We approach the watchtower carefully, using the rubble for cover. The smoke is definitely coming from a campfire—I can smell it now, the scent of burning wood mixing with the ever-present ash. And there's something else. Something that makes my dragon instincts flare with recognition.
Magic. Living magic. Not the dying residue that clings to the ruins, but active power.
We round the base of the watchtower, and I see them.
Three figures huddled around a small fire. Two are humanoid—elves, I think, based on their pointed ears and the faint greenish tint to their skin. The third is harder to identify. Smaller, hunched, wrapped in tattered robes that obscure their features.
They haven't noticed us yet.
Ghatak's hand finds my shoulder, a silent warning. Wait. Observe.
I watch as one of the elves—a male with sandy hair—pulls something from a pack. Food, I realize. Dried meat, carefully rationed. He breaks it into three pieces and distributes them. The smaller figure accepts their portion with a nod, and when they lift their head to eat, I catch a glimpse of their face.
A child. They're traveling with a child.
Something in my chest clenches. Survivors. Not scavengers or hostiles, but people trying to survive in this broken world. People who might have answers. People who might need help.
People who might know about other survivors.
I step out from behind the rubble.
All three figures freeze. The male elf's hand goes to a weapon at his belt—a crude knife, barely more than a sharpened piece of metal. The other elf, a female with long dark hair, moves to shield the child.
"Peace," I say, raising my hands. "We're not here to hurt you."
The male elf's eyes widen as he takes in my appearance—my height, my dark red hair, the chaos energy still crackling faintly around my fingers. "Dragon," he breathes.
"Yes."
"But... but you're all dead. The dragons are all dead."
"Clearly not," I say dryly. "Since I'm standing right here."
Ghatak emerges from cover, and the elves' fear ratchets up another notch. Two dragons. Two impossibilities.
"Who are you?" the female elf demands, her voice shaking. "What do you want?"
"I'm Astraea Shinazugawa," I say. "Crown Princess of the Chaos and Void Clans. And this is Ghatak Advik, my mate. We're looking for answers."
The male elf's knife clatters to the ground. "Crown Princess," he whispers. "But... the royal family is dead. Everyone knows that. The palace was destroyed, the king and queen killed—"
"I know," I interrupt. "I found their bodies yesterday."
Yesterday. Was it really only yesterday?
The female elf's expression shifts from fear to something else. Pity, maybe. Or sympathy. "You've been in stasis," she says softly. "Haven't you? You don't know what happened."
"I know enough," I say. "I know Sadie orchestrated the civil war. I know my species was exterminated. I know this world is dying." I take a step closer. "What I don't know is if there are other survivors. Other settlements. Other dragons."
The elves exchange a glance. The child—I can see now that they're maybe ten or eleven, with the same greenish skin as the adults—watches me with wide, curious eyes.
"There are rumors," the male elf says slowly. "Stories of a settlement to the east. Beyond the shadow-ocean. A place where... where people go to hide."
East. Toward the Spire.
"What kind of people?" Ghatak asks, his voice carefully neutral.
"All kinds," the female elf says. " Anyone who survived the war and doesn't want to be found." She hesitates. "There are even rumors of lesser dragons and halfbreed dragons. But we thought they were just stories."
My heart pounds. "Dragons? You've heard of dragons in this settlement?"
"Rumors," she repeats. "Nothing confirmed. But the settlement is real. We were trying to reach it when..." She gestures at the ruins around us. "When we got lost."
"Where is it?" I demand. "This settlement. Where exactly?"
The male elf points east, toward the Spire. "Past the Spire of Echoes. Through the shadow-ocean. On the eastern continent."
The eastern continent. Where the Void Clan used to have their strongholds.
"Cerberus," Ghatak murmurs beside me. "It has to be."
I turned to him. "You know this place?"
"I know the name," he says. "It was a Void Clan outpost, built into the mountains. Heavily fortified. If anyone was going to survive the war, it would be there."
Dragons. There might be dragons.
The possibility is almost too much to bear. I've spent the last day believing Ghatak and I were the only ones left. That our species was truly extinct. But if there's even a chance—
"We need to go there," I say. "After the Spire. We need to find this settlement."
"Agreed."
I turn back to the elves. "Come with us."
They stare at me like I've grown a second head.
"Come with us," I repeat. "To the Spire. We can offer you protection, and you can show us the way to this settlement."
"We don't need protection," the female elf says, but her voice lacks conviction.
"Yes, you do," I say bluntly. "You're traveling with a child through a wasteland filled with scavengers and worse. You have no weapons worth mentioning, barely any supplies, and you're lost." I let chaos energy flare around me, just enough to make my point. "We're dragons. We can keep you safe."
The male elf looks at his companion, then at the child. "What do you want in return?"
"Information," I say. "About the settlement. About the survivors. About anything you've seen or heard since the war ended."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
They confer in whispers, too quiet for me to hear. Finally, the female elf nods. "We'll come with you. But if you try anything—"
"We won't," Ghatak says firmly. "You have my word."
And a dragon's word is binding.
The elves gather their meager belongings, and we set off together. The child—a girl named Lyra, I learn—walks between the two adults, her eyes never leaving the eggs on Ghatak's back.
"Are those dragon eggs?" she asks, her voice filled with wonder.
"Yes," I say.
"Are they yours?"
In a way. "They're my responsibility."
"They're beautiful," she breathes.
I look at the eggs—the violet one pulsing with chaos, the black one humming with void—and something warm unfurls in my chest.
"Yes," I agree softly. "They are."
We walk through the afternoon, the Spire growing larger with each step. It's massive up close, easily a thousand feet tall, made of some black stone that seems to absorb light. Runes cover its surface, glowing faintly with power that makes my skin prickle.
Answers. It has to have answers.
As the sun begins to set—turning the sky from sickly yellow to deep orange—we make camp in the shadow of the Spire. The elves build a fire while Ghatak and I check the eggs, reinforcing the wards and making sure they're comfortable.
"They're warm," I murmur, my hand resting on the violet egg. "Warmer than before."
"They can sense us," Ghatak says. "Sense that we're protecting them. It's a good sign."
A good sign. Hope.
I settle beside the fire, accepting a portion of dried meat from the male elf—his name is Aldric, his companion is Mira. They're siblings, traveling with Mira's daughter after their village was destroyed by scavengers.
"How long has it been?" I ask. "Since the war ended?"
"Two thousand years," Aldric says. "Give or take a few decades."
Two thousand years. The same amount of time I was asleep.
"And in all that time, no one's tried to rebuild?"
Mira shakes her head. "How can you rebuild when the world itself is dying? The magic is fading, the land is poisoned, the sky is wrong. Most people are just trying to survive."
"Then we change that," I say firmly. "We find the settlement. We gather the survivors. And we rebuild."
"You make it sound simple," Aldric says.
"It won't be simple," I admit. "But it's necessary."
Lyra looks up at me, her eyes bright in the firelight. "Are you really a princess?"
"I was," I say. "Now I'm just... someone trying to fix what's broken."
"That sounds like a princess to me," she says solemnly.
Out of the mouths of children.
As night falls, Ghatak and I take first watch. The others sleep huddled around the fire, exhausted from the day's journey. The Spire looms above us, its runes pulsing in a rhythm that almost sounds like a heartbeat.
"Tomorrow," I say quietly. "Tomorrow we go inside."
"And find answers," Ghatak agrees.
"About the eggs. About dragon incubation. About what we need to do to hatch them."
"Yes."
I lean against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. "And then we find this settlement. Thronkaville. And we see if the rumors are true."
If there are really other dragons out there.
The possibility fills me with equal parts hope and terror. What if there are survivors? What if they blame me for not being there during the war? What if they see me as a failure, a princess who slept while her people died?
What if they're right?
"Stop," Ghatak murmurs, as if reading my thoughts. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
"I know you well enough." He presses a kiss to my temple. "You're not responsible for what happened. You were trying to survive. That's all any of us were doing."
Survive. That's all we can do.
I close my eyes and let the sound of the Spire's magic wash over me. Tomorrow, we'll have answers. Tomorrow, we'll take the next step toward rebuilding.
Tomorrow, we'll find out if we're truly alone.
Or if there's still hope for our species after all.