CLEARSIGHT

Clearsight sat at the edge of the long stone table, her gaze fixed downward, but not on the food before her. Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of frustration that she could barely hold in check. Her claw tightened around the parchment in her talon, the edges crumpling slightly under the pressure as she stared down at the scroll in her lap. The words she had written earlier now seemed like a distant memory, nothing more than a collection of meaningless scribbles. And the news from Vivid still echoed painfully in her mind: Luminary and Darkstalker. Always together. Again.

She could feel her heart twist with something bitter and sharp, a jealousy she hated to acknowledge. She had known from the start that Luminary would be drawn to him—that luminous, magnetic presence of Darkstalker—but it didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made it worse.

Why does she always gravitate to him? Clearsight thought, her mind racing. What does he have that I don't?

She glanced up for a brief moment, catching the glint of curiosity in her mother's eyes as the older dragon watched her closely. The intensity of Clearsight's thoughts must have been clear on her face because her mother was quick to ask, "Darling, what's wrong?"

Clearsight quickly blinked, forcing a smile onto her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. She didn't want to unload her tangled feelings onto her mother—especially not over something so trivial. At least, she tried to convince herself it was trivial.

"Nothing," she replied, a little too quickly. Her voice faltered for a split second before she cleared her throat and continued, "Just... having a bit of a meltdown with math questions." She gestured vaguely to the scroll in her lap, hoping to mask the truth with an excuse that was at least semi-believable.

Her mother eyed her skeptically, but said nothing. The older dragon only gave a soft sigh, as if sensing that her daughter was holding something back. "Well, you're always welcome to talk, darling," she said gently. "Don't hide your feelings. You know I'm here."

Clearsight swallowed hard, the lump in her throat rising. She could hear the concern in her mother's voice, but it only made her feel more fragile, more exposed. She hated feeling this way, like a dragonet on the outside of something important. She had to get away.

"Thanks for dinner," she muttered quickly, standing up from the table with a little too much haste. She was out of the room before her mother could say anything else, fleeing the warm comfort of the kitchen in favor of the cold emptiness of her own room.

The door slammed behind her as she entered, and she immediately threw the scroll onto the floor, the parchment sliding unceremoniously across the bear furs. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, but it didn't make her feel better. In fact, it only seemed to amplify the ache in her chest.

"Why am I like this?" she whispered under her breath, her voice muffled by the thick furs beneath her. She curled into herself, her body folding into the space she had made on the floor. Her thoughts churned violently as the images of Luminary and Darkstalker clung to her like shadows—his dark, mysterious presence always so effortlessly wrapped around Luminary, their bond an unspoken thing that had been there before, and was now clearly growing stronger.

Clearsight squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of them, laughing together, sharing quiet moments that she would never be part of. It felt like a betrayal—though she knew it wasn't. They were her tribe, her friends. But no matter how hard she tried to push it aside, a sense of loneliness seeped into her heart, a gnawing feeling of being left behind. The fear of being overlooked, of never measuring up, haunted her more than she was willing to admit.

She bit her lip hard, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill over. It wasn't fair. None of it was. She was always the one watching from the edges, always the one on the outside, always left behind. No matter how hard she tried to be seen, to be important, someone else always took center stage.

And yet, there was a part of her, a quiet part, that knew this jealousy was just another mask for something deeper—a fear of being unworthy. But even that small, rational thought felt like a betrayal of the burning emotion inside her.

With a frustrated snarl, Clearsight rolled over onto her side, pressing her face into the cool floor. It doesn't matter, she told herself, her thoughts still tangled in a whirlwind of frustration. It doesn't matter what happens between them. I can still stand on my own.

But it did matter, didn't it? In the quiet of her room, it mattered more than she wanted to admit.

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Clearsight crumpled the parchment in her claw and rolled it up tightly, her talons leaving slight indentations in the paper as she shoved it into her bag. She barely took a second to look around the classroom before she stormed out, the weight of another day of hearing them—Darkstalker and Luminary—drifting into her mind like a fog she couldn't escape. The soft sound of their voices, the giggles that spilled from Luminary's lips, and that flirty tone in Darkstalker's voice—it all grated on Clearsight's nerves. Every word, every glance, felt like a knife twisted deeper into the wound that had already been festering in her chest for far too long.

She gritted her teeth, her claws curling with barely contained frustration. Why does it have to be them? she thought bitterly. She wanted to scream, to tear the air apart with her frustration, but instead, she kept walking, her head down, trying to ignore the rising tide of bitterness and envy that surged through her veins.

It's not fair, she thought. Why can't I have something like that? Why can't I just be enough?

Her wings fluttered in irritation as she quickened her pace, as if trying to outrun the tightening pain in her chest. The ache of being unseen, of being forgotten in the midst of their joy, was overwhelming. She wanted to rip her scales off, just to feel something—anything—other than the crushing weight of despair and heartbreak. The thought of pulling away the outer layers of herself was oddly comforting, a way to escape the suffocating pain. But that, of course, was a thought too dark for her to entertain seriously. So she swallowed it, pushing it down like the flood of emotions that had been building for days.

She was halfway down the hallway when a familiar voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

"Are you allright?"

Clearsight blinked, startled by the gentle question. She looked up to see Luster walking toward her, the vibrant purple scales of the younger dragon gleaming in the light. In Luster's talons, she held a small cage, its bars rattling slightly with the movement of its occupant. Inside, a scavenger—a small, rat-like creature—was scurrying about, clearly nervous. The little creature's frantic squeaks caught Clearsight's attention, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she felt a pang of something—curiosity, perhaps, or a reminder of something simpler.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and tried to push aside the heaviness that threatened to drown her. She didn't want to show weakness. She didn't want to let Luster see how much she was breaking.

"I'm fine," Clearsight muttered, though the words didn't quite ring true in her ears. Her gaze flicked toward the cage, and her interest momentarily shifted. "Are we studying moss and ivy again?" she asked, trying to focus on something—anything—that wasn't the twisting knot in her chest.

Luster raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on her face. "You know it," she said, her tone teasing but warm. "This little guy," she gestured to the scavenger in the cage, "is going to help us learn more about scavenger behavior and how they interact with plant life. We're focusing on how they nibble on different types of moss and what plants they prefer to make their homes in. Should be fun!"

Clearsight peered at the scavenger through the bars, her eyes softening for a moment. The little creature squeaked in response, its fur ruffling as it moved around inside its tiny cage. The distraction was welcome, a brief reprieve from the storm of emotions that churned beneath her calm exterior. She watched the scavenger's twitching nose, the way it scurried in small, nervous circles, and found herself momentarily lost in the simplicity of the creature's frantic energy.

It was something she could control, something tangible, unlike the swirling chaos inside her.

Her mood softened, if only a fraction. "I didn't know scavengers liked moss," she remarked quietly, her voice now carrying a faint trace of interest.

Luster grinned, clearly pleased that Clearsight was engaging, even if only a little. "Yeah, it's one of the main things they like to munch on. Seems like the moss keeps them from getting sick or something. It's actually pretty fascinating."

Clearsight nodded, taking a small step toward Luster and the cage. The scent of the scavenger's fur and the quiet squeaks of its movement soothed her for a moment, a soft lullaby to her overworked mind. She wondered if there was a way to focus on this—a way to escape into studying the creatures and plants, away from the complex, painful feelings tangled around Luminary and Darkstalker.

"Thanks for this," Clearsight said, her voice barely above a whisper, though it held a sincerity she wasn't used to expressing. It was a small thing, but she appreciated it all the same. The quiet moment, the distraction, the small bit of peace.

Luster nodded, the smile on her face wide and genuine. "Of course. You need a break, Clearsight. Everyone does."

For the first time that day, Clearsight felt her chest unclench just slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind her that maybe, just maybe, there was still room for something else in her life. Even if it wasn't the thing she wanted the most.