Wings of Fire - Blazing Talons (3)

Prologue

Queen Glory

The sky was painted in streaks of gold and violet, the last light of the day shimmering off the RainWing treetops. Beyond the canopy, the distant clearing of the NightWing camp loomed, a sharp contrast to the soft, warm colors of home.

"They're cutting too deep into our rainforest," the RainWing said, her voice thick with anger.

"They're within their rights now too," Glory replied, her scales flickering with the familiar weight of inner conflict. She'd become too accustomed to these struggles, too often torn between the needs of two tribes, and the strain was starting to show. Even canceling her sun time—her only escape—to juggle the mounting problems of both sides, much to Jambu's dismay. "But I will speak with them about the boundaries."

The RainWing's scales shifted to a muted grey, blending into a deep green that made Glory's head ache.

She was the last RainWing of the night, thank the Moons. And as the small, grey dragon disappeared, Glory moved to close her flowered curtains. And then Deathbringer appeared, ducking his head. 

"We have complaints," he said, his voice unamused.

Glory buried her head in her talons with a heavy sigh.

"That of which can wait until morning," he corrected. "You should rest."

Deathbringer touched his snout to her cheek, a small gesture of comfort. It worked for a moment, before her gaze fell to the long list of problems she'd written down today on her makeshift desk. Along with a second list from yesterday. 

She pushed past Deathbringer, suddenly desperate for a moment outside in the cool breeze of the evening.

Deathbringer followed behind her as they took to the sky. They climbed up and up to Glory's personal suntime perch, landing on the flat platform gently. 

Glory exhaled slowly, watching the breeze stir the ferns below. From here, she could see the blurred path winding deeper into the jungle, where RainWings lazily basked, oblivious to her unraveling thoughts. To the north, a flight of NightWings circled in perfect formation—vigilant, waiting for something she couldn't quite define.

They sat in silence for a while, breathing in the evening air. Then, Glory broke the stillness.

"You know," she said, her voice softer than she intended, "I'm the youngest queen in all of Pyrrhia." She lay down, resting her head on her talons and tucking her wings in close. 

A rustle behind her. Deathbringer moved closer, his presence a warm comfort, his gaze amused. "Yes, I know."

She didn't return his smile, her wings drooping as she gazed at the horizon. "I can't do this forever," she murmured. She trailed off, the weight of her words sinking into the air around them. "It's more than I can handle."

Deathbringer's tail brushed against hers in quiet reassurance. "You're doing the best you can. And you're the greatest queen these tribes have ever known."

"Maybe," she whispered. 

There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of the trees whispering in the wind.

"Tell me what's on your mind," he asked, his voice gentle. He lay down beside her, entwining their tails and nudging her with his wing affectionately. 

Glory turned her head, weighing her words. "I think I have an idea. But she's even younger than I am."

"Eclipse?" he asked, his voice sharp with genuine surprise—and something else, too.

Glory met his gaze. "Possibly. But not yet. Not for a while. And only if she wants it."

Deathbringer tilted his head, narrowing his black eyes in thought. "I think she's capable. But she's definitely not ready for something like that—not yet."

"It's a lot to ask of her," Glory admitted. "Especially with how she feels about her tribe."

Deathbringer hummed in agreement.

They sat together in silence again, the world slowly darkening around them. The crickets began their evening chorus. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a RainWings laughter drifted through the trees, like the softest echo of a simpler time.

Glory closed her eyes.

Three years.

Maybe in three years.