Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

24.

Content warning: descriptions of war and a plague, off-the-charts levels of Darkstalker angst

Darkstalker

I can't believe my friend at the Gifted, Fierceclaws, is really gone. The name still scares me a bit–like some alternate universe might just have been peering out at me, flashing messages across the valley.

She's gone. You'll probably never see her again, and that's fine.

It doesn't matter in the end, I tell myself, not convinced in the slightest it's true.

The general gave me a list of requests to pass along to the Gifted. Water is the biggest one–no matter how much they send over, we never seem to have enough. But still, the supply shipments they have the RainWings carry over have been helping a great deal. No one is going hungry anymore.

I stare out over the valley. The battle has died down after days of combat; whoever's leading the Gifted decided it was time to retreat I suppose. And they really can retreat, into some magical hidden city even Sharp-eyes doesn't seem to be able to reach. It's a big advantage.

Now the stars are coming out across the indigo sky, the air humming with the chatter of the city.

My daughter should be there. Something about the way Fierceclaws talked about her felt disingenuous. I wish she was closer; I could read her mind and know the truth in seconds.

You can't read minds anymore, I remind myself, sighing heavily.

Three moons, I'm pathetic. A sad, tired old dragon, pouring out his heart to the nearest stranger who'll listen.

Maybe Fierceclaws just lied about Shadowhunter.

That seems like something she would do. I felt like I knew her, even when our only interactions consisted of flashing lights across a valley. She was so rude–her parents must have never taught her any manners. I never knew it was possible to be sarcastic even through code. But despite her flaws, I need to know she's all right.

I flash out my message again across the night, begging silently for anyone to answer.

I think I might be hallucinating for a second when someone actually replies.

We can get that across.

I blink.

Oh, three moons. I sigh heavily, already missing Fierceclaws. I'd rather rude and irritating and sarcastic to just... boring. As if this job wasn't mind-numbing enough already–sitting on a wall, staring out at the battle I should be fighting in. All. Night. Long.

You don't even know this dragon, I hear Clearsight whisper in the corner of my mind. Give them a chance.

Who are you?

Oh, my name's Ember, the guard says. I'm the new dragon you're gonna be talking to.

Do you know where Shadowhunter is? I picture this dragon as her kidnapper, part of Jerboa's inner circle.

The sky is dark for a long time. I want to smash the mirror and the lantern I'm using to reflect light; just throw them straight off the balcony. I want to fly down there, and demand this dragon take me to their leader.

Clearsight would forgive me, wouldn't she? I'm doing it for our daughter–she would have to.

I almost do it. I'm so close, really. I'd be an awful father to do anything less, wouldn't I?