PART TWO ~ ICE, SMOKE AND FIRE

Burn's stronghold loomed ahead, its jagged silhouette clawing at the twilight sky. Once, these crumbling sandstone walls had been the heart of the SandWing kingdom—a palace of golden spires and sunlit courtyards, now reduced to a skeletal husk. This is where it all began, Glory thought bitterly. The war, the bloodshed, the shattered alliances—every scar on the tribes could be traced back to this cursed place.

She pressed her belly to the dunes, her scales blending with the cold, shifting sand. Moonlight pooled around the ruins like spilled quicksilver, casting sharp shadows that writhed like restless ghosts. Memories flickered through her mind: Webs' gravelly voice recounting the SandWing Succession, the three sisters' rivalry, and the throne that had devoured countless lives. A shiver prickled her spine, though she couldn't say whether it was from the night air or the weight of history.

Suddenly, a cool, smooth flank brushed against hers. Glory twisted, her ruff flaring—only to meet the pale, glacial gaze of Icemoon. The IceWing's scales shimmered faintly in the dark, as though she'd woven starlight into her silver-blue armor. Her expression was unreadable, but the slight tilt of her head betrayed a shared tension. Together, they stared across the desert, the ruins ahead humming with silent menace.

"Do you feel it too?" Icemoon's voice was a whisper, barely louder than the wind hissing through the sand. "Like the stones themselves are holding their breath."

Glory's claws dug into the dune. The air tasted metallic, charged with the echoes of old battles. Somewhere in those shadows, Burn's legacy still festered—a rot that had poisoned generations. "Breath before a storm," she murmured. "Or a hunt."

The IceWing's tail twitched, her frosty demeanor cracking with a flicker of unease. "Let's hope we're the predators tonight."

Glory barely sidestepped as Clay, Tsunami, Sunny, and Starflight tumbled out of the tunnel behind her in a chaotic heap of wings and tails. Sand puffed around them like dragon-sized dust clouds, and Sunny's golden scales glinted as she wriggled free, chirping, "Sorry! Clay's tail got stuck on a cactus again—"

Mangrove, the RainWing, slithered out last, his emerald-green scales dulled to a weary olive. He stared across the desert, his frills drooping. "Grandeur said I'd never find her," he muttered, more to the stars than to the others. "But she's wrong. I will find Orchid. Even if it takes me a thousand moons."

His tail lashed abruptly—a whipcrack motion—toward Icemoon, who stood rigid nearby. The IceWing's wings twitched, the black star-shaped scales embedded in her silvery-blue frills flickering like dormant constellations. Her frost-spiked neck bristled, each icy quill rising in warning.

"You're the great tracker, aren't you, hybrid?" Mangrove hissed, the word sharp as a venomous fang.

Icemoon's gaze narrowed to glacial slits. "The name," she spat, "is Icemoon. Not 'hybrid.' Not 'halfbreed.' And certainly not whatever mud-spattered insult you're about to croak next." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with IceWing haughtiness. "But yes. I tracked Burn's scavenger hoard across six kingdoms. I can find your lost RainWing... Banana-Gobbler."

Sunny snorted a laugh, quickly smothering it with her wings. Tsunami elbowed her, though her own mouth twitched.

Mangrove's scales flushed crimson, then deepened to an indignant purple. "It's Mangrove," he growled.

"Mm. Tell that to the fig trees you've terrorized," Icemoon drawled, flicking sand off her claws. "But by all means—lead the way, Mango. Let's see if your 'love' wants rescuing... or a swift escape from your charm."

Icemoon tilted her head, moonlight sliding like liquid silver across the star-speckled scales of her wings. Her gaze fixed on Glory, sharp yet oddly deferential. "If that's what you command," she said, her voice a blade sheathed in frost. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken friction—a hybrid's reluctant nod to a queen's authority.

Glory felt the warmth in her chest tighten, sharp and sudden, like a sunbeam trapped under her scales. Command. The word prickled. Since when did anyone in this chaotic band of dragonets look to her for orders? Tsunami barged. Clay mediated. Sunny hoped. Starflight... well, Starflight probably had a five-step plan for this conversation already. But Glory? She was the one who'd spent half her life being told she didn't belong in the prophecy at all.

Yet here Icemoon stood—a dragon of shattered ice and shadows—waiting.

Glory's ruff flared instinctively, her vivid amber-and-crimson scales rippling like wildfire. "Yes," she said, louder this time, as if the desert itself needed convincing. "We'll find Orchid. And we'll drag her back from whatever hole she's hiding in, even if we have to peel Burn's ghost off these ruins to do it."

A beat of silence. Then Tsunami's talons crunched forward in the sand. "Finally. A plan that doesn't involve Starflight's scroll-induced existential crisis."

"Hey!" Starflight's wings bristled, but Sunny nudged him with a half-suppressed giggle.

Icemoon's mouth twitched—a ghost of approval—before she turned away, her starry wings slicing the dark. "Then we hunt at dawn," she said, though it sounded less like agreement and more like a challenge. "Let's see if your... resolve... outlasts the desert sun, Your Majesty."

The title dripped with IceWing sarcasm, but Glory didn't miss the flicker of respect in Icemoon's eyes. Or the way her own heartbeat steadied, for the first time all night, into something like certainty.

The desert sky bled into dawn, streaked with smears of orange and violet. Burn's stronghold rose ahead, its crumbling towers jagged as broken teeth. Glory banked sharply, her wings carving arcs through the thin, cold air. Below, Clay's rumble of protest carried up from the dunes: "Glory, wait—this is too dangerous alone!"

She didn't glance back. Exactly why I'm leaving you behind, she thought. Clay's hulking silhouette and Tsunami's seafoam-green scales would blaze like signal fires in the pale morning light. Only three of them stood a chance of slipping into that death trap unseen: a RainWing who could vanish, a lovesick fool with nothing left to lose... and a hybrid who wore her IceWing heritage like armor.

"Keep up," Glory hissed as Mangrove floundered beside her, his scales flickering nervously between sand-yellow and a queasy green. Icemoon soared ahead, her movements precise, her wings slicing the air with IceWing rigidity. She'd coiled her star-studded frills tight, hiding the RainWing softness in her face. In the half-light, she could've passed for one of Queen Glacier's soldiers—all frost and sharp edges.

They touched down in the shadow of the stronghold's eastern wall, where the stones wept rust-colored stains. Glory pressed a claw to her snout, silencing Mangrove's panting. Above, the screech of vultures echoed through empty battlements.

"Guards?" Mangrove whispered, his eyes darting.

"Scavengers," Icemoon muttered, nostrils flaring. "And rot. This place reeks of dead things."

Glory's scales shifted instinctively, blending into the pockmarked sandstone. "Stay close. And breathe quieter."

Mangrove's throat clenched, but he nodded. Icemoon, however, arched one brow at Glory—a silent challenge. You're giving orders now, are you?

Glory met her gaze, unflinching. Try me.

Together, they slipped through a fissure in the wall, where the ancient mortar had crumbled. The corridor beyond was a throat of darkness, swallowing the scant daylight. Mangrove's claws scraped stone as he hesitated, but Icemoon shouldered past him, her pale scales glinting like a ghost's.

"If you faint," she whispered over her shoulder, "I'm leaving you for the rats."

Glory stifled a snort. Maybe hybrids weren't all insufferable.

The air thickened with the stench of mildew and old blood. Somewhere ahead, a drip of water tapped a rhythm like a ticking clock. Glory's pulse matched it, quick and relentless. Orchid had better be alive, she thought, or Mangrove's grief will bury us all here.

And Burn's stronghold, she knew, had a way of making corpses feel... present.