Chapter Text
The journey back felt longer.
Colder.
Hvitur did not speak as he crossed the mountains, the forests, the long stretches of open sky. He carried the memory with him like a wound that refused to close.
By the time he reached the others, the silence had hardened into something immovable.
Dune noticed first.
“You’re alone?” he said flatly.
Hvitur nodded once.
Webs shifted uneasily, glancing past him as if expecting Kestrel to appear anyway, wings battered but alive.
“And Kestrel?” Webs started.
“She assured me that Queen Scarlet wouldn’t catch her a second time. She was mistaken.” Hvitur said.
That was all.
Dune exhaled slowly, something bitter and unsurprised settling into his expression. “SkyWing’s out, then.”
“Yes. Scarlet has likely destroyed the remaining SkyWing eggs that would have aligned with the prophecy.”
No argument. No denial.
Just acceptance.
Because that was what soldiers did when plans failed.
“So, we’re fucked. Nautilus and that pompous, overgrown prophet will have our heads for this.” Dune spat.
Webs swallowed. “We still have—”
“Only three,” Dune cut in. “NightWing. SandWing. SeaWing.”
Hvitur inclined his head.
The black NightWing egg rested in the shadows of the cave, faint silver light slipping through the small hole in the ceiling above it. Even now, even unhatched, there was something unsettling about it.
The yellow SandWing egg sat nearby—unremarkable, if one ignored the circumstances of its purchase. Three gold coins for a life. Dune had called it a bargain, from a nasty SandWing assassin who had never intended to have dragonets.
The blue-green SeaWing egg was partially hidden behind a cluster of stones, as if Webs still half-expected someone to come looking for it, even though everyone knew that SeaWing princes were far less valuable than SeaWing princesses.
Three.
Not five.
Not enough.
Webs let out a shaky breath. “We can still—there’s still time. The brightest night hasn’t passed yet. Once Asha comes back with the MudWing of Destiny, we can—”
“Giving the timing, we can't assume that she'll return in time, or even at all.”
The words fell like a stone.
Webs went still. “What?”
Hvitur did not look at him.
“She would have had to cross three battlefields and back.”
Silence.
Heavy. Absolute.
Dune cursed under his breath. “That’s two, then. Do we even have enough time?”
Hvitur turned his gaze back toward the eggs.
“The prophecy requires five to hatch under the brightest night. If we split up and hurry, we can make it.”
Understanding crept in slowly.
Then all at once.
Dune blinked. “You can’t be serious. I can’t go with you, so if either of you screw this up even more…”
“We don’t have a choice,” Hvitur replied.
Dune let out a harsh laugh. “Bah. And what tribes shall we target, what families shall we cruelly rip apart to replace our lost hatchlings?”
Hvitur’s gaze shifted toward the distant jungle, barely visible beyond the mountains.
“The RainWings do not guard their eggs or keep track of their parentage, Webs. If you are willing… we may yet ensure a brighter future for all.” he said.
Webs hesitated. Then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”
“And who else? The IceWings?” Dune asked, narrowing his eyes.
Hvitur’s expression did not change.
“The nobles do not know of my true allegiance yet. Even in the best case scenario, I will never be able to return to the land of my birth, lest I face a mock trial and a swift and painful execution for my betrayal. But those frigid lands ceased to be my home long ago. My family is dead to me, and soon, I will be dead to them. It is a small price to pay for peace.” he said.
“On your own head be it, Nightingale. Morrowseer isn’t going to like this.” Dune muttered.
Hvitur’s jaw tightened.
“Morrowseer is not here.” he said.
The decisions came quickly after that.
Because they had to.
A RainWing egg was taken from the jungle—easy, just as expected. No guards. No resistance. Only the quiet, unsettling absence of concern.
The IceWing egg was… different.
Not difficult.
Not for Hvitur.
Doors opened where they should not have. Guards looked away when they should have questioned. Status, even minor, still carried weight.
Entering the royal section of the hatchery, and seeing that Tundra and Narwhal had two eggs that were due to hatch on the brightest night...
Despite everything, he had fought his way up to from the Seventh Circle to the First Circle, after all.
He did not allow himself to think about what would happen when the theft was discovered.
By the time he returned, the cave held five eggs.
NightWing.
SandWing.
SeaWing.
RainWing.
IceWing.
Five.
Complete.
And yet—
Hvitur stood at the entrance, looking at them, and felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Not doubt.
Not regret.
Something colder.
This was not how it was meant to happen.
Not clean. Not precise. Not guided.
Improvised.
Fractured.
Held together by decisions made under pressure, by losses already suffered, by compromises that could not be undone.
Dune stepped beside him, following his gaze.
“Five dragonets under the brightest night.” he said. “That’s all matters, aye?”
Hvitur did not respond immediately.
At last, he said, “Aye.”
But his voice carried no certainty.
Behind them, the wind shifted.
Far away, the war continued.
And deep within the cave, beneath small column of moonlight that came from a small hole in the ceiling, the NightWing egg suddenly turned silver—as if it already knew that a guiding light was needed.