Shadow's consciousness flickered to life, accompanied by a pounding in her skull that drummed a rhythm of pain. Confusion swirled as she took in her grim surroundings—a squalid cell across the murky waters, with rotting wood and corroded metal as her only companions. A frustrated sigh escaped her as her fingers brushed over the manacles clamped tight around her wrists. Though they were not as corrosive as orc-forged irons dipped in shadow, they still bore the mark of captivity.

With contempt, she reflected on how unlikely it was that the master of Lake-town had devised such crude methods himself. After all, he was nothing more than a slothful swine, as greedy for gold as any dragon she'd encountered in her extraordinary life.

The telltale jingle of keys soon drew her gaze to the door. She recoiled further into the cold embrace of the stone wall as Alfrid slithered in, the embodiment of untrustworthiness. Her voice was a serpent's hiss as she spat at him, "What do you want, you weasel?"

Alfrid let out a weary sigh, offering her a pitiful excuse for a meal—one that made Bard's provisions look like a feast. "Here's your breakfast, my lady. One should not answer questions on an empty stomach, should they? The master will not grant you his wine, but at least he offers this," he muttered, thrusting a mug of water at her. Icy bits floated within the murky liquid, a sordid insult to refreshment.

They don't understand that dragons can withstand long spells without nourishment, far longer than their human counterparts, she mused inwardly, a huff of derision escaping her lips. Nevertheless, she accepted the meager offerings, feigning a famished desperation that she hoped would ensure a continued, albeit paltry, supply.

Such tactics of survival were not foreign to Shadow; she'd honed them over lifetimes past. With a gulp, she devoured what was given, keen on convincing them of her need.

"Now, will you speak to me, or must we continue this silence?" Alfrid inquired with a frown, settling onto a worn stool, arms folded as though he were the lord of the dank chamber. "The master eagerly awaits the revelations about your origins, your business with the dwarves, and all the accompanying pageantry," he pressed, a corrosive attempt at charm.

Shadow eyed him coolly, recognizing the ploy. "Do us the courtesy and start talking," he demanded, as though she were but a mere player in their twisted game.

"And what, pray tell, would he do if I spun a tale that I serve the high lord of the heavens or some such fantasy?" she scoffed, her disdain palpable as she leaned back against the cold, grey wall. With a dismissive gesture, she set down the plate of food and the mug of water. "I won't tell you anything, mortal," she declared, eyes closing with a sense of finality.

Alfrid let out a resigned sigh, the sound echoing in the hollow space. "Very well, have it your way. But when hunger gnaws you to the brink, you'll be begging for our mercy," he threatened, his voice carrying the hollowness of his conviction.

With that, he departed, leaving Shadow once again in solitude; but she remained unfazed. The walls may close in, the shadows may whisper, but her spirit never once entertained the notion of surrender. She was not going to be alone for long—of that, she was certain.

~❈~

Strolling along the edge of a captivating continent, Shadow paused, her gaze lifting to the ballet playing out in the azure sky. Two dragons, silhouettes carved from night itself, danced amongst the clouds, one adorned with markings as blue as the daylit expanse, the other's design like glistening rubies. The red-marked one, Lord Russ, descended gracefully, landing upon the verge where golden sand greeted the tide. He dipped his head toward Shadow with paternal affection.

"My dearest daughter," he rumbled, his muzzle affectionately brushing hers. Shadow purred in response, a chorus with her father's rumble.

The dance of the second dragon halted, and she too descended, her presence as reassuring as the embrace of the wind. "Mother, father," acknowledged Shadow, as the blue-eyed Lady Neela joined the embrace.

"We will always be here for you, our dearest daughter," Lord Russ intoned with warmth, his wing curling protectively around his mate, Lady Neela.

Shadow nodded, her voice a hushed whisper, an echo of something unspoken. "I know."

Lady Neela bowed her graceful head, eyes shutting as if in silent benediction. "May the sun chaser aid you on your journey, dearest one."

And then they were gone, dissipating into the ether as if they were never there at all. Shadow stood, a lone figure on the shore, the feeling of their departure rendering her hollow. How does one navigate the vast future when such pillars of strength vanish like morning fog?

On the horizon, where the sun meets the sea, a glimmer appeared—a shimmering vista that began to take on the form of a magnificent dragon, a manifest splendor that Shadow had glimpsed before. In a graceful arc, it descended from its celestial throne and alighted before her, resplendent in glory. Shadow's breath caught in awe; it was a SwiftScale, a noble kin from a saga past, entities of legend she encountered long before the chronicles of the hidden world and the tumult of Middle Earth unfolded.

The SwiftScale's realm lay nearby, yet Shadow had never fathomed she might once more behold such divine enchantment. The Sun Chaser, radiant as ever, gazed upon her with eyes like bolts of azure lightning, full of warmth and promise.

"You will be the greatest queen Middle Earth has ever witnessed, my dear descendant. You must always believe you will ascend beyond even your wildest dreams," he proclaimed with an authority that resonated like music through the air.

With a talon as bright as the sun's own reach, he outstretched toward her, his light encircling her silhouette. And as his touch mingled with her being, drawing her into the embrace of the sun, Shadow felt herself drifting into oblivion, and all became black.