Page 60 of Magical Moonbeam

“I don’t want prophecy. Just… truth. Even one.”

The dragons went still again, the cavern quiet except for the breathing of the young.

Finally, the silver one lowered her head, eyes locking onto mine.

Then hear this. When the moon bends low and the Veil thins, what is anchored by truth will hold. What is rooted in fear will crack. Some call it the Turning, and it's not about light or dark. It is about who steps forward with open hands, not clenched fists.

The words dropped into me like stones in a still pool.

The silver dragon watched me with an expression I didn’t know dragons could possess. There was something between reverence and sorrow in her gaze. Her great head tilted slightly, a breath expanding through her long, luminous chest as she seemed to gather thoughts older than anything I’d ever touched.

You feel the Moonbeam coming,she said, not as a question, but as fact.It does not just brush the Veil. It sharpens it. Refines it.

“What does that mean?” I asked softly, my hand still pressed to my chest. My pulse thundered beneath my palm.

The Moonbeam chooses,she continued.It does not create light. It reveals it as it reveals a shadow. It is not a tool. It is a mirror. One that shines only once per turn of many seasons. What you show it… matters.

My throat felt dry. “But how do I know what it will see?”

The bronze dragon to her left stirred again, his voice like embers cracking under weight.You do not need to control it. That is the mistake others have made.

You show up,said the silver.With your magic bared. Your grief. Your strength. Your truth. That is the offering.

I shifted, glancing toward the sleeping hatchlings. “And if the shadow consumes it?”

The silver dragon’s long tail gave the smallest flick.Then it was never light to begin with.

The silence that followed wasn’t cruel. It was sacred.

I swallowed hard, heart racing with the weight of what they were saying. “You make it sound like this isn’t a battle at all, like it’s a reckoning.”

The silver dragon’s sea-glass eyes glinted.It is always both.

And just like that, I understood. I wouldn’t defeat Gideon with force. Not alone. The Moonbeam wasn’t a blade. It was a threshold. And I would have to walk through it fully seen.

I swallowed. “Thank you.”

The silver dragon blinked slowly.The young remember you. Even the new one. They knew your magic before they opened their eyes.

I stared at the curled wings, the soft pulsing of their tiny breath.

“Then I’ll be worthy of it.”

I stayed a little longer, just watching.

Letting the fire warm me, and the fear settle.

I stepped closer, the cavern air growing warmer as I moved near the heart of their resting place. The newborn dragon stirred slightly in her sleep, twitching wings and tiny claws stretching in her dreams. They pulsed with a magic that felt ancient and entirely new all at once. It felt like stardust had been packed into living form.

“You make it sound like if I’m not ready,” I murmured, “everything could fall apart.”

The bronze dragon gave a low, thunderous rumble.It might.

The silver dragon flicked her wings with a slow grace, each movement stirring the air with soft heat and the scent of mineral and smoke.Readiness is not the same as control. The Moonbeam doesn’t demand perfection. It demands presence. Intention. And truth.

And sacrifice,the bronze added.Always sacrifice.

My breath caught. “What do I have to give?”