Aeron exhaled sharply as they stood amid the ruins, his eyes still drawn toward the river beyond the camp.
" Why aren't we following him?" he asked, unable to hide the frustration in his voice. " The man told us where Lyam went. If we hurry—"
Violet nodded in agreement, clutching Atlas's horn a little tighter. " Yeah. What if he needs help right now?"
Starfania shook her head slowly, her gaze fixed on the destroyed encampment.
" Because Lyam didn't come here by accident," she said. Her voice was steady, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. " He was looking for something. And now that I've seen this with my own eyes…"
She gestured to the scorched tents, the fallen banner. " My father wasn't hunting dragons. He was preparing for something much bigger."
Aeron frowned. " You think this place was part of that plan."
" I know it was," Starfania replied quietly. " And Lyam knows it too. He's survived this long by staying one step ahead of my father. If anyone can take care of himself, it's him."
Violet hesitated, then nodded, trust winning over doubt. " So…the answers are here."
" Yes," Starfania said. " Whatever Lyam came for, he either found it—or got close."
They approached a tent that stood taller and more intact than the others, its reinforced frame and heavier canvas setting it apart. Even in ruin, it radiated authority. The entrance flap hung partially open, swaying faintly in the air. A heavy silence settled over them as they stepped inside. The scent of ink and aged parchment lingered beneath the sharper tang of smoke. Maps covered the walls—routes marked in red, encampments circled, symbols scrawled with ruthless precision. Notes and battle plans lay scattered across tables, each one a glimpse into the cold logic of war. Starfania's breath caught as her eyes locked onto the central map.
It wasn't just local—it spanned regions. Too many regions. Atlas padded behind her, his massive form careful despite the cramped space. Torchlight glinted off his scales as Violet remained perched on his back, her eyes wide as she took everything in. Drogo and Aeron followed, both growing tense by the second.
" This place…" Aeron murmured, running a hand over a marked table. " If Lyam was here, he must've left something behind. A clue, anything."
They didn't need to say more. They split up immediately, moving with purpose—rifling through crates, lifting scrolls, skimming journals. Every rustle of paper felt loud in the tense quiet.
Time stretched thin, each second heavy with expectation. Starfania's fingers brushed against a worn leather-bound journal resting alone on a desk. Its cover bore an unfamiliar crest—sharp lines, almost Draconic. Her pulse quickened as she opened it. Before she could read, Aeron spoke again, his voice low and grim. " This isn't just any tent. This is where they planned their war strategies."
Starfania flipped the journal fully open—and froze. Beneath it, carved into the desk itself, was a hidden compartment. Her breath hitched as she reached inside and withdrew a small glass vial. The liquid within shimmered softly, pulsing as if alive.
It reflected the torchlight in shifting hues, warm and unsettling all at once. Aeron stepped closer. " What did you find?"
" I don't know," she said honestly, turning the vial slowly. " But it matters."
He studied it, unease flickering across his face. " Potion, maybe. Or something worse."
Starfania glanced back at the journal. Scribbled notes filled the margins—reference to rituals, altered formulas, repeated warnings. Her stomach twisted.
" What if they were testing this?" She whispered. Aeron leaned in, reading over her shoulder. " Then we're looking at something that could change everything."
Before either of them could say more, Violet's voice rang out from across the tent. " Guys! You need to see this!"
They turned to find her holding up a strip of deep green fabric. It shimmered faintly, impossibly smooth yet clearly reinforced. Drogo and Atlas stood beside her, tails wagging proudly, as if aware they'd found something important. Starfania stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she examined the cloth. Tiny overlapping patterns ran through it—almost like scales.
" …Now I understand why he's called the lizard man," she murmured. Violet grinned. " That's what I thought!"
Aeron scanned the tent again, tension sharpening his gaze. " This confirms it. Lyam was here. Recently."
Starfania turned toward Atlas, resolving hardening in her chest. She knelt before him, pressing her palm gently to his warm scales.
" Atlas," she said softly, reverently. " I need your help."
Her eyes met hers, ancient and knowing. " Find him."
Atlas's eyes softened at her request, the star-flecked depths of them glowing faintly brighter. He lowered his massive head until his brow touched her forehead, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. The air around them shifted—subtle at first, like the pressure change before a storm.
A low, resonant hum vibrated through his chest. The torches along the tent walls flickered wildly, their flame bending inward as if drawn by an unseen force. Loose pages rustled, maps lifting slightly at their corners. Violet instinctively grabbed onto one of Atlas's horns for balance.
" Uh—Star?" She said nervously. " Is he supposed to do that?"
Starfania didn't look away.
" He's listening," she replied softly. Atlas inhaled deeply, the breath of rolling through the tent like distant thunder. When he exhaled, a shimmer rippled across the ground beneath his claws—constellations of light briefly etching themselves into the dirt floor, forming ancient draconic sigils that pulsed once…twice…then began to move. Aeron's breath caught. " He's tracking him."
The symbols stretched outward, sliding beneath the tent walls, pointing unmistakably toward the river ravine beyond the camp. One sigil flared brighter than the rest—fractured, unstable. Starfania felt it then. Pain. Not her own—but echoes of it. Exhaustion. Blood. Determination burns hotter than fear.
" Atlas…" she whispered. " What do you see?"
He lifted his head slowly, releasing a soft but strained rumble. The sound carried emotion—concern, urgency, respect.
" He's alive," Aeron said quietly, reading the tension in Atlas's posture. " But barely holding on."
The shimmering trail began to fade, the magic dissipating like mist under sunlight. As the tent settled back into stillness, Starfania rose to her feet, resolve hardening in her chest.
" He went into the ravines," she said. " He's drawing VulcanFire forces away from survivors. Just like that man said."
Violet swallowed, clutching the scaled fabric tighter. " Alone?"
Starfania nodded. " By choice."
Drogo let out a sharp huff, smoke curling from his nostrils. He stamped one claw against the ground, impatient, furious. Aeron met Starfania's gaze. " If we follow him, we're walking straight into a trap."
" Yes," she agreed. Then her eyes sharpened. " But if we don't, he dies—and VulcanFire wins."
She tucked the vial securely into her satchel, then took the scaled cloth from Violet, folding it carefully. Every piece mattered now. Starfania looked around the tent one last time—the maps, the journals, the quiet proof of calculated destruction.
" This place was built to end dragons," she said. " And Lyam stood in its way."
She turned back to her friends, to Atlas and Drogo, her voice steady despite the weight pressing down on her.
" We find him," she said. " We help him. And then—we stop this war at its root."
Atlas straightened, wings flexing once, stars along his scales glinting like promises written into the night. The path was clear. And for the first time since leaving VulcanFire, Starfania didn't feel like she was running anymore. She was chasing the truth.