The journey to the Phoenix Library was not marked on any map. Her only guide was a piece of parchment inked in moonlight and fading memory. The road led her through the Valley of Echoes, where her own doubts turned into voices on the wind.
"You're wasting your time."
"You were never enough."
"No one will read your stories."
She nearly turned back more than once. But each time, she remembered Cael's laughter, his music, and how quickly it had all been taken. That grief steadied her steps.
In the Valley, she met Liran, a former painter who had once been renowned in the capital until a noble patron publicly destroyed his reputation. His hands were stained with ink and regret, but his eyes were sharp. He agreed to travel with her, not because he believed in her quest, but because he could no longer bear the silence of his own thoughts.
Further along, they found Selene, camped near the Mirror Plains. She had been a knight, fearless once, but now barely spoke. Her reflection in the waters did not match the woman who stood above them. It flickered; sometimes a child, sometimes a broken warrior, sometimes a shadow with no face at all.
Together, the three of them continued toward the Library, not yet friends, but slowly tethered by shared wounds. What they learned inside that half-buried temple changed them.
The dragons were not ancient beasts. They were born new every day. Each cruel comment, each poisoned word, took shape in the aether. The dragons were fed by what people chose to believe about themselves.
And Bloodfang? It was the oldest, largest, and most dangerous of them all; woven not just from malice, but from grief.