The body was buried beneath snow and stone, far enough from the cabin that the little one would never stumble across it.
Revik and I didn't say much — we worked in sync, like we had a hundred times before. Except this time felt different.
This time we weren't cleaning up a battlefield.
We were burying a man who'd called children cargo and thought pain was a language he owned.
We walked back in silence, the cold biting at our skin. I welcomed it.
It distracted me from the look on Lyra's face the night before — the brokenness, the fire that had burned too hot, even for her.
When we stepped through the cabin door, something in my chest shifted.
Lyra stood by the hearth. Her hair was damp and brushed, her clothes fresh.
The little girl sat curled on the far side of the cot, wrapped in a cloak; her hair had been braided, and though her eyes were still distant and haunted, she looked like a child again.
Lyra turned at our entrance. Her gaze found mine for a heartbeat that stole the breath from me.
She looked… steadier. Tired, but steadier.
She crossed the room and brushed an ash smudge from Revik's shoulder without ceremony, giving him a soft smile.
"Muir's looking for you," she said, quiet and clear.
Revik, never one to miss a message, nodded. "Got it."
He crouched by the cot. "C'mon, little wind-sprite. Let's see if Muir can conjure breakfast."
The girl glanced at Lyra, hesitation flickering across her face.
Lyra knelt, touching the child's cheek with a practiced gentleness. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'll be right here."
Slow and uncertain, the girl took Revik's offered hand and shuffled to the other side of the safehouse.
Lyra and I stepped out together.
Silence closed around us. Just me — and Lyra.
She dropped her head onto my chest with a long, tired sigh.
The weight of everything she'd done — everything she'd had to do — pressed in her breath.
I wrapped my arms around her without a word.
For a moment we simply stood there, the world narrowed to the cadence of her breathing.
"Do you think I made the right call?" she asked at last, voice low.
It was a question that needed no context.
Killing Sorin. Trusting his lead. Choosing the Air Nation as our next move with half the map still missing.
I thought before I answered.
"You made the call you had to," I said. "We needed direction, and the girl needed to go home. Sorin—" I let the rest hang in the air.
"That bastard deserved worse than what you gave him. Hell, quicker than I'd have done."
She exhaled, softer this time, like air finally finding a way out.
Then she kissed me — not a fevered thing, but gentle, grateful.
When she pulled back, she murmured, "Thank you, sparky."
"Always, my little thief," I told her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
Back inside, Revik had cobbled together a simple, hot meal.
The little one sat close to Lyra, less hollow than before, a small warmth returning to her posture.
We ate quickly, words sparse. The work ahead was already arranging itself in the room like a map.
We packed gear, checked blades, tightened cloaks.
Snow hissed under our boots as we stepped into the cold.
One by one we shifted — Muir first, a bulk of shadow and frost; then I rose, wings cracking into the air.
Lyra lifted the child and shifted as well, folding her wings before settling onto my back.
Revik took his place on Muir's.
We launched into the night, the wind ripping around us.
Destination: the Air Nation.
If we were lucky, a warm welcome awaited.
If we were not — then steel would meet steel.
Either way, there would be a fight.
We'd been flying for the better part of twelve hours, the sun now hanging low in the sky — tired, like we were.
I'd taken the lead for most of the journey, but it was starting to show in the weight of my wingbeats.
Even dragons have their limits.
We stopped for a short break — just long enough to stretch stiff limbs and let the little one rest.
Lyra unwrapped her wings and sat near the edge of a wide cliff overlooking a dense forest below.
The girl stayed close, still clinging at first but slowly easing into the quiet comfort Lyra offered.
The landscape had changed dramatically since we started.
The snowfields and jagged mountains of the water border had given way to thick forests and rolling green hills, stitched together by winding rivers and mist-laced waterfalls that shimmered in the fading light.
Lakes glimmered like dark glass, reflecting the last stretch of sun.
It was beautiful — peaceful, even — but I couldn't shake the tension coiled in my chest.
Far off on the horizon, half-swallowed by clouds, hung the floating mountains.
Distant now, but growing larger with every mile.
That was our destination.
The place where the Air Nation's secrets waited.
Where, hopefully, the Water Relic slept.
The break didn't last long.
It couldn't — we didn't have time for comfort.
I cracked my neck and stepped away from the cliff edge as Muir landed beside me, his dragon form shifting back with a flash of blue energy and a grunt of exhaustion.
"You good to continue?" he muttered, rubbing his neck. "I'm wrecked."
"I can carry us the rest of the way," I said, clapping his shoulder. "Rest while you can."
The shift took me in a rush — bones stretching, reshaping, wings tearing free in a blaze of light and heat.
Lightning surged through me with that familiar electric burn.
I crouched low, massive and solid, letting the wind whip through the gaps in my scales.
Lyra approached first, helping the little one climb onto my back.
Her hand brushed along my neck — steady, lingering just a heartbeat longer than it needed to.
She still carried tension in her shoulders, even when she smiled for the girl's sake.
I didn't press her.
I just tucked my wings in closer, shielding them both.
Muir and Revik climbed on next, their gear strapped down, ready for flight.
Lyra settled in behind my neck, right where she always fit.
Like she belonged there — maybe more than she knew.
I spread my wings and leapt from the cliff, the air biting and bright around us as we surged upward.
My wings cut through the wind, thunder echoing faintly behind every beat.
The sky stretched wide ahead — endless, waiting.
Toward the Air Nation.
Toward whatever came next.
And for the first time in a long time, I found myself hoping.
Hoping the relic was truly there.
Hoping peace wasn't as impossible as it had always seemed.
And hoping that whatever waited for us in those skies —
we'd be strong enough to face it.