Starfania stayed close to Atlas, her voice low, steady only because she forced it to be.
" Today took more out of me than I thought," she admitted quietly, fingers resting against his scales. " Seeing what VulcanFire did…seeing what my home is capable of…"
Her breath caught, and she looked away toward the dying fire. " I always knew my father was feared. I just never understood why until now."
Atlas did not move. He listened.
" My father—Cesar—he changed," she continued. " But even after everything, I know he cared for me. In his own way."
A sad smile touched her lips. " He shielded me from death. From war. From the ugliness of the world he was helping create."
Her gaze softened as memory pulled her backward in time.
" When I was little…before everything fell apart—before my mother died, before my baby brother was taken from us—we were in the garden." She let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. " The sun was warm. My mother was laughing. My brother kept trying to grab the flower."
She swallowed.
" And I saw a bird. It was lying on the ground, its wing bent at an unnatural angle. I begged them to save it." Her fingers curled into Atlas's scales. " I didn't understand what death was back then."
Atlas's eyes reflected the firelight, ancient and patient.
" My father knew the bird wouldn't live. But he didn't want to see that." Her voice trembled now. " So he distracted me—pointed out the roses I liked. And when I wasn't looking…he signaled my mother to take me away."
She closed her eyes. " When I was gone, he ended its suffering. Give it peace. Buried it beneath the garden soil."
Silence stretched between them.
" That's who he was," Starfania whispered. " Even when the world was cruel, he tried to be gentle with me."
Atlas remained still, breath slow and steady, grounding her as she leaned into him.
" Even though my father started this war," she said at last, voice firmer, " it wasn't out of malice. It was grief. Grief that swallowed him whole."
Her jaw tightened. " He was desperate. Blinded by loss. He couldn't see the suffering he was creating."
She looked down at the blade in her hands, moonlight tracing her reflection across its surface.
" I know he never meant for things to turn out this way…but they did. And now it's my burden to carry." Her eyes hardened with resolve. " It's my responsibility to fix what's been broken. To cleanse the stain left on Avalon."
The fire flickered, shadows dancing like restless spirits.
" My father made me an outcast," she whispered. " But I won't accept that."
Her grip tightened. " I don't want to be a victim of his mistakes. I want to prove him wrong—to show him, and everyone, that this world doesn't have to stay broken."
Her voice softened—but did not weaken. " Peace is still possible. And I will find a way to make it happen. No matter what it takes."
Atlas released a deep, resonant breath and gently lowered his head, resting it against her stomach. The warmth seeped into her, steady and reassuring. His sapphire eyes locked onto hers—filled with understanding, with quiet strength.
" I know it's a lot," Starfania murmured, running her fingers through the ridges of his scales. " But I won't stand by and let history repeat itself. I refuse to live as a victim."
Atlas's tail shifted, slow and deliberate, as if sealing an unspoken vow.
" Every step matters," she whispered. " Even the small ones. We change the world one choice at a time. And if I can make even one person believe in something better…"
She exhaled. " Then it will be worth it."
A gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying her words into the night.
" Together," she said, stronger now, " we can build something better. We will be the change."
Atlas answered with a low rumble—deep, steady, unbreakable. Soon, exhaustion claimed her. Starfania drifted into sleep beside the fire, the sword resting safely near her; Atlas remained vigilant beside her—his heart bound to a promise as old as the stars. But not far away—high atop a cliff cloaked in shadow, a lone figure watched.
Beside him stood his dragon—sleek, powerful, nearly invisible against the night sky. The man wore armor of deep emerald bronze veined with obsidian, its design unmistakable. His helm bore the shape of a lizard skull, curved horns framing a gaze sharp as a blade. Moonlight caught the faint glint in his eyes as he surveyed the camp below. He turned slightly, one hand resting on the powerful neck of his dragon. Its scales shimmered faintly, emerald and shadow intertwined—an extension of the man himself. The dragon's eyes burned with quiet intensity. A smirk curved beneath the helm.
" Hey, Lutu," the man said softly, amusement laced with danger. " Looks like we can finally handle these unexpected visitors."
Lutu answered with a low, thunderous growl, the sound rolling through the night like distant storm clouds. Then he roared—raw, commanding—sending ripples through the stillness as his massive wings unfurled. The man's grip tightened as excitement flickered through him. " I couldn't have said it better myself."
With practiced ease, he vaulted onto Lutu's back. For one heartbeat, the dragon crouched—then launched skyward, cutting through the darkness like a living storm. He had listened to the quiet bond between girl and dragon…and made a decision that would change all of their paths.