Midnight thought it was entirely possible they could have all been wiped out by a plague. Not anything germ related, but the disease that was her people's own insatiable thirst for power. She'd walked for two days through the countryside. There wasn't much scenic country left to admire. Scorch marks bisected once lush green fields. Corpses lie about the fields in various states of decay. It would have been much more horrific if it weren't such a common sight among Dracons. The real tragedy wasn't only in the body count; it was the frequency and absence of meaning in their unending war.

What did they gain and what did they all lose?

They lost their lands, their homes, and apparently all of their lives. Everyone. Gone. Maybe the city fared better than the rural Dracons? Maybe worse? After two days of walking, Midnight had finally arrived at a main highway. She was impressed that it was mostly intact. Dents, divots, and plenty of airlight vehicles in ruins, but it would be easier to traverse a mostly paved road at night than walk over thoroughly destroyed fields. It would have been easier to fly, but that wasn't feasible anymore. Midnight had paid her price for combat. She lost her ability to self-sustain in atmospheric flight, but gained a new family and sense of purpose. In the end, Midnight considered her gains outweighed the loss.

The highway stretched on for several kilometers, but it was a journey over a mountain range made far easier than if it weren't paved at all. In the wake of the setting sun, the few solar powered lights still standing along the highway remained operational. Even if her enhanced night vision made walking in the dark a non issue, the street lamps were more of a comfort than functional necessity.

One more kilometer till she arrived over the hill to Casnewydd. A flurry of pleasant memories sparked a modest warmth of memories. She'd crested this hill before. Although not technically permitted to go by herself as a princess, Midnight had a habit of bending the rules. She'd snuck her way out of the manor to Newport a handful of times. Enough to establish a reputation anyway. As the memories burned a bit brighter in the back of her mind, so too did a smile sneak onto her face.

That's where she'd earned the name Midnight.

---

She was thirteen.

She had refused to wear her formal gown to the Belenus Debutante Ball.

Therefore, according to the Queen Mother, a young Fyntanna Kellgannon was grounded until the coming of the next apocalypse. When that was exactly was uncertain. Fynn got the impression from her mother's flared nostrils and exasperated expression that it would be a long, long time until her daughter would see the light of day again.

That was fine.

Fynn had discovered the latch on her tower window wasn't entirely secure. Furthermore, the length of bedsheets, when ripped lengthwise were nearly the exact length that the tower was tall. Since gliding around the Manor grounds was obviously too risky, it would be easier to scale down the side of the wall. She did exactly that and dropped down the excess five feet her rope failed to cover.

Escaping the Kellgannon Manor itself would be far more difficult. For one thing, the barracks onsite housed an entire regiment of troops at any given time. That was nearly two thousand armed Dracons not easily persuaded to look the other way with playful dialogue. Of course, if Fynn herself were dressed as one of their own, they might not bother looking her way while she slipped off property for a few hours? Then again, she'd have to risk going into the barracks to steal a uniform.

Maybe she hadn't thought this escape plan through?

Before Fynn considered climbing back up the tower, an airlight cargo transport was slowly making its way through the courtyard driveway. Darting through the planters, topiary, and trees in the garden, she may be able to slip aboard. Almost there. She could hear the steam turbines hiss as the transport coasted along the paved road. Fynn timed her jump just as the driver and guards turned their heads in the opposite direction. Landing with a dull thud in the flat cargo bed, she managed to quickly cover herself with a tarp and remained gravely still for the next hour as the vehicle left the Manor and drove out into the country.

Fynn had managed to sneak glances out from under the tarp as the airlight freighter turned onto the main highway. Solar powered lights blinked by as they drove past the dark countryside toward the mountains. Only another kilometer to go till they reached the port city of Casnewydd. From what she'd heard from gossip and rumors around the manor, the place was a dangerous mix of shipyards and high society. All Fyntana needed to know was it was dangerous.

Danger. Excitement.

The two words were practically interchangeable.

As the night air raced through her hair and budding horns, Fyntana took in a deep breath. It smelled like summer and tasted sweet. That was the sensation of freedom. She risked sticking her head further out from under the tarp. Her timing couldn't have been better. Cresting over the mountain, Fynn saw a brilliant cityscape; neon lights, highrises, Dracons living life to the fullest. She was practically salivating at the chance to mingle among those she was forbidden to interact with. Finally, she'd have a taste of adventure.

When the airlight transport she'd slipped aboard finally rolled into the city proper, Fynn leapt off at the first signal light the cargo truck stopped at. She waited a moment ,more, savoring the sensation of asphalt beneath her feet. Massive brick and steel skyscrapers towered above her. Neon lamps of sky blues, shimmering golds, and white ran up the sides of the buildings turning night into day. Orchestrated tavern music floated through the air intermixed with lively conversation in dozens of different dialects.

Fynn wandered through the crowded streets still packed with people late into the night. It was magic. Corner taverns teemed with rowdy patrons as they laughed and danced. Countless shops lined each avenue with such intricate dresses and accessories they even managed to catch Fynn's interest in such ancient and traditionally feminine things. Gazing at one particular gown in the window reflected her face just above the neckline. It almost changed her mind on having to wear a gown, royal golden markings, and makeup... but not quite.

What directed Fyntana's attention back to her own desires was a low bellowing horn. Before she could even get her bearings, Fynn was running full tilt down the avenue to the docks. Turning one particular corner sent her on a sharp downward slope, Balboa Avenue. Nearly reaching the end she could see the most beautiful sight she'd laid eyes on.

Hundreds upon hundreds of warships. Not only warships, but yachts; solar sailors, celestial crafts, even the bulking freighters were absolutely beautiful. She continued running to the docks. Salty air stung her nostrils. Strong ocean breezes pushed through her hair and horns. A lingering scent of fish, usually strong enough to make her gag, was surprisingly pleasant. Every one of her senses came together elevating her soul into a sensation of joy previously unknown to her. Then, having sprinted down one of the wooden docks, Fynn was close enough to one particular yacht that she could reach out and touch it.

"What are you doin' to my boat?" A gruff voice hollered from the end of the dock.

Fyntana retracted her hand immediately, "Nothing, I just..." Fynn searched for something sophisticated to say, but came up empty. "It's a beautiful boat."

"Well, I'm sure she appreciates that," Spoke the voice again.

Fynn watched as a squat Dracon hobbled toward her down the dock. His limp, regulated by a bronze prosthetic leg, let out a subtle hiss whenever it landed. His beard was well trimmed, greying with a faint amber tint. He too reached out a gloved hand and gave a firm pat on the side of the ship's hull, "She's a good one alright. Designed her from the ground up."

Fyntana's jaw dropped, "You designed it? You built this ship?"

Gazing again at the sleek wooden ship with bronze, black-steel and gold accents certainly gave it an air of elegance, but also rugged stability. There were a handful of gun-ports along the two tiered decks, along with a larger cannon at the bow and two in the aft end. What set it apart from the other warships was how understated the gun placements were. At first glance it could have been mistaken as a luxury yacht instead of an instrument of war.

"Beautiful," Fyntana whispered again.

"What brings you out here at this time of night? A young lass like you; pretty dangerous. Lots of unsavory folks around these yards," the old man said while he lit a thick cigar. He examined Fynn with seasoned scrutiny as if inspecting a ship. She was petite, sure, but her hands were rough, callused, the bruised knuckles of a fighter. Her simple cloak was made of unmistakably expensive material. Her budding horns, even concealed under the cloaks's hood revealed the engraved golden sigils of royalty.

Fynn lowered her voice to as masculine a tone as she could conjure; "Just here admiring the boats."

"Ah," The old sailor said without inflection, "You intend to enlist in the Royal Belenus Navy then, do ya? Become an Aquanaut? Perhaps even an Aeronaut?"

Fyntana actually considered for a moment. If she could enlist as just a sailor, work her way up through the ranks without special treatment. She might pass for a normal girl for once. No, not just normal, she'd be a sailor.

---

Lost in her memory, Midnight smiled with giddy anticipation hoping to see the port city. Casnewydd had filled her with so much hope and excitement for a future centered on exploring the world and stars. Those towering skyscrapers had made her feel so small, but also encouraged her to grow. It was a reminder that there were things greater than herself and not to be intimidated or threatened by that fact.

If only the rest of her people could feel that way.

Just because something was different, wasn't immediately perceived as a threat or a challenge for Midnight. Why would it be? She was a Dracon. Different, new, and the unknown was supposed to be an opportunity for adventure and discovery. That sentiment however was one that her mother often chided her for sympathizing with, "Those naive wayward Manaan Morons. What's the use of exploring a new world if you don't intend to claim it as your own?"

Given what Midnight saw as she breached the ridge overlooking Casnewydd, caused her to reflexively scream back at the memory of her mother; "What's the use of claiming a world as your own if you aren't going to take care of it!?"

There came no reply.

That heartbreaking scream echoed over the ruins of Casnewydd. Skyscrapers, taverns, shops and shipyards had all been reduced to rubble. Once a launchpad toward a brighter future, Newport was now nothing more than a blackened pile of ash and bone.