A bitter wind howled over the jagged cliffs, cutting through the air like a blade and sending sharp stabs of cold into Astra's bones. It whipped the sea spray up, a veil of mist that clung to her iridescent scales, turning them into fleeting flashes of silver and blue. She sighed, the sound heavy and thick with sorrow, as her forepaws sank deep into the rich, dark mud of the coastline. The squelch beneath her claws was a small comfort, a reminder of days long past when life had been simpler—when she had known safety and warmth.

Her heart ached, a hollow pang that echoed through her chest, as memories of her mother flooded her mind. The soft, strong wings of her mother had once sheltered her from storms like this—storms that battered the cliffs and whipped the sea into a frothing frenzy. And her brother, Quickmind, ever the protector, had always been there, his wings draped over her sides like a shield, keeping the world's dangers at bay. But those days were gone. Astra's gaze drifted to the horizon, her eyes narrowing as the sight of distant sails caught her attention. The longships of the Vikings—like jagged teeth breaking through the steel-gray sky—were drawing nearer, a reminder that nothing stayed safe for long.

Her throat tightened, and she shifted uneasily, watching the ships with a quiet, aching dread. She couldn't really blame Onyx and Quickmind for fleeing—they'd always been cautious, and after what had happened... well, she knew they didn't trust the Viking ships. They had learned the hard way to retreat when danger approached. She unconsciously ran a claw along the smooth surface of her wing, seeking comfort from the familiar coolness of her scales. But when her claws grazed the raised ridge on her neck, the scar—a twisted, jagged mark that marred her once-pristine hide—her breath hitched.

The scar, an unforgiving reminder of her encounter with Amber, the Monstrous Nightmare, branded her in more ways than one. Amber had been a beast driven to madness by endless combat with the Vikings. Her once-beautiful face, now marred by countless battle scars, had become a twisted map of vengeance. Her flame-wrapped jaws had closed around Astra's throat with such fury that Astra could still feel the searing heat as if it had only happened moments ago. Even now, the touch of that fire seemed to linger on her skin, a memory that refused to fade.

Astra's wings fluttered involuntarily, drawing tight against her body as another gust of wind sliced through the cliffs. Her wings were trembling slightly, the cold creeping beneath her scales. The Viking ships were closer now, their sails blotting out the horizon, but Astra remained frozen in place. The instinct to flee was there, buried deep within her, but something—some flicker of hope—kept her anchored to the mud. Her amber eyes fixed on the horizon, watching, waiting, wishing against the odds that her family might return for her, that this time they might not leave her to face the storm alone.

The wind howled louder, tugging at her fur and her wings, but Astra remained still, her gaze unwavering. Maybe, just maybe, they would come back for her.

A sudden, thunderous roar shattered the silence of the coastline, its sheer force rattling the jagged cliffs and sending a chill of anticipation through Astra's spine. Her head snapped up, instinctively searching for the source of the sound. Through the swirling mist and sea spray, a dark silhouette cut through the air—massive wings spread wide, as though the sky itself had been split by the sheer force of the dragon's presence. The rippling scales of the creature gleamed silver in the shifting light, each one marked by countless battle scars, an indelible reminder of a lifetime spent in combat.

Astra's muscles locked in a defensive stance, her wings half-furled, ready to spring into action. But then her gaze met those unmistakable green eyes—soft and familiar—and in an instant, the tension drained from her body. Relaxation followed swift recognition. There could be no mistaking the dragon that flew toward her now.

Bluebell.

A Silk Spitter. His long, lithe form swooped gracefully through the thick air, wings cutting with precision, his flight elegant despite the heavy scars marking his once-sleek body. His wandering nature had earned him a reputation, a spirit too free to ever settle in one place for long, but his kindness had also made him a beloved companion in any dragon's nest. Astra remembered him well—his gentle, curious nature that had once sparked conversation under the warm sun, and his endless tales of the places he'd seen, always hinting at the next horizon, the next adventure.

The sight of him now, even with his battle-worn exterior, brought a rare, genuine smile to Astra's face. With a deep exhale, she pushed herself up from the muddy shore, the cool earth falling away from her claws. Her wings unfurled in greeting, their translucent membranes catching what little light filtered through the clouds, glistening like stained glass, fractured by the wind.

"Bluebell!" she called, her voice carrying across the cliffs, a melody of both surprise and warmth woven into her words.

The Silk Spitter responded with a graceful twist in mid-air, his scarred body performing a flawless landing on the rocky precipice. His green eyes sparkled with recognition, a deep, delighted joy shining through despite the years of battles he'd fought. He gave a low, throaty chuckle as he straightened, his wings folding neatly against his sides.

"Astra!" His voice was musical, carrying a trill characteristic of his species, rich with happiness. He stepped toward her, closing the distance with a swift, confident stride. "By the dearest moon, I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" His gaze scanned her form, a mix of concern and awe in his eyes, as though her survival against all odds was a marvel in itself.

Astra laughed, a soft, melodic sound that contrasted with the howling wind around them. "It's been moons, hasn't it? I thought the same about you—seemed like the winds had carried you far away." Her eyes softened with relief, the tight knot in her chest loosening at the sight of her old friend. For a moment, the looming presence of the Viking ships, the storm, and her memories of loss faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of this unexpected reunion.

Bluebell's snout brushed gently against Astra's, the familiar gesture sending a wave of warmth through her. His breath, rich with the scent of pine needles and earth, stirred the air between them, grounding her in this fleeting moment of connection. For all his scars and the weight of the world he carried, Bluebell's presence was a balm to her weary spirit. His green eyes, wide with concern, locked onto hers as he pulled back, his gaze softening.

"Is Queen Onyx doing alright?" he asked, the question laced with genuine care, but a shadow passed over his features. He could see the strain in her eyes, the unsaid weight she carried beneath her wings. Astra hesitated, feeling the pang of her own distress before her tail gave an involuntary twitch, betraying her turmoil.

A deep sigh slipped from her lips as she lowered her gaze to the rocky ground beneath her. The wind howled once more, but it seemed distant now, drowned out by the rush of her own thoughts. "No," she replied, the bitter note in her voice sharp and raw. Her claws dug into the earth, seeking something solid to anchor her. "Those cowards fled at the first sight of Vikings. Didn't even look back to see if anyone needed help."

The words hung heavy in the air between them, a bitter truth she had been carrying in silence. Onyx, the queen—her mother, her protector—had always been strong, always a steady force in Astra's life. But when the longships appeared on the horizon, that strength had faltered. Astra's heart twisted in frustration and anger at the memory. Onyx and Quickmind had always been cautious, retreating at the slightest hint of danger, but to leave without even a second thought? It had shattered Astra's faith in them.

Bluebell stood still for a moment, his green eyes clouded with the understanding of a wanderer who had seen his fair share of broken bonds and lost causes. He shook his head softly, as though the weight of Astra's words was a wound of its own. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I know it's not easy. But you're not alone, Astra. You're stronger than you think. And you've survived, when others might have perished." He took a step closer, his voice softening further, "We all make choices, and sometimes... they're not the ones we wish to make. But you don't have to carry this burden alone."

Astra swallowed, her heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and pain. She had always known Bluebell as someone who understood the fragility of relationships, the weight of being forced to live through choices that weren't always in her control. His words—simple, yet full of wisdom—resonated within her, stirring something deep. For a moment, the crushing weight of her loneliness seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of this unexpected reunion.

She lifted her head slightly, meeting his gaze with a fragile smile. "Thank you," she whispered, though the words felt too small to encompass everything she felt. Bluebell's quiet presence was a comfort, but the road ahead still seemed uncertain—she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive her family for abandoning her, but with Bluebell by her side, maybe she could find the strength to keep going.