AN: Hi there, readers! This story will be a trilogy (or threeshot, whatever you want to call it) detailing my interpretation of Clearsight's experiences as she returns to the Night Kingdom after burying Darkstalker… and a little bit of something else at the end. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimers/Warnings:

I do not own Wings of Fire or any of the characters in this story.

Spoilers for Legends: Darkstalker ahead!

Clearsight had never seen the Night Kingdom so empty before. In the time she had taken to await the collapse of Agate Mountain, the entire tribe had evacuated the city, leaving it completely void of any dragons. Usually she caught at least a glimpse of a tail here, a wing there (even during the day), but it appeared now that each and every NightWing had left in the aftermath of Darkstalker's public display of power.

Listener had done as Clearsight told her, spreading the word that something terrible might happen and that the tribe needed to flee before it was too late. Between Clearsight's reputation as the most powerful seer in hundreds of years and the things they had seen Darkstalker do with their own eyes, it seemed the entire tribe had been convinced of the truth in her words. All of them were gone now. Safe.

She had seen their departure in her visions, but she had still needed to be sure. So she had returned to the City of Night one last time to see with her own eyes that there was no one left to be found if Darkstalker ever returned.

She could see futures of an island far off the mainland, where the tribe was going to take refuge. It was covered in trees, with plenty of prey and the safety of isolation. The futures where IceWings discovered their location and wiped them out were so unlikely, if even possible, that Clearsight couldn't see genocide in their future anymore. With Darkstalker defeated, the ice dragons were safe too.

As if her thoughts of him had drew her subconsciously there, she found herself at Darkstalker's house. She half expected to find Whiteout there, even after the rest of the tribe had gone. She knew that Darkstalker's sister was inherently different, somehow, from everyone else, and that her uniqueness made her vulnerable sometimes. Without Darkstalker or Arctic to take care of her now, would she be all right?

Feeling a pang of guilt at taking Whiteout's brother away from her, Clearsight reminded herself that there was still Thoughtful. Having witnessed their meeting, she knew that the two already understood each other more than anyone else. And Whiteout, however different she was, wasn't as fragile as she seemed.

To her relief, the house was empty. A quick look into Whiteout's room yielded only a few paintings left behind, too cumbersome to carry on the journey. Clearsight turned to go, hesitated, and then went into the room. It seemed wrong to pass over Whiteout's room; it felt too much like overlooking her the way most dragons did, simply because she spoke and thought differently from everyone else.

One unfinished portrait of Foeslayer and Artic lay on an easel in one of the far corners of the room. The blank part of the canvas had been blotched with tears, which seemed to have left a permanent stain.

Lightly touching it with one talon, Clearsight wondered if Whiteout had been working on this painting the day Foeslayer had been taken. She decided not to disturb it, feeling that doing so might disrupt the memories, accidentally damage something in Whiteout's private world of colors and spirits.

Leaving the paintings exactly as they were, Clearsight moved on to what had once been Darstalker's parents' room. Her talons splashed in a freezing cold substance, and the seer looked down and found that it was a puddle of water.

The room was filled with puddles, she realized, dripping from the slowly-melting icicles Arctic had made when he still lived there—when he had still been alive. Gazing out the window in the direction of the palace, Clearsight wondered if his body was still there on the stage, unburied because there was no one left who loved him.

Clearsight shuddered at the thought. She would travel to the queen's palace after she finished here, because as much as it horrified her, she felt as if she had to know the truth. She hadn't been able to save Arctic, had made the decision not to try, and had left him to be a horrific distraction for Darkstalker while she and Fathom figured out a way to defeat him. She owed it to Arctic, she thought, to be the one who cared enough to dispose of his corpse with dignity.

First, though, there was one more room to visit—the one she knew would pain her the most.

Darkstalker's door had been left unlocked. Clearsight could imagine him leaving it ajar in a whirlwind of fury, too angry that Vigilance had betrayed him to care about what his father might find in his room. Clearsight took a deep breath to steady herself, and then pushed open the door gently, as if not to disturb the memories.

It was still as neatly organized as the first time she had been there. The neat rack of scrolls still stood in the corner, and the pots of multicolored ink still sat on the desk. She touched the green one lightly, remembering how amazed she had been when it had sat perfectly still even after Darkstalker had commanded it to rise.

And there, on the shelf, was Ancient Wars of Pyrrhia. Clearsight slid it carefully out of the rack, thinking about the day Darkstalker had made his scroll, when she had been so sure that it would make the paths lighter. She unrolled it, scanned its contents, and felt as if that day had been lifetimes ago.

"Bore me to sleep," she whispered, and then smiled sadly as it began to drone in Professor Truthfinder's voice. She sat there for a while, her eyes prickling with unshed tears as she listened to it and remembered.

"Spare me," she whispered at last, and then returned the scroll to its shelf.

Turning around, she saw a familiar-looking blanket on Darkstalker's bed. Taking it and running it gently through her talons, she felt its magic erase the slight coldness in the air. But it couldn't soothe the chill in her numb heart.

Wrapping it around herself, she finally allowed herself to break down and cry for what she had done and what she had lost.