A chill is in the heavy morning air. I shiver, stretch, and sigh, curling up tighter around Blackburn. It's too early to be-

Wait.

Why am I sleeping next to Blackburn?

Suddenly the cold early morning seems to blaze as my eyes shoot open and I scramble to my feet. I clap my wings over my mouth, and I'm almost positive my scales have turned the reddest shade of mortified-Rainwing pink. How late was I up?! And how in Pyrrhia did I end up falling asleep?!

I'm sure my tumultuous thoughts have disturbed Blackburn's mind, because he kicks out in his sleep and shivers. He unconsciously reaches a talon over his shoulder and tries to scooch closer to where I was a few seconds ago, and my heart softens. Why should I be embarrassed? I scold myself. He's my friend. This has happened before.

So gently I place a wing over him to keep him warm, and sit there for another hour or so. Through some great miracle, the smog overhead clears a little bit, and I can see the stars shining forth. It's been forever since I've seen a clear night sky. Two moons are high overhead tonight, but one is barely a sliver. I heave a deep, contented sigh and, and wait until all the warmth has seeped from my bones. Even then, I breathe a little puff of fire to make the moment last.

Eventually, I remember that I have to attend a council meeting in a few hours, and it won't look good for me to be found in an old, grimy alley with another dragon. I need to be fresh and presentable, or as presentable as I can be in front of the Nightwing Council. Reluctantly, I nudge Blackburn awake. I pull my wing off and call out to the heavy sleeper in as loud of a whisper as I can manage. "Blackburn," I hiss, and he shifts, mumbling his protest. I have to call his name a few more times before he even lifts his head, and even then he's practically sleep-growling his annoyance. "C'mon, Blackburn, you need to be fresh for school in the morning."

I am not a patient dragon. I try my best when it comes to certain dragons, but eventually it all runs out, and I'm forced to use my strength. I'm sure if I didn't have so much training and didn't fight so much, I wouldn't be as impatient, but it can't be helped. So, what else can I do but shove the stubborn little termite to his feet?

"Jerk," he rumbles, annoyed. I just roll my eyes and support the drowsy Nightwing on my shoulder.

It's a slow trudge to Blackburn's sector, because even though we're walking and it's freezing out, he's still half-asleep. It gets really irritating after a while, but finally we're here, and Blackburn is crawling into his small apartment, which is more like a nest suspended on a turning pulley surrounded by other's like it. Once he's in, I pull a lever, and the massive apartment-contraption clicks as it pulls his nest high into place. "Sleep well, Blackburn," I whisper, too quietly to be heard. I give the grouchy dragon one last look before silently taking flight.

Thank the moons it's still dark out. I'm not supposed to be in the male sector, much less this far in. I need to book it back to my own nest before daylight if I want to get a little more rest in.

My body feels like a sack of lead, and the sky is turning a light blue when I touch down on my stone porch high above the street floor. Unlike Blackburn, I'm in a slightly higher class because of my parents and because of my status with the council. I throw open the door to my cliffside abode, and before you can say "Sweet dreams," my head is on the rough burlap pillow.

Rap rap rap. "Junior Lieutenant Dreamwalker, miss," A voice with a thick accent calls. I groan. No, no, no. Not now. Whyyy nowww?... I turn my head and glare at the dragoness in my doorway. Can't believe I left the door open. A messenger dragon. No doubt about my council meeting. I try not to growl, and roll off the bed.

"What is it?" I mumble politely as I pull on my formal brown leather gloves and stockings. I know the answer before the dragoness replies.

"Yer meetn' wif ve Nightwing Council begins in an hour, miss. Ve council members expects you ter be vere on time." She reads this from a scroll. She's new, I notice. The dragoness looks up at me with a hint of hesitation, then adds, "I'm not supposed ter tell ya vis, but Queen Triumphant is going ter be vere." My claws slip and I drop my boot. "Ya may want to dress a wee bit nicer fer vis one." She tries to hide her smile at the shock on my face.

I recover quickly and race over to find my white and brass gearset, take one quick look at her, and I give her my most grateful smile and nod. "Thank you, uh..."

"Greaser, miss. And yer welcome! Good luck today!" She ducks out of the door, and before I know it, her wingbeats are far off in the distance.

I shove my forelegs into my gloves and pull the bag straps tight around my waist. I strap on a nice belt for effect, and brass ringlets with intricate designs fit nicely on my tail. The last thing I do is clip on some brass earrings to my scratched-up ears, accompanied by an obsidian stone on my left ear. All of this is done in under two minutes, and I'm a little frantic by the time I'm finished.

But as I step out onto my porch, the city view before me takes my breath away.

The sky is a light, frosty-blue, tinged at the edges with yellow and pink. A few tufts of cloud drift past, but for the most part all is clear. The mist and smog have cleared a bit, and most is nestled far down in the streets and between the buildings. Way out ahead of me, miles away, the black dome of the House of Nightwings peers through the fog, glittering in the early-morning sunlight.

My home. There's truly no place more beautiful.

I lift off, and the wind catches under my wings. I let myself slide gently through air currents for a minute or two, then fly higher up and book it to the council meeting on the fast winds. I've never been late, and I don't intend to start now.

All I can hear is the rush of the air whistling past my ears, and all I can think is that I wish I brought earmuffs.

Pretty soon, I'm practically flying right above the obsidian dome. The fog has cleared from the ground and the sky is smoggy again, and my stomach is twisting in knots as I stare at the now-ominous Nightwing House. I swallow nervously, and glide down to the front entrance.

Oilslick is there, stoick as a blank sheet of paper. To the unknowing dragon, I'm sure he'd seem huge and intimidating. Stick straight, he waits until I step inside the entrance, then follows. "Lead the way, Junior Lieutenant Dreamwalker," he rumbles. This formality is normal when he's escorting me to House meetings. I nod, take a deep breath, and start walking.

One thing you must understand as you read this chapter is that Nightwings pride themselves on their architecture. Whatever they build, they build with care and a keen eye for beauty; and when it came to the House of Nightwings, they spared no expenses.

Gold plates built into the walls of the halls show pictures and designs etched into them tell a long story; the story of the Nightwings since the beginning of Pyrrhia. Small, delicate gemstones are embedded into the eyes of the gold dragons in the stories. Mosaics of pure gold and sapphires of midnight blue and star-flecked purple are embedded in the floors. The House is lit with a cozy lantern glow, doing only a little to make the airy place seem warm and inviting. But the most breathtaking feature of all is the ceiling itself.

High, high overhead, held up by towering marble columns, a shimmering faux universe glitters like starlight. The infinite deep black of space is represented by cold obsidian. Galaxies of rich amethyst dust and bright cyan-blue starbelts billow across the stone, occasionally accompanied by golden supernovas and starbirths. And shining across this fake expanse are the stars. Crystals glow with celestial light, infinite and uncountable. The whole thing shifts and changes at the slightest whim, and to any dragon it seems as if the ceiling is the night sky itself.

It was the dying gift of a sick animus architect, who passed soon after the building was complete.

Rarely do I get claustrophobic, especially in buildings like this, but as I walk along I have trouble breathing, and the walls seem to be closing in little by little. Every meeting I've had with the council about my... "ability" have put me far out of my comfort zone, and usually end with the council glowering at me with disappointment and me stealing away to some remote part of the House to break down.

It's great fun. You should try it sometime.

To make matters worse, Queen Triumphant is going to be there. This is sure to be some big assessment, perhaps a pass-or-fail test. When they find out that I still can't do it, I'm sure to lose my rank!

The halls echo with the sound of our claws chinking on the marble floor. Everything else is dead quiet. No hissing of vents, no whirring and hollow moaning of internal heating, no chatter of dragons... The lack of technology and life in the House is disturbing.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity but what must have only been a few minutes, we come to a stop in front of the massive, engraved golden doors that lead to the Council room. I'm trembling as I stare up at the intimidating doors. What if today is the day I lose everything? What if the Queen deems me unfit to serve for the Endless War? What if all I've worked for, and all I've trained for, is just a waste that will be destroyed by the Council of Nightwings today?

The warmth of a wing drapes over my back, jerking me out of my panic-induced reverie. I must look like a frazzled owl. Oilslick glances at me, and for just a second I can see through his security-guard facade. Support and pride glows from his face, and suddenly I find I can stand a little straighter. "Yer gonna be great, Dreamwalker," he whispers. Then he pulls back his wing, and the soldier look returns.

He raps a few times on the great golden doors. After a moment they creep open. Blinding light pours in, and we step through the entryway.

The inside of the Nightwing Council room is like a reverse-dome, an amphitheater with an indented floor and the edges raised to meet the obsidian ceiling. Nightwings fill the whole thing, and at the far end of the room, raised above the others in an ornate throne that is almost always empty, is the great Queen Triumphant.

The ancient, massive Nightwing dragoness is at least twice my size. She's battle-worn and badly scarred, but she emanates a regal beauty and power. Blue, violet, indigo, and clear jewels are embedded above her brow and throughout her spines. She wears no gear or modern apparel, resembling more the style of the old ways that have not yet been lost to time. She's frightening, terrible, and older than any dragon I've ever seen, yet I can't help being drawn to her like a bee.

At her right side sits a beautiful dark-violet dragoness, young but almost as regal as the Queen. The Queen's eldest daughter, I assume. At Queen Triumphant's left side is a spindly grey-black dragon without a shining scale on his body. He looks old, but younger than the queen. There is no mercy on his face, and from what I've heard of the Queen's advisor, I assume this is him. Far, far back in the shadows of the room, a terrible-looking guard standing at its side, a strange, ugly, bland gray dragon sits shackled, drooping its oddly thin face. It's no Nightwing, that's for sure. Perhaps a hybrid.

"Junior Lieutenant Dreamwalker of the Orion bloodline," Oilslick bellows, making me jump. I sniff and try to recover by squaring my shoulders and staring around the room. The Nightwings all chorus a greeting, and sit as I hop and glide down to the bottom of the bowl, a circular platform in the center below everything else. I feel like an object left for scrutiny, and my scales itch with discomfort. Out of place in the roomful of wealthy and extravagant warlords and emissaries, not to mention the awesome queen at the top of it all... I could not be any more uncomfortable.

Remembering my manners, I bow as deep as I can, stumbling a bit over my own heavy claws. "Oops, sorry, your Majesty," I grin and try to laugh it off. Nobody joins in. Well. That's embarrassing. I clear my throat and wait to be told to seat myself. Nobody says anything, so once again I give a pitiful smile and stay standing.

A scrawny scribe sitting by the Queen's side, slightly farther in front, pulls out a book. Glancing up at me, he begins to read aloud. "Junior Lieutenant Dreamwalker, daughter of Lieutenant Cometflight of the Orion bloodline," his voice grinds against my ears painfully, "high student of the Nightwing Elite, and trainee for six years under the order of the Nightcaller. You stand here before us today to demonstrate the rare skill you showed at eleven months old, when you entered the dreams of Lieutenant Cometflight and were able to make yourself known to him."

I wince. Cometflight was my father. I don't know how, but when I was a hatchling I entered a kind of shellshock nightmare of his. I was hatched close to a full moon, so if it were simply a moonborn dragonet nobody would have batted an eye. But he could see me clear as day, and that's part of the reason it was a nightmare. He hated seeing me on his battlefield dreamscape, and we both woke up in the same sort of state; screaming and blindly flailing on the floor.

I had somehow imitated the abilities of an ancient dreamvisitor. The Nightwing council saw this as a valuable gift and took me in to train with the elite in hopes that I could someday repeat the strange happening. It hasn't happened since.

"A dragon has been selected from the prisons at random, and you are to enter his or her dreams and make yourself known to him or her. Should you fail, your elite training shall come to an end and you will join the ranks of the lower soldiers."

What?! I feel lightheaded, and my vision tunnels. I can't lose all this, I've worked so hard for it! I swallow the hard lump in my throat and nod, fighting back the nausea I can feel overtaking my body. Maybe I can fake it! No, I scrap the idea, they have mind-readers in the council. That won't work.

My vision is starting to swirl when a motion catches my eye. Oilslick is flagging me down. Once I see him, he stares at me pointedly and pushes one talon toward and above his chest. Breathe. I inhale slowly and nod.

"The test will commence immediately."

I push back as much fear as I can, mentally shoving it all into a closet and propping it there with a stick. The odd gray dragon I saw earlier trudges onto the pedestal I'm standing on and flops onto the ground, looking absolutely exhausted. I wonder what this dragon's story is, but push the curiosity aside and step up to the dragon. As I lower my neck to touch my forehead to his, he looks up at me.

The sadness in his dull eyes pierces me straight to my core.

He's a Rainwing, I realize. I couldn't tell because of his lack of vibrant color and drooping frills. Some sort of prisoner of war, no doubt... poor thing.

"Don't look at me like that," I protest quietly. He sighs and looks down. I firm my chin, clutch his horns, and press my forehead to his.

Minutes pass. The room is silent, and I see nothing. I adjust my grip on the Rainwing's horns and imagine myself reaching deep down, grasping whatever magic I have, and pulling it back up into my mind. Still nothing. I try imagining that my thoughts and consciousness are a strand of thread, wrapping around the Rainwing's mind and drawing back his thoughts from it.

I have no idea how long this goes on for. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. But finally Queen Triumphant breaks the silence. "That's enough!" She booms, stepping off her throne. The scribe begins to scribble in his notebook. Queen Triumphant's gaze sweeps the room, and lands on Oilslick. My heart leaps into my throat.

"I must be honest, General Oilslick," she sighs, "this is looking like a dead end to me. I will discuss this display with my advisors, and you will be notified when I have reached my decision." With that, the Queen turns and walks off. Her daughter and her head advisor follow suit, and the court is left to its own devices. Two guards carry off the Rainwing, and I stand, numb, in the midst of everything.

I've failed. I've failed my teacher, I've failed my dead parents, and I've failed my tribe.

What am I going to do?