Pryce gradually brought the Horizon to a halt before killing the engines. He had no way to determine latitude without the stars, so his current position was just an estimate based on their speed and duration of travel, but precision wasn't terribly important – he could always move the ship later.

"Before we begin preparations, there is something Ghorrah and I want to talk about," Fortitude rumbled. "We think the Trespasser will find the ship sometime soon. Maybe today or tomorrow."

"He does know how we hide the ship now," Pryce grimly agreed. "So what do you think we should do about him?"

"The chains are not valuable because they cannot be traded – not without many questions being asked," Fortitude explained. "They are only useful to prove that he saw the ship, which means he wants to convince people that he is telling the truth."

"But an alliance with the crafters is much more valuable than anything other dragons can offer," Celeste murmured, "so why steal something for so little gain?"

"It might be because he had to," Fathom slowly replied. "What was he doing near my territory in the first place? He must have been looking for me, and the fact that he stole the chains means that he was probably hired to do so."

"And once he finished his task, then he would be free to find us…while probably pretending that he wasn't the one who stole your chains," Celeste finished.

"We think that will be the most likely possibility," Devotion nodded.

"Of course, we could be wrong, and he is just an idiot who is telling as many people about the ship as he can," Fortitude added. "But I do not think that is the case."

"I'm not quite sure I'm following, but I'll trust your judgement," Pryce said, adjusting his glasses. "So what's your plan?"

"Nothing special," Fortitude shrugged. "He will need to act friendly after landing on the ship, so it will not be hard for me to force him to tell the truth."

"Okay…and what do you plan to do after that?" Pryce warily asked.

Fortitude shrugged. "It would be easiest to just let him join us. We want allies, and he wants what you can offer him."

"I guess that makes sense," Pryce sighed, rubbing his eyes. Why couldn't things ever be simple? "Alright, so…who wants to be the first to test the radios?"

"This still itches," Celeste grumbled, flicking her spines as she tried to shake off the earpiece that Pryce had attached to her. At least it wasn't falling off this time, unlike prior attempts.

A crystal-set receiver was a simple and fairly compact device, so it wasn't hard to attach one onto a dragon's head, even if it did look rather strange. The problem was that he couldn't figure out how to hold the earpiece near their webbed spines without irritating them.

In the end he simply looped the earpiece under a strap, held close but not touching the sensitive webbing.

"How's that?" Pryce asked.

Celeste tossed her head around, testing the setup. "Weird, but not bad. With this I will be able to hear the ship, correct?"

"That's right." Pryce made another adjustment. "Better?"

"Better. Do I fly now?"

"Yes, give me the signal if you can hear me through the earpiece." The actual receivers hadn't been modified at all, but that was no reason to forgo a simple test.

It took Celeste half an hour to become a faintly dragon-shaped dot in the sky; at this distance she might have passed for a strange bird if Pryce hadn't known any better.

"That's as high as she can go," Fathom said upon seeing her give the signal.

"Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. Flap if you can hear me," Pryce said into the microphone, and the dot in the sky winked as Celeste flapped her confirmation.

"Looks like it works," Fathom said after several more repetitions. "What are you doing?" he asked, seeing Pryce pull out the sextant.

"I know her real length, so I can calculate her altitude if I just measure her length in degrees," Pryce said, though he frowned after a moment. "Rather, I could if the ship wasn't moving around so much. I can't get a good reading."

Fathom hummed for a moment and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Is the shirt you are wearing very valuable?"

"What?" Pryce asked, bemused by the non-sequitur. He glanced down at his well-worn short-sleeved shirt. "Well, no, it's just a common shirt. Why do you-"

Pryce barely failed to suppress a yelp as Fathom bit the back of his collar and hoisted him a full meter off the ground.

"Now you can use the sextant," Fathom said, his voice was somewhat muffled by the fact that his jaws were almost completely closed, though his words remained completely discernible.

«Strange hatchling you have there,» Devotion joked, chuffing in amusement along with her partner.

Pryce bit back a protest as he realized what Fathom was getting at; the dragon's head (and by extension Pryce's own body) bobbed in counter to the minute movements of the ship, perfectly stabilizing him. "You could have warned me," he grumbled, bringing up sextant.

"That wouldn't have been as funny," Fathom said unapologetically. "...You almost done? I can't see what you're doing like this."

(Art by Rackiera)

"Give me a minute, my shirt's pulling on my arms……0.07 degrees, or about 5 kilometers up," he read outloud, ignoring how his legs awkwardly dangled beneath him.

"Did you do that math in your head?" Fathom asked as he set Pryce down, sounding mildly impressed.

"No, I did it earlier," Pryce said, holding the calculations scrawled upon a notebook. "You can come down now, Celeste."

The dragon in the sky immediately entered a dive, her wings flaring open with less than a kilometer left between her and the ocean. She had timed her descent well, and when she reached the ship she'd bled off enough momentum to land on the deck – though not before pulling off a few loop-de-loops.

«Show off,» Devotion grumbled.

"It is very strange to be hearing voices when no one is around," Celeste noted, ignoring the older dragon, "and yes, I did notice that the sound was clearer when I looked down at the ship."

"Good. You'll need to do the same thing to find the Daybreak," Pryce said, glancing between Fathom and Celeste. "One of you will go north while the other goes south to look for messages left by Callan and Qnaro. Once you come back tonight I'll move the ship to its final location."

"The message will probably be left at a landmark, and the closest one is called the Sleeping Dragon – it's a pile of rocks to the north of us," Fathom said, partially extending a wing to sense the air currents. "I can read the best, so I'll go north, where the message is most likely to be. Don't forget to check the Egg," he added to his daughter. "We passed it less than an hour ago."

"I know, I know," Celeste absently replied. "The Twisted Tree is worth visiting too, since it is so close to the Egg." She cocked her head, seeming to realize something. "What kind of message should I be looking for?"

"Probably something written on leaves, or maybe animal hide," Pryce guessed. "It would be difficult to write a message on anything else."

"Understood. I think that is everything, yes?" Celeste asked, glancing at the others. Seeing no objections, she turned to her father and said, «It seems you are going to be the last to leave,» before abruptly launching herself into the sky.

«Hey!» Fathom protested. «We weren't having a competition!»

Devotion tossed her head in exasperation behind him, but Pryce noticed that her eyes narrowed in amusement before taking off herself.

Fathom quietly pouted as Pryce attached another radio to his head, using the same setup as he'd used on Celeste.

"Looks like we're alone," Pryce said, turning to Fortitude as Fathom took off. "We have lots of time for questions, if you have any."

Fortitude's jaws parted in a grin.

"This is a mirror."

"Why have you not shown me this before?!" Fortitude demanded even as her eyes remained locked upon the object in question.

"I had more important things to think about," Pryce drily replied. It bothered him, but the truth was there was nothing he could do to help find Callan. His allies already had to fly hundreds of kilometers per day, and he would be nothing but dead weight at best.

"I still think this is more important," Fortitude huffed. She spoke with her mouth open, inspecting the rows of teeth she had never clearly seen before. Come to think of it, how were all her teeth in pristine condition? They couldn't possibly be as old as she was, so that meant…

"Wait, do dragon teeth grow back?"

Fortitude paused her inspection. "What?" she asked, glancing at his reflection.

"If you lose a tooth, does it grow back?"

She stared blankly at him. "...Do your teeth not do that?"

"No. Humans are born with two sets of teeth. The first set is lost when they are young, and the second set is the last. Once those are lost, they're gone forever."

"Then how do you eat?" Fortitude demanded incredulously, her head snapping around to stare at him instead of his reflection. "Do you have any missing teeth?"

"We make fake teeth out of metals like gold, and no, I'm lucky; I haven't lost any yet," he said, opening his mouth for her to see. Few people his age could say that they had a full set of teeth, and it was something he was quite grateful for.

"Human bodies are stupid," Fortitude huffed, turning her attention back to the mirror. "Do you get sick often?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'often'. A healthy person might get sick once a year."

"But you can cure infections with your antibiotics, right?"

"That's right, but not all sicknesses are caused by infections. Dragons think sicknesses are caused by dead things, right?"

Fortitude slowly nodded. "It makes sense that dead things make living things sick. It is…boring to think that sickness is caused by many small creatures."

"Maybe," Pryce shrugged. "But this does remind me…Fathom told you about the dragon I call Pathogen, right?"

"Yes…his name is Ighen," Fortitude said, spitting out his name with surprising hostility. "Why do you ask?"

"I just…wanted to know more about him."

"There is nothing to know," Fortitude snorted disdainfully. "Ighen is not just a coward with no skills and no achievements, but he is…" she abruptly paused, apparently uncertain of which word to use. "Do you know what the word 'slahg' means?"

"...No, I don't think I do," Pryce uncertainly replied.

"A 'slahg' is a bad person who makes bad things happen. Is there a Murian word for this?"

Pryce frowned, uncertain of how to answer that vague and troubling description. "You mean…a person who does bad things? That would make them a bad person, or evil."

"No, no that," Fortitude said, tossing her head. "This word describes a person who makes bad things happen because they have done bad things. They are dirty, like a dead thing, and that is why they make others sick. That is how Ighen killed Anvyr."

"The closest word I can think of is…cursed," Pryce uncertainly replied. "A cursed person is someone who has bad things happen to them."

"That is close," Fortitude shrugged. "It is believed that killing others with infection is proof of someone being 'cursed', but you say the cause is infection."

"Yes, infection is caused by bacteria, which can grow on 'dirty' things. Bacteria doesn't care if you do good or bad things, but if you're dirty then it's easier for you to get sick – or to make others sick."

"I would like to see proof of this in the future," Fortitude hummed. "But even if you are right, Ighen is still weak, a coward, and not good at anything." She tallied off each sin with a raised talon. "He is nothing like his parents; in fact, they would probably be relieved if someone killed him."

Ighen gently descended upon the familiar outcropping. Old, bitter memories rippled in the forefront of his mind as he laid eyes upon his father before him.

Scales, frosted and pale with age, covered his deep purple hide. Scars from battles centuries past littered his body, the old wounds light and pale even against his frosted scales. The old dragon fixed Ighen with a hard look, his golden eyes sharp and critical as ever.

«It has been a long time, brat,» Anzath rumbled, the note of disdain in his voice not at all hidden.

«Father,» Ighen said, bowing his head. «I come bearing news.»

«If it is about the crafter then you are too late. I heard the news from Kharno-ǂ yesterday,» Anzath said, his tone cold and unwelcoming.

Such a response was precisely what Ighen had expected, and yet it stung none the less. «Of course, I know something Kharno-ǂ does not,» he said, something that elicited a faint glimmer of interest in his father's eyes.

«...Go on.»

Ighen cleared his throat, and swiftly summarized everything Sharnha had told him. «He was unable to verify the identity of those present, but Hironh-ǂ was likely among their number.»

«Another crafter, this one inside a ship made entirely of iron…these are some extraordinary claims,» His father rumbled, though there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. «Were you able to verify any of it yourself?»

«No, the ship disappeared by the time I could see it for myself. However, Sharnha stole a rope of shining iron from the ship as proof of his claims.»

Anzath's eyes narrowed at this. «Elaborate.»

«It is difficult to describe. It was a series of iron circles looped through each other, forming a flexible rope, and the iron itself was reflective like nothing I've ever seen.»

«And I assume Sharnha kept this supposed artifact,» Anzath huffed.

«He did,» Ighen said, biting back a growl. «I don't know where he is or what he intends to do with it; he refused to tell me anything about his own plans.»

«Of course,» Anzath chuffed dismissively. «Do you have any idea what this crafter has to do with the one Qnaro found?»

«I don't know,» Ighen admitted. «The ship was quite far away from where Xhorhw met Qnaro, so I have no idea what they're doing so far apart. Perhaps they've spread out in order to gather allies?»

«Perhaps,» Anzath frowned. «But it could just as easily be something else entirely…»

«That is true, but regardless of the details I expect that the crafters will be at the Plateau.»

«Yes, that much is certain,» Anzath absently replied. There was a faraway look to his eyes, clearly lost in thought. «Hrrm. This complicates things. I must talk to your mother about this.»

«Yes, of course,» Ighen said, bowing his head before turning to leave. «Farewell, father.»

«...Wait," Anzath said, just as Ighen flared out his wings. «Let us talk a little while longer. Why did you come to see me?»

Ighen paused, not having expected to be stopped. «...I thought you would want to know the news I brought.»

«Please,» Anzath snorted. «We both know that is not the whole truth. There's something else you wanted to tell me, isn't there?»

Slowly, Ighen folded his wings, but could not quite bring himself to face his father. Even his throat refused to work, as if it were constricted by coils of shame.

Seeing as he wasn't getting a response, Anzath continued. «If this is about Hironh, I have some advice: give up.»

Ighen froze, the red dragon's jaw falling agape. «Give up…what, exactly?»

«You know what,» Anzath said, flicking his nictitating membranes dismissively. «I know I once taught you to never give up, but something needs to be said. You have lived for 76 years now, and what have you really accomplished? Forget eggs, you cannot even win against a has-been with a broken wing!» His father waved a splayed foreclaw in Ighen's direction, and he could not help but suddenly feel conscious of his sorry state. «And look at you: your hide is barely even red and your scales are a mess. How have you managed to let yourself fall so far?»

«...I have been busy training,» Ighen weakly defended.

«Exactly!» Anzath hissed, pouncing upon the point. «You train and train, but you never win, so why do you fight?»

Perhaps it was because of recent events, or perhaps it was simply the gust that felled the tree, but at that moment, Ighen snapped.

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«How can you understand, when all you have done is win?!» he roared, decades of frustration and anger forced into every word. «Do you know what it's like to lose over and over, no matter how hard you try? Do you know how it feels to be treated like scum, no matter where you go or who you meet, all because of something you had no control over? Well? Do you?!»

Ighen's chest heaved with the ending of his rant, though his father merely stared back, as implacable as always.

«My understanding has no bearing upon your choices,» Anzath said, as if Ighen had not roared in his face. «Answer my question: why do you fight?»

Ighen did not immediately respond, as he had no answer to give. For several moments he only panted as the wind whistled throughout the mountainside.

«I want to win,» he said, answering the question as simply as he could.

For a moment Anzath only stared, and gave no indication of whether or not he approved of this answer. «And how will you do this? You've only beaten him once before, and that was soon after he broke his wing.»

Ighen gritted his teeth and tried his best to ignore the scorn in his father's voice. «I don't know where he is, but he's clearly allied with the crafters, so he's bound to be at the Plateau. There I will challenge him to a duel before thousands of witnesses.» Ighen raised a foreclaw, his eyes settling on the tips of his talons. «A curse like me will never earn the respect of others…I've known that for a long time. But with this I'll finally put an end to things – one way or another.»

«I see,» Anzath said, and faster than Ighen could react, struck him across the face.

Ighen hissed in pain from the blow, though it caused no real injury. «Hssk…! What are you-»

«Pathetic," Anzath snorted. «To think a son of mine would come to say farewell before challenging a twice-weakened foe.» His membranes slid over his eyes as he spoke, making Ighen take a fearful step backwards. «Fight me.»

«What?» Ighen stammered, his mind still recovering from the blow. «But my curse-»

«Will not matter so long as we do not draw blood. Besides, if your curse couldn't kill Hironh then it can't kill me. And don't worry, I won't leave you with anything that won't heal before the start of the Solstice.»

Ighen hesitated. He didn't see the point of this sparring match, but the look in his father's eyes told him that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

«Alright,» Ighen nodded, his hearts racing anxiously at the unexpected challenge. «Let's fight.»

«Is this the best you can do?» Anzath roared as Ighen reeled away. «What happened to all that training you did? How can you hope to beat anyone like that?»

Ighen tossed his head and shook off the pain. In a dozen strenuous flaps he managed to regain his lost altitude to face his father once again.

They had exchanged blows three times already, and Ighen had come off the worse every single time. Neither of them used their talons or teeth, but a hit was still a hit, and he knew it was going to take a few days to heal the hand of bruises he'd already accumulated.

Once more his father lunged at him, feinting again – but this time Ighen was ready, and managed to counter with a blow of his own while blocking the one he received.

«Good!» Anzath barked, even as Ighen barely managed to force him back. «Again! Fight like defeat means death!»

They completed another exchange, with this result the same as the first three. Anzath truly was an amazing fighter, and Ighen failed to land a single solid hit throughout their entire match.

«I can see why you always lose,» Anzath roared over the winds. «You flinch and hesitate at the slightest possibility of pain! Just what are you so afraid of?»

Ighen snarled, anger flaring up within his core. The next exchange he took a risk, twisting his body as he overextended himself, and managed to land a solid hit upon his father.

But it wasn't without cost – Anzath grabbed onto his foreclaws and twisted about. In the blink of an eye he had somehow flipped Ighen around and dug his talons into his neck.

«You lose,» Anzath said, and Ighen could only grunt his admission of defeat as they separated to spiral back down to the ground.

«Is that how you almost beat Hironh? By fighting like an idiot berserker?» Anzath asked as they returned to the ground.

Ighen glanced away as he bit back a response. For all his anger and shame, he knew his father wasn't wrong.

«It's almost like there's two people inside of you. One flinches and hides while the other attacks with reckless abandon.»

«Is there a point to this?» Ighen growled. «Or did you just want to berate me in greater detail?»

«I can tell as clear as day,» Anzath continued, his eyes fixed upon Ighen with that piercing gaze that always made him feel as if he were completely transparent. «You don't want to fight.»

«What…?» Ighen hissed. «How dare you…! You think I don't-»

Anzath raised a foreclaw, instantly silencing him. «There is a difference between wanting to win for yourself and wanting to win for others. Your life has been molded by defeat after defeat, and so you think that somehow things will be different if you can just win.»

«So?» Ighen hissed, feeling like a dragonet being lectured. «What's wrong with that?»

«It's that very mentality that holds you back,» Anzath said, pointedly bringing up the talons that had just been pressed against his son's throat. «You're stuck in the past, but those who are truly strong fight to better their future selves, regardless of the outcome.»

«But…I don't know-»

«Listen well, brat: there are many paths to victory, but mastery of the self is what separates the strong from weak – something you have clearly yet to learn.» His father paused, almost as if he were unsure of what to say next. «Ighen. If you truly wish for this fight, then I will not stop you, but ask yourself this: what are you so afraid of?»

Ighen could only watch as Anzath flew away, his father's last question echoing within his mind. He looked down upon his foreclaw, clenched tightly so that it could not be seen to shake.

«You're too soft,» Igansa scolded as Anzath landed upon the mountainside. «Why do you even bother with that one?»

«Pathetic though he may be, he still seeks victory,» Anzath explained as he folded his wings upon his back. «I cannot deny his tenacity, and failure or not, he is still our son.»

«Unfortunately,» Igansa snorted as she tossed her head. «If you wanted to truly help him then you should not have gone easy on him – coddling never helped anyone spread their wings.»

Anzath rumbled as he tilted his head, his spines flattening. «It is surprising, but…I wasn't holding back much at all,» he admitted. «He still has a long way to go before he can beat me, of course, but he was much stronger than I expected. He must have grown throughout the years while fighting Hironh, even if he does not seem to realize it.»

«Well…if you say so…» Igansa rumbled skeptically. «So, what, did you give him a few words of encouragement?»

«No. If he can't find his resolve without my approval then he shouldn't be fighting duels at all.» Anzath sighed, and looked up at the vanishing dot that was his son. «He just needs a change in mentality, and I have done what I can. Whether he wins or loses now is entirely up to him.»

«Well, let's hope for a miracle then,» Igansa sighed.

«Mmm,» Anzath grunted in agreement. «By the way, he did not come to ask for help like you thought.»

«He didn't?» Igansa asked, blinking in surprise.

«No, instead he brought us some very interesting information – something we're going to have to tell Vosae-ǂ about…»

Fathom flared out his wings, pulling out of an evasive roll before regaining his lost altitude. His breathing was a little strained, as this was the last of many practice maneuvers he'd done that morning, so he decided to glide for a few minutes until he recovered his stamina.

Instinct and experience made long distance flight a trivial task, so he had decided early that morning to run through some old practice maneuvers while patrolling. It had been a long time since he had two properly working wings after all, and he needed to be at his best for the Solstice.

He had made great progress over the past fifteen days in remembering how to properly fly again, but the process was not as easy as he would have hoped; his muscles still occasionally moved as if one of his wing fingers were still broken.

He tossed his head, shaking off the frustration. That was what the practice was for.

On occasion, Fathom would scan the skies around him, but he had yet to encounter another dragon that morning. It was far from unusual given that he had only been flying for around two hours, though he idly wondered if the circumstances surrounding Callan would make it more or less likely for him to encounter other dragons in the following days.

He was pulled from his thoughts as his first destination appeared on the horizon: the Slumbering Dragon. The name was really quite self-explanatory: the landmark was simply a large pile of rocks that had long ago been carved into the shape of an oversized dragon. The finer details had long since been eroded over the past few centuries, but its shape was still distinctly artificial.

Anticipation welled up in Fathom's chest as he fell into a steady descent. He had never really spoken with Qnaro before, but he was quite certain that the dragon would have helped Callan hide the message in plain sight; it was simply the most sensible thing to do.

…Unless Qnaro was an idiot, which seemed increasingly likely as each crevice he inspected yielded no results. The rocks seemed virtually unchanged compared to the last time he had seen them three decades ago.

Fathom renewed his search from the tail-end of the stone dragon, picking up rocks and looking underneath them for anything of note. His inspection was so thorough that twenty beats had passed by the time he made it to the head.

In the end, it seemed there was nothing to be found here at all.

Grunting in frustration, Fathom turned his attention to the surrounding beach. Rocks and boulders of various sizes dotted the landscape, but it didn't take long for him to detect the scent of blood – not human or dragon, but of prey. Following the scent led him to a slab of rock, stained in blood old enough to have turned black.

Fathom smiled as he carefully flipped over the rock, revealing a glass bottle with a piece of paper tucked within it.

Fortitude abruptly looked up, alerting Pryce to Fathom's returning figure in the sky.

"You are back early. Did you find anything?" Fortitude asked as he landed upon the deck.

"Here, I couldn't open it," Fathom said, unfurling his foreclaws to reveal an ancient-looking glass bottle with a piece of parchment contained within it.

The two of them watched as Pryce struggled to extract the message – he had to be careful, as the aged paper threatened to crack with every disturbance, but soon he was able to begin reading the message.

Dearest Sherry,

I have thought of nothing but you for these past few days, ev'r since the fire killed half my crew and ruined all our stores of rations. Now I stare death in the face, and I say with certainty that I have made the gravest mistake of my life in leaving you and our family.

On the subject of family, I am sure my brother would see that you and our children will want for nothing. Do thank him for me, and tell him I am sorry for not heeding his advice as well – truly, I did little to deserve a brother such as him.

My deepest apologies if this letter is overshort, I have written eight such letters alone today in hopes that one would reach you. I would give the world to spend the rest of my life with you, but as this is not to be, I hope you will forgive my selfishness in requesting one final favor: Please my dear, love again, and live a long and happy life.

Forever yours in life and in death, Leonel Wheeler

895/09/03

It didn't take long for Pryce to realize that this message wasn't from Callan. For a moment he thought Fathom had merely found the last message of a long-lost sailor, but then he turned the parchment over to see a newer, fresher message written in what appeared to be blood.

Mission day 93,

Surprise, I'm alive!

I write this letter for the crew of the Horizon (you), who will not know of my survival. I suppose I should begin with how I survived. I don't have much room, so I'll keep things short.

Edward and I were checking for damage during a lull in the storm when a rogue wave swept us into the ocean. It came out of nowhere, and we would've died right there and then if a whale hadn't sucked us into her mouth and carried us to a small island.

Edward died a few days afterwards. I think he had pneumonia, but there was nothing I could do to help him.

I survived alone for the next 73 days, until a blasted dragon dropped out of the sky and started talking to me! But I'm sure that's no surprise, seeing as you needed the help of a dragon to find this message in the first place.

I nicknamed this dragon Aurum (though his real name is something like 'Qnaro'). He and I were just discovered by another dragon named 'Xhorhw', and we promised to attend some celebration taking place during the summer solstice. Aurum knows a few other dragons who'll want to be our allies, and we'll be gathering as many as we can in the nine days before the solstice.

Gods, I hope

Pryce stared at these sentences, baffled by the ridiculous sequence of events. There were stories of cetaceans helping humans in crisis, but verified or not he'd never heard of this level of altruistic behavior in nature, and certainly not from a whale.

He continued reading, and noticed that the following words were written carefully, as if the author made a conscious effort to keep themselves from shaking.

To whoever finds this, do me a favor and send a few messages for me.

Dad – thanks for everything that you taught me. I don't think I would've survived until now if you hadn't taught me all that you did.

Gordon – regardless of what happened, the choice to go on this expedition was mine and mine alone. What happened wasn't your fault.

Don't blame yourselves for any of this. I knew what I was signing myself up for. Sort of. Wasn't really expecting to meet a dragon of all things, but hey, at least I might be the first person to ever speak to one!

I love you both,

Jane Callan

Pryce stared at the sign-off, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wished Callan could have left a more detailed message, but this was more than enough.

"I am waiting," Fortitude said, interrupting his thoughts. "What did she write? Is it good or bad?"

"It's what I expected. We missed Callan by three days, but she's alive and gathering allies with Aurum – that's the name she's given Qnaro."

"Finally," Fathom rumbled in relief. "What does that name mean?"

"It's an old word for gold, probably because he's gold colored." It wasn't a bad name. Perhaps he should consider naming dragons after metals and minerals if he couldn't find suitable words.

Fathom cocked his head, bemused by this conclusion. "There are no dragons who are gold colored. Qnaro is supposed to be yellow, not gold."

"It must have to do with how dragons can see more colors. Gold looks mostly yellow to humans," Pryce explained. He faintly remembered that the precious metal reflected IR light very well, but he would have to refer to some textbooks to be certain.

"This is interesting, but did you learn how she survived?" Fortitude asked.

"Apparently a whale saved her," Pryce said, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth. "Those are the big round animals who live in the ocean," he added when Fortitude looked blank.

Fortitude hummed at this piece of intelligence, her eyes narrowed in thought. "Strange. I have found whales on the beach before, but they die if I am too late, so I thought they could not be very smart if they kept dying like that."

"You…helped them?" Pryce asked, mildly surprised by the altruistic behavior.

"I felt pity for them," she simply replied, shrugging her wings.

"Maybe something caused them to get stuck on land," Fathom suggested. "Perhaps they were running from something, for example."

"Most humans think whales swim onto land to escape predators like the leviathans, and the ones we find are just the ones that get stuck."

"Leviathans?" Fortitude asked blankly.

"Very large sea animals, sometimes over 30 meters long. They have long bodies like snakes, and have thick pointy heads," Pryce said, aware that he was describing the bane of mankind's seafaring efforts in a rather dull manner.

Their name was an old one, given to the creatures when their true identity was yet veiled in mystery. They had a tendency to hunt in small groups, and people once believed their coiling bodies to be limbs of a far larger creature, resulting in the interpretation of a 'leviathan' of the seas.

The tsunami of 897 AE had left one notable specimen stranded deep inland, which had gone far to dispel much of the mystery shrouding the creature. Some biologists had wished to change the common name of these creatures, though their efforts were largely unsuccessful due to people stoutly refusing to use anything but the name they knew.

«Sea-snakes,» Fathom translated when Fortitude looked a little uncertain.

"Oh, those," Fortitude said, recognition finally dawning. "I have never seen one on land before, but Devotion has seen leviathans eating a whale in the ocean."

"That's interesting, but we can talk about it later. Let's focus on this for now," Pryce said, gesturing to the letter. "This message was left three days ago, so they've probably already gathered any nearby allies, and that would include Helsha."

"We can ask him where they went next," Fathom nodded. "But why did Callan not write a list of dragons they were going to talk to?"

"I don't know," Pryce shrugged, "but it's hard to write small without a proper pen or pencil. It's possible that they didn't have a list yet."

"That is true," Fortitude agreed. "Qnaro is not known to have any allies… Can you read the messages out to us? I want to make sure I didn't misunderstand anything."

"Alright, but the last part is just a personal message to her family, so I won't read that."

"What kind of personal message?" Fathom asked, head cocked.

"It's a message for her father and her…partner."

Fortitude blinked in surprise. "She has a partner? Was she on the ship?"

"Who?" Pryce asked in confusion. "Oh, you mean her husband. Callan's partner is a male – his name is Gordon, and he wasn't one of the humans on the Horizon."

"Do human partners not do things together?" Fathom asked. The two dragons appeared surprised by this, which perhaps wasn't very surprising considering what Pryce had told them about humans.

"Gordon was supposed to come with us, but he and a few others were injured in an accident before the ship could leave," Pryce clarified.

"Ah. That makes sense," Fortitude nodded. "Read now, please."

Reading the message didn't give the dragons any more insight into the situation, but at least Fortitude was satisfied. She seemed quite interested in human writing, and Pryce promised to teach her all about it later.

"Fathom, could I talk to you for a bit?" Pryce asked, once they had finished discussing Callan's message.

"Of course," Fathom nodded. They both glanced at Fortitude, who sat facing away from them, but he had no doubt that she could hear every word they said. "What is it?"

"I asked Fortitude today about Pathogen…did you know about him being a 'slahg'?"

Fathom's spines twitched a little. "...I do," he admitted.

"So why didn't you tell me?"

Fathom rumbled uncertainly, his head drooping in a rather guilty manner. "You…gave me a lot to think about when you helped heal my wounds and cure my infection. I didn't want to talk about it, but I guess it can't be avoided anymore."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Pryce offered, seeing him shift uncomfortably.

"No, you deserve to know," Fathom said, resolutely shaking his head. "I should start from the beginning. It took Anvyr a long time to die. Almost two months. She couldn't even recognize me or Anvonh, by the end." He bowed his head, staring down at his talons. "I…thought about killing her just to end her suffering, but I always hoped she might get better."

Pryce didn't know what to say to that.

"I thought about it a lot while I was healing," Fathom continued, apparently not expecting an answer. "For a long time, I blamed Ighen for almost everything. I didn't care or think about why he did what he did – I just thought he was a terrible person, someone who simply deserved to die. But then you taught me the truth about infection, and you saved my life with penicillin. It is shameful to be saved by someone smaller and weaker than yourself, and at the same time I suddenly couldn't blame Ighen for Anvyr's death anymore, because it…wasn't his fault. At least, not completely."

"I didn't tell you about Ighen being a slahg because I knew that couldn't be true," Fathom sighed, raising his head to meet Pryce's gaze. "He is still a bad person, but…now I am not sure if he is more to blame for Anvyr's death than I am."

"I think, in the end, it was just a horrible accident," Pryce slowly replied. "Pathogen shouldn't have challenged and badly wounded you, and you shouldn't have accepted the match. But neither of you had reason to believe that your actions would result in Anvyr's death."

"It's not a very satisfying way of looking at things," Fathom sighed. "But I think you are right. And I have a new plan on how to deal with Ighen."

"Oh?" Pryce asked, curious to hear what had changed.

"Pathogen thinks I am weakened; if he tries to challenge me to a duel because of that, then I will kill him. If he does not, then I will let him go and live his miserable life."

"That sounds fair to me," Pryce nodded. "What if he fights you normally?"

"Then I'll give him a few scars like normal, but I won't kill him."

"Huh. I was actually just about to ask you to do that," Pryce admitted.

Fathom blinked, tilting his head as he regarded Pryce with a curious expression. "This is different from what you believed before. What changed your mind?"

Pryce squared his shoulders before looking Fathom in the eyes. "I'm just being realistic. I'd rather not agree to any plan that involves killing, especially when I know so little about Pathogen, but I don't want you to risk your life either."

"You're making more sense now, but I still don't understand why you would rather I not kill Ighen," Fathom said, rolling his eyes. "Losing all the time is no excuse for being a terrible person."

"Well...I know what it's like, to never be good enough. Wouldn't you be a different person if all you did was lose?"

"But I don't," Fathom said, eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why would I imagine myself being someone like him?"

"Imagining yourself in another's position can help you understand them," Pryce said, though Fathom still didn't seem very sold on the idea.

"Maybe that's a human thing," Fathom grumbled. "I guess I would be different, but I wouldn't be me to begin with if I was weak enough to lose so many times." He cocked his head, apparently stumbling across an interesting thought. "I wonder what you would be like as a dragon. I think you would be very strong," Fathom mused.

"Didn't you just call me small and weak a minute ago?" Pryce asked, unsure of how to take the odd compliment.

"I was referring to your body, obviously," Fathom snorted. "It's not my fault that Murian doesn't have different words for strength of body and strength of mind – or is the right word soul?"

Pryce blinked. "...You think my mind is strong?"

"Of course," Fathom answered easily. "Your body is weak, you overthink, and you're often afraid of things, but you don't let anything stop you from doing what you need to do, even if your own desires say otherwise. That is why I respect you, because you can do things that I cannot."

"Oh." Pryce said. "I didn't know that."

"Hmph," Fathom chuffed. "Your eyes really are terrible. Why would I be friends with someone I didn't respect?"

"I guess you're right," Pryce chuckled. "But what I'm asking you to do…isn't that the opposite of what you respect me for? I'm asking you to stay alive for selfish reasons, not because this is what I believe is right."

"Maybe a little bit," Fathom admitted, "but no one is perfect, and I think it is the right thing to do given our circumstances."

"If you say so," Pryce shrugged, though he did feel somewhat better about his decision. "I will say that I appreciate your ability to admit your mistakes. Not many humans are as willing to do that as you are."

"That's normal for dragons," Fathom chuffed, though he was obviously pleased by the compliment. "Pride rooted in lies is nothing but delusion."

"Oh? Is that an expression?"

"It's good, isn't it?" Fathom cracked a smile. "It took some time to think of a good-sounding translation that was also accurate."

Pryce smiled. "Yes, it flows quite well. I'd be interested to hear more of those, if you think of any others."

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