A/N: Wouldn't ya know it? Another 6k+ word chapter. Fun, right?

Well, I won't take much time here and I'll let you get to it. Remember to favorite/follow and leave a review if you like the story so far. And, as always, enjoy the next chapter...

Ch. 19: Discoveries

Darkstalker found himself doing something he never thought he'd do. Never in his life; indeed, never in almost any future he'd ever seen had he done it. The very thought of it would have been completely ridiculous only a few short months ago, yet here he was.

He was going to ask advice from his father.

It wasn't that he particularly wanted to, but he had a…problem, of sorts. And considering that Arctic was no longer as awful as he'd used to be, he felt comfortable enough to approach him. Still, there were other dragons that he'd have liked to go to, but his father was the only one who could actually help him. He was the only one with experience which what Darkstalker may or may not be going through.

It was late morning only a couple days after the Glass Jubilee when he finally plucked up the courage to talk with him. The night was nearly over, sunrise on the horizon, and Arctic was in his room, more than likely preparing for sleep, when Darkstalker rapped on his door. They'd exchanged a few pleasantries at dinner, although they still seldom actually talked with each other, and Darkstalker knew that his father wasn't expecting him. In fact, part of him hoped that Arctic was already asleep and so he'd have a good excuse to avoid the conversation.

Then, before he could have another doubt, his father opened the door.

They looked at each other for a moment, Arctic almost as surprised as he was that he was here. Darkstalker couldn't remember the last time that he'd knocked on Arctic's door to talk with him; it may have been never.

"I…" Darkstalker began to say, then hesitated, "Can I come in?" he asked.

Arctic gave a nod, the surprise now gone from his face, replaced by what looked to be concern. Darkstalker could hear his mind questioning what exactly he wanted. In truth, he himself wished he knew the same thing.

The Icewing stepped to the side and allowed him in. Aside from the dining and living rooms, Arctic and Foeslayer's room was the largest in the house. It was also the coldest, both from Arctic's natural temperature and the layout and insulation of the room itself keeping it cool and out of the sun. It also helped that Arctic kept quite a bit of ice in the room; he had a habit of freezing the water from a nearby lake and bringing it back to keep the room nice and cold. In fact, the Icewing's bed was practically just a massive bowl of water that he breathed his frostbreath on each night to freeze solid before sleeping on.

Maybe the room felt so cold because it looked like Arctic had done just that moments ago, unleashing his cold to prepare for his day of slumber. Whether or not it was, Darkstalker tried to ignore the sharp decrease in temperature as he made his way inside and sat down on the large cushion that Foeslayer typically used as her own bed as Arctic closed the door and made his way onto the icy one.

He could feel his father's gaze upon him, as cold as the ice the white dragon sat upon, and he glanced down at his talons. Suddenly he forgot all of what he'd rehearsed in his mind, the questions he wanted and the answers he might get. Darkstalker swallowed, nervous, as his father began to tap his tail impatiently.

"Well…" Arctic finally asked with a restrained growl. Is he just going to sit there? Darkstalker heard his mind ask, and that was enough to jolt words out before he could think them over a second time.

"How did you know when you loved my mother?" His words sounded rushed, jumbled, even to his own ears. He suddenly felt stupid, which was an odd and unpleasant feeling—Darkstalker wasn't used to sounding unconfident.

Arctic apparently thought the same too. "What?" the Icewing asked, eyes narrowing, not quite sure what he meant.

Darkstalker took a breath and started again. "Foeslayer," he said, "How did you know when you were in love with her?"

"Ah," his father said, setting himself back and relaxing somewhat, "Yes…Foeslayer." A longing kind of look entered his eyes, and the Icewing gave a small, rare smile which was actually becoming less rare nowadays. "I'd have thought for sure that you knew the story well enough. I know your mother told you how we met and fell in love plenty of times when you were a young dragonet."

He nodded. "Yes," he told Arctic, "But, all the same, I think I'd like to hear it from you."

His father sighed, shifting on his ice to get comfortable. "I met her almost by chance," Arctic began, "My cousin, Snowfox, and I were dragged down to the southern palace to get some experience in diplomacy with the visiting Nightwings. I had expected them all to be crusty old wryms, so imagine my surprise when one of them happened to be a dragoness my age."

"I can still remember how beautiful I thought her, even at our first meeting. Such rich black scales, so foreign in the Ice Kingdom, and mesmerizing eyes. Then, when we talked, it was as though there was no difference between us. We laughed and joked, and before I knew it all I wanted to do was meet with her again."

"We only had a little less than two weeks together, and I knew by the end of the first one that I didn't want that time to end. But I also knew that no way to do it would be proper. Foeslayer couldn't stay with me, the notion would have been absurd to every other Icewing in the kingdom. Nor could I just travel back with them, becoming an ambassador or serving in any official capacity."

Arctic gave a sigh. "In the end, if I wanted to be with your mother, there was only one option. With the help of Snowfox, I was forced to flee like a thief in the night. The only way to have what I wanted was to give up everything I had." He glanced down at his claws. "And I told you what else I had to do to get it…"

"Yes," Darkstalker said, shifting slightly in discomfort as the story of his father accidently killing members of his own tribe surfaced in his mind. "Do you…do you ever regret it?"

The Icewing was silent for a moment, the only sound the gentle tapping of his tail on his bed of ice. "No," he finally said, "Sometimes I think I do, but then I think of Foeslayer. All that I did…I'd do it again, Darkstalker. The good and the bad alike. I love her. I love her more than anything in this world."

Darkstalker nodded. He'd once doubted that, but seeing what had happened since he'd almost lost her had erased those doubts. Arctic was far from a perfect dragon, but he was not as far gone as he'd once thought. It was a comforting feeling, actually, to see such a change from his father, to know that even though the soul-reader had read him as mostly lost, there was still so much dragon in him.

"You said that you knew after only about a week that you loved her?" Darkstalker asked, getting his mind back to what he'd come here for, "But how did you know? How could you tell you were in love?"

Arctic gave an amused kind of snort. "That's an interesting question," he told him, "Looking back, I know I was, but I don't know if I truly did in the moment. I knew for sure I loved her before I ran away with her, of course, but it's hard to pinpoint exactly when I fell in love. Maybe it was when we met outside the palace in the courtyard and just sat talking under one of the evergreen trees for hours, or maybe when I put my wing over her and she snuggled herself closer against me despite the coldness of my scales. Perhaps it was even the first day, when I enchanted her earring, giving her a piece of my very soul."

"All I know for sure," his father went on, "Is that I knew I was in love when I realized that all I wanted to do was be with her when we were apart, and all I felt was happiness when we were together. When she wasn't there, my thoughts were on her just as much as if she were. She brought a kind of light into me that I'd never known I was missing. She made me laugh, she made me smile…she was unlike any other dragoness I'd known. All I wanted to do was hold her in my wings and never let her go." He smiled a soft smile. "I still do."

Darkstalker swallowed. Everything Arctic had just said sounded very familiar. There was a dragoness that haunted his own mind, making him smile and laugh and look forward to the flights and talks they'd have, no matter how small. A dragoness that more and more was making him feel that "light" Arctic had mentioned. Yes, it was getting difficult to deny she didn't.

"But," Darkstalker had to ask, "She was from a different tribe. You knew that there would be challenges. You knew that a war was possible. How could you be so sure that you were making the right choice?"

Arctic shook his head. "I think I knew because I didn't think of all that stuff. It didn't matter to me about a war—of course, I never actually believed there'd be one—and I didn't care about if she was a Nightwing or a Rainwing or a Seawing. All I could think about was how much I loved her, and how much I wanted to be with her."

"Despite the cost?" Darkstalker asked, "Despite becoming a foreigner and losing your position in your own tribe? All your status and power and a prince…gone?"

His father gave a slow nod. "That is…hard," he admitted, "Of course, I've not lost everything in that regard. Being an animus saw to that. But I've found my place in this kingdom, despite everything. So long as your mother remains here, so will I."

Darkstalker let out a small puff of smoke, thinking about what Arctic had said. He'd been willing to give up a lot for Foeslayer. What surely would have been a comfortable and respectable life in the Ice Kingdom instead became a small house surrounded by dragons that distrusted him. So many challenges that could have been avoided, yet he bore them all for the love of his mother.

Darkstalker wondered if he could do the same for the love of a dragoness.

"Why do you ask?" Arctic questioned, pulling his thoughts away. "As I said, I don't think I've told you anything you didn't already know."

He suddenly found his talons to be very interesting, looking down at them to avoid his father's gaze. "I…I…" he found himself stammering, "I'm not sure I…"

"I think I know," Arctic said with a deep rumble in his chest, "I've seen the same look on your face I'm sure I wore back then. You've found a dragoness, haven't you? It's the only reason I can think you'd come asking this."

Darkstalker's wings slumped. Was he really that obvious? He swished his tail behind him in silent frustration as he kept his gaze down at his claws.

"Yes," he finally admitted after a few moments of quiet, "I think so, at least."

"Clearsight?" Arctic asked, a knowing look on his face as Darkstalker looked back up at him, "She's been here often enough. I can remember hearing you blabbering on to your mother when you were a little dragonet about how wonderful you two would be together. I can't say I'd be surprised if you were smitten with her."

A part of Darkstalker wished that he could answer yes. Actually, part of him did want to. For so many years of his life he was so sure that Clearsight was the one that would hold his heart. Future after future had told him that they were destined to be together, to have a wonderful romance like no other in Pyrrhia. He'd seen so many touching moments of their love—he'd seen the dragonets they'd have—and it felt almost wrong to deny all that. But if he didn't than he'd be denying something else. And he wanted that something else, even if he wasn't completely sure what it was.

He shook his head, and, to his surprise, Arctic looked unsurprised.

"I thought not," the Icewing said, "The Seawing, then. What's her name? Violet?"

Darkstalker's wings drooped even more, and he had to clamp his mouth shut to keep his jaw from falling. Three moons, he really was that obvious if even Arctic could tell. He thought he'd been more than discreet with his interactions with her. How could Arctic of all dragons know?

"Indigo," he corrected his father, "Her name is Indigo. And…I don't know. I think so. Maybe."

Arctic ruffled his wings and gave him an amused look. "You're the mind reader, but to answer what you're thinking, I saw you two dancing at the Starlight Jubilee. She was looking at you like your mother looked at me during those days in the Ice Kingdom. And there was no mistaking the look in your own eyes."

Darkstalker gave a long sigh. "I think…I think there's more to her," he told his father, not sure why even as he did. "She's supposed to be just the guard of my friend, but I look forward to seeing her more than I do Fathom. I've found myself going out of my way to meet her, to talk with her. I wanted to dance with her, and when we finished I wanted to do it again, and again, and again." He shook his head. "I think I might love her, or I'm beginning to."

Arctic gave a chuckle, an odd sound coming from him; it sounded a bit out of practice, actually. "To me, I don't think that's in doubt," he said, "What are you going to do about it?"

He shook his head and raised a claw, resting it on his face. "I don't know," he told him, "I was kind of hoping to get some idea from you, from you and Foeslayer."

Tapping a talon lightly on the ice, his father gave a small hmmm. "I'm not sure how much I can help you," he said, "As you know, your mother and I didn't exactly have a normal romance. If you decide you want this dragoness—Indigo, wasn't it—then I can't imagine it will be anything the same as ours."

"But certainly you have some advice?" Darkstalker tried to press, "You're the only one I know who loves a dragon from another tribe."

Arctic gave a small shrug of his wings. "How am I supposed to help you if you yourself aren't sure you love her?" he asked, then paused and sighed. "If there is a lesson to learn from your mother and I, it's that if you love her, go after her. You may not have to flee your home like I did, but you may have to make sacrifices. If you love her, you will make them."

Darkstalker looked away, thinking for a moment. He actually wasn't quite sure how he felt. On one claw, talking like this seemed to lessen the burden, but on the other talon it gave him a bit more weight on his mind. "You may have to make sacrifices", Arctic had said. Darkstalker knew that many futures would be sacrificed if he chose to do so, all the ones he'd seen with Clearsight that he'd forward to for so long, but he wondered what else would be. He'd have to check. While he'd seen futures of him and Indigo, it had always seemed to be of close moments, of fun and love. He had no idea what lay behind them if he chose to pursue them. There was a cost that would have to be paid, and he suddenly had to know what it was.

But what if the cost is everything? He wondered. Could he pay it? Arctic had, and Arctic had nearly lost his soul because of it. He still probably could. Darkstalker wasn't sure if he could abandon so much for her like Arctic had for his mother. But that still raised the question in his mind: how much would I give up?

Perhaps when he knew the answer, he'd know if what he felt for her was real.

He nodded slowly, more to himself than to his father. Just a little bit shakily, he rose to his feet. "I…thank you," he told Arctic. "I think this helped."

The Icewing said nothing, only giving him a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement. Darkstalker turned to leave, finished with his questions, but paused. Another one had suddenly jumped to mind, one that related to what he'd been asking, but not quite.

He looked back to his father, who gave him a slightly confused look. Apparently, he thought they were done as well.

"One thing I've never understood," Darkstalker said, "About you and Foeslayer, and with everything that happened. Why didn't you tell Queen Diamond? Why didn't you explain the situation?"

"I couldn't," Arctic answered simply, "If I told her I loved a Nightwing, she'd probably lock me in a tower until she was certain I'd come to my senses. She certainly wouldn't have let me leave. As I said, running was my only option."

"I understand that, but…" Darkstalker went on, "Even leaving, why didn't you try to let her know that you weren't kidnapped, that you went willingly. As I understand it, this entire war is being fought because your mother thinks that you were stolen for your magic when you weren't. If she knew that you meant to be here, that the Nightwings didn't steal you away…wouldn't the war be stopped?"

"I've often thought about that," Arctic said with a sigh, "And I did try. When Snowfox helped us escape, she assured me that she would do her best to explain the situation to my mother, to convince her I was doing what I wanted. Obviously, Diamond didn't believe her. If she even considered what Snowfox said, she probably figured it was all a trick, a ploy to seduce me away. I actually don't blame her for it. I probably would have reached the same conclusion."

The Icewing shook his head and gave a frustrated growl. "I've sent her letters since, in hopes that she'd read them and believe them, but she never has. Queen Vigilance has assured me that they were delivered, but the only messages I've received back were asking or ordering me to return, if able. Some implied that she believes I'm a prisoner, others that I walk freely, but none have ever expressed any indication that she thinks I can or should stay."

"But this whole war is being fought over you," Darkstalker pressed, "What if…what if you went to her? If you could talk with Diamond, alone, and convince her that this is where you want to be…wouldn't all of this stop?"

Arctic shook his head again and looked down. "I dare not try," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice, "If Diamond got near me, she might try to take me back by force. No, she would try to take me away, I know it. I can't risk being forced away from your mother…I can't." There was genuine fear in his father's voice, heart, and mind. As much as he missed his old home, he dreaded it just as much.

Darkstalker looked down, his mind pondering that. It was understandable that Arctic would be reluctant, but at the same time…it felt a little selfish. There was a war going on, and the most that he was willing to do was write letters to his mother. He was just sitting here, letting mother risk her life in the war.

Then again, Darkstalker thought guiltily, So am I. Sure, he still wasn't about to use his magic to kill dragons like Vigilance wanted him to, but there were probably other things he could do if he wanted to. His powers as an animus gave him a position of importance with the queen, a seat at the war meetings, a voice in her ear. Yet, all this time he'd done almost nothing to affect any change with it. Even Clearsight was doing her part, looking at visions to help shorten the war by ensuring Nightwing victories.

He lashed his tail, suddenly frustrated. There had to be a way to do something, to put an end to the shadow of war that had clouded his entire life. He was a futureseeing, mindreading animus for moons' sake, if any dragon could and should do something, it was him!

He looked back at Arctic, who had fallen silent and looked lost in thought himself. "What if you could?" he asked the Icewing, "What if you could meet and talk with your mother without worrying about being stolen?" he suddenly had a thought—his dreamvisitor. "I have something that could help, where you could!"

Arctic perked up a little, looking interested. He gave a look saying to go on.

"I enchanted something a while ago," Darkstalker explained, "It enables you to visit the dreams of a dragon you know. You can talk and interact with them in their own mind from anywhere in Pyrrhia and…what's wrong?" the excitement in Arctic's face had faded, and the Icewing was shaking his head.

At first, Darkstalker thought it was because he'd used his magic, but that was only half right. "Queen Diamond wouldn't accept it," his father said, "If I contacted her using magic, she'd still think it was a trick. The only way talking to her would work would be in person, where she can examine me and be sure that I'm not controlled by anyone or anything."

Darkstalker growled. Of course she would, he thought in frustration, Ending a war can't be that easy.

"Well, what if you did that, then?" he asked, "If it could be guaranteed that you could talk with her and be safe…do you think you could do it?"

"Do what?" Arctic asked, his mind pretty sure he knew what Darkstalker was saying but wanting clarification.

"End the war."

The Icewing gave a deep breath, falling silent for a moment. He looked over his shoulder, through the one small window in the room and outside into the brightening light. "Maybe," he finally said, "But I wouldn't bet on it."

Darkstalker nodded, his mind now racing, ideas coming and going in waves as he resisted the urge to start future seeing right there. Perhaps there was a way for him to do something to end this war. It wouldn't be simple, but it was possible. Maybe. Probably. He hoped.

He needed a moment to think, to look ahead and see if his thoughts were possible and how to ensure they could come about. He took a few steps back, heading for the door, as he gave a final nod of thanks to his father for the conversation. Arctic returned it, a bit of confusion on his face as he could see Darkstalker thinking, but the Icewing said nothing as Darkstalker turned and left.

Without delay he made his way to the entrance of his home, then took off into the sky. His wings automatically took him towards the palace as he began checking futures. Things were…fuzzy, to say the least. He was never that good at finding less possible futures, especially like now when there were so many unknown variables, not like Clearsight was. He got some brief glimpses, flashes, that he took as good signs. But there were a few less pleasant ones, too. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't ignore them.

There was still the issue of his magic, too. A few spells could make things easier, really clear the path for what he was looking at to become much more successful. But, at the same time, he was reluctant. Fathom was still upset over him using magic, and he wasn't the only dragon Darkstalker had to think about.

Indigo had been coming around, it seemed, to the idea that using animus magic wasn't a world ending thing. Yet at the same time, Darkstalker knew that she still wasn't a great proponent of it. Casting a bunch of large spells like what he'd need to do to ensure things went well may be too big a step too fast. He didn't want to fight with her, not if he didn't have to.

Perhaps that's what Arctic meant, he found himself thinking as he reached the palace and began his landing. His father had said something about "sacrifice", and while Darkstalker wasn't looking forward to doing any of that, this may be the area where it would happen if he decided he wanted to take a step forward with the Seawing dragoness. At least at first. If he wanted to prove himself to her, to put any remaining fears about losing his soul to rest, he'd have to limit what spells he did.

He frowned at that thought. The idea of purposefully limiting himself was distasteful—it always had been. Then again, wasn't that what he'd been doing for some time now? Ever since Arctic had told him about what he'd done with his own magic, Darkstalker had been much more careful with his magic; in fact, he'd hardly used it at all. Right now, he was actively trying not to allow it to be used (even if that was to keep it in his control). Was it really a big deal to continue with that?

His talons hit the palace landing space and he entered it, taking a familiar path to the room he visited so often when he was here. His mind was still going, and it shifted to a look at different futures than before, not looking at the idea he'd had, but of what could happen with Indigo.

He saw several scenes he knew well by now, laughter and joy and comfort between the two of them. Flashes of himself curled around her purple scales, glimpses of long flights alone together and time spent swimming on white sand beaches. Yet this time he was looking for something more, trying to see what he was doing in them. Was he using his magic? Did he have to bind himself to achieve these futures, or could they be achieved without such sacrifice. He couldn't quite tell, and he tried to follow each thread farther down, seeing what else each future held as they winked away and were lost.

If he was Clearsight, it would have been easy to latch onto to one of them and follow it to its course, but he couldn't. Things were just too jumbled for him to focus. Perhaps there were too many variables he didn't know yet, or maybe he had a wrong set of assumptions that were misguiding him. He tried to change some expectations in his mind, searching for futures where the war went on indefinitely or where Fathom returned home or anything that he might take for granted, but nothing seemed to help; while in a few he did appear to use his magic, he couldn't be sure that those were the best and brightest paths. He just couldn't make out what he wanted.

But he did find something else.

He realized it just as he made it to Fathom's room and was about to knock, and it was enough to make him freeze. He paused in disbelief, and went over futures again, searching and searching to be sure. And, to his horror, he found that he was right, as awful as it felt.

In no future where Darkstalker had Indigo was he king.

Well, technically there were a few, but those were full of darkness and pain and paths that he didn't want to think about, paths where he became a dragon that he was sure he didn't want to be. Bright paths, on the other claw, where he and her lived happily together in any of the many possible futures of their choice didn't seem to have it at all. He could see no crown on his own head, nor one on hers. It simply wasn't there.

He felt a pit in his stomach as he triple-checked what he'd seen. He specifically focused his mind to look for the futures where he disposed of Vigilance and took the throne he was destined for. None were there, at least none that he could see that were likely enough. Maybe Clearsight could have found them, but he wasn't Clearsight.

He gave a frustrated growl to himself as he tried to pinpoint why, and on this point at least he seemed to get a good idea: Indigo disagreed with usurping the throne. For him to do what he'd always imagined he would—kill Vigilance in a normal-ish challenge and assume the title of king—it would turn her away. To her, it was murder. It would break tradition, it would break all the rules set up for the queenship for hundreds of years, it would break so many semblances of order throughout the kingdom, and it would break her heart.

Somewhat ironic, he thought, considering she was fine with killing him when they met, but that was the way things were. Indigo would not stand behind him if he engaged in what she felt was wrong, nor would she stand beside him once it was done. If he killed Vigilance, she would not accept him.

He could already hear the argument in his head. "You have your power and you have me. Why do you need a throne as well? Can't you do good without taking by force what isn't yours? Do you really need it to be happy?" He growled at the future exchange, even if it was barely comprehensible across the wide expanse of words and actions that made up the futures. Why couldn't she understand? It was his destiny! Even Clearsight acknowledged it in so many visions, and sat beside him as he ruled.

Sacrifice. Of all the words that could have been said by Arctic in their conversation, Darkstalker had never expected that one to be the one that stuck.

He shook his head and knocked on the door. He could look more into the future later; right now he had to tell Indigo and Fathom his other idea. Chances are he was just missing something, anyway, one piece of the puzzle where once he figured it out everything else would fall wonderfully into place. He hoped so, at least. He really hoped so.

The door opened, and most of those unpleasant thoughts disappeared as his eyes fell on beautiful purple scales. He couldn't quite keep himself from smiling as he met her matching purple eyes, especially when he saw them brighten at seeing him as well. It was later morning now—usually she and Fathom would be nearly asleep—but he could hear in her mind that Indigo didn't mind one bit as she stepped aside and let him enter. In fact, she was happy to see him, and he'd be lying to himself if he said the feeling wasn't mutual. He'd not been here since sunrise, and he'd been looking forward seeing her again.

"Darkstalker's here," she told Fathom, and he felt an odd rush go through his body as his tail brushed hers as he entered. Was this the feeling Arctic had talked about? If it wasn't, Darkstalker had to wonder what was.

"Great," Fathom said sarcastically, not even looking up from the table where he was working on something, Darkstalker couldn't quite make out what since Fathom's back was to him. "Tell him to come on in. Of course, if you tell him no, it's not like he won't just enchant the door to open anyway."

"Hey, that's not fair," Darkstalker said back, trying his best not to bite at him, "I've told you, Fathom, I have been listening to you. I have been limiting things."

"If you say so," the Seawing prince responded disbelievingly, and Darkstalker gave a low growl to himself. Ever since the Glass Jubilee, Fathom had been in this same kind of funk. Just a depressed state, wings droopy, as though he'd somehow failed in his mission here and was doomed to a horrible and inevitable fate. As Indigo had predicted, the anger from that day had faded pretty fast, and the Seawing still spoke to him, but things were slow going from there. He normally wasn't even as bad as it was now—Darkstalker imagined it was because of how late it was getting—but it was still rough seeing him like this.

Maybe what Darkstalker had come here to say would make things better.

He walked up to Fathom, peaking over his shoulder and looking at what he was working on, ignoring the mildly annoyed glare his friend gave him as he did so. He'd expected to see a scroll and ink, but instead all that was on the table was a collection of wood shavings, and bits and pieces of what looked like a decent sized chunk of wood. Then he glanced down at Fathom's talons, and saw exactly why they were there.

"Is that…a Nightwing?" he asked. In Fathom claws was a small wooden sculpture of a dragon, very near to being lifelike. The fresh smell of the wood implied he had just carved it, or was just carving it; it looked like there was a little bit more to do still on the tail. Fathom nodded and held up a claw, presenting to him so he could get a better look.

"Fathom, that's so cute," he said, knowing as he said it that "cute" wasn't exactly a word he'd normally use, but there was little else to describe it. He could see so much detail in, almost individual scales on the wood. The horns, the wings…it looked just like Clearsight, actually. A miniature, little Clearsight.

The compliment earned a tug at the corners of his friend's mouth, even if the Seawing tried to hide it. "I do one every so often when I have nothing to do," he told him, "I'm a little out of practice, and I'm not used to this wood you have here, but I think it's turned out okay so far."

"I'd say so," Indigo said, stepping forward alongside Darkstalker, who resisted a sudden and unexpected urge to lean into her, "Is this your first Nightwing?" she asked, "I don't remember you doing one before."

He nodded. "Yeah, Nightwings aren't very hard. I tried an Icewing once, and it was awful. I went through at least five good pieces of wood before I got something that was even recognizable as one."

"I like it," Darkstalker said, finishing looking it over and giving a nod to Fathom that he was done. "I don't want to ask too much, but if you happen to have time…could you make me one?" He glanced over to Indigo, still standing close next to him. "I want a Seawing."

"Sure," Fathom answered, finally relaxing a bit more, "I can do one of them pretty quickly. I won't do it tonight—err, today—but I can probably make one for you by the end of the week."

"Sounds good," Darkstalker said. He wasn't completely sure why he suddenly wanted one, but he did. It sounded nice. Like a little Indigo that he could keep with him and look at and think of her and remember…

"So, why are you here so late," Fathom asked, interrupting his thoughts before they could go any farther. "I don't want to be rude, but I was going to finish this and go to sleep. If you wanted to go flying or something, I don't think I'm in the mood for it."

"I will," Indigo volunteered, and Darkstalker almost took her up on that offer right then. Maybe he still would before he went back home, but that wasn't what he was here for.

"Actually," he said, "I wanted to tell you both something. I thought you'd want to know, all things considered." The two Seawings gave him curious glances, Fathom's a bit more apprehensive. "Indigo, you once asked me that if I insisted on using my magic, why not do something really good with it. You made a rather specific suggestion, and not long later Clearsight did too. Today I had a talk with my father, and I think I know how to accomplish that thing."

Fathom's mind was completely confused, Indigo's was trying to figure out what he was referring to. It had been a while ago now since she'd made that comment, but even still, she remembered just as he said it.

"I'm going to end this war," he told them, "…But I'm not going to use a shred of my magic to do it!"