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It would be a heinous act, a despicable betrayal.
Greed thrives everywhere, the Moon Dragon had warned me. And who had the most to gain from the death of the Radiant Sky Trees of Thorn Valley?
A sinking sensation opens in the pit of my stomach. “Why did the Moon and Sun Dragon choose Mist Island for their home, after the trees here died?”
The Elders offered them sanctuary. They were kind, attentive, and generous; the people loved the dragons too. Now they remain to protect the island, bound to it, sharing their magic with all who live there.
“The Elders were alive even before the dragons came to our island?” I ask in surprise.
Dragons are immortal. The power they channel into Mist Island—the Elders keep much of it for themselves.
The spark of suspicion flares brighter. “It was believed the dragons chose our island because of its magic… I didn’t realize all our magic came from them. Why would they yield their power?”
Back then, the Elders claimed a grave danger threatened your home. Your people are descended from flower spirits, yet their magic was weak, unable to manifest. The dragons shared their power to strengthen them—spreading their magic across the island, into the Radiant Sky Trees. These rings you wear also constrain the amount of power your people can channel.
I trace the band around my finger, recalling how the Sun Dragon touched it, granting me the ability to summon fire. My people believe our rings to be a gift, a precious mark of our heritage—but it is also a shackle. “We are bound to the rings too. We weaken if the bond is broken… we die.”
Magic always has a price.
The ring around my finger prickles like it’s too tight; I suppress the urge to rip it off, furious on behalf of the dragons at this unfair trade.
Do not feel anger. The voice gentles. They wanted to help your people, content on Mist Island, finding new purpose there. They chose to stay—to protect the people they grew to love, who love them too.
“But my people don’t know any of this. They are forbidden from speaking to the dragons, from leaving the island without permission, kept isolated and ignorant,” I say urgently. “They should know all that happened, how Mist Island and Thorn Valley were both homes to dragons, that Thorn Valley isn’t trying to steal anything from them. We should end the mistrust, work together to find the villains who destroyed this grove—who weakened the dragons we love.”
It will take time to convince both sides to come together. Until I gain my true form, I cannot speak to another—only to you, because of our bond, because of this magic you bear. A long pause. Be careful with sharing such knowledge, until the truth is unveiled. The face of our enemy is unknown.
I stare at the luminous oval. “What do you mean about your ‘true form’?”
A ghost of humor enters its tone. One day, you might have to find a different name for me—one that is not so “little.”
Wonder sweeps through me. “Are you… a dragon?”
Not yet. But I am the promise of one, the shadow of a new beginning. When you buried my bones by the lake, my spirit ascended the Waterfall of Eternal Night. But my rebirth was interrupted.
“How can I help?”
You brought me here, where the echoes of our magic reverberate still, magic that could complete my transformation—if the grove is healed. Otherwise even the Moon Dragon will weaken and fade from this realm… and I will cease to exist.
I stare at the dead trees, the snow-white grass. Using my handkerchief, I pluck a handful of it, folding the blades carefully away. “I will do all I can,” I promise.
I leave the grove, heading toward the shore. Jin and his uncle believed the answers to the decay lay in Mist Island. I will return home to learn more. I must restore the Ancient Grove to protect the last remaining dragon of our realm, the one that is to come—because the key to saving Jin and defeating the Queen of the Iron Mountains must lie with those she seeks to destroy.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
IT IS STILL DARK, IN THE EARLY HOURS OF MORNING, WHEN I return to Dian. She has fallen asleep beneath a tree, only waking when I approach. “Where have you been?” she asks, rising to her feet.
“I had to bury the Little Dragon’s bones.”
“Didn’t you do it by the waterfall?”
“This time, they’re in the right place,” I tell her.
My hands fist around the bundle of grass. Dian might know more about this—her knowledge of plants is vast, probably as extensive as our father’s. Moreover, she isn’t bound by his duty or obligation.
“Have you seen this before?” I unwrap the grass, holding it out to her, the pale blades gleaming in the moonlight.
She lifts it up to examine it. “Wintergrass,” she says tersely, her arm drawing back to throw this into the ocean—but I stop her. Her eyes are wide, almost fearful, unlike herself. “Where did you get this, Yining? We must destroy it at once. You cannot bring this home.”
