AN: This story takes place after the events of book 10. It ignores the 3rd arc of Wings of Fire. If you are captivated by this first chapter, feel free to stick around. I plan on this being just the beginning :)

- BadFutures

Chapter 1

"Midnight, wake up."

"Hmph?" The young Nightwing mumbled. "What time is it?"

"The same time as always, son." his father remarked with a small eye roll. He prodded his son's shoulder and continued to get more mumbles and groans in response. He looked down at the Nightwing, pausing in thought. Midnight moved his wings to cover his face, giving a defiant huff as he shifted deeper into his bed. "If you don't get up, I am going to eat your freshly roasted lizard and feel no amount of regret," his father said with a smirk on his face.

Midnight's eyes shot open. He sat upright on his bed of animal furs and blurrily looked around the room. It was early in the morning, a soft light entered through his small window. The sun had not risen yet, and he could feel it in his grogginess and stiffness.

"Never fails..." his father mused to himself as he left the room.

Midnight decided he might as well try to stretch the cold night away. He spread his wings out and arched his back, shaking from the effort. He glanced left and right, looking at his black wings. He was dark, even for a Nightwing. He had only seen one other dragon of his tribe in the town. Most were in the Rainforest kingdom now.

He would never forget when he heard the news of the new development. He was so young at the time, but hearing of his tribe's new location made the feeling of unity just slightly more tangible. He remembered the sadness he felt when he heard of their dire state.

Thinking back on a special day in his life, he remembered his first time seeing another Nightwing. She had been a trader from the rainforest, selling fruits and other exotic items. He had tried to talk to her, but her popularity with the Skywings had made it so that there was no open moment he could approach. He hated crowds, and with so many customers waiting in line, the idea of him trying to bumble out his millions of questions about her life and their tribe with all of them breathing down his neck made him hesitate. Then she was gone. It was one of his biggest regrets.

Her scales had been lighter than his— a muted deep purple around the tips of her claws and wings, fading into a deeper ebony black. Inferred from his observations, Midnight assumed that he was just dark. At least his adopted father had chosen a fitting name.

Midnight's father was a Skywing. His older age and being a cripple limited his abilities. He owned a blacksmith shop in their mountainside town. Their small home was positioned above the majority of the buildings. The town they lived in, Clementine, was nestled away in a southern portion of the Skywing kingdom. It was a trading hub, a place intersecting the commonly traveled routes between the Mud Kingdom, Sand Kingdom, Rainforest Kingdom, and the Sky Kingdom. It was a long way north of Jade mountain, sitting in the center of the continent.

Midnight got up and crossed the room to retrieve his bag. Inside it was some pieces of parchment, a small knife for general use, and a few dates. He grabbed the worn-down leather satchel and raised it over his head and tucked-in wing so it sat neatly under his right side.

He exited the room to see the small home's main room. In the center, there was a wooden table that was rough at the edges and worn down from years of use. His gaze passed over to the left side of the room from where he stood. There, a counter and a stove sat. The stove let out a comfortable amount of heat, wood smoldering inside. Directly in front of him past the table was a window and the heavy wood front door. His father's room was on the right wall of the house.

It was a small place, but it was conveniently made out of dried mud and clay. It was rough, but it kept the water and wind out. Their home was humble but had an undeniable coziness that Midnight loved.

He shuffled up to sit at the table where the roasted lizard lay, still steaming from its recent cooking.

"Good morning," he said with a smile. His father nodded in response and decided to sit down at the table opposite of where Midnight was. Midnight walked forward and joined him.

Sitting down, he looked at the lizard in front of him. It wasn't a lavish meal, but it was filling and was what he needed— never did feel right in the morning until he ate. He began to eat as he observed his father sitting on the opposite end of the table, the front door to his back. He was reading a scroll, one that they signed up to receive bi-weekly to receive the current information on the happenings of the Sky Kingdom.

"What's going on this time around?" he inquired as he ate.

"Well..." his father started. "There have been more peace meetings between the Nightwings and Icewings ever since the battle of Jade mountain..." Midnight listened in interest.

Apparently, after an ensuing and chaotic arrival of some old animus, the Nightwings had split away from Queen Glory of the Rainwings. The scroll didn't have all the details, but apparently, the powerful dragon had sent a plague to the Icewings. The ensuing tension had led to a battle above the mountain, and from then on nobody really knew what had happened. According to some witnesses stated in the news scroll, the battle had "abruptly stopped," and now somehow nobody was still thirsty for blood. He was sure there were still grudges, but the whole situation was really beyond him.

This made Midnight frown down at the lizard. He felt a common thought he had hated developing, but there was really nothing he could do. He was a Nightwing that wasn't a Nightwing. He wanted to interact with the tribe he felt was his true home, yet he was here. Why was he here? Why was his egg found alone that night? It made no sense.

Midnight decided to stop eating to distract himself and walked around the table to the front door. He opened the door and retrieved a bucket that was placed right outside. Cold air rushed in, sending a chill down his spine. The water was cold and fresh. He placed it on the counter and cupped some in his talons to drink, splashing some on his face to help clear the grogginess and sadness from his mind. It worked. He shuffled back over to the table and sat down, glad he got the morning off to a nice start. Morning after morning— regardless of how good the breakfast was or how kind his Skywing father was— something entered his mind, letting him down before he had a chance to hit the ground running.

He blocked it out... like he always did. Midnight decided to resort to his usual method— observation. Looking up from his plate and out the window over his father's shoulder, he saw the mountainsides surrounding the small town. It felt more like a blurry image because he was looking through the fog of low-hanging clouds. The elevation was high, and he could feel the never-ending cold of the winter weather gripping the small house like a pebble. He changed his view to the stove. Oak logs smoldered brilliant golden oranges as it radiated comforting heat. Without it, he would probably be shivering right now.

Looking back toward his father, Finch, he watched as the older dragon's eyes darted along the scroll. Wrinkles now decorated the corners of his eyes, showing just how old the dragon had become. Finch was a good dragon. He contradicted the common Skywing stereotype of a strong personality and temper. He was a calm dragon who had given his heart to a foreign egg. Maybe it was because of his older age and wisdom, or maybe it was because of his missing front left talon.

Finch was a casualty of war. Very early during the War of Sandwing succession, Finch was in a battle against an Icewing battalion. One of the first of many conflicts to come. The mixing of frostbreath and lack of medical personnel had its repercussions.

Years ago, during Finch's quiet life as a cripple in the town of Clementine, his father had stopped receiving his orders of metal for his metal shop and had gone to go investigate. It had been a late night and his father was tracing the path that the couriers normally flew back towards the city. He eventually found the two dragons that normally delivered his order. They had been attacked and their caravan ransacked. The dragons had both been killed.

It was a morbid story. But Finch couldn't have done much. The dragons he was receiving this load of materials from were smugglers with relations to the area north of the Sand Kingdom. Inside their caravan, he found small amounts of metal scrap left. However, there was a heavier chest within their net that was too heavy for one dragon to move alone. Normally the pair of smugglers would carry the net between them, meaning that whoever attacked and robbed the dragons had been alone, therefore they could not carry the chest.

It had a lock on it. However, Finch was a metal worker, and after some careful prying and leverage, he managed to bust the lock open to see if the contents held his order. Instead, to his surprise, was an unhatched egg.

Finch had brought it back to the house Midnight was in now. Originally, Finch did not know what to do. He almost thought of giving the egg up to an orphanage, but one thing stopped him— it was not a Skywing egg. Its deep purple color would obviously cause questioning.

After purchasing a simple parenthood biology scroll, he did his best to take care of the egg. After much consideration of the futures that this discovery would ensue, Finch made a life-committed decision. Seeing the dire situation of the odd egg in a locked chest, with nothing but the cold night and the corpses of the only dragons who knew its purpose, Finch had taken sympathy for the unhatched dragonet.

The scroll had described the different types of eggs from the different tribes, and none matched the description. Finch had ended up assuming it was a Nightwing egg, not only because of the color, but because the scroll had no information on them, and it didn't match any other descriptions.

Midnight knew he was lucky. The circumstances of his existence were immense, and it really made him ponder the forces behind life. So much different could have happened— any individual's decision to take a course of action differently— would have landed him aimlessly or even in death. He could not have existed. The thought made him shudder. This is why— even past the isolation and uniqueness of his scenario— he always appreciated what he had. As he said, he was lucky.

Midnight decided to continue eating, not wanting the lizard to become cold. He was just about finished with his breakfast when he felt the creeping sensation of an upcoming... episode. He didn't know what to call them and neither did Finch.

Nerveless he felt a familiar and dreadful pounding sensation creeping up his spine. He froze and closed his eyes, anxiety filling his head like a poison. A splitting headache stabbed into his head as he clutched the edge of the table attempting to keep himself grounded. Consciousness began to feel distant as he clutched onto the table as if it was the only tether avoiding a plummet into an indescribable abyss awaiting him.

This time he felt emotions of focus and curiosity in vivid waves. Colors danced in his vision even though his eyes were closed. The emotions violently changed as feelings of shock and embarrassment took over with bright flashes— he winced from the intensity.

It faded much quicker than it came. He felt himself in his seat. The unfinished lizard on its plate. He opened his eyes and looked up to meet the eyes of his father.

"Are you okay Midnight?" he asked with a level of concern. Midnight broke eye contact, looking down at his plate.

"I'm okay," he replied, though his hands had begun to tremble. He fought internally to regain his composure.

"Did one of those episodes happen again?" his father asked as he placed the scroll down on the table. He got up and frowned down at Midnight, but it was a frown of concern and worry. "I can tell when it happens, although it's brief. You stop what your doing and close your eyes with that face... you look like you were in pain," he continued sympathetically.

"I'm okay," he repeated more confidently. His claws had stopped shaking and a silence filled the room. The crackling of the stove and the warmth it provided was enough to make the silence less intense.

"Your face looks like it hurt," his father said again, reaching out and placing one of his old talons on Midnight's. "Do they hurt?"

"Sometimes..." he said quietly. "This one was the same as the other times... just a bad headache and confusing feelings... I'm okay." His father listened with the same small, worried frown. His father had that look on his face more often these days.

Maybe Finch felt it was his fault. He didn't know how to raise a Nightwing. He had tried his best, but sometimes he knew his father blamed himself for Midnight's grievances. The headaches, the loneliness, the isolation, feeling like he is out of place. It made him wish he could have done more.

Midnight had regained control of his talons and smiled at his father. "I'm okay," he repeated with a stronger confidence. "Don't worry... okay?" He held his smile as he continued to eat. He was just about finished.

He continued his positive composure even though it didn't reflect his feelings of anxiety. He wanted his father to worry less because he deserved it. The least he could do was show that everything was alright. It was working— Finch had stopped his small frown and was now getting up to move toward his room.

"Hey, Midnight— " his father started. "I know today is a big deal... it's your first day attending the Skywing class because you are now of age— ah I cannot believe you are already seven..." the Skywing presented something he had retrieved from his room. "I wanted you to have this... maybe you could visit the plaza after your first class today and buy yourself something."

The object in question was a small bag of silver coins. Midnight widened his eyes at the gesture. Sure, his father's business as a blacksmith was a good one, but in a time of no war, armor and weapons were on lower popularity than he would have hoped. They had been Finch's specialty. Their main source of income now was selling tools and other miscellaneous personal orders from their customers. They also had a royal contract with the military— nothing major— but still a contract to make a specific amount of armor every two weeks.

"I— I don't know if I can— " Midnight stuttered, "It really isn't a big deal," he finished weakly as he looked down at his talons.

"No, no— I insist," Finch pressed dropping the bag into Midnight's talon. "I've been educating you properly in preparation for this and it is a huge starting point— even if you don't realize it yet." Finch was smiling now and placed a talon on Midnight's shoulder

"Thank you," he replied getting up from his seat. He double-checked his bag to make sure the parchment and other materials were there, his eyes landing on the carefully crafted knife that Finch had made him for his seventh hatching day. It was ornate— consisting of carefully worked designs and patterns on the bolster. It was sheathed in a handmade leather sheath, stained dark to match his scales. It was a small knife— mostly for cutting apples or something— but it was amazing.

Overwhelmed with the emotions from the morning, Midnight suddenly reached forward and wrapped his father in a hug. The dragon was taller than him, so he had to reach up to reach his shoulders, but it didn't matter.

"T—Thank you," he stammered, his eyes fighting their hardest to not let a tear escape.

"Of course," Finch replied, returning the hug with confidence. "Now go! Before you are late," he said, letting go of the hug. "I want this day to start off right!"

Midnight smiled, the squint of doing so allowing a single tear to escape the corner of his eye. His father had changed the morning around.

"Alright, I'll go now," he said turning towards the door, the smile still on his face.

The cold air hit him hard, wrapping itself around him. He fought against a shiver as he started to make his way down the path toward the more crowded area of town. Their house was slightly isolated— which had its benefits. Having an adopted Nightwing as a son was not easy— especially during a war and with such an oppressive Queen. Midnight had been a secret for a long time. Luckily, his youngness and naiveté during this time kept him content. When the war finally ended and Queen Ruby now on the throne, borders loosened, and with Clementine being such a traveled through town, the sighting of other tribes was very normal. Many of the markets in the plaza were actually run by other tribes than Skywings— mainly because they were traveling merchants. Dragons were always popping in and out of town this way.

Midnight had made his way into the concentrated buildings. The smell of wood smoke and distant food attracted his attention. The business of these streets was such a contrast to the quiet stone of the mountains towering above the nestled town. He made his way through the winding cobbled streets, occasionally glancing up at the red-tiled roofing of the stone buildings. The sky was overcast today, muting many of the colors with the bland gray stone. The red tiles of the roofs and the vibrant scales of the dragons being the main attraction. He watched as Skywings bustled about, nobody particularly in much of a rush. The day was still young, and the town had yet to "thaw" out from the frigid night.

With the positivity upon his departure from home wearing down, anxiety started to creep back into his mind. He was going to be trapped in a room with other dragons his age— and worst of all— he couldn't leave by choice. It sounded like he was going to be trapped. Crowds were just not his thing, and not being able to avoid them by choice really did not settle well.

He continued walking nervously. He knew the route to the school but... a few extra turns wouldn't hurt, right? To disrupt the nervousness that was beginning to take over, he decided to take in his surroundings.

He saw a fiery orange dragoness exit the base of her house. She appeared to be deep in thought as she turned down the street and started to walk confidently. Wherever she was going, it must have been routine, Midnight observed. She was moving automatically until she eventually turned down a different street Midnight didn't need to enter.

A group of voices caught his attention and he turned to see a duo of Mudwings talking. As he walked past the duo on the side of the street, he caught a fragment of their conversation.

"—because I haven't had a mud bath in two weeks," a gruff voice said.

"Well, you could always heat up some water and use it for your soreness, you hippo," a lighter and more energetic voice replied. "Why do you always complain but never do anything about anything?" the voice continued.

"Well, maybe I would be more contempt if you weren't such a sarcastic pain in my tail!" the gruff and evidently older dragon replied. "It'll be refreshing to have you out of the house for once. We just only moved here and I am still getting used to it ok? So now and go g—" the voice abruptly stopped.

Curious as to why— Midnight turned and looked back behind him to see both Mudwings directly staring at him. Midnight flinched and quickly hurried his pace, rounding the next corner as swiftly as possible.

His usual mood returned to him. Nervousness filled his mind as he thought to himself. That was right... he was a Nightwing. An outlier. His dark shape always made every dragon he walked past do a double take. Even though he had gone into town many times by this point, the... uniqueness of his dark scales always drew attention. Unwanted attention. Midnight sighed as he continued his pace.

"Let's just get this over with," he muttered to himself.

He finally arrived at his destination. It was a stone building surrounded by an open courtyard. It was double-storied and had the usual red-tiled roof that slanted upward into a steep four-faced point. The front of the building had exterior columns that towered upwards, meeting the roof overhead. It was a simple stone structure, but the columns added a sense of regality that a building of importance needed. He just hoped the room he ended up in had windows. He gazed up at the gray overcast sky, watching the clouds slowly swirl by at a leisurely pace. Oh, how nice it would be to just fly off into the sky, dancing through the clouds, and not having to interact with any strangers for the entire day. If only it wasn't so cold.

Midnight watched as dragons landed in the courtyard, some alone, and some with their parents. He would have flown there, but the cold and absolute lack of urgency had made him walk. He took a deep breath, and with great deliberation and internal conflict, began walking towards the school's entrance.

"It's going fine... one step at a time... keep going," he muttered to himself. He got this. He just had to find his classroom and sit in a corner and... learn things. He got this! He was weaving through the groups of dragonets and families saying farewell when he suddenly froze.

"No no no I am SO close!" he internally begged. But it was too late. He felt the pounding up his spine, pacing its way up like a hammer shaking his soul. Panic filled him as his talons went tingly from the fear. He closed his eyes. The splintering headache hit, and he felt... laughter? Feelings of warmness and the urge to laugh filled him. He felt a smile spread across his face at the sensation. He stayed like that for a moment. The pain was gone and he opened his eyes, the smile still on his muzzle.

"Hey— you okay?" a voice said behind him. Midnight spun around and went face-to-face with the younger Mudwing from earlier. It was the same dragon that had been arguing about the older dragon about his mud bath. His head was turned to the side as he cautiously eyed the Nightwing. "I was walking behind you and you just stopped— like— for no reason."

Midnight was shocked. He felt waves of embarrassment flood through him and a blush filled his face. He quickly broke eye contact and looked down at his talons.

"Sorry..." he muttered.

A brief moment passed as the two very awkwardly exchanged glances. It was unbearable— so Midnight made an attempt to alleviate the situation.

"Just so many... uh... dragons, you know?" he tried.

The Mudwing gave a small frown. However, it wasn't one of negativity. He had a twinkle in his eye, and it took Midnight a second to realize it looked like he was trying not to laugh. Midnight gave a quick awkward smile and shrugged. "haha...ha..." he chuckled deliberately. The Mudwing's frown deepened and looked like he was about to explode.

"Pffffft," the dragon exhaled. "You are so goofy," he laughed. "My name is Truffle."

He had light brown underscales complemented by darker mud-colored scales covering most of his body. His horns were short and curved downwards by his ears and were an off-black brown color. His face was unusually stubby, even for a Mudwing. Maybe this was because he was young still? Midnight didn't know.

"—like the food?" Midnight blurted.

"Uh... what?" Truffle responded, looking him up and down.

"Well I have heard of truffles before, but they are usually mentioned in recipes?" Midnight said, starting to feel embarrassed again.

Truffle looked deep in thought. "I've... never thought of it that way before," he said as the arm of his wing reached around and started tapping the bottom of his chin. He definitely was thinking about it.

He frowned more genuinely this time. "Guess my sibs think of me as a food," he said. "I always thought of the plant," he continued.

Midnight almost said that a truffle isn't a plant— it's a little ball of edible fungus— but he stopped himself.

"Don't worry—" he started. "I uh— I think your name is cool."

Wow, he sucked at this. Maybe such a secretive upbringing really had ruined his socialization skills. Plus anxiety attacks from large crowds really didn't help.

"Oh—" Truffle replied, "Thank you... um... what's your name?"

"Midnight," Midnight said. "My name is Midnight."

"Well, it fits," Truffle said, smiling. When he smiled it made his eyes squint so much that it looked like he was almost closing them. Sheesh, his observation habit had made him realize even the minute details, he thought to himself.

"Thanks," he said stretching his wings out to look at them. They were dark— black to be precise— but they had a shine to them. He always mentally compared his scales to cut obsidian.

"Well, we should get going," Truffle observed. The dragonets around them had started to advance into the school. Huh... "we", Midnight thought.

"Yeah, okay," he replied.

They made their way inside. The interior appeared quite small, and this was because the front lobby was not that big. Most of the building's size had been reserved for the classrooms. Midnight looked around and noticed that the ceiling extended to the second story. Skylights were letting in natural light to keep away the gloom, however, it didn't do much due to the overcast sky. The gray light filtered in shining down upon a curved desk where a most ancient-looking Skywing sat. Her scales were a deep red, resembling red clay.

She wore bifocals so thick that they could have passed as magnifying glasses.

Atop her desk lay a nameplate labeled "administrator." She was writing in a scroll.

Midnight reached into his bag under his right wing and retrieved one of the pieces of parchment. On it was a list of information about the school's preparation and expectations as long as the classroom number he would be in. Room 3, it read. Midnight turn and flinched in surprise to see that Truffle was looking over his shoulder, inches from his face.

"Looks like we are in the same room," the Mudwing exclaimed excitedly as he bounded off.

"Oh... okay," Midnight replied, not knowing how to take that information. He had just met this dragon, and their personality seemed friendly and outgoing, most definitely the opposite of how Midnight felt right now.

He was just... nervous.

"Well, let's go then!" Truffle chirped looking back at him.

Now he led the way as Midnight followed him up a steep stairwell and down a rather empty stone hallway. Truffle made a sudden right, and much to Midnight's relief, they had entered a room with a wall full of windows on the far side. Simple desks filled the room, and Midnight swiftly made his way to the farthest corner from where they had entered at the front of the classroom. He seated himself at the corner desk right next to the window. He heard a shuffling sound to his left and turned from the window to see the Mudwing sit diagonally in front of him.

'You know," Truffle said in his boisterous voice, "I just moved up here with a friend in hopes to get in on the trading market— he is older than me and has a vending stall in the plaza." Truffle was glancing around the room as he spoke, his voice sounding excited and energetic.

"You're right, Midnight, there are so many dragons— and it's awesome!"

Midnight remained silent and just fiddled with his claws on the desk.

Yeah... so many... he thought.

For now, he would just focus on breathing and looking normal in the corner.

Many young dragons now filled the room. Many were Skywings with a few Mudwings were also present. Midnight assumed that they fit in more casually due to the alliance they initially shared during the war. He glanced to his left and noticed a group of four Sandwings grouped in the far left corner, also sitting farthest from the front, like him. They were all female and were casually conversing among themselves.

Midnight directed his attention back to the front of the room when their Skywing instructor entered. He was a slender dragon and had large, pointed white horns. He was the largest dragon in the room being he was the oldest.

"Today we... will be introducing the complete history of the Skywing succession... and the legalities of the royal court," he said once he was settled.

It was maybe the most monotonous, slow, and boring voice Midnight had ever heard. There was not a single amount of emotion in the way this dragon spoke. Midnight internally facepalmed. This was going to be a long day.

Looking out the window had been his only savior. Between the anxiety and the drilling monotone of "this queen killed her then died because of this and then this dragon was on trial for treason by the way this was 1468 years ago" WHY DID HE HAVE TO KNOW THIS?

He was going crazy. This was it, the end. After all the things he'd endured, the hours of this class were going to be his demise.

He took his eyes off the bright red cherry tree he had been studying outside and glanced down at his notes. It was a rough timeline of royals' names, a date, and their relevance. He hoped that was enough. He decided to look at Truffle to see how he was holding up. The Mudwing was face down on his desk completely asleep. The sight was rather hilarious and completely accurate to how he felt. Midnight quietly laughed to himself, smiling.

He suddenly had a feeling of being watched and turned his head to the left to see one of the Sandwings gazing at him. The other three were gazing at Truffle, snickering. The Sandwing had pale yellow scales and completely black eyes. She was smirking at Midnight.

He felt completely unsettled at the sight. Most dragons stopped staring once you made eye contact, but she just didn't stop. He decided to face forward and focus on the instructor's lecture. He was talking about some royal prince.

After some time passed, he heard a chortle from his left. Looking over at the Sandwings he now saw that all four were staring directly at him. His eyes went wide— much to their entertainment— and he turned back to face straight forward, his breathing picking up. Anxiety filled his thoughts and he suddenly felt the strong need to get some air.

Uh oh...

He was sitting at the farthest corner of the room from the door. He had picked this spot for its distance and now he found himself in a situation where he would have to cross the entire room— in front of every dragon— just to make it out.

Twiddling his claws relentlessly, he attempted to tune back into the lecture with no effect. So he did the next best thing— he put all his concentration into looking out the window.

Since he was looking out of the second story, he had an elevated view. He saw the red cherry tree in the middle of the cleared space around the school. It was neatly placed in a planter box and looked to be taken care of. Dragons bustled busily on the streets outside of the school's perimeter, weaving past each other and through the spaces between the buildings. Most were Skywings with a mix of Mudwings. Sprinkled in here and there were Sandwings.

He glanced up at the mountainside towering over the far side of the town. The sky had begun to clear and rays of the sun shone down on the scene creating patches of shadows on the hills. The mountains had snow at the top creating a majestic view that relaxed Midnight. He could only imagine the sound of the wind up there. Fresh, cold hair rushed by as he looked down on the world. It was amazing.

Time droned on at the slowest pace he could have ever imagined. Dark clouds had begun to gather on the horizon as he heard a collective noise throughout the class that brought him out of his daydream. Everyone was getting up and leaving.

Oh my goodness he had actually made it.

He eventually made his way out of the class with Truffle following suit.

"Hey how long was I out?" he said with a yawn, drearily rubbing an eye.

"Uh... I would say over half the time," Midnight responded. Truffle's eyes went wide.

"Oh..." he said, "...yikes."

They continued down to the open area in front of the school. Midnight suddenly felt the weight of his bag under his wing, remembering the coins his father had given him. He felt a small amount of elation and a small smile escaped his lips.

"Well, it was nice meeting you!" suddenly exclaimed Truffle a little too loudly for Midnight's liking. "You're a strange guy. Have a good day!" and he just left. Just like that.

And I'm the strange one? Midnight thought.

He just kind of stood there, suddenly feeling very out of place. He let out a sigh and a slight head shake and started making his way to the plaza. It was very relieving to be outside again. He looked up at the sky as he walked and closed his eyes. He just wished he was in his bed again. The soft animal furs and the distant crackle of the stove and its warmth sounded so lovely. He wanted so badly to go home, but he wanted to complete his father's wishes. Maybe he could stop by the metal shop and say hi. Sometimes he would work the bellows on the forge to give his father a break. He worked so hard to keep the operation going, and it was the least he could do.

Why he was still walking with his eyes closed, he did not know— because next thing he knew— he walked directly into a dragon.

"Ahhh!" he yelped flinching back.

He regained himself and started to try and make sense of the situation. The dragon he had walked into was a Sandwing, she had pale scales all over and a rather large tail barb tucked safely into a spiral. He fell back and tried to make sense of what just happened.

"I'm sorry I wasn't— oof," a closed fist came flying into the side of his neck.

Midnight crumpled to the ground, suddenly finding himself face-to-face with a lot of cobblestones. Pain seared through the area he had been stuck. He felt dizzy as he held a talon up to protect himself as he crawled backward.

"Watch where you are going creep," a silky smooth female voice seethed. "I knew from the very moment I saw you in that class that you were trouble."

Realization struck him. He looked up to recognize the Sandwing that had been staring at him in the classroom was now standing over him menacingly. Two of the three Sandwings that had been accompanying her were behind her. All he could see in her eyes was death. She swiftly reached down and grabbed one of Midnight's horns, lifting him to his feet and forcing him to look into her eyes, inches from her face.

"I am from a very particular city from the Sandwing Kingdom," she hissed. "I don't take it... let's say... kindly that you decided to invade my personal space like that. I get that you... may have no etiquette, but dragons from where I'm from don't get awarded for stupid behavior."

She was speaking so vehemently that she was almost spitting on him as she spoke. He struggled against her grasp, not wanting to lash out because he still hoped the situation could deescalate.

"Be seeing you," she said with a grin. And on that note, twisted his head violently to the side, forcing him to twist his body and land on his back to avoid his neck from being snapped.

When he regained his composure, the posse was gone. He slowly climbed to a standing position and let out a hefty sigh. Well, that sucked SO bad— but could he be mad?

He had bumbled right into her.

But why did it HAVE to be her? He doubted that many dragons would have reacted that way...

He didn't know who controlled these things or why that had to happen in these orders— but he just kept on walking— pain pounding on the left side of his neck as he grimaced.

Home was now the only place he wanted to be now.

He finished climbing the hill right when the rain began to fall. A swift storm wind had entered the valley Clementine was in and had brought clouds overhead. The cold air gusted around him as the first droplets landed on his muzzle. He looked up at the sky and watched the much darker clouds swirl. He opened the door to his house.

It was dark— much too dark for his liking— but he was too defeated from the day to care. The fire was out, the wood burned down to ash. His father was probably still down in the shop, working hard to make plates of armor. He sulked into his room as he began to hear a downpour outside. He curled up on his bed, attempting to make himself as small as possible. He wrapped his wings around himself as he curled into a little ball.

He began to cry.

It was so hard to do today. He really wanted to make it happen because it had been a dream of his father to see him succeed.

But Finch wasn't him, he wasn't Midnight.

He wasn't the walking shadow that turned heads. He didn't have to meet the eyes of every stranger as they stared. He didn't have to sit in the corner of a class like a stain— like a hole in a canvas of reds, browns, and yellows.

He thought back to the confident Nightwing he had seen when he was much younger, the one that had been selling the fruits from the rainforest. She seemed confident and spoke swiftly, calling out to those who passed by about the beauties of the flavors in the fruits.

She seemed to have it all figured out. Why was he here? What was his purpose? Why was his egg in a chest of two smugglers? He didn't know. Were his real parents awaiting him? Was he supposed to arrive safely into their possession after his journey across wherever he was from? Did Finch steal him?

No.

His carriers had been dead. If it wasn't for Finch's kindness and consideration— or even his curiosity about the chest— he most likely would be dead. His situation may not be perfect, but he was here. He was here, and that is what mattered. He got to look out the window at the beautiful scenery. He got to see the sky and the reds of the cherry tree because he was here. That was all that mattered.

With his mind swirling with emotions and tears drying on his cheeks, he drifted off into sleep.