The trail did not end so much as it vanished. What had once been clear droplets of blood and disturbed earth slowly thinned until there was nothing left but untouched stone and wind-smoothed soil. Starfania searched longer than she should have, retracing steps, widening her circle, refusing to accept it—but Lyam had known how to disappear. Violet, however, could not outrun time. By late afternoon, her steps slowed, her questions grew quieter, and her stomach betrayed her with a soft growl. Aeron noticed first. Starfania noticed second—and felt the familiar sting of guilt.
" She's eight," Aeron said gently. " We push farther, she collapses."
Starfania looked to Atlas, then to the darkening sky. Reluctantly, she nodded. So they made camp. They chose a shallow rise overlooking a narrow clearing, sheltered by stone and sparse trees. Atlas and Drogo circled once before settling nearby, ever watchful. Food was shared, cloaks were spread, and Violet fell asleep almost instantly, curled close to the warmth of the fire and Atlas's side. What they did not see—was the movement on the ridge above them. A massive silhouette against the dying light: the unmistakable shape of a dragon, scales dark enough to swallow the stars.
Beside it stood a man, tall but unsteady, one hand pressed firmly to his side where fabric was torn and darkened with blood. The dragon let out a low warning growl, muscles coiling as if ready to strike. The man lifted his free hand.
" Not yet," he murmured, voice strained but calm. The dragon stilled instantly, obeying. Those chocolate brown eyes never left the camp below.
" They're not our enemy," the man added quietly—more to himself than the dragon. His grip tightened over his wound as he turned away, melting back into the shadows. And then—the night deepened.
Most of the group surrendered to exhaustion, sleep claiming them one by one. The fire crackled softly, embers glowing like fallen stars, while the sky above stretched endlessly, scattered with constellations older than kingdoms. Yet two remained awake. Starfania sat beside Atlas, her knees drawn close, the warmth of his presence anchoring her. The world felt quieter here—too quiet. After a long moment, she spoke, her voice barely louder than a breath. " Hey, Atlas."
He shifted slightly, midnight eyes catching the moonlight like polished sapphire. The look he gave her sent a shiver through her—not fear, but recognition.
" You know," she continued softly, " I will never understand why you chose me to be the Dragon Savior."
The night seemed to listen. Atlas lowered his head just enough, a subtle gesture—I'm here.
" When we first met," Starfania said, swallowing, " Cantina said you chose me. But I don't understand why. I was just…me. Ordinary."
A faint, humorless breath escaped her. " When my friends and I found that sword, I didn't know it was tied to the Dragon Savior. I didn't even know what that meant."
She pulled the sword-pen from her pocket and clicked it open. Moonlight slid along the blade, catching the etched symbols as if they were alive. Atlas's gaze followed every movement, intent, and step steadily.
" I feel like I was dragged into something far bigger than me," she whispered. " Was it a coincidence…or was I meant for this?"
She paused, fingers tightening around the hilt. Her reflection stared back at her through the blade. Those midnight eyes peering into her soul. " Every time I hold it, I feel the power—but also the weight. What if I'm not worthy? What if I fail?"
Atlas leaned closer, his presence firm and grounding. The warmth cut through the cold, creeping into her chest.
" Before you," Starfania continued, voice trembling now, " I felt lost. Aeron and Violet helped—I know they did. But something was missing."
Her throat tightened. " After losing my mom…my little brother…even Bone…I thought I didn't belong anywhere."
She finally lifted her eyes to meet his.
" But you—" her voice softened, steadier now, " —you gave me purpose. You saw something in me that I can't even see in myself."
Atlas lowered his forehead until it gently touched hers. No words were needed. In that silent exchange, Starfania felt it—not destiny as command, not power as a burden—but choice. Trust. Belief.