Wings of Fire: A Ruined Dream (Book 4)

Prologue

 Tilt sat on the edge of the small park, watching the dragonets play.

It wasn't much of a park- just a small clearing with an old slide from before the Last Day and a makeshift seesaw, made of a board balanced on a rock. Her little boy, Stratus, was bouncing around to and fro, squealing and burbling at other dragonets.

He was incredibly social, talking to every dragonet, and trying desperately to include everyone in his games. Even though he was barely a year old, he had creases in his eyes, caused by his never faltering smile.

Tilt thought she was doing a good job. She was a single mother, her partner gone, leaving her with Stratus's egg before he had hatched. That was alright, they were obviously doing just fine.

Like most mothers, Tilt wished she hadn't had to raise a child in the midst of a post-apocalyptic scene, but she didn't really have a choice. At least there were no longer any New Pantalans prowling the streets.

She remembered the day- she had been watering her roses in her window box when the wailing sirens shrieked. She had been living in a coastal city further up north, in the spread of the Pheonix Palace. She didn't think much of it, trusting the royal guards who patrolled heavily to protect her.

But she watched as the guards were pushed back up her street, and as the dead guards rose, white flowers blossoming from their mouths, their eyes rotting out. It filled Tilt with pure terror as she watched her friends and family be destroyed by this virus.

Tilt had been a teenager, and was busy trying to get her younger sister out of the house while her parents frantically argued about where to go. With a crash, a New Pantalan smashed its way through the window, and killed her mother in one slash, tearing her throat out. Her father was next, as the New Pantalan stabbed its SandWing barb through his chest.

Tilt grabbed her sister's talon with frightening strength, and pulled her free. They escaped south.

They lived and took care of one another, and found the village group Tilt lived with now. Her sister died of an illness long ago.

But that was long in the past. Life seemed to be alright, slowly dragging itself from the trench that the Last Day created.

And, of course, because nothing stays the same, the raiders came.

Tilt had heard stories of raiding parties that ravaged the continent, living a nomadic life of crime, as compared to the more peaceful settlers. She didn't think they'd ever come here.

Before Tilt could react, dragons leaped from the bushes and grabbed the dragonets, including Stratus.

"Hey!" Tilt shouted. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

More parents jumped up, yelling, as the raiders pulled all the children into the center.

"Mama!" Stratus cried, reaching for her between the legs of a mean-looking IceWing.

"I know, baby!" Tilt replied. The raiders carried twisting daggers and serrated spears, undoubtedly razor-sharp.

"What's going on?" Condor barked. The big, leader SkyWing plowed his way through the frantic parents and stood ahead of the mass.

He had a long, jagged scar crossing his face, closing one of his eyes and dragging his lip up. Tilt was actually pretty sure this was Stratus's father, with their similar shades of scales and square-shaped snouts. After she laid a defective egg and left her last partner, Tilt decided that she would just enter the SkyWing breeding program.

"Give us gold!" shouted a raspy younger raider.

"No, idiot!" Said a much older one, a torn-up MudWing, her stomach swelling with eggs. "We want food, clean water, and medicine."

"What is your offer?" Conder snarled.

"Your dragonets' lives," she answered coldly.

There was a small gasp around the crowd, and sobs of fear around the dragonets.

"I apologize if I'm incorrect," Condor hissed, "But are those eggs you are carrying?"

The MudWing lashed her tail with narrow eyes. "I'm doing what I need to keep my clutch alive. Give us your demands, or..." She turned and surveyed the dragonets, and grabbed a pale orange dragonet. "We hurt her."

"NO!" A father shouted from the crowd. "Please!"

"No!" another, smaller voice shouted, from within the dragonet crowd. A sense of dread began to build up within Tilt's stomach. "Don't you hurt her! Take me instead!"

The MudWing put down the pale dragonet and then picked up Stratus.

Tilt's stomach lurched, and her heart felt like it was falling. Some of the dragons around her offered her a wing to lean on.

"Stratus!" she screamed.

"You put that boy down," Conder said, his voice shaking with concern. He must've realized that Stratus was probably his son, given their similarities.

"Give us our demands!" The MudWing shouted. A dragon handed her a knife, and she traced the bottom eyelid of Stratus's right eye.

"We don't have enough to give you!" Condor roared.

To her horror, the MudWing raised her talon to strike Stratus's face with the knife.

Before it touched her son's scales, Tilt was tackling the MudWing.

Stratus shrieked in pain, and the two mothers tumbled across the green. Tilt felt the knife slice her thighs.

She grabbed the arm with the knife and pinned the MudWing, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"You don't fuck with a mother's child," Tilt snarled. She jabbed a talon into the MudWing's swollen stomach. "You should know that."

She scrambled away from the SkyWing, many emotions in her eyes.

The dragons from her village were apprehending the raiders, and parents were tearfully collecting their kids.

There was a concerningly large crowd around Stratus, though.

"Medic, medic!" Condor was yelling. He had one talon pressed over Stratus's eye, scarlet blood, and a whitish liquid seeping from his claws. The other talon was cupping the unharmed side of Stratus's face. Tilt stumbled down beside her son, spreading a wing over him. He grabbed two of her claws with his talon, turning his knuckles white.

"That was very brave of you," Tilt whispered in his ear. "But moons above Stratus, never do that again."

"It hurts, Mama," Stratus whimpered, tears streaming down his puffy face.

"I know, baby," Tilt said peering over to his other side.

Her stomach lurched as Condor removed his talon as the medic arrived.

There was only a mess of blood and remains where Stratus's eye once was. The medic cast Tilt a sober look as she wrapped Stratus's head with a thick swathe of gauze.

Tilt looked down at her son, knowing two things.

He's never going to look that same or see the same for that matter. He's going to lose his eye.

But moons above, he was brave for that.

I hope he stays that brave.