Wings of Fire: Overcast

Prologue

Thoughtful brought Whiteout away from the crowds. Whiteout, her eyes glassy, gripped Thoughtful as tightly as she could. "The sky is falling," she whispered, clutching him as though he was her lifeline. "Darkness has twisted into strands of fate..."

"Whiteout? Whiteout, listen to me!" Thoughtful grabbed Whiteout by her shoulders, pulling him close to her. "Everything is okay. It's okay. You're fine, I'm fine."

"Maddened brother," Whiteout whispered, her eyes terrified.

"Darkstalker is under control, Whiteout; Clearsight will talk to him," Thoughtful promised, still holding on to Whiteout. "Whiteout, Whiteout, please..."

"The world hasn't turned?" Whiteout asked softly.

"No! No, it hasn't. Not yet, and it never will, Whiteout, please, just... Come back to me."

Whiteout wrinkled her nose. "You're dusty."

Thoughtful dusted himself off, before realizing there was no dust; why had he thought Whiteout would speak logically? It was amazing, the way she spoke, so out of depth and yet it made sense, it didn't to many, but it did to him. Why was one plus one archaeology? Because one day, a mathematician would be able to do archaeology, would be able to calculate. Whiteout understood, her mind thought far ahead, and she was beautiful, she really was.

"He hasn't hurt anyone," Whiteout mumbled a question.

"No. He hasn't." Not strictly true. "Well... Except Arctic. Your father... Oh, Whiteout, he's dead."

Whiteout's eyes became round balls of horror. "No. He said the ocean wouldn't consume him, but he still succumbed to the currents..."

"Whiteout, I know, but... It's okay."

"Another piece," Whiteout whispered, "of a game. He doesn't know how to play, and he's lost himself in it."

"Yes. Yes, he has." There was no point hiding it from her. "And Whiteout... I made a new painting, I don't know if you wanted to see...?"

"Show me," Whiteout commanded, and Thoughtful laughed as he brought her over to his canvas.

Whiteout frowned at the magma spewing out of the volcano. "This is a dark piece, Thoughtful," she said, "I didn't think the rain would fall from you."

"It was made in a dark time," Thoughtful agreed grimly. "But it'll get better, Whiteout! I promise!"

"Darkness of dragons, eclipse of shadows, dawn shining on morning dew." Whiteout was reading the words on his magma. "It doesn't connect."

"It doesn't have to, it just..."

"It's rain, Thoughtful. Rain making way for sunshine." She smiled, and he knew she liked the piece.

He didn't bring up Darkstalker, not again; Whiteout had already reacted badly. He put his wing around her, and she pressed against him, shaking.

"Why did he have to snow?" She whispered.

"I don't know. Sometimes good dragons with bad powers turn bad," Thoughtful whispered.

"They'll have bad powers, too. They'll snow as well." 

He knew she was referring to their future dragonets. "We won't let them," he promised.

THREE YEARS LATER

"ARRRGHHH, CLOUDCHASER, GET BACK HERE!!!" 

Thoughtful laughed as he sat with Whiteout. It had taken two years to convince Whiteout to have dragonets, but she'd given in eventually. She loved him too much to deny him. Cloudchaser, Eclipse and Shadowseer were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He knew to expect it, but the day his quietest dragonet, Eclipse, became an Animus, was a terrible day for all of them. Whiteout freaked out, and Cloudchaser and Shadowseer thought it was funny. Eclipse was the quietest out of all of them, and she looked away when anyone looked at her.

Thoughtful's heart ached for his poor dragonet. Would any of them ever be normal again?