Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

29.

Content warning:  canon-typical warfare/violence

Shadowhunter

I fly back from Lacerta alone, with nothing but my ever-churning thoughts to keep me company.

See you in Scorpion Den, Lightning Flash.

My parents' message rotates through my brain as I fly across the sky; as I stare up at the stars. I don't think I've ever been this alone–not for this long of a period. My whole life, I've always had family around me–my parents, my siblings, my grandmother. Then when I left them, I had Gaze and Way and Permafrost and Precocious. And then I was living with the Gifted, my girlfriend never far.

But I like the silence. It helps me think.

If Mom and Dad are still in the city, maybe I can find them. Maybe I can finally get my magic back.

It's been a pipe dream for so long, it's terrifying to consider its actual possibility.

I could win this war. I could save Jerboa's life.

What if they died? It's probably more likely that they did than that they didn't, statistically...

But they're not just any dragons. They're my parents. No one would ever cross them.

I cling to that thought like a threadbare rope, like the stars I use to guide myself home amid the empty, barren desert, the wasteland where dragons' homes used to be.

And what happens then? If I do get it back? If...

I can't let myself think that far.

***

The camp looks different somehow, like even a few weeks absence was enough to warp my memory. The sun still shines, the wind still brushes pleasantly over my scales, and the damage from Polar's attack has finally started to mend after weeks of labour. It's busier than it used to be; more SandWings than ever working to reconstruct the cobblestone streets. Daffodils poke up from the cracks in the cobblestones, relentless even in the face of destruction. But there's something missing: the dragon who made this city what it is.

I keep looking around, expecting Jerboa's chatter to fill the silence. Without her, the quiet rings out louder, the wind seems colder. How can a place look so different when you were only away a few weeks?

"Permafrost is just this way, Your Grace," someone tells me; a SandWing with two emerald earrings, whose name I can't recall. "Or, she should be–I'm pretty sure." She leads me toward the hospital, like I don't know where it is, but I restrain myself from correcting her.

"How has the battle been going?"

Tell me it's fine. Tell me I didn't run away and leave another mess behind for someone else to handle.

"Well... we had a lot of injured yesterday. I think we lost territory, but prior to that we had half the city under our control. So it could be a lot worse."

Half the city.

That's a lot better than before. Good job, Permafrost.

"How about the dragons in the city–like, the civilians? How are they doing?"

"I don't know—I don't think... many are left. We've been taking a lot of them back here—Permafrost's idea. The city keeps expanding to fit them, thank the moons; we would be really running out of space otherwise."

"So everything's under control?"

"More or less."

I allow myself to relax a little.