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WHEN THEADORA VALARYEN turned six years old, she made a wish for her birthday: to see her ancestral home. She closed her eyes and blew out the pink candle on the cupcake Sera bought from a convenience store, all in the darkness of the domestic shelter in Boston.
That was what she remembered eleven years later on the bow of a black skiff— that shelter and that chocolate cupcake she ate in the tiny dark kitchen. She could picture the popcorn walls of the one-bedroom unit where she killed at crayon wall art while Sera killed the Chitauri soldier that barged in. She thought of the Polly Pocket toys that were donated by one of the kind women next door, the green sofa that smelled like Cheetos, and the small corner TV that would entertain her with PBS cartoons in the evenings.
But finally, after seventeen long years, Theadora Valaryen's wish was finally coming true.
She stared intently ahead, buzzing with impatience and awe. The skiff she stood on gently rocked back and forth on the grayish-blue waters that filled the hot air with a salty scent. The seabed began to swap the salty brine for oceanic air and Theadora watched a long stretch of pale white beaches rise from lacy waves. Arches and caves were eroded into cliffs of volcanic rock where the massive castle was perched proudly atop.
Dragonfort.
The fleet of ships filled with the refugees of the camp followed her, Happy's white jet lurking close behind. Sitting alongside her was Peter, Bex, Serafina, and Daaryo while another Valoqar steered them closer to the shore. Thea stood proudly at the bow, mesmerized by the vast island the boat was approaching. The roars of the dragons echoed overhead and Rhaegon and Vissera swept low over Thea's head, crying out in excitement.
They soared over Ivorstone Island, above its beaches, cliffs, and circling the gray stone palace that Rhaenar and his siblings arrived at over five hundred years ago. Watching them made pride bubble inside of Thea, who understood the significance so well.
When the skiff finally nudged into the sandy shore, Theadora exhaled softly as she climbed out onto solid ground and slowly walked up the beach, soaking it all in. The Valoqar soldier docked the boat and Happy landed the jet while the refugees began to silently walk off the Dragonfang ships and onto the shore of Ivorstone. Squirming babies made soft cries in their mothers' arms and children resisted the urge to sprint forward and play on the beach. Everyone looked around in wonder of the place they had left or only heard stories of but hung back to allow Thea her moment.
Her black boots left footprints in the damp sand and she kept walking until she was in the shadow of one of Ivorstone's cliffs. She slowly lowered herself to one knee and reached a hand down to press her bare palm against the ground. Theadora could feel the energy that ran in her blood rooted deep in the sand like a nourishing song of the maegys who've fallen and those who still live, united in their vast diaspora.
