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I skip the complex journey that brought me here, sharing only that the goddess of night told me to come here, and that I am searching for phoenix tears in the hopes of saving my people, and possibly the world, from a spreading corruption that breeds violence and death.

Somewhere along the way, I realize Cailleach is communicating with me in full thoughts and words. The awe and excitement this discovery generates dims when pain flickers in his ancient eyes. His grief informs me that I won’t find what I’m looking for. Phoenixes have not been here in ages. If they were still here, his sight would not be clouded from long infection.

The air seems too thin around us. The news hits like an alicorn’s kick, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

I was so fucking certain. How could Nyc be wrong? Was she somehow mistaken, or did she purposefully mislead us?

Bastian’s hand finds my shoulder, providing a steadying anchor. “What is it?”

“There are no phoenixes left here. Not a single one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out raspy as I continue to share the dragon’s story. “Generations have turned since their departure. This valley was their prison, encased by the craft of humans without wings who possessed strong magic. All the phoenixes who dwelled here led miserable lives, tortured so the humans could harvest their tears. In captivity, their endless cycle of death and rebirth extinguished their will to live. In the end, even the fire of the phoenix diminished.”

The revelation claws at something inside me, striking chords of horror and grief. The thought of such vibrant creatures caged and broken hits me in a deeply personal way. The idea of using tears extracted from the suffering of such majestic creatures twists and knots my stomach and scorches my throat with acid.

How does the ancient dragon know all of this?

Cailleach’s tail sweeps across the sand, the heavy club end bigger than my body. As he reflects on his past, he shares it with me.

“These dragons are the descendants of the ones who flew down here after the last phoenix died. They came to avenge their friends and kill those who had captured and tortured them. Then they stayed for the same reason. To kill any who would come here, to the last known place where phoenixes lived. But they never expected a dragoncaller to show up asking about them.”

Bastian’s eyebrows jump up, his surprise obvious in his voice. “Phoenixes and dragons were friends?”

Amusement ripples through Cailleach’s mind. Dragons can be friends with phoenixes the same way they can be friends with dragoncallers.

The exact same way.

“Phoenixes could share their emotions with dragons just like dragoncallers can. And it was because of that and their close friendship that this flight of dragons volunteered to move down here.” It takes me a few moments to figure out the next part. “They brought something from the phoenix and have protected it in this valley ever since.”

Bastian’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I asked if it might be tears, and he was really amused by that and told me to go look. He showed me the place at the end of the river where it’s kept. On the rocky shore of a lake.”

I pour my thanks out to Cailleach, using images to convey that I’ll go search for the item as suggested.

Wings beating in unison, Bastian and I fly along the stream’s winding path. The azure water stretches before us like a ribbon, leading to a glimmering lake nestled among a crown of rugged stones. As we approach, an inexplicable warmth blooms within my chest.

A pulsing, humming sensation that resonates with the thrum of magic in my veins.

“Feel that?” I call back to Bastian, my voice nearly lost to the wind.

“Not a thing.” He searches the landscape with the same intensity that fuels my own curiosity.

We slow our descent, landing on the pebbled shore of the lake. The air here is different, crisper and charged with an unseen energy that seems to beckon me forward. My eyes catch on something vibrant against the muted tones of the rocks.

There’s a feather, tinted in graduated shades of burgundy and red and orange and gold, its hues mimicking the fiery dance of flames.

I extend my hand toward the feather, plucking it from its odd perch between two stones. “Is this what he was talking about?”

As the smooth barbs brush against my skin, the world shifts.

The valley, Bastian, the whispering trees…all fade into nothingness as I’m thrust into a realm of memory and vision, my mind no longer my own.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

I spread my wings wide and soar through the endless blue sky, enjoying my connection to the heartbeat of the wild. My magic allows me to sense the rabbit’s cautious hope and the fox’s cunning hunger in the field below.