but the thought gnawed at him. Arctic doesn’t know. Mother doesn’t know. Clearsight knows. But how do they know?

Fathom’s thoughts were like waves slamming against a fragile sandbar. Animus. Like me. This is it. This is why Pearl sent me.

“Very pleased to meet you,” Fathom said, dipping his head. “These are my guards, Wharf and Lionfish… and Indigo.” His wing twitched subtly toward the blue-purple dragon beside him.

She’s not just a guard, Darkstalker thought, catching the flash of fear hidden behind her narrowed eyes. She’s the only reason he’s still standing.

“I’m honoured to meet you, too,” Darkstalker said, his voice velvet and harmless. “Have you seen the view from the Royal Tower yet? May I take you up for a flight?”

Queen Vigilance’s gaze sharpened. Suspicious, as always. But she couldn’t refuse without offending the SeaWings.

“Soon. But first… You and Fathom are not… unique,” Vigilance said slowly, her words measured. “Animus magic has appeared in the past. It will appear again. But Pyrrhia remembers the last animus who lost control.”

“You fear history repeating,” Darkstalker said. “Albatross.”

“Yes,” Vigilance said. “But more than that, we fear the unknown. And you, Darkstalker, are an unknown.”

That was it, then. They knew he could be dangerous, but they didn’t know if he was . It wasn’t about deeds, it was about potential. About fear.

Fathom’s mind was a swirling storm of guilt and obligation, but Indigo’s was sharper: If he shows the slightest sign, we end him here.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Darkstalker said, his voice silken. “Unlike Albatross, I have no intentions of… making a statement with my power. My talents are for the good of my tribe.”

Vigilance regarded him as if weighing a stone, silently questioning its density.

“I believe that for now,” she said. “But intentions can change. That’s why you two will meet often. You’ll learn from each other.”

That was unexpected. Fathom’s mind sparked with confusion. Indigo’s suspicion flared even hotter.

“A SeaWing tutor?” Darkstalker mused aloud.

“Not a tutor. A mirror.” Vigilance’s gaze sharpened. “You will look at him and remember what can happen. And he will look at you and remember why he must stay vigilant.”

Vigilance , Darkstalker thought, amused. A queen who wanted her name to echo in the minds of every dangerous dragon.

“Very well,” Darkstalker said smoothly. He turned to Fathom and bowed his head. “I look forward to our... mutual education.”

Fathom opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Indigo spoke instead. “He’s not here to be your friend. He’s here to make sure you don’t become a monster.”

Darkstalker’s eyes glinted. “Of course. And I’m sure he’ll do an admirable job.”

Vigilance stepped between them. “That is all. You are dismissed.”

The SeaWings were quick to withdraw, Indigo’s glare burning into Darkstalker as they filed out. Fathom kept his head down, but Darkstalker heard the silent plea in his mind: Don’t make me stop you.

When they were gone, Vigilance remained still for a moment.

“I am watching you, Darkstalker,” she said.

“I would expect nothing less,” Darkstalker replied.

As he turned to leave, Darkstalker’s thoughts lingered on the unanswered question: How does Vigilance know? And who had told her? The question burned like a shadow in his thoughts. And more importantly, how can I neutralize this threat?

It was then when he realised that Vigilance had skillfully outmanoeuvred him into not allowing him to accompany the SeaWings on a flight to the Royal Tower.

Hmmm. Perhaps she’s a bigger problem than I thought.

______________________________________________________

The moon had long since disappeared behind the jagged cliffs, leaving only the sun’s rising rays draped over the Night Kingdom. From the terrace outside the library, the kingdom looked serene and peaceful. But the silence felt wrong tonight.

Darkstalker stood at the edge, leaning against the stone railing, his tail coiling and uncoiling in restless loops. His mind was anything but still.

“She knew,” he said quietly. “She knew I was an animus. Vigilance didn’t guess. She didn’t suspect. She knew .”

Clearsight didn’t answer immediately. She stood a few paces behind him, her wings folded tightly, her expression unreadable in the dim light. He could feel the weight of her futuresight working, threads of possibility shifting and tangling behind her eyes.

“That’s dangerous,” he continued, watching the stars. “Very dangerous. Not just because she knows, but because I don’t know how she found out.”

“Darkstalker –” Clearsight started, but he cut across her.

“I was careful. My parents don’t know. Foeslayer doesn’t know. Arctic definitely doesn’t know.” He turned, eyes glinting. “So where did it come from? Who whispered it in her ear?”

Clearsight’s talons pressed into the stone floor. “Does it matter?”

“It matters,” Darkstalker said, voice sharp, “because this wasn’t a public revelation. Someone betrayed me, Clearsight. Someone thinks they’re clever.”

She took a step closer, enough that he could see her face clearly now. “You’re spiralling. I’ve seen this before, futures where you obsess over every whisper, futures where you start hunting for enemies you haven’t made yet. It doesn’t go well. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

He smiled faintly. “Then I’ll just have to make sure those futures don’t happen.”

Clearsight’s wings snapped open in frustration. “You can’t shape every outcome, Darkstalker. That’s not how the threads work. The futures where you start playing Vigilance’s game are the ones where you lose control.”

“I don’t intend to lose,” he said calmly.

“That’s exactly what she’s counting on.” Clearsight’s tail lashed. “Vigilance plays with paranoia. She lets you think you’re one step ahead. She feeds on reactions. If you move against her now, she’ll wrap you in her web before you even realize it.”

Darkstalker was silent for a long moment. But he didn’t like standing still. He didn’t like waiting for someone else to tighten a noose around his neck.

“I’m not saying do nothing,” Clearsight added, softer now. “I’m saying to wait . Watch. There are futures where you find the truth without pushing. Where you win by knowing when to pause .” 

She turned her head slightly. Moonlight caught the silver tear-shaped scale beneath her eye. “Trust me, Darkstalker. I saw this moment a thousand ways. The moment when you find out. And every version of it ends badly if you confront her directly.”

He turned back to the railing, gazing down into the forest. “You always know how to make inaction sound like strategy.”

“Because it is ,” she said, stepping beside him. “You’ll win, Darkstalker. But not through force. Not through retaliation. Through patience.”

He let the silence stretch, his claws tapping softly on the stone, his mind turning over her words.

“That’s not the only reason I came here,” she said softly. “There’s something else. Something I haven’t told you.”

Darkstalker froze. A different kind of tension coiled beneath his scales. “Go on.”

Clearsight shivered. “You want to know what I saw today? When you left to meet Vigilance?” She glanced up at him, her eyes darker than the shadows. “I had a vision. But it wasn’t of the future. Or if it was, it was a thousand futures stacked on top of each other. All… versions of me.”

That made him pause. Clearsight never spoke of her visions in metaphors.

“Versions?” he echoed.

She nodded slowly. “Some were older. Some were younger. Some… didn’t look like me at all. But I knew them. And they knew me.”

“I need you to be careful, Darkstalker,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “That feeling, it’s like a warning. Every path where you push against Vigilance, right now , it ends badly. For you. For me. For everyone.”

“I’ll wait,” he said slowly, though it felt like grinding his teeth. “But I won’t be passive. If I can’t move forward, I’ll prepare. If she’s watching me, I’ll be watching her.”

Clearsight nodded, but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders.

“This dream you had,” Darkstalker added, watching her closely, “those versions of you… Did any of them seem like they regretted standing still?”

Her wings drooped slightly. “No. They were all… just watching. Like they were waiting for me to choose.”

“Then I’ll choose carefully.” His tail flicked. “But I will choose.”

He would wait. For now.

But beneath the calm, the thought lingered.

I need to get rid of Vigilance and whoever told her about my magic.

______________________________________________________

The palace walls were thin.

Not in stone or strength, but the thoughts that wove through every hall. Thoughts could not be contained by walls. They bled through, easily detectable to a dragon who knew how to listen.

Darkstalker let himself drift through the corridors like a shadow. His talons made no sound, though his thoughts were anything but silent.

Somebody told her. Vigilance knows I’m an animus.

And not from me. Not from Father. Not from Clearsight. Then who?

It was a splinter in his mind, a jagged shard that no amount of planning could smooth away. His futuresight blurred when it came to the betrayal — every possibility folding into dead ends, like his own tribe had learned how to shield themselves from him.

He had to know.

He had to find out.

The palace whispered to him.

He didn’t need to see the dragons as their thoughts were loud enough. A guard at the next archway was replaying a conversation from hours ago, his mind anxiously reciting the words as if to memorize them: “He is dangerous. Don’t meet his eyes. Don’t let him speak to you directly.”

He traced the source of that command backward: it had come from a councillor, not Vigilance herself. Which one? The thought didn’t say. Frustratingly vague.

He passed a pair of servants, their thoughts a humming cloud of nothing, just lists, chores, gripes about nobles. But underneath one mind, there was… a gap. Like a hole dug where a thought had been buried. That servant’s mind was too clean, like she’d swept her own brain with deliberate precision.

That’s odd, Darkstalker mused, but not enough to pounce. Not yet.

His senses stretched wider. Hundreds of thoughts pressed in at once. Several dragons were thinking of him at this very moment. That wasn’t unusual. But it was the way they thought about him that made his scales prickle.

Too careful. Too neutral.

One councillor, seated in a small chamber, rehearsed a conversation in his head: “If the animus boy asks, deny everything. Keep the focus on the war. Distract him with Arctic’s failure. Don’t engage on personal matters.”

So they’ve been briefed.

Darkstalker’s wings flexed. He felt as if the palace itself was shrinking around him, walls pressing closer with every step.

He passed another guard. This one was brimming with a false calm, thinking deliberately about his shift, his armour, the torchlight, the— Stop overthinking, don’t let him see it, don’t let him see it—

There.

That guard knew something. And he knew Darkstalker could be listening.

Darkstalker didn’t stop. He didn’t need to. Just knowing there was guilt there was enough. Not yet. Watch, wait. Let him think he’s safe.

He turned a corner, sliding into a gallery lined with old tapestries. Here, he could think.

Someone is playing a dangerous game.

But what grated at him wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the shielding . Nobody was supposed to be able to shield the most powerful mindreader ever known by the NightWings.

He closed his eyes, extending his mind again. This time, focusing not on the words, but on the spaces between them: the silences that dragons painted over with too much calm.

And then, like brushing against a hidden tripwire, he caught a thread.

“We tell her when we’re sure.”

The thought wasn’t attached to any voice nearby. It had passed through the stone, distant and faint, but deliberate. Someone was orchestrating this slowly, patiently. Someone in this palace who could hide their mind until the moment they chose to reveal themselves.

He ground his talons into the floor, frustration mounting. For all his foresight, for all his mind-reading, this enemy was staying just out of reach.

But not forever.

Someone was watching him. Someone thought they could control him.

They were wrong.

______________________________________________________

There was nobody in the house. Darkstalker slowly made his way to the bedroom, stepping over a discarded paintbrush and gingerly nudging a plant out of his way. Scrolls lined the walls, but all that mattered was the one scroll unrolled on the table before him: his scroll. His magic.

He dipped his quill into the inkpot, jaw clenched tight.

"Reveal to me the name of the dragon who told Queen Vigilance about my animus power."

The scroll stayed blank.

He pressed harder, carving the next words into the parchment with sharp, precise strokes.

"Show me the dragon who betrayed my secret to Vigilance."

Nothing.

He tried again. And again. Phrasing it differently each time. It didn’t matter. The scroll offered no names, no glow of revelation. Just the same dead stillness.

Something’s blocking me.
Someone has figured out how to make me blind.

His tail flicked in agitation, knocking over a candle. He caught it mid-fall, steadying it with a snarl. No amount of futuresight was piercing through the fog surrounding this betrayal. 

He picked up a mirror resting on his bedside table and picked it up, carrying it to his workbench.

He dipped the quill again. This time, the spell came out razor-sharp, in jagged writing almost incomprehensible.

“Enchant this mirror to reveal the last secret spoken aloud by any dragon who looks into it. Let only me see what is revealed in its reflection. Let no other dragon see the words, no matter how they try.”

He sat back, letting the ink dry. The mirror, a smooth disc of black glass encircled in silver, rested innocently on the table. It didn’t gleam. It didn’t hum. No pulse of magic vibrated through the stone. But he knew it had worked.

It had to.

Darkstalker leaned forward, staring into his reflection.

“Someone told Queen Vigilance that I’m an animus.”

The mirror did not respond. Its surface remained flawless and empty, showing only his own eyes staring back at him.

He let out a breath. Of course. The mirror wasn’t for his secrets. It would only reflect the truths spoken by others, the careless words, the whispered betrayals they thought were hidden. And even then, only he would see them. Any dragon looking into the mirror would see nothing but their own face.

He curled his claws around the mirror's edges, imagining the words that would appear when the right dragon, an unguarded one, looked into it.

Soon, he thought.

Someone would give themselves away.

And when they did, this mirror would tell him everything.

______________________________________________________

The castle was quieter now, but not empty. It was nearly sunrise, so most dragons were wrapping up for the day and starting their flight home. Darkstalker moved through all of it, his mindreading extended the furthest he could reach. Every passing dragon was just a flicker of noise in his mind, fragments of gossip, petty ambitions, fleeting fears. None of it mattered. Not yet.

He was hunting for the ones who mattered.

He spotted a servant, Starchaser, if he remembered correctly. 

A servant, young and painfully nervous, her thoughts a constant stream of disjointed anxieties. She was harmless. She wouldn’t know anything of value. But he had to start somewhere.

“Starchaser,” he said, gesturing to the obsidian mirror laid flat on the table. “Come here. Look into this. Tell me what you see.”

She hesitated, wings twitching, but obeyed. Her reflection stared back at her uncertainly, dark eyes darting to Darkstalker as though seeking approval.

“Look closer,” he said, voice soft, patient.

As she leaned in, the spell triggered, and across the glass, faint words appeared, visible only to him.

"I told Nighttide that Eloquence was cheating on her mate with another dragon."

Predictable. Useless.

“You may go,” Darkstalker said coolly.

Starchaser fled, relief and confusion bubbling in her mind.

He didn’t care.

The true test was next.

Larkwing rounded the corner.. A handsome dragon in his own estimation, all sharp smiles and perfect posture, Larkwing moved like the palace had been built to showcase him.

“Hello, Larkwing. Take a look.” Darkstalker said, gesturing to the mirror. “Tell me what you see.”

Larkwing’s grin widened, no suspicion in his eyes. “A mirror? Finally, a worthy project.” He strutted forward, angling his snout to admire his reflection, as if expecting it to applaud.

The spell caught instantly.

Words laced across the obsidian’s surface, visible only to Darkstalker:

"I told Vigilance that Darkstalker’s magic is a danger. The Council agrees: he must be bound before he can threaten the tribe."

There it was.

Not a vague suspicion. A decision. They were conspiring already.

Bind him. Neutralise him. His own tribe.

Darkstalker’s scales felt tight. His mind, usually a lattice of precise plans, fogged for a moment with raw, searing clarity.

Larkwing, meanwhile, was still absorbed in his reflection, turning his head just so. “Beautiful craftsmanship,” he said, oblivious to the confession scrawled beneath his gaze.

“Thank you, Larkwing,” Darkstalker said with a forced smile. “That’s all I needed.”

“Of course,” Larkwing said, smug and satisfied, as he swept out of the room.

The door clicked shut.

Darkstalker exhaled slowly, talons tightening on the mirror’s edge.

Clearsight’s warnings echoed in his mind: futures collapsing into darkness the more he pursued this. She would have begged him to let it go.

But now it wasn’t about futuresight.

It was happening.

The question was: would he wait for them to strike first?

The mirror stared back at him, blank once more.

But he had seen.

And there would be consequences.

Notes:

Darkstalker's perspective! yay

Also yay 50+ kudos

Please give kudos if you like the story!

Also I think I'll change my schedule from posting on sat/sun to friday because it suits me

That would be thurs-fri depending on your time zone :)
I might get two chapters a week when i have time but just expect one.

Chapter 9: Chapter 7 - The Archway Again

Summary:

Mistique and Listener have a look at the archway.

Mistique

She and Listener sat by the table in her bedroom, discussing plans. Moonlight spilled through the window, pooling on the parchment and quills scattered before them. Mistique traced a claw along a map of the Night Kingdom, eyes flicking up whenever Listener moved or shifted her wings.

“We have to make sure Clearsight doesn’t notice,” she whispered, lowering her voice until it was almost a thought rather than sound. “We just need not to trigger her visions. We have to get lucky if we’re going to explore successfully.”

Listener nodded, claws hovering over the map but not touching it. Her wings twitched slightly behind her, betraying her tension. “I know. We’ll keep everything subtle.”

Mistique’s tail flicked nervously. “I hate hiding things from her. But… we have to. If she knew now, she’d try to stop us before we even leave.”

Listener’s gaze softened as she looked at Mistique. “We’re careful. We’ll go together.” Her voice was quiet, steady, and it made Mistique’s heart skip. Their wings brushed slightly, accidentally, but deliberate enough to make them both flinch inwardly.

“Don’t get distracted,” Listener murmured, though her lips quirked into a half-smile. “We have a job to do.”

Mistique returned the smile, barely noticeable. “I know.”

With a shared glance, they stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against their scales. Mistique and Listener lifted off, wings cutting through the crisp night air. The Night Kingdom stretched below them, silent cliffs and glimmering rivers outlined by the pale light of the waning moon.

“Wow,” Listener said, looking up at the moons. “All three moons are nearly new tonight. I wonder whether any NightWings hatched on the Darkest Night will have any powers.” She felt Mistique’s wing brush against hers as they settled into a steady formation. The contact was fleeting, but enough to make her pulse quicken.

“Watch the ridge ahead,” Mistique called, a teasing edge to her voice. “I swear, you’ll fly us into a cliff if you don’t pay attention.”

“I’m fine,” Listener replied, though her wings caught a small gust and she had to adjust mid-turn, skimming dangerously close to a jagged outcrop. Mistique laughed, light and airy, a sound Listener hadn’t realized she loved hearing.

“You call that fine?” Mistique asked, wings flicking with playful exasperation. “Barely missed it. I’ll give you points for style, though.”

Listener laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing with the sound. She noticed the way Mistique’s eyes glimmered in the moonlight, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just them, the soft wind, and the silent kingdom beneath. 

A sudden gust sent them lurching to one side. Mistique grabbed Listener with a quick flick of her tail, steadying her, and their wings pressed closer than necessary for balance. Neither pulled away immediately, just letting the moment stretch for a heartbeat longer than it should have.

“Thanks,” Listener whispered, though her voice carried more than gratitude.

“No problem,” Mistique said softly, but the way her wing lingered near Listener’s made the word heavier with meaning.

______________________________________________________

The library stretched before them, vast and silent, its shadows deepening as the first rays of sun filtered through the high windows. Mistique and Listener landed softly, wings folding, their hearts still drumming from the flight. The archway waited at the far end, dark and silent, its edges humming faintly with power that neither fully understood.

They approached slowly, each step measured. Mistique’s wing brushed against Listener’s again, and Listener felt a warmth curl in her chest that had nothing to do with the morning sun. Neither spoke, both feeling the weight of the unknown pressing against their scales.

The air around the archway shimmered, faintly luminous, as if it were alive. Mistique took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of dust and magic. Listener mirrored her, letting her lungs fill and empty, grounding herself.

“This is it,” Mistique whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. “Ready?”

Listener nodded, eyes meeting hers, a silent pact passing between them. Together, they stepped forward, wings tensing…

They stepped through the first arch, and the world shifted.
The air felt heavier here, carrying a stillness that made their wings itch to move. Every sound they made seemed swallowed by the ceiling above.

The hallway had narrowed, then opened again into a domed room. Faint carvings, melted by time, crawled along the walls, catching the first slivers of moonlight. Dust floated lazily in the air, disturbed only by their careful steps.

Listener’s claws scraped softly over the stone floor. She glanced at Mistique, whose eyes were wide, reflecting both excitement and unease. “It’s… older than I imagined,” Listener murmured.

Mistique tilted her head, studying the carvings. “It feels like it’s watching us,” she whispered. Her voice carried a thrill that made Listener’s chest tighten.

At the centre of the room, half-buried in dust, sat a pedestal. It looked as if it had been waiting for centuries, silent and immovable. Listener stepped closer, and Mistique followed, wings brushing lightly as they moved in tandem, unspoken reassurance passing between them.

The pedestal was bare, only empty stone and a faint circle etched into the surface, like it once held something important. Mistique reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short. “Nothing… yet,” she said, a shiver running through her spine. “This feels… wrong. Like there should be something here.”

As they lingered near the pedestal, Mistique bent slightly to examine the etched circle. Listener leaned closer, curiosity sharpening every sense.

Then, a voice sliced through the stillness. “No! Stop! Get out!”

Both of them froze, wings snapping upward instinctively. The voice was unmistakable: Clearsight.

Listener’s heart thudded in her chest. “Clearsight…” she murmured.

Mistique’s tail twitched nervously. “She… she’s serious,” she said, voice trembling. “We should—”

“Listen to her,” Listener said firmly. Her pulse raced, but something in Clearsight’s tone carried more than authority; it carried a warning, a warning that went beyond the present moment.

The pedestal, the carvings, the air thick with anticipation, all of it suddenly felt dangerous. Mistique stepped back, brushing wings with Listener. “We… we’ll leave,” she whispered, and together they backed away, leaving the centre of the room empty, their claws echoing softly against the stone as they retreated toward the archway.

They didn’t pause to look back, hurrying toward the archway as Clearsight’s warning echoed in their minds. But when they turned the corner, expecting the familiar library shelves and arches, nothing awaited them.

The hallway stretched endlessly. Stone walls faded into shadows, arches repeating like an infinite loop. There were no torches, no familiar tapestries, no windows opening onto the Night Kingdom. Just the dim, oppressive expanse of the corridor, curling on and on in both directions.

Listener skidded to a halt, wings bristling. “This… this isn’t right,” she murmured, voice tight.

Mistique’s heart hammered, tail flicking nervously. “We’re trapped.”

Every instinct told them to fly back, to retrace their steps, but the arch they had entered seemed to vanish behind a haze of shadow. The pedestal, the carvings, everything they had seen felt impossibly far away, as if swallowed by the endless hallway.

A cold realization settled in their bones: they weren’t just outside the library. They weren’t in any place they knew.

Mistique’s wings twitched, anxiety sharpening every sense. “Clearsight’s warning…” She swallowed. “…She wouldn’t tell us to leave unless… unless this was dangerous.”

“Listener! Mistique! Are you there?” Clearsight’s voice echoed down the corridor.

Listener’s heart jumped. “Clearsight?”

“Yes. I can hear you,” Clearsight said, sharp and urgent. “But I can’t get in. The archway… it’s vanished. I can’t follow you.”

Mistique’s tail flicked nervously. “Vanished? Then… what do we do? Where do we go?”

“Keep moving,” Clearsight said. “Don’t panic. Stay together. I can hear you, but I can’t protect you.”

Listener took a deep breath. “Okay. Step by step. Side by side.”

“That’s right,” Clearsight said. “And don’t rush. Think about every choice. Every step counts.”

Mistique glanced at her. “Do you think it’s… going to change? Turn into something else?”

“I don’t know,” Clearsight admitted. “I can’t see inside. I can only hear you.”

Listener pressed a wing lightly against Mistique’s. “Together, then. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes,” Clearsight said, her voice steady despite the distance. “I can warn you if I sense danger. Listen to me. Watch each other. Move carefully.”

Listener froze. “Mistique… do you see that?”

“What?” Mistique asked, her wings twitching nervously.

“The light… it’s changing. The walls… they’re… shifting.”

Slowly, the endless corridor began to fold in on itself. Dust swirled, shadows retreating as shapes of familiar stone emerged. The arches straightened, the walls smoothed, and in the distance, the outline of the library’s terrace appeared, bathed in the first rays of sunlight.

Listener let out a shaky breath. “The library… it’s back. We’re—”

“I don’t trust it,” Mistique interrupted. Her tail coiled tightly. “It’s too easy. It can’t just let us out.”

The library doors loomed closer, larger than life, each step echoing unnaturally in the quiet hall. Mistique’s claws clicked against the stone, a rhythm that grounded them.

Listener glanced at her. “Side by side?”

Mistique nodded, wing brushing hers briefly. “Always.”

The first terrace stones came into view. Dust motes swirled in sunlight, shadows shifted oddly, like the library itself remembered their presence and reshaped itself around them.

Clearsight’s voice came again, faint but urgent: “You’re close. But don’t get careless. The library may look normal, but it’s still… unstable. Don’t trust everything you see.”

Listener swallowed. “Got it. Careful steps, keep together.”

As they stepped onto the library terrace, the familiar scent of old parchment and candle wax filled their nostrils. Mistique allowed herself a small exhale of relief. “We’re… really here.”

They continued walking, talonsteps echoing in the corridor.

Listener’s claws scraped the stone, over and over, but the library terrace stayed impossibly distant. “Mistique… it’s not… moving. No matter how far we go.”

Mistique’s tail lashed in frustration. “We’ve run half the corridor already. It should be right there. Why… why can’t we reach it?”

“I can see Clearsight,” Listener said, her voice tight. “She’s on the terrace, looking at us.’”

Mistique’s ears flattened. “What kind of trap is this? We’re… trapped between the archway and the library.”

Listener tried to keep her voice steady. “I know. And no matter what we do, we can’t get closer. It’s like… the space itself is bending. Stretching. The library’s right there, and yet…”

“It’s taunting us,” Mistique muttered. “All that way, all that effort… and we can’t touch it.”

Listener glanced at her, wings brushing lightly in a silent attempt at reassurance. “At least we can see her. She can see us.”

Listener swallowed. “Clearsight doesn’t know how far this goes. She has no idea it stretches forever.”

“Then… we just keep moving? Pretend there’s a path?”

Listener shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Moving or not, we can’t reach it. We just… have to figure out what the archway wants. Or why it won’t let us pass.”

The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions. Each step they took, the library stayed the same distance away. The sun rose higher over the Night Kingdom, casting light across the terrace, highlighting Clearsight’s wings as she shifted uneasily on the stone.

From the library, Darkstalker, Fathom, and Indigo appeared at the corridor’s edge, peering toward the archway. “And here is the section where we keep our– oh, hi, Clearsight.”

She didn’t have to speak. She just pointed her head to Listener and Mistique, still struggling to make progress toward the library.

 “Listener, Mistique!” Darkstalker called. His voice carried easily, but the moment it entered the archway, it stretched thin, distant, distorted.

Fathom and Indigo hovered silently behind Darkstalker, wings tense, heads low. Neither spoke.

Listener and Mistique moved cautiously, wings brushing as they leaned on each other, guided by Clearsight’s distant voice. The corridor seemed endless, but with each careful step, they felt… closer.

“See? We’re making progress,” Listener whispered, eyes fixed on the vanishing light of the library ahead.

“Yes,” Mistique breathed, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her mouth. “Almost there…”

Suddenly, a sharp, whistling sound cut through the air.

Before Listener could react, a spear shot from the shadows, its tip glinting faintly. Mistique gasped, clutching at her chest as pain flared, her wings faltering. She collapsed against Listener, who screamed, spinning to protect her.

“Mistique!” Listener cried, panic and fear surging through every thought.

Clearsight’s voice screamed from outside, urgent and frantic. “No! Stop! Get out! Mistique—!”

Darkstalker’s rumbling tones added to the chaos. “Listener! Watch her! Move! Protect—”

The world turned black.

Notes:

The next chapter might be delayed. Whiteout chapter next!!! :)

edit: please comment!

Chapter 10: Chapter 7.5 - Reflections in Glass

Summary:

Whiteout has a dream

Whiteout

Several hours before

Whiteout drifted off in a quiet, moonlit corner of the library, curled around a book of old NightWing legends. Her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts twisting into threads, moons, and fractured mirrors until the library vanished entirely.

She stood on a black glass sea, rippling gently. In the distance, a mirror rose upright, its surface rippling not unlike the sea she was standing on.

If the moons were made of glass, would they sing when the wind blew through them?

Whiteout spoke without thinking. “The threads are tangled, but the moons will untangle them if they bend their light just so.”

The dragon in the mirror-water stepped forward. She crossed the threshold, claws dripping as if wet with the sea itself. Her voice was calm. “You mean you fear what you don’t understand.”

Whiteout tilted her head. “The mirrors are too hungry. They swallow pieces of me when I look.”

Mirrors are liars, but sometimes liars tell the truth nobody notices.

“They only swallow what you allow them to,” the dragon said plainly. “You are holding yourself back.”

Whiteout’s words grew more urgent. “If the rocks wake and the lighthouses break, who will guide the lost ones home?”

“You’ll guide them,” the dragon answered, simply, as if reading the unspoken truth behind Whiteout’s abstract phrasing. “You already have.”

Whiteout took a step forward, uncertain. “And the threads… if I pull one wrong, it will snap all the others. Will they remember me?”

If threads could speak, would they argue with each other or hum quietly like bees?

“They’ll remember what matters,” the dragon said. “You are stronger than you think, and cleverer than you know. You just don’t see it yet.”

The dragon stepped closer, gaze fixed on a point behind Whiteout. “The archway won’t always remember,” it said quietly.

Whiteout tilted her head, puzzled. The archway…? She thought about it, the way it might bend or wait, like a patient spider spinning threads across time. Whispers ran along the black glass beneath her claws, brushing her scales like silk. Does it watch me? Does it know me?

She shuffled forward, staring at the endless sea of glass, the archway’s echo lingering in her mind. Maybe it’s hungry. Maybe it’s sleeping. Maybe it’s just pretending to be empty.

The black glass beneath them began to fracture. Starlight spilled from the cracks, spreading like tiny rivers. Whiteout stumbled, claws scraping against the smooth surface. The dragon reached out, closing her claws lightly over Whiteout’s wrist. Cold, but grounding.

“You will wake soon,” the dragon said. “And you will carry this memory even if you do not understand it yet.”

Whiteout gasped as the world tilted and the library’s familiar shapes pulled her back. She awoke with a start, heart racing, mind full of the dragon’s calm certainty. The whispers had vanished, but the words lingered, echoing in her thoughts in a way she couldn’t fully unravel.

I wonder if stars remember the dragons that stare at them too long.

Then a last, final message.

“You don’t want to become like me."

Notes:

Sorry guys for the shorter chapter. Life just got in the way.

Chapter 11: Chapter 8 - Narrow Escape

Summary:

Fathom’s POV of what happened.

Fathom

"That’s the school," Darkstalker said, his tone light, almost casual. He walked a pace ahead, the sun glinting from his scales, his wings half-spread as if the whole kingdom had been built for him to showcase. "Our dragonets study history, mathematics, astronomy, the art of rhetoric. We believe a sharp mind is as valuable as sharp claws."

Fathom slowed slightly as they entered the courtyard. He could hear the scratch of claws on stone, the murmur of voices reciting in unison. Inside one of the classrooms, a group of dragonets sat in semicircles around an elder who drew constellations across a slate wall with a stick of chalk. Fathom noticed how attentively they watched, their tails curled neatly around their talons, their faces bright with eagerness.

"You teach them all this… from a young age?" he asked, glancing sideways.

"Of course," Darkstalker replied smoothly. "Knowledge is power. You never know which dragonet might grow up to change the future. Best to make sure they’re prepared."

Fathom’s gaze flicked to Indigo. She kept her mouth pressed in a firm line, her sharp eyes taking in everything without a word.

But Fathom’s thoughts wandered back, to Vigilance’s voice in the council chamber, her offhand remark: "The other animus." The word had slipped from her tongue like a stone dropped into still water. And Darkstalker, radiant, perfect Darkstalker, had faltered. Just for a heartbeat. Shock, quickly hidden. Suspicion, carefully buried.

If Darkstalker was truly so open and brilliant as he appeared… why would the simple naming of his magic unsettle him?

They left the school behind and climbed a winding stair cut directly into the rock. Higher and higher they went, until the air thinned and the breeze grew cold. At last they came to the Observatory: a dome of glass fitted atop a tower. The doors were tall, carved with spirals of stars and arcs of moons.

Inside, the air felt hushed, heavy with the dust of parchment and the faint mineral scent of ink. Scrolls and maps crowded the walls, bound in leather and pinned under glass. Brass instruments gleamed in the dim light: orreries of the moons, metal arms holding lenses like dragonfly wings, long telescopes that pierced through narrow slits in the dome to the sky beyond.

Fathom breathed in slowly. 

"We chart the skies from here," Darkstalker said softly, his voice carrying pride. "Every eclipse, every comet, every wandering star. The heavens tell us stories, if we know how to listen."

Fathom trailed a talon across a parchment where constellations had been inked in silver. He recognized a few, though the NightWings had drawn them differently from SeaWing tradition. Their dragons were all wings and eyes, stretching across the firmament in sweeping arcs.

Beneath the beauty, though, his unease remained. Darkstalker stood near the great telescope, wings folded gracefully, looking every bit the picture of brilliance and benevolence. But Fathom couldn’t forget the flicker of suspicion in those dark eyes when Vigilance had spoken the truth aloud.

They left the school behind, crossing one of the broad avenues that made up the edges of the Great Diamond. Darkstalker set the pace, his voice warm, his wings sweeping confidently as though he owned every stone underfoot. Indigo stayed so close to Fathom her wing brushed his, silent as always, though her eyes flicked constantly to the rooftops.

The museum rose ahead, its facade a sweep of dark stone columns carved with celestial patterns. A heavy set of bronze doors stood open, inviting them inside.

“This,” Darkstalker announced, his tone swelling with theatrical enthusiasm, “is where our history lives. The stories of every NightWing who mattered, from the first astronomers to the generals who won us our greatest victories.”

Fathom followed him through the doors. He felt Indigo’s tail brush his as she stopped beside him, her gaze narrowing on the displays.

Glass cases lined the walls, each holding relics: ancient scrolls bound in silver cord, star-charts painted on stretched hide, dragon-shaped figurines of onyx and obsidian. In the center, a great model of the heavens hung suspended on delicate chains, constellations wrought in metal.

Darkstalker gestured upward. “Our dragons tracked the skies centuries before the other tribes even thought to name the stars. Every prophecy, every insight, comes from this devotion.” His eyes gleamed when he said it.

Fathom’s stomach tightened. The way Darkstalker said “our dragons” – it was not pride, but ownership, as if every achievement of his tribe stretched forward into him.

Polite words slipped out before he could stop them. “It’s… very impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” Darkstalker beamed, though the smile was sharp-edged. “Knowledge preserved is power preserved. And what tribe values power more wisely than the NightWings?”

Fathom said nothing. He let his eyes drift across the exhibits, feeling the weight of unseen gazes again – the guards posted by the walls, the archivists whose conversations had hushed the moment he and Indigo entered. Always watched, always weighed.

Indigo shifted, her tail curling slightly as if she felt it too.

They moved deeper into the hall. Darkstalker guided them past a series of cases, each more imposing than the last.

“This one,” he said, pausing, “contains preserved scales of NightWing seers from centuries past.

Darkstalker led them to another display, a cluster of black-and-silver banners. “These,” he said softly, “were flown in the first Great War of the NightWings. Each star embroidered here marks a victory, each tear a loss. You can feel the battles in the threads, if you know how to look.”

Fathom felt a shiver run down his spine. The banners were small, delicate, almost beautiful… yet they spoke of a history of fire and blood that was heavier than any dragon should carry.

"Excuse me," Indigo asked Darkstalker, "Can we have a moment alone?"

Darkstalker looked surprised. "Go ahead. There's a door leading to a private room on the left."

Indigo led Fathom through the doorway, her movements stiff and deliberate. Once inside, she folded her wings tightly, keeping her distance.

"Do you… trust him?" she asked quietly, eyes scanning Fathom’s face for any hint of certainty.

Fathom considered for a moment, watching the way the shadows fell across the room. "I think so," he said finally. "He seems… genuine. He wants to show us his world, not trick us. But we still have to be aware. You can’t ignore how powerful he is."

Indigo’s eyes searched his face. "So you’re saying he’s trustworthy, but we shouldn’t let our guard down?"

"Exactly," Fathom said. "I want to trust him. He’s showing us his kingdom, teaching us, letting us see things we’ve never seen before. That counts for a lot."

Indigo exhaled softly, her wings relaxing a little. "I just… I don’t want to make a mistake that puts anyone in danger."

"Neither do I," Fathom said. "But sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith. And right now, I think he deserves that."

______________________________________________________

 

Darkstalker led them out of the museum, his wings stretching as he gestured toward the path that curved along the diamond-shaped layout of the kingdom. The library lay on the next side, its columns catching the faint light of the moons. He was still adjusting to the nocturnal NightWing schedule.

Fathom followed, glancing back at Indigo, who stayed close, her eyes flicking nervously between him and the massive, angular structures.

"This library," Darkstalker began as they walked, "was one of the first structures here. It contains records of the NightWing people going back centuries. The walls themselves have been carved to store knowledge, and the ceilings were designed to track the moons."

Fathom nodded, trying to absorb everything. He admired the way the library’s tall windows caught the moonlight, illuminating the carvings on the stone floors and walls. 

The three stepped inside. The library opened into a vast hall lined with shelves that climbed higher than Fathom could see, filled with scrolls and books. 

“You’re close. But don’t get careless. The library may look normal, but it’s still… unstable. Don’t trust everything you see.” The voice echoed through the library.

Darkstalker frowned. “Anyway, let me show you the sections.” He pointed to a scrollshelf. “Those are for our tiniest dragonets.”

Fathom nodded, keeping polite. “Are there any novels?”

“Sure,” he replied. “This way.”

He led the two SeaWings across the library.

“That’s the medium-length novel section, and here is the section where we keep our– oh hi, Clearsight.”

A NightWing was standing, peering into an archway that radiated wrongness. She swivelled her head.

She didn’t have to speak. She just pointed her head to two NightWings in the corridor. It was a few seconds before Fathom realised even though they were taking steps, they weren’t coming closer.

 “Listener, Mistique!” Darkstalker called. His voice carried easily, but the moment it entered the archway, it stretched thin, distant, distorted.

Fathom and Indigo hovered silently behind Darkstalker, wings tense, heads low. Neither spoke.

Listener and Mistique murmured to each other as they tried to navigate the corridor.

Suddenly, a sharp, whistling sound cut through the air.

Before Listener could react, a spear shot from the shadows, its tip glinting faintly. Mistique gasped, clutching at her chest as pain flared, her wings faltering. She collapsed against Listener, who screamed, spinning to protect her.

Clearsight screamed, urgent and frantic. “No! Stop! Get out! Mistique!”

Darkstalker’s rumbling tones added to the chaos. “Listener! Watch her! Move! Protect her from other spears! Stop the bleeding!”

Clearsight sobbed into her talons. “Oh, why didn’t I foresee this? Anything in the archway is a complete blank.” She stopped. “I hate to ask you for it, Darkstalker but… can you use…”

“No,” he sighed. “I put it all in the scroll, remember? I have to fly back to my house to retrieve it.”

“Then hurry!” Clearsight yelled frantically. “She’s – oh, you won’t be able to fly fast enough.” She shook her head.

Mistique was motionless on the floor as Listener cried, not knowing what to do.

It all came back to him. The vow to never use his animus magic again. But in a life or death situation, wouldn’t using his magic be the right thing to do?

Indigo stared at the scene, eyes wide. “Fathom… I don’t even know whether to encourage or discourage you. It’s your choice.”

The archway started fading from view. Darkstalker had flown back, but he would never make it in time. Clearsight, who had closed her eyes, opened them again. “Fathom… please…”

What would happen when the archway faded completely? Would both of them be erased from existence?

He was not going to be responsible for two lives tonight.

"I enchant Listener and Mistique to appear right in front of me, all wounds healed!"

There was no boom, no streak of light, nothing to signify anything special had happened. Listener and Mistique shivered, then landed safely beside him, fully healed. The archway faded completely behind them, but the spell had worked.

Mistique’s wings flexed, unharmed, and the crimson stain he’d feared was gone. Relief hit him in a rush so strong it left his chest tight, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

Listener’s eyes widened at him, and for a moment he caught a flicker of gratitude. Mistique gave a shaky laugh, still clutching at Listener’s shoulder, but clearly whole. “Three moons.”

Fathom let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His claws relaxed, his wings dropping slightly. “Thank the stars,” he muttered under his breath, heart still hammering.

He glanced at the archway, now invisible, and then back at the two NightWings. “You’re safe,” he said softly, almost to convince himself as much as them. A tremor of guilt lingered – he knew he’d broken his vow, but… seeing them alive made it worth it.

Fathom’s eyes met Indigo’s, who gave a small, tight nod. No words were needed; the relief was mutual, heavy in the air. For the first time all night, he felt the tension loosen, just a little.

Clearsight suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching her head.

“Clearsight!” Darkstalker roared. “Are you alright?”

“Need… to see… the queen…” she said weakly. “IceWing… invasion… north beach…”

Darkstalker carried her in his arms and flew away, each wingbeat propelling them powerfully through the sky, towards the palace.

Notes:

Hi guys. Nearly didn't get this chapter out in time. I'm getting lots of assignments and tests are coming up, so I might go back to my original plan, 1 chapter every two weeks. Unfortunately, I also have writer's block.
Remember to comment & give feedback!
:)

Chapter 12: Chapter 9 - The Other Side

Summary:

I'm kinda losing interest in this fic.

BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN IT'S ABANDONED, IT'S ABANDONED WHEN I SAY IT'S ABANDONED.

Continuing the 1 per 2 weeks (fortnightly) post schedule.

this is a sorta shorter chapter sorry guys

Clearsight

She drifted in and out of consciousness as Darkstalker flew over the Great Diamond to the palace. The air whipped past her face in ragged gusts. Clearsight pressed her claws against her skull, trying to steady the avalanche of visions that kept forcing themselves into her mind.

“Hold on,” Darkstalker muttered, his voice fierce but threaded with worry. “We’re almost there.”

She wanted to answer, but the visions wouldn’t let her. IceWings marching, bloody talons, and sharpened spears catching the light. Blood soaking the sand of North Beach. Every future she chased spilled into the same point: attack, invasion, death.

Darkstalker landed heavily on the wide terrace of the palace and lowered her gently. Guards stiffened, then parted without hesitation as he barked for them to summon Queen Vigilance.

The doors to the throne room swung open before he could answer. Two guards ushered them inside, and Clearsight saw to her dismay that there were several members of the NightWing court present — including her seer-training teacher, Allknowing. 

Allknowing glittered with poise and diamonds, standing on the dais beside the queen’s throne. Her face was composed, but her nostrils flared slightly when she caught sight of her student waiting to see the queen. 

“Whoa,” Darkstalker said, wincing. “There is a dragon in here who already doesn’t like you very much.” 

“That’s the teacher I told you about,” Clearsight whispered. “The queen’s top seer.” 

“Approach,” Queen Vigilance called out. 

“Your Majesty,” she said with a bow. 

“This is?” Queen Vigilance said to Darkstalker. 

“Clearsight, Your Majesty,” he answered. “She is a very gifted seer.” 

“Ah,” said the queen with a sigh, as Allknowing’s eyes narrowed. “Seers. Always so illuminating. You may speak.” 

“I come with a warning,” said Clearsight, “The IceWings are planning an invasion by sea at the North Beach. I believe they intend to attack very soon.” 

She paused, realizing the queen was leaning forward with glinting eyes. “What is this?” Queen Vigilance said avidly. “Don’t you have a prophecy for me?” 

Clearsight hesitated again. She thought of the lessons she’d had with Allknowing, where they all had to take their visions and contort them into enigmatic rhyming couplets. Should she have done that with this warning for the queen? But there was nothing cryptic about it. The IceWings were coming, and Clearsight knew exactly how and where, along with a few intelligent guesses as to when. Why make that cryptic and confusing? The queen needed to know precisely what Clearsight had seen, in order to protect the tribe.

“There’s… nothing else really,” she told Vigilance, “I just had a vision of IceWings storming the beach, and the moons are the same in the vision as they are now. I believe they are planning to attack in a couple of days.”

An advisor on the queen’s right scoffed. “IceWings? On our beaches? Preposterous. They’d never risk marching this far south.”

“They’ve been probing for weakness for seasons,” another muttered grimly. “If she’s right–”

“If?” The first advisor snapped his wings open, feathers of annoyance in his voice. “She’s a dragonet, not a seasoned seer. Do we base strategy on nightmares now?”

Allknowing smirked at Clearsight, the hatred clearly mutual.

“My, my,” said the queen, shooting a sideways look of suspicion at Allknowing. “How straightforward.” 

“I’m sorry it doesn’t sound fancier.” Clearsight spread her wings. “But I’m sure it’s true. The only futures I can see where they don’t attack are the ones where you find a way to stop them.” 

A curious murmur scurried around the throne room. The queen wasn’t the only one staring at Clearsight like an undiscovered type of gemstone. 

Queen Vigilance tipped her head slowly to regard her own seer. “Allknowing. What have you seen of this?” 

Allknowing bared her teeth. “If you recall my last prophecy, Your Majesty, there were references to waves of ice dragons and a midnight menace.” 

Yes,” Vigilance said with chilly stillness. “Very poetic. But I don’t recall anything about an underwater attack focused on North Beach in the next few days.” 

“That — that —” Allknowing sputtered. “The nature of visions — specific details are not — that’s not how it works.” 

“Maybe not for you,” said Vigilance. “Dragonet.” 

It took a moment for Clearsight to realize she was being addressed. “Yes, Your Majesty?” 

“You work for me now. Move into the palace tonight.” 

“Oh,” Clearsight said, startled. That had been an option in one or two timelines, but she hadn’t taken it seriously. She was supposed to be sent home with a pile of gold, followed by a celebratory dinner with her parents. What had she said to land herself here instead? Or had someone else accidentally tipped the future in this direction? Maybe Allknowing, by annoying the queen somehow? 

“But — my parents —” 

“Will be amply rewarded.” The queen stood up and spoke to the general on her left. 

“Call a war council meeting.” She swept down the steps, pausing for a moment beside Clearsight. “I want everything you know about this attack written out by morning.”

A moment later she was gone, with nearly everyone else in the throne room following in her wake. Darkstalker bounded over and threw his wings around Clearsight. 

“Aren’t you clever?” he crowed. “You were right, that was a genius way to introduce yourself to the queen. Totally worth the wait.” 

Allknowing stalked down from the dais, glowering so fiercely that sparks shot out of her nose. “I knew you were trouble,” she snarled. “But I didn’t realize you were planning to betray me.” 

“Huh,” Darkstalker said thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re not a very good seer, then.”

Allknowing opened her mouth, closed it again, and walked off, head held high. Darkstalker snorted.

______________________________________________________

Clearsight let out a tired sigh, brushing her wings over her face as she prepared for bed. Her room was quiet, the faint flicker of torchlight casting shadows across the room. She left the strange, dark disc of stone leaning against her bedside table, turning her back to it as she settled down on the soft rug.

Her mind still buzzed with fragments of visions from the IceWing conflict, the countless possibilities she’d glimpsed today. She rubbed at her eyes and yawned, letting the exhaustion pull her toward sleep.

But then, almost without thinking, she reached behind her and picked up the disc. It felt unnervingly warm in her claws, heavier than it should have been. Her thoughts wandered, half-absent, as she turned it over and studied its smooth, reflective surface.

“You’re… just a mirror, right?” she muttered, more to herself than anything. “Nothing magical, nothing strange…”

The reflection shifted slightly under her gaze, though she didn’t notice at first. Then the air in the room seemed to shift, and the surface of the disc shimmered faintly, like a heartbeat beneath he

A voice, clear but soft, cut through the silence. It both was and wasn’t her own at the same time.

“You’ve finally noticed me.”

Notes:

oooooh things are getting interesting

remember to comment! fun fact: most of my motivation comes from your comments

also 92 kudos and 1000+ hits HOLY

thanks for the support!

Notes:

This is my first work! Please leave feedback in the comments and tell me if I have made any errors, e.g. grammatical or spelling