Zephyra sat in the dim light of her den, carefully pressing a leaf bandage against the jagged crack in her claw. The cool, earthy scent of the herbs did little to ease the sting. She grimaced, flexing her talons to ensure the bandage held before letting out a weary sigh.

Turning her gaze to the worn portrait carved into the stone wall, she traced the outlines with her eyes—a regal dragoness with storm-lit scales and piercing violet eyes standing tall beside a silver-blue dragon with kind, thoughtful features. Tempestra and Caelithar. Her parents.

Zephyra's chest tightened with an ache she hadn't felt in moons.

"I wish you were here now," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint rumble of distant thunder. Her wings drooped, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. "You'd know what to do. You always knew."

Her mother's fierce gaze seemed to burn into her, as if challenging her to rise, to fight, to take control of her fate. But it was her father's softer expression that lingered in her mind—wise and patient, always searching for a peaceful solution when others sought war.

Zephyra curled her tail around herself, resting her head on her talons.
"I don't know if I can fix this. The queen, the humans... it's all falling apart." Her voice cracked, filled with uncertainty.

Outside, the storm winds howled through the mountain passes, shaking loose stones and rattling the entrance to her den. It felt as though the very skies were listening. As though the storm itself carried the echoes of her parents' wisdom.

But there was no answer. Only silence and the endless roar of the wind.

Still, Zephyra remained, staring at the carved portrait with a quiet resolve growing in her chest.
"If you were here, you'd tell me to stand tall, wouldn't you?" she murmured. "To do what's right... even if it means standing alone."

She closed her eyes, letting the storm's rhythm pulse through her veins.
And when she opened them again, the ache in her heart was still there—but so was a spark of determination.

SCENEBREAK

Zephyra darted through the winding stone corridors of the mountain palace, her claws clicking against the cold floor as she approached the towering doors to the throne room. The air smelled of damp rock and stormwinds, carrying with it the ever-present tension that hung over the queen's court like an ominous cloud.

Just as she reached the entrance, a guard stepped in her path. His scales were the dark gray of storm clouds before a tempest, and deep scars crisscrossed his wings—marks of battles hard-fought and won. He narrowed his amber eyes at her.

"Zep," he growled, his tone stern but not unkind. "You know you can't go in there right now. Her Majesty is in a meeting with the councilors."

Zephyra's chest heaved as she caught her breath. There's no time for rules, not now.
"It's important, Mister," she said, her voice steady but urgent. "I promise."

The guard hesitated, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, he relented. "Oh, fine," he muttered. "But if she burns your tail for interrupting, don't say I didn't warn you." With a grunt, he pushed open the massive oak doors, their hinges groaning like ancient beasts awakening from slumber.

Zephyra stepped inside, her heart pounding like distant thunder.

The throne room was vast and dimly lit, the light filtering through narrow windows cut high into the stone walls. At the center of it all sat Queen Nyxara. Her storm-black scales shimmered with faint hints of violet, like lightning trapped beneath her skin, and her eyes gleamed with a dangerous, predatory intelligence.

Seated around her were three other dragons, their colors standing out sharply against the shadowy chamber.
The first was a sleek pink dragoness with sharp, calculating eyes, her wings folded primly at her sides. Beside her sat a broad-shouldered red dragon with a scar down his snout, his expression grim and stoic. The third councilor, a gray-scaled dragon with a weathered face, drummed his claws on the table with an air of impatience.

They were deep in discussion, their voices low and serious, but Zephyra caught fragments of their conversation as she crept closer.

"...betrayal of the worst kind," the pink dragoness hissed, her voice laced with venom. "To lie with a SkyWing, knowing full well it defies the queen's decree..."

"And now there's an egg," the red dragon added, his tone harsh. "We cannot allow this to stand. The offender must be punished."

Queen Nyxara's eyes gleamed with cold amusement.
"It seems treachery is a common thread among the SkyWings," she murmured, her voice like a distant roll of thunder. "They have a habit of forgetting their place in my kingdom."

Zephyra's claws trembled. She knows. The council knows about the forbidden union. Her mind raced as she realized how dangerous this moment truly was—for the council wasn't merely discussing any dragon's betrayal. They were speaking of the green dragoness in the dungeon. The one with the hidden egg beneath her wing.

The queen's gaze flicked toward Zephyra without warning, pinning her in place.
"And what is it that brings you here, Zephyra?" Nyxara asked, her tone deceptively calm. "I wasn't aware I had summoned you."

Zephyra swallowed, her throat dry. "Your Majesty," she began, bowing low. "I apologize for the intrusion, but... this is urgent."

Nyxara tilted her head, curiosity mingling with suspicion. "Go on."

Zephyra took a step closer, her heart pounding in her ears.
"It's about the humans," she said carefully. "The clones you've taken prisoner... I believe they may know more than we think."

The councilors exchanged wary glances. The red dragon frowned.
"Humans are pests," he growled. "What could they possibly know that matters to us?"

Zephyra stood her ground, her gaze locked on the queen's.
"They know something about the disappearance of the SkyWing prince," she said, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess herself. "The one who vanished during the war."

Nyxara's expression darkened, and the air in the room grew heavy with tension. The SkyWing prince. The queen's lost son.
Zephyra didn't know if what she said was true. But it was the only card she had left to play.

The queen flicked her tail once more, the gesture sharp and cutting, like a whip cracking through the air. Her icy gaze never left Zephyra. "Go on," Nyxara commanded, her voice cold and smooth. "Why would a bunch of mercenaries and spies know anything about our society? They are outsiders, unworthy of our secrets."

Zephyra took a steadying breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to tread carefully. Nyxara's patience was thinner than a spider's thread, and one wrong word could see her thrown into the dungeons alongside the clones.

"Do you not remember the Jedi who often came here, Your Majesty?" Zephyra began, her voice even. "General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, and their Padawan Ahsoka Tano? They came with amnesty—an offer of peace, of shared knowledge. And they brought their clones with them. Clones who heard our stories, witnessed our traditions, learned our ways. You think those soldiers kept our secrets to themselves? I doubt it. I'm sure they told their brothers everything."

Nyxara's expression remained unreadable, but the slight flicker of her tail betrayed a spark of interest. Good. I have her attention. The queen rose slowly from her throne, each movement deliberate and graceful. Her storm-black wings unfurled slightly before folding back again.

"Then I'll speak to them myself," Nyxara declared, her tone final, as if the matter was already settled.

Zephyra shook her head firmly. "No," she said, surprising even herself with the strength in her voice. "They won't trust you. They'll see you as a threat, as a queen who wants them dead. But they trust me."

Nyxara's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the tension was palpable, thick as the storm clouds that clung to the mountains outside. But after a long silence, the queen dipped her head ever so slightly—a subtle, reluctant nod of approval.

"Very well," she said, her voice like distant thunder. "But do not fail me, Zephyra. If they betray us... their blood will be on your claws."

Zephyra bowed her head respectfully, though her heart was racing. "Understood, Your Majesty."

Without another word, she turned and slipped out of the throne room, brushing past the scarred guard who had let her in earlier. His eyes followed her warily, but he said nothing as she descended the narrow spiral staircase that led to the dungeon below.

The air grew colder with each step, the scent of damp stone and stagnant water filling her nostrils. The corridors here were vast but eerily empty, their silence broken only by the distant drip of water echoing through the halls. No guards stood watch—Nyxara clearly believed the prisoners had no chance of escape.

Finally, Zephyra reached the cell where Hunter and his brothers were being kept. Her chest tightened at the sight before her.

Hunter sat slumped against the wall, his head bowed in exhaustion. Crosshair paced the length of the cell like a restless predator, while Tech sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential escape routes. Wrecker, normally so full of energy, sat quietly in the corner, his broad shoulders hunched. They looked gaunt—too gaunt. Their faces were hollow, their eyes dark with fatigue and hunger.

They haven't been here that long... have they? Zephyra wondered, her heart aching. Time moved differently in the dungeons. The darkness sapped strength, hope, and willpower.

With a soft sigh, she pressed a claw to the iron lock. The metal was rusted and brittle, and with a bit of careful maneuvering, she managed to pick it. The lock clicked, and the cell door creaked open.

Hunter's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking on hers. His gaze flickered with surprise, suspicion, and... something softer. Hope.

"Zephyra?" he rasped, his voice hoarse.

Before she could respond, a voice from the adjacent cell stirred.

"Well, well," came a low, rasping chuckle. "Lady Zephyra, gracing us with her presence in this dank hole. I never thought I'd see the day."

Zephyra turned toward the voice. The green dragoness with the missing eye sat curled in the shadows of her cell, her scales dull and matted from confinement. Her one remaining eye, a vivid, piercing blue, gleamed in the darkness.

"Vireya," Zephyra murmured, dipping her head respectfully. "I thought you were still in the outer lands."

Vireya chuckled bitterly. "Exiled, yes. But fate has a funny way of bringing me back, doesn't it?" She shifted, revealing the egg strapped beneath her wing. "I assume you've heard the whispers about me by now. A traitor. A dragoness who dared to love beyond her tribe." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was a deep sadness beneath it.

Zephyra's gaze softened. "I don't believe in traitors for loving, Vireya."

The older dragoness smiled faintly. "Spoken like your mother."

Zephyra swallowed hard at the mention of her mother, the familiar ache returning to her chest. But there was no time to dwell on the past. She turned back to Hunter and the others.

"Come on," she whispered. "We don't have much time."