One had to fly across the Claws of the Clouds to get to Crosswinds, and while there were easy routes through the mountains, these were frequently used by MudWings flying back and forth to the Mud Kingdom. Torrent had instead forced Slate to go with him through a longer route between the peaks, so to, as Torrent claimed, 'attract less attention.' Slate wasn't sure why that mattered. Pyrrhia was mostly at peace, as far as he knew. Sure, the SkyWings were definitely hostile towards the new RainWing-NightWing Kingdom, and the IceWings didn't seem too happy about the merging either, but so far, no war had broken out between them. Even if it was mainly MudWings who traversed that section, the Claws of the Clouds were neutral territory. Torrent didn't have to be scared of being detained or attacked for being a SeaWing anymore.

Still, Torrent had insisted that they stay out of sight as much as possible, and Slate wasn't really sure he had any choice in the matter. So, the two flew between two mountain peaks. The cold, dry air only made Slate more parched. He glanced over at Torrent. The SeaWing had brought a waterskin with him. He'd been unexpectedly kind enough to share it with Slate, but it was small, and there wasn't enough for the both of them, so the two had been forced to ration it on the flight here. Fortunately, some of the taller mountains still had snow, so the two had taken a detour to collect some of that as their drinking water. That would hopefully last them to Crosswinds, where the Great Five-Tail River ran through from the mountains.

Still, if this drought was magically caused like the SeaWing claimed it was, Slate hoped that they'd be able to end it soon. He still wasn't quite sure what Torrent had meant when he said that Slate could 'break the curse,' but it seemed pretty urgent, especially for the Mud Kingdom. Animus magic — the idea frightened Slate, but at the same time gave the young dragon a feeling of thrill and exhilaration. Almost every dragon in Pyrrhia knew what animus magic was, although at least until Blister's death three years ago, there'd been plenty of skeptics in the Mud Kingdom. But few had seen it themselves. Slate was almost proud that he had joined those ranks: the thing with the pebbles turning into treasure that Torrent did was clearly magic. Slate had asked Torrent if he was an animus, and had gotten a howl of laughter in response, followed by a terse 'no.'

Slate looked up at Torrent mid-flight. Irritatingly, the SeaWing had kept his jaws shut for a lot of the trip. "After we get to Crosswinds, how am I going to break the curse?" he asked excitedly. "Will I get magic powers, like you?"

Torrent snorted. "Magic powers?"

Slate nodded. "Yeah, like that thing with the making the ground muddy. You did that, right? Will I, like, be able to do that to all of Pyrrhia somehow? That sounds cool."

Torrent laughed. "I don't have magic powers. As I told you, I'm not an animus. Practically the furthest thing form it." Torrent reached his talons to his side and pulled out a dagger. Slate flinched at the sharp metal blade. "This is what does it. It's enchanted to do things like break curses."

"Ah," Slate replied. "Wait, then why don't you stop the curse with it?"

Torrent shrugged his forelegs. "I can't stop it without finding the artifact which caused the curse in the first place."

Slate thought for a moment. "Then what am I supposed to do? Find the artifact? I thought I was the one who was supposed to break it."

Torrent flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth. "Maybe. Maybe not. Not quite sure."

Slate frowned. The wind seemed to get a touch colder. "You're . . . not quite sure?" This wasn't really what he was expecting. How was he supposed to break a curse if no one told him how? He was starting to lose his faith that the SeaWing had any idea what he was doing. At least his mother had gotten a bunch of jewelry out of it. Unless it all turned back into pebbles.

Torrent nodded. "Sorry," he yawned.

"Then why are we going to Crosswinds?" Slate demanded, a hint of anger in his voice.

Torrent gave Slate a cautious stare. "I'm visiting my daughter, Midnight. She lives there."

Slate growled impatiently. "Why? How can your daughter help us stop the drought?"

"I'm not sure," Torrent answered, this time starting to look a bit irritated, "but I'm worried she might have something to do with it, which is why I'm visiting her."

Slate thought for a moment. Why would his daughter have something to do with the drought? And something caught his attention. "Midnight isn't a SeaWing name," he frowned, confused.

Torrent tsked. "She's a hybrid. Like your mother."

Slate grew immediately uncomfortable at the mention of his mother's SandWing heritage. But he was also intrigued. Slate knew that there were other hybrids out there, but he'd never met any before. Midnight sounded like it was a NightWing name. Did that mean she was half-SeaWing, half-NightWing? Could she read minds, or tell the future? Probably not. After they'd lost their homeland, the NightWings had said they'd lost their powers with it, although there were conflicting rumors from the southern border with the rainforest.

Slate wondered how it was being a hybrid in Crosswinds. He knew that both MudWings and SandWings lived there, although 'in harmony' was a bit of an optimistic point of view. He'd talked with Fawn about moving there before, but the topic had been dropped. Maybe once this drought was over, they could go there. There had to be more hybrids there, and if a NightWing-SeaWing could really live there, and maybe even be happy, Fawn and Slate could too. Especially with that much treasure. They could live like queens.

A glint of light flashed off the sharp blade still in Torrent's paw. "What will happen if she does have something to do with it?"

Torrent grinned toothily as he twisted the dagger mid-air, causing Slate to gulp. "Then you might not be needed for this after all."

Slate squirmed his wings uncomfortably, causing himself to accidentally take a short dip downwards. He quickly recovered his previous height. Was the SeaWing threatening to kill his dragonet? Slate had been taught that the sib group of a SeaWing, their 'immediate families,' included not only their actual sibs, but their parents and dragonets too, sometimes even more relatives. It was ridiculously complicated, especially since two dragons that were immediate families with each other could not have the same immediate families. Slate knew some sibs with serious disputes in their groups, but killing your own sib . . . that was a horrid thing to do. It was one of those crimes in the Mud Kingdom that was punishable by execution. He glanced over at Torrent. If this dragon was willing to murder his own daughter, Slate wasn't so sure he was safe around Torrent anymore. Perhaps Torrent had a good reason for it. Slate hoped.

It only took another two days for the two to reach Crosswinds. They entered in the early evening, as the colors of the sunset were just starting to peek out of the clear blue sky. The small city sprawled around the dry, flat ground, with gentle hills quickly rising into the Claws of the Clouds to the east. Slate could easily spot a large bending trail winding through the city without any sort of houses on it, like an empty clearing. He suddenly realized what it was — the dry riverbed of the Great Five-Tail River, with barely a trickle of water through its deepest point.

Torrent snorted. "It's gotten bigger since I visited last year," he muttered to no one in particular. Slate wasn't surprised. Since the war had ended, a number of the MudWings unhappy with their prospects in the Mud Kingdom, had moved to Crosswinds, and its population, like many of the other settlements along the Great Five-Tail River, had almost doubled in the past three years. A number of SandWings unhappy with Queen Thorn had moved here too, and even a few SkyWings.

The two flew down towards the edge of the city, catching the eyes of a small group of MudWings, most likely sibs, beneath. So much for not wanting to be seen, Slate thought, slightly irked that they'd spent extra time in the mountains just to be caught on arrival. Still, the MudWings didn't bother either of them. That was good.

"Don't talk to anyone, and you'll be left alone," Torrent warned Slate. "I don't want to cause any trouble for Midnight."

Trouble other than yourself, Slate thought to himself. He followed closely behind the SeaWing in silence. As long as he was near the hulking SeaWing, Slate doubted anyone would want to cause trouble. Torrent was large, and the burn scars across his snout and gills just made him look more intimidating. The MudWings that had watched them on their way down carefully avoided getting too close to Torrent as he gave them a glare of suspicion.

The two walked along narrow roads and alleyways, with Slate noticing that Torrent was careful to avoid any larger spaces as much as he could. Apparently, he still wanted to avoid catching the eyes of too many dragons. As the two walked down a small alleyway, Slate noticed a SandWing lounging about in it, flicking his claws against the barb on his tail. As Torrent started to pass, the SandWing glanced at him in suspicion. His eyes immediately went to the dagger on Torrent's side.

Suddenly, the SandWing's jaws opened wide in surprise. "You . . ." he stammered as he stared on at Torrent, "you're—"

"Shut up," Torrent suddenly growled, his tail whipping around as he turned towards the SandWing with terrifying speed. The SandWing's barb instantly went up in defense, moving between his snout and Torrent's jaws. Torrent kept his composure, and didn't move as the frightened SandWing shook. "I'm no one. You didn't see me."

The SandWing quickly nodded. "Yes sir," he whispered, relaxing as Torrent pulled his sharp fangs back. Without pause, Torrent walked further down the alleyway, Slate trotting behind him. The MudWing glanced back to see that the SandWing's eyes were following Torrent, his expression a mixture between fear and admiration.

After the two had left him behind, Slate quickly caught up to Torrent, the small dragonet attempting to walk beside him in the narrow alleyway. "What was that all about?" he asked. "Do you know him?"

Torrent shook his head. "No, but he knows me. I'm a bit of a local legend in this town. I had a small . . . public incident with an animus here a few years back. Before you were born."

Slate could tell Torrent was trying to hide a smirk of pride. An animus. That must have been where all that enchanted treasure came from. And a public incident with one? What was this SeaWing?

Torrent suddenly stopped, Slate almost walking past him. "Come on," Torrent said. "We're here."

Slate found himself standing in front of the door a small house. He thought it looked somewhat run-down, and he could tell that there were repairs being made to it constantly. There were faded scorchmarks over a number of the bricks, and the door seemed to have been made up of at least five types of wood, fragily stapled onto each other into a conglomerate. The roof had a few holes in it, but given the lack of rain, that probably didn't need to be urgently repaired.

"Is this where Midnight lives?" Slate asked.

Torrent nodded. "Probably. It's been close to a year since I've been by, so it's possible she's moved since then, but I doubt it. Even if she has, I can find her if she's still nearby." He tapped a claw to his dagger. Slate felt like there was something he was missing here, but with the SeaWing so clearly keeping secrets from him, the feeling had become ordinary over the past week.

Torrent quietly knocked his claws against the door. A few moments later, it opened slightly, and Slate could see the yellow scales of an elderly SandWing looking the crack. Presumably not Midnight.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" the SandWing asked, suspicious of the visitors. Her voice croaked with age, grating on Slate's ears, and she let out a raspy cough. She looked from Torrent to Slate, and back again.

"Hello Gazelle. It's Torrent and a friend," Torrent responded patiently. "We visited here last year, remember?"

No hint of recognition crossed the SandWing's expression. "No. Go away."

Torrent sighed sadly. "Can you ask Midnight? She'll know who we are."

"There's no Midnight here. Go away."

Another voice sounded from further into the house, this one the sound of a young dragon, around Slate's age. "Thank you Gazelle, but you can let them in. I know them," she sighed, a hint of stress in her voice. "This is Torrent. He's my father." Slate guessed that was Midnight.

"Are you sure?" Gazelle called back. "I don't like him."

"Yes," Midnight answered, "I don't like him much either, but you still need to let him in." Slate saw Torrent wince at the comment. Honestly, Slate didn't blame Midnight after hearing Torrent's threat against her earlier. He still wasn't quite sure what that was about.

Gazelle paused a moment, and gave the two visitors a wary glare before opening the door far enough to let them through. Torrent gave a nod of gratitude to the SandWing, and walked through the opening first. Slate could barely avoid staring at Gazelle as he walked past. She had to have been the oldest dragon Slate had ever seen, so old that if he was told she was a veteran in the Scorching he would've believed it. Her scales seemed dull and cracked, and her legs were weak. Slate could almost see through her wing membrane. Each of her movements was slow and fragile, as if her bones were made of glass.

The house was small, but seemed to be well organized. Midnight and Gazelle didn't seem to have too many belongings, but Slate could see a broken scrollshelf in one of the corners. Apparently, Midnight knew how to read. Slate grew slightly envious.

Midnight herself was standing up in the center of the room. Slate could clearly see that she was a hybrid. Unlike Slate, there was no hiding that for Midnight. Most of her scales were a dark blue, almost black, as expected of a NightWing, and her horns were large and straight, unlike Torrent's. Yet, her SeaWing features were more prominent: though she had no gills, Midnight sported webbing along her spine and paws, along with her father's blue eyes. Instead of the usual organized NightWing scale pattern, Midnight's scales were like pebbles scattered on the seafloor, with lighter splotches across her body that might have been vestigial glowstripes. Other than Slate's mother, Midnight was the first hybrid that Slate had seen. She gave Slate a glare, and he suddenly realized he'd been staring at her for far too long.

"I see that Gazelle has gotten worse," Torrent commented, slightly saddened by this fact.

"Yes," Midnight replied, giving her father a cautious glance. "That's what happens when you're kept alive by magic, and it's suddenly removed. It's too bad there's no one here who could somehow prevent that." She said the last part with bitter sarcasm, barely holding back anger in her voice. "Oh. Wait. There is."

Torrent seethed, and the SeaWing bared his sharp teeth. "You know my rules. No magic."

Magic? Slate wondered, confused. It suddenly hit him like a brick. Midnight was an animus. That was why Torrent had thought she might have caused the drought somehow. He should have realized it earlier. He took a slight step back, looking at the hybrid in front of him through different eyes. If she wanted to, she could have easily killed him, or far worse. The entire city of Crosswinds could be in her control if she so desired.

Midnight glared at her father, almost pleadingly. "It would just be one thing. For Gazelle. You care about her, don't you?"

"I care about you not losing your soul," Torrent stated. "I don't want to take that risk."

"I'd be the one taking the risk, not you," Midnight muttered. Her eyes darted to the dagger at Torrent's side.

The SeaWing noticed. "If you've used your powers . . ." he growled. He touched a clawpad to the purple amethyst on his dagger.

"I know, I know," Midnight hissed. "You'll kill me, right?"

Torrent stayed silent. Slate glanced over to Gazelle, who didn't seem to be actively listening to the conversation. She'd lied down on the floor, and had started to close her eyes. Personally, Slate didn't want to get involved in the two's dispute.

Midnight smirked. "You keep saying that, but I know you don't have it in you. You couldn't kill your sister, and you can't kill your daughter."

Slate immediately saw Torrent tense up. His sister was an animus too? That made some sense, he knew that animus magic ran in families.

"Don't bring her into this. She was a good dragon."

Midnight clucked. "And yet, you think I'm going to turn out like her just from using my powers once to help Gazelle? Wasn't such a 'good' dragon after she lost her soul, was she?"

Slate could see Torrent's claws shaking, as if he wanted to tear out Midnight's throat. "It wasn't her fault she was born with your curse."

"She could've been a bit more frugal with her powers though, don't you think?" Midnight retorted. "Maybe she shouldn't have enchanted that nifty dagger you have."

Torrent was quiet for a moment, and the two glared at each other. "You should get rid of your powers, like I told you to," Torrent finally growled, changing the topic from his sister. "How many enchantments have you made already?"

"One," Midnight snorted. "In my entire life, and as I told you, it was an accident. I don't think causing a scroll to float even counts as a real enchantment. And I know you don't want me to get rid of my powers, or else you would've made me when I was younger. Just in case a certain someone comes by, right? Why do you even care if I die? I don't get it. You literally come by once a year, just to tell me that you're probably going to kill me."

Torrent didn't respond to this. He just looked away, not making eye contact with his daughter.

Midnight sighed, and looked over to Slate. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," she apologized. "We have this conversation whenever he comes by. Usually it's worse, but I suppose Torrent doesn't want to look bad in front of you. Who are you? Some poor MudWing that accidentally got caught up in Torrent's mess?"

Slate gulped. "It's fine," he responded. "I'm Slate. I'm not actually a full MudWing. I'm a quarter SandWing." He wasn't quite sure why he said that. Normally, he tried very hard to prevent other dragons from learning that. Yet, Midnight was a hybrid. He wanted her to know.

"Oh, alright," Midnight responded, slightly confused. "You're from around here? Are you sibless?"

Slate shook his head. "Diamond Spray Delta." Sibless? He hadn't heard that term before. "If sibless means I don't have any sibs, then yeah."

Midnight nodded. "Some of the other Sand-Mud hybrids around here use it to mean that they didn't have any sibs at hatching, an only egg. It seems to be pretty common. If you're planning on staying around for long, I should introduce you to some of my unsibs. I'm not sibless, but . . ." She gave Torrent a glance, causing him to shift uncomfortably. Slate understood what that meant. She'd had sibs at some point, but not anymore.

The SeaWing sighed. "We don't have time for meet-and-greets. If you didn't cause it, then you must have noticed the drought."

"The drought?" Midnight asked. "I have. It seems like it's animus-caused. I'm surprised you haven't removed it already."

"I tried," Torrent explained, "but I can't, not without getting close whatever artifact caused the enchantment."

Midnight looked deep in thought for a second. "I might be able to get rid of it."

Torrent bared his teeth. "No. No magic."

The animus hybrid rolled her eyes. "I know, but if it comes to it . . . Maybe SandWings might be able to survive this, but the rest of Pyrrhia will suffer. Sacrificing a little piece of my soul has to be worth it, even for someone as stingy as you."

Torrent flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth, and tapped a webbed claw on the floor. "If it comes to that. Maybe. But I don't think it would work anyways."

"Really?" Midnight asked, confused. "I'm sure if I word the enchantment in the right way, I could do something."

Torrent shook his head. "I doubt it. Conflicting enchantments cause 'erratic behavior,' whatever that means, and whatever is going on here — it's weird. Once you've seen enough magic, you notice certain things about it. The intentions of the animus, their experience, the scale of the enchantment. Most magic feels 'fake,' as if it was hastily plastered over the world by someone, and if you stare at it for a bit too long, you can start to see parts of it cracking. Certain types of magic give this feeling more than others." Stonemover's tunnels and Erosion's pit were what immediately came to Torrent's mind.

"But this doesn't feel fake," Torrent continued. Slate leaned in close, eager to hear what Torrent said. This sounded important. "It's obviously magical, but it feels real, more of this world than even you or I. I've only felt something like it once before. Your mother and I visited the NightWing island once. The NightWings had a magical artifact called the Obsidian Mirror that they could use to spy on dragons. I lent her my dagger so that she could destroy it. When she tried, the mirror turned to liquid, and the entire volcano shook. And this happened."

Torrent lifted his dagger from its sheath, and showed the hilt to Midnight. Slate peered in, trying to get a better look. The emerald on it had a small crack through it.

"I felt the same thing when the volcano rumbled as I do now. Animus magic, but far more intense and real than anything else, as if our world is woven around it. Whatever magic the mirror had, Orca's magic was parlor tricks compared to that. That's why I don't think your magic will work."

Midnight stood back for a moment, a concerned expression on her snout. She winced. "I take it you haven't heard the news." Torrent looked at her with a blank expression, Slate watching closely.

"Both Queen Thorn and Blaze were assassinated around a week ago," Midnight explained carefully. "My condolences."

Torrent shrugged his wings. "It's fine. I've never met her," he explained, "and your uncle had left her by the time we'd met. It's a shame though, isn't it? I'd heard she was really turning the Sand Kingdom around after the war. Who's in charge now? Last time we met, Stonemover told me he'd found out that he has a dragonet. I think she runs that weird hippie academy."

"Sunny," Midnight replied. "One of the Dragonets of Destiny." Torrent rolled his eyes slightly at the term. "As far as I know, Thorn didn't have any other daughters, so I'd assume it's her."

"Wait," Slate answered, putting two-and-two together. "An uncle is a mother's sib, and a daughter of an uncle is . . ."

"A cousin," Midnight clarified. "Yeah. That would make Queen Sunny my cousin. What a strange coincidence." Her eyes narrowed, slightly suspicious.

"Sure, but you're half-NightWing, right?" Slate started to reason, not caring that Midnight was related to royalty. "And that has to come from your mother, since Torrent is a SeaWing. Which means that your mother's sib is also a NightWing, unless he's a half sib. And since he's Queen Sunny's father, and Queen Thorn, who was a SandWing, was her mother, that means that Queen Sunny is a hybrid. A SandWing-NightWing hybrid." His eyes opened wide. "Do you realize what this means?" Ideas started to run through his head. A hybrid queen of the SandWings? She could put reforms in place. Prevent dragons from treating hybrids like scum. She could change everything.

"Yes," Midnight sighed, "but you can't tell anyone, alright? There would be a lot of unhappy SandWings if word got out."

Slate felt crushed for a moment, but his hopes quickly rose back up again. Sure, she had to be secretly a hybrid, but she could still do things without being suspected, right? Once this was over and he got back to the Mud Kingdom, he had to tell his mother. She'd be thrilled.

"Anyways, that's beside the point, at least for now," Midnight continued. "I found it pretty suspicious that the drought started at the same time Queen Thorn died." She turned towards her father, a slight hint of fear in her voice. "But there's a rumor going around about how they died. They weren't just killed. They were turned to stone."

Torrent shook his head, his paws shaking. "No," he muttered, "that can't be true. It's been seven years. She has to be gone."

"It's just rumors," Midnight responded.

Torrent was still for a moment, and Slate was unsure what was going on. Then suddenly, Torrent let a deafening roar, shaking the house. He slammed the end of his tail against the stone walls of the house, causing pieces of rubble to fall from the hole in the ceiling. Slate jumped back in surprise.

"I'LL KILL HER!" Torrent roared. "IF SHE'S BACK, I'LL KILL HER!"

Midnight looked down to the floor as Torrent continued to seethe. Eventually, his breath started to calm.

"Who?" Slate meekly asked.

"An IceWing," Midnight explained, "her name is Crystal. She has an enchanted item—"

"My enchanted item," Torrent interrupted with a growl.

"—that she stole from Torrent, which can turn dragons to stone. She used it to kill my mother and sibs." Midnight decided to leave out Crystal's previous relationship to Torrent.

"Oh," Slate responded, realizing that this might be a sensitive subject, "I'm sorry." He was still trying to piece together how everyone was involved in this. Slate still didn't know what his or his father's place in this whole thing was.

"You don't need to apologize to me," Midnight responded. "I don't remember it." Still, she looked slightly grim over the matter. She turned back to Torrent. "Does he know yet? Why you brought him here?"

Torrent shook his head. "No. I told him who his father was when we met, that's all. His aunt is pretty famous where he lives."

Midnight sighed. "Sorry about my father," she explained to Slate, "he's not very good with communicating. Or caring how his actions affect others."

"That's alright," Slate replied, curious to hear what Midnight had to say.

"There's a prophecy," Midnight stated.

"A prophecy?" Slate exclaimed. "Like, a real one? I thought that the NightWings lost their powers."

"It wasn't from a NightWing," Torrent muttered, "well, sort of not really. I'm not sure."

"An eccentric IceWing named Fracture gave it to my parents," Midnight continued, "and he claimed that my mother was the one who told him it, but she didn't remember ever doing that."

"Couldn't he have just made it up?" Slate asked.

"It's possible," Torrent replied. "I don't trust him, nor any of the Talons. He's Crystal's brother-in-law, and disappeared after . . ." He started to choke up slightly, unable to say what he was intending.

"After she killed my mother and sibs," Midnight continued. "But he'd correctly predicted the future before for my parents, so we don't think he's lying."

"What does this prophecy say?" Slate asked.

"I was getting to that," Midnight sighed, "there's a line in it that Torrent thinks references you. He thinks you're like, some sort of Dragonet of Destiny."

"Except this prophecy is probably real," Torrent interjected.

Slate snorted. Him, in a prophecy? He didn't feel very special or prophetic. If he had any magical prophecy powers, he would've definitely used them on his aunts and uncles by now. Well maybe not, but he might have threatened them a little. Still, the prospect was exciting.

"So, there's a prophecy that says I'm going to break this super-intense animus curse," Slate said. "How do you know it's me? Does it say 'Slate is going to end the drought' or something?"

"Well," Torrent explained, "One of the lines in the prophecy contains the phrase 'Join the tablet forgotten,' so you seem to fit the bill."

Slate winced. That sounded like a pretty poor reason to bring him all the way out here. "That's all?" he asked.

Torrent snorted. "It's the best I've got."

Slate groaned, and shook his head. "No. You have the wrong dragon. I was named after slate, which is a type of rock. Not sure what a tablet forgotten means."

"A slate is also a slab used for writing, sort of like a hard scroll," Torrent pointed out. "It's a writing tablet."

Slate frowned cynically. "I can't even read. Wouldn't a MudWing named 'Tablet' be better?"

Midnight rolled her eyes. "That's what I said," she chirped.

"It's because you're Schist's dragonet too," Torrent continued. "Him and I used to travel together. And Fracture gave the prophecy to me for a reason. I'm pretty sure he knew I knew your father and thought I could find you when the time came."

"That's a stretch," Slate grumbled.

"I'm pretty sure Midnight is part of the prophecy too," Torrent said, ignoring Slate. "She's 'the deepest black,' since Midnight is pretty dark and you're 'the tablet forgotten.' The other three Dragonets of Destiny are 'the eternal flames,' 'the fumes untamed,' and 'the frozen claws.' I already found a SkyWing at Jade Mountain Academy named 'Flame,' so we can check that off. I figure the other two are going to be a NightWing named 'Fume' and an IceWing named 'Claw.'"

Torrent's getting way too carried away with this, Slate thought. "Alright, so even if I accept I'm part of this prophecy with Midnight, Flame, Fume, and Claw, what are we supposed to do? Decide who the next SandWing queen is to restore the balance of Pyrrhia, thus ending the drought and the war? If so, I vote for Sunny."

Midnight spoke the relevant lines of the prophecy. "'The land that is all but lost, will be the refuge of the dark. Across the bridge of light and frost, must the waters of life be sparked.'"

Her voice sounded creepy when she said it, almost like a dark slithering sound was crawling within her throat. Just hearing it made Slate's scales shiver.

"Fine, but what is that supposed to mean?" Slate asked.

"You need to find the land that is all but lost, cross a bridge, then spark the waters of life," Torrent replied, making it sound simple.

"Yes," Slate groaned. "But what does it mean?"

Neither Torrent nor Midnight could answer a response to that. It was clear that they had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Slate sighed. He glanced towards the door. It was starting to get dark. "Fine. I get it. Neither of you know what the prophecy means. Look, can I just have some time to think?"

Torrent and Midnight glanced towards each other, then nodded in unison. Slate rolled his eyes, and started out the door of the house. He was a MudWing, and apparently not even the only hybrid here. Even if someone noticed his strangely colored horns, it didn't sound like they'd pay him much attention.

Slate started walking down the roads of the city, with no aim in particular. He thought back to the piece of the prophecy that Midnight had shared. The land that is all but lost… that could be a reference to the Lost Continent? Is it across a bridge? he wondered. The waters of life could literally just mean bringing water back to Pyrrhia. He was trying to stop a drought, after all.

Slate had heard a little bit about the Lost Continent before, but had always dismissed it as legend. A fantastical land of magic, where unicorns and gryphons walked alongside bugs the size of dragons. Where scavengers could read and talk, and the springs gave eternal life. All nonsense of course, but Fawn would sometimes tell Slate tales before he fell asleep at night. In particular, those about the Hybrid Knight. There might have been some truth to the legends; it wasn't impossible to imagine that there was another continent beyond the sea. Yet, if there was one, it was far enough away that no dragon had reached it and come back in millennia.

Still, Slate wasn't quite sure he was cut out to be a prophecy dragon. He wasn't particularly brave, was he? And saving Pyrrhia from a drought — his ideas had more been along the line of leading the revolution against Queen Moorhen alongside Glen. But he could always do that after this drought thing was over with. MudWings rarely cared about their dragonets, much less about their sibs' dragonets, but if Schist had travelled with Torrent, a SeaWing, maybe he would be an exception. If he and Glen were still alive as the rumors claimed, Slate could find him and ask to join their revolution. If Slate was a Dragonet of Destiny and saved the world from the drought, he had to accept, correct? And additionally, Midnight was related to Queen Sunny, a hybrid queen. That meant Slate had connections. Things were looking pretty good for him right now. He just had to figure out what this moon-cursed prophecy meant, and fulfill it.

The voices of two dragons suddenly caught his attention. Two SandWings were standing on the street, casually conversing with each other. Slate overheard a snippet of their conversation.

"I liked her, personally," one of the SandWings said, a young dragon, a few years older than Slate. He had a thin golden chain around his neck with a small locket hanging from it. "Even if she wasn't part of the royal family, she wasn't awful."

"Doesn't matter of Thorn was awful or not," the other dragon growled. Slate noticed that she had a small black tattoo on the side of her neck, but it looked smudged out, as if she'd tried to have it removed. "I don't care what some stupid gem says, I don't trust animus magic one bit. She had no right to be queen. Onyx did, and Aloe does too. Plus, if she's Blister's daughter like she claims, that means she's smart. We could use a smart queen."

"Blister was quite a bit more than smart," the first SandWing smirked. "But I'm not happy about this Aloe. She's probably lying. Lots of dragons want to be royal, but aren't, and Blister didn't seem like the type to have dragonets with anyone. I don't know much about this Sunny, but the word on the street is she's one of the Dragonets of Destiny. Helped stop the war, and now Aloe comes in with her army, all fired up and ready to start a new one. I was hoping for at least a few decades of peace here. I don't like it one bit."

"You don't have to," the second SandWing snorted. "But Sunny has no right to be queen, 'Destiny' or not. And we'll find out about Aloe pretty soon. You saw the posters. She's travelling through here in two days." She suddenly turned to glare at Slate, making his scales shake. He realized he'd been lingering around the two too long. She flipped her tail in the air, waving her barb threateningly. "Do you have something to say?" she hissed, taking a step towards him.

Slate shook his head rapidly. "No, no, sorry!" he exclaimed with a gulp.

She took another step forward, flicking her tail back and forth and baring her teeth. "What's a MudWing doing around this part of town anyways? Y'all have your own neighborhoods. Stay in them."

The first SandWing sighed, and stepped between his friend and Slate. "Leave him alone. He's barely more than a dragonet." He glanced over toward Slate. "Scram," he ordered.

Slate quickly nodded, and got out of the area as fast as he could, rushing back toward Gazelle and Midnight's house. It was getting dark, and the moons were now bright in the sky. As he entered down the small street where the two lived, a small scrollpaper hanging on a house caught his eye. He ripped it down. He couldn't read what it said on it, but he saw a sketch of a dragon. A bejewelled crown rested between her horns, and a small pendant hung from her neck.

A SandWing with black diamonds on her scales.