Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

18.

Content warning: Depictions of war, mental breakdowns, death, gore/potentially disturbing imagery within a nightmare

Shadowhunter

I stare at the glass bowl on Jerboa's desk, sighing heavily. I've been trying to avoid it all night--but it's two in the morning now, and what else am I going to do? I've still got four hours before it's Ember's turn to watch Jerboa.

The candle on the kitchen table flickers, then burns out. I don't bother lighting another one; I can see well enough in the dim moonlight.

"Hey bowl, show me Darkstalker and Clearsight."

I know it won't work. I've been trying for weeks–every night, while Jerboa sleeps and I've got nothing better to do with myself. When I'm tired of planning battles or pacing back and forth, I always come back here. Like picking at a wound, I can't seem to stop myself.

The water swirls around, then settles. I watch the ripples fade. Every time I ask, I keep hoping the outcome will change.

I sigh, lying down on the floor. It's late, and I'm tired, and all I want to do is go home. Back to my tent, where Permafrost will be sleeping. She would know what to say about this.

"Hey bowl, show me Foeslayer."

The water doesn't shift at all. It's like I didn't say anything.

If Mom and Dad are dead, why would it react differently? It's like it's still trying to find them.

Is it just a flaw in the spell? It must be, right?

I can't wrap my head around this whole death thing–the idea, that these dragons are never coming back. Not in fifty years, not in a hundred. They're gone. Forever.

"Hey bowl, show me Wayfinder."

The water ripples, and gradually starts to stain with colour. I see a dragon flying over a forest through a thick, clouded sky. I think Precocious is behind him, and–is that Indigo?

"Is he okay?" I ask the bowl. I don't like my brother one bit, but I do love him, and I need to know like breathing that he's not in any trouble.

It shows him dancing in a crowd of RainWings, running through a maze. I don't understand any of it, but he looks healthy enough. I think he's grown, although it's hard to tell in the tiny picture.

"Hey, bowl–show me Nebula."

I see the little dragonet sitting by a river in a dark cavern, chatting with a dark burgundy dragon–older than me, but not by much.

He's out of Sharp-eyes's control, wherever he is. He's okay.

I've been checking on him a lot of late, and every time I see him, I let out a small sigh of relief that he's not dead. I like to think that it matters somehow, me knowing what they're up to–that the universe will be kinder to them if they know that I'm watching.

Not that there's any truth in that, obviously.

"Hey bowl, show me Eclipse."

It's light where my sister is, apparently, and she's sitting in a fancy-looking classroom, surrounded by IceWing dragonets. She doesn't look like she's enjoying herself much, but she's alive, and that's good enough for me.

I smile halfheartedly.

And then I think, three moons, what if Mom and Dad really are gone? What if I'm all they have left?