I DON’T KNOW THE man sitting six seats away from my father. I’ll never know him now, and it makes me sorrowful that I didn’t take the time to talk to him in the week since boarding the ship.

I’ll have to do better. We’re going to live in a dome where we’ll have neighbors. Just the idea of it sounds foreign. Our land wasn’t fertile enough to allow people to live any closer than five clicks apart.

Dust flowing through the broken portal windows in front of us causes me to cough and tug to free the front of my shirt enough to cover my nose and mouth. The flashing red lights above me flick one more time and turn solid green.

I release my restraints, thankful for their effectiveness in keeping my family and me safe. Even as I think it, I cringe at how those same restraints were responsible for the man staying immobile in the path of the crushing cabin. What saved my life ended his.

It all seems so senseless.

My parents stand beside me as the voice over the PA system speaks.

“Please evacuate immediately. Do not collect any personal items. Follow the strip lights along the floor to the nearest exit.”

Dad pushes past me, grabs my hand, and starts marching toward the door we initially entered. I won’t look down at the floor, not with the blood still running so close to that emergency lighting. I take Mom’s hand with my free hand, comforted knowing that both of my parents are safe.

With both of my hands held by my parents, I can’t use them to shield my ears from the screaming coming from behind us. How long will that sound of profound grief and fear haunt me? I can only guess.

We encounter a crowd at the door and wait until everyone ahead of us gets through the small opening. As soon as I come close enough, I understand the delay.

Someone had managed to wrench the door open, bending the metal far enough for the people to squeeze through the narrow gap. Thank goodness someone was strong enough and that we are so thin. At least we could thank the years of poor harvests for something; none of us were too fat to fit.

How many didn’t survive this forced landing?

What was going to happen with us now? Were we close to the domes? Would another transport be sent to pick us up?

So many questions chase each other through my mind, but I hold my tongue, knowing we have more significant problems on our hands.

Dad stops, and I peer around his shoulder to find out why.

Will I wake up from this nightmare? Nope, this is my reality—one where everyone’s belongings are no longer neatly stacked, and the corridors between the cargo piles have disappeared altogether. I tug Dad’s arm and ask, “How will we find all of our stuff in this heap?”

Almost absently, Dad says, “I’m not sure, but we need to find a way over or around the cargo to get off this ship. If that smoke smell is any indication, I believe the ship’s on fire.”

I can’t help but inhale—sure enough, the acrid smell makes me want to cough. My heart races and fear skips all along my spine, but my hands are held secure by my parents. They’ll figure this out. We’ll all make it out safely.

Dad tugs my arm, and I come out of the dazed stupor that envelops me as surely as the smoke filtering through the enormous cargo hold.

“Hurry! I see where people are getting out. It’s this way!” Dad says.

He scrambles over several boxes and pulls me up to join him as if I weigh nothing. Dad does the same with Mom, and we slip and slide over the jumbled cargo without any regard for its contents.

I cringe when something crunches under my foot. I can’t let myself think about the valuable heirloom that I probably just destroyed with the careless placement of my foot. Dad’s urgent tugging forces me to pay attention to our exodus.

Smoke burns, making tears run down my cheeks, and sounds of hacking coughs surround us. My whole family is coughing alongside everyone else. We survived the horrific crash, and I refuse to let this smoke snuff out our lives. That’s just plain stupid and completely unacceptable.

I pull my hand free from my mom’s and grab up my shirt to cover my nose and mouth. I wish I could say it’s my idea, but I see several others doing it and realize it’s going to be the only way we can keep going.

Dad does the same, and I spare a backward glance to see only the top half of Mom’s face. Tears stream from her eyes, and I hope it’s because of the smoke and not because she’s afraid. I’ve got enough fear for my whole family.

After what feels like an eternity, we reach the cargo opening. My steps falter when I see the inhospitable place we landed. Rocks loom all around us.

My respect for our pilot skyrockets as it appears we landed in the only marginally flat place. I don’t know if it was dumb luck or expert piloting skills; I’m impressed.

Then it hits me. I turn to Dad and say, “How are we ever going to get out of here?”

Dad’s not looking at me, he’s craning his neck, and his gaze scans over the crowd. “I’m not sure, honey. Let’s get farther away from the ship and the smoke. It’s not safe right here.”

I’m thrown forward into Dad’s back by a blast of air, followed immediately by a wash of intense heat. Mom screams and Dad shoots past me in time to catch Mom before she falls. Her head lolls over his arm.

Fire sparks in her hair, and I slap at it until it goes out. “Mom!” I scream. She doesn’t respond.

“Run, Talya! Run!” Dad cries as he puts action to his words and races past me.

It’s not like I would stay there, not when Mom is injured. Dad has a head start, but as the heat intensifies behind me, it encourages me to go faster. Almost immediately, the burning stitch in my side forces me to clamp my hand against the pain in a vain attempt to lessen it. Of course, it does nothing, but I feel like I’m trying.

I’m more than a little shocked that Dad’s still going strong. It’s not as though Mom weighs much, but we never have to exert ourselves like this.

Dad screams, “I need a medic!”

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I’m afraid it might burst. Mom has to be okay. We didn’t come all this way just to end it like this.

No. I will keep my thoughts positive until circumstances force me to do otherwise.

But I’m so scared.

The crowd ahead of us has all turned. Probably because of the explosion first, but now they’re shifting their attention to us. Someone pushes through the crush of milling bodies and madly gestures for my father to follow him.

We angle our path to intercept him. Dad trips on the uneven ground. It’s like a slow-motion disaster unfolding right in front of me. With crazy contortions, Dad somehow manages to regain his footing, but the recovery costs him. He’s limping, and the grimace on his face tells me it’s bad.

“Put her down. Gentle! We don’t know the extent of her injuries.”

I brace Mom’s head and neck as Dad lets her down onto the smooth wind-swept rock. I’m going to ignore the sticky warmth of where I’m touching her. I refuse to let it distract me from praying that Mom’s going to be alright.

Through my blurry vision, I look up from Mom’s pale, still face to look at Dad. His arms are covered in blood, but it’s his expression that hurts my soul. If Dad’s scared, it doubles my fear.

Blood pools under Mom and fills the small rock crevice next to my knee. It’s too much like what we witnessed inside the ship. What’s taking this guy so long? Mom could bleed out before he did anything.

“Roll her onto her side so I can assess the extent of her injuries. Did any projectiles hit her?”

He’s kneeling next to me, and his hands shift what’s left of Mom’s shirt to expose the burns, blackened along the edges but blistering and oozing blood everywhere else.

I don’t want to see any of it, but I can’t force my eyes to look away.

“This looks really bad, but I’ve seen worse. Hold onto her for a few minutes while I get my kit. She’s in shock right now, but we’ll get her fixed up.” He stands and runs back through the crowd that’s now ringing us.

“Dad. I’m scared.”

Dad only nods; his gaze doesn’t rise from where he’s staring at Mom.

“Janice, honey. Hold on. Help is on its way. Just hold on for a few more minutes. I promise you’ll be okay.” He strokes her cheek with his knuckles, leaving a bloody streak behind, a garish red against her too-white skin.

“Mom? Mom! Dad, she’s not breathing! Do something!”

“MOM! MOM! BREATHE! You have to stay alive. We can’t go on without you.” I cling to her arm as if my life depends on maintaining contact. There has to be something I can do, something I can say that will make her want to live.

A horrible moaning sounds next to me. I can’t place it, but it sounds like someone’s soul is breaking apart. I look up and realize Dad has rocked back onto his heels, his head is tilted backward, and the sound is coming from him.

I can’t watch him fall apart like this. I can’t give up on Mom.

I rake my gaze across the onlookers crowding close on three sides of us. Beside me is a cave I didn’t notice in our rush for help. A breeze rushes out from it, and a woman steps forward.

Where did she come from? My eyes must be playing tricks on me because I swear she just appeared out of thin air. Her clothes are definitely odd. Is that a sword hanging from her hip? I’ve never seen a real sword, but I’ve heard about them.

Without a word, the woman steps forward and kneels next to me. Only then do I realize that she’s not much older than me. “What happened?” she asks.

I wait for Dad to say something, but his eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s praying. I answer, “Spaceship explosion. She was burned and just stopped breathing. Can you help?”

She nods. “I can try, but I can’t have these people so close.” She stands and projects her voice in the most commanding manner I’ve ever witnessed. “Everyone needs to take ten steps backward. If you value your life, you’d best go about your business and let us heal this woman without your interference.”

Almost as one, the people seem to lose interest in our macabre scene. They turn and shuffle away as if in a trance.

How did this slip of a girl so easily control the people?

I don’t have the time or energy to ponder. A tear slips down my cheek and splatters onto Mom’s shirt, staining the fabric. “I can’t lose my mom. Please hurry.”

The girl nods and kneels again. As she leans forward. a gold pendant falls from the collar of her shirt and swings from the intricate chain around her neck. “Whimza, I need your help here.”

I break my gaze from this girl and her strange words and stare at my mother’s chest, willing it to rise.

The very rocks beneath me tremble. Is that an earthquake? Are we about to all die right here?

Fearfully, I look over to the girl, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. Her hands shake in time with the movement beneath me.

She’s causing this disturbance.

I’ve never witnessed anything so strange.

Dad rocks forward and opens his eyes. “Are you a healer?”

The girl spares him a glance and imperceptibly nods. “Something like that.”

Seconds drag by painfully, feeling like hours. I can’t take my eyes from Mom’s chest, willing it to rise. The ground continues to tremble, and an odd sensation skitters over my skin and through my body.

Whatever this girl is doing, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed.

Suddenly, Mom gasps, and the sound is like music to my ears. Everything goes blurry as tears form faster than I can brush them away. As much as I want to grab Mom up in a hug, I can’t bring myself to interfere with whatever this girl is doing for her.

What if I distract her, and it costs Mom her life? I’d never forgive myself.

My hands ball up against my thighs, and I count the rise and fall of Mom’s chest. Mom’s eyes still haven’t opened, and she hasn’t spoken. Is she conscious and in pain? Is she attempting to shield her agony from us?

The earth’s trembling ceases, and the girl exhales loudly, practically folding in on herself, wilting from whatever exertion she just performed.

“That’s all I’m able to do. She should wake up shortly.” She plops back onto her rear on the smooth rock surface, brushing her hands across her face before pulling her hair up off her neck as if to cool herself down.

Only then do I notice the beads of sweat along her hairline. Beyond fascinated, I tear my gaze away from her to watch Mom’s return to consciousness.

Just as this stranger predicted, Mom’s breaths become more robust, and her eyelids flutter. Seconds later, Mom pushes herself up onto her elbows, turns to look at Dad, and says, “I had the strangest dream. Edom, why are you crying?”

Dad’s exhaling ends in a choking sob. He reaches forward, not touching her. “Are you truly well, Janice? Are you hurting anywhere?”

Mom scowls; her gaze travels down to his hands, covered in drying blood. “What happened to your hands?”

He looks dumbly down to his palms. “It’s—never mind.” He turns to the woman beside me and says, “I can’t thank you enough. If there’s anything we can do for you, please let me know. What’s your name?”

“I’m Hope TraWhimza. I’m so glad I heard your call for help and was able to get here in time.” She looks down at Mom and asks, “Janice, right?”

Mom nods.

“How do you feel? Are you lightheaded? Do you feel pain anywhere along your back?” Hope leans forward and peers behind Mom, her fingers probing the fabric of her shirt.

Only then do I realize the fabric is no longer soaked in Mom’s blood or in useless tatters. Everything is restored to normal as if the explosion and fire didn’t occur at all. What is this magic that Hope performed right in front of our eyes?

Where did this woman come from? Looking more closely at her face, I’m stunned to realize she’s not much older than myself. “How old are you?” I blurt without thinking.

“Seventeen,” Hope replies.

We're the same age, but I’ll do anything to discover what she’s learned and determine if she can teach me.

Mom moves, and my attention instantly reverts to her. “Are you hurting, Mom?”

She shakes her head. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I feel fine. Why am I sitting on the ground?” Her gaze travels over the crowd and finally rests on Dad. “Why are you crying? Edom! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Dad’s face lights up, and he pulls Mom into a crushing hug. His hands rub across her back, hesitant to start. “Nothing at all is wrong now. Nothing!” He mouths the words ‘thank you’ toward Hope.

I finally feel as though I can breathe again. Mom’s going to be okay—thanks to Hope. I turn and lean toward her, not wanting Mom to overhear us. “How did you learn to do that? Can you teach me?”

“I didn’t do it alone,” she replies, suddenly unable to look me in the eyes.

What’s that supposed to mean? I glance around us but don’t see anyone other than the spectators from our crash. Something isn’t adding up here. “Where did the ship pick you up?”

“The ship?” Hope asks. “What ship?”

Okay, that isn’t the answer I’m expecting. Changing tactics, I ask, “I saw you step out of that cave. Did the sound of our crashing ship cause you to come outside? Do you live in that cave?”

Hope looks back toward the rocky entrance as if it’s the first time she’s ever seen it. “No, I’m from Everly. But I came here because your father called me out of time.”

Huh? Surely, I misheard her. If she thinks that’s supposed to explain everything; she’s sadly mistaken.

Hope asks, “What year is this?”

“What year?” I stutter. At her raised eyebrows, I answer, “Uh, 6487. Why?”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth forms the shape of an O, but she just nods.

This girl is such a strange puzzle, but I can’t help but feel drawn to her. Maybe it’s her age, but I think it’s something more.

The winds shift, and with it comes a blanket of smoke from our burning ship. Any thought I might have had about saving our possessions has just evaporated.

Hope jumps to her feet with the practiced ease of an athlete. “Is your ship on fire?”

Much less gracefully, I rise and nod. I tip my chin in the direction of where we just came from, and she whips around to see for herself. I don’t see any flames, but the smoke probably obscures it from where I stand.

“I’ll be right back,” Hope calls over her shoulder.

I watch, fascinated by her grace and speed as she runs across the distance as if it were something she did every day.

“What’s she doing?”

“Did you see that girl run?”

“Who is she?”

“Where did she come from?”

The crowd presses closer to me, clearly as impressed with Hope as I am.

What does Hope expect to do about the fire? Whatever it is, I’m not about to miss any of it. I leave my parents and the crowd behind as I stumble my way down the rocky trail.

I KNOW I MISSED something as Hope is standing just feet away from the smoking wreck. Her outspread hands tremble, and I swear the air is shimmering in ripples away from them.

I tear my gaze from her hands to look at the broken remains of our transport. The smoke cloud no longer drifts but appears to be contained in an invisible bubble. As much as I want to ask Hope what’s happening, I don’t dare break her concentration.

As I watch, the bubble shrinks down toward the transport’s roof. I have a perfect view inside the cargo hold from where I stand. The freakish bubble passes through the solid metal as if it’s nothing, squashing the smoke and flames until they disappear as though they never existed.

Hope’s hands lower to her side, and her shoulders droop. I step forward until I know she can see me at her side. She turns her head, meeting my eyes, saying, “The flames didn’t spread very far. I think most of the cargo can be salvaged.”

“Is there any chance you can teach me to do that?” I ask, gesturing toward the ship.

Hope turned around, her gaze raking our surroundings. She leans toward me, lowering her voice, saying, “It’s not something that just anyone can do. Besides, I didn’t do it alone.”

Mirroring her motion, I look around us. My eyebrows lower, and I shake my head. “There’s nobody here but you.”

“Whimza is still with me,” she taps her temple, “at least for now.”

“Whimza? As in your last name? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” With how long she pauses before explaining, I have second thoughts about trusting her sanity.

“It’s more than my name. She’s half my soul. She’s my dragon. Or she was my dragon.” Hope’s gaze drops to the ground; her body wilts more in on herself.

I rock back on my heels, shaken by her words. Were there still dragons hidden on Heliok? If so, where were they? “Whoa! Are you serious? Where’s your dragon hiding? Is she nearby?” I scan our surroundings as if expecting her to materialize in front of us magically.

Hope drops to the ground, her face covered by her hands and her body shaking with silent sobs.

I kneel next to her, my hand outstretched to console her, but I hesitate to touch her shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“Everything’s just so hard to believe,” Hope sobs, her voice muffled by her hands.

I take a seat, wishing I could understand what Hope’s saying. She’s not making sense. The only things hard to believe are the things that Hope has done right in front of us, yet she’s the distraught one.

A few minutes pass before Hope loudly inhales and wipes the tears from her cheeks. Several breaths later, she looks up at me. “I’m sure I sound like a lunatic. But, what you don’t understand is that I was in a different time earlier today. And I had a dragon named Whimza.”

I blink, unable to articulate anything as I process her insane statements. She doesn’t look crazy. Maybe the crash addled my brain, and I just misheard her. 

Hope reaches over and rests her warm hand on my arm. “I can see the doubt on your face. I promise you I’m telling the truth, but now I see that my truth isn’t something that people will readily accept. Can you keep this between us—at least for now.”

I nod and say, “Okay. I can do that if you promise to tell me everything about dragons.”

Hope’s eyes shine with delight for an instant and then dim again. “Sure, but I might not be able to do it without crying.”

“Did your dragon—is it true, then—” I can’t finish either question. “What happened?”

Hope opens her mouth to answer but stops when people appear from around the rock outcropping. If I were younger, I would’ve stomped my foot in frustration at the delay. 

I spot Dad in the crowd; he’s almost a head taller than most people around him. Did he leave Mom behind? Just then, the milling people shift enough, and I spot Mom standing beside Dad, his arm is around her middle, but she looks just as healthy as ever. 

Before the people have a chance to converge on us, I lean closer to Hope and ask, “I know you put out that fire, but I won’t say anything. Can you also fix our ship enough for us to continue our journey?”

She shakes her head. “That’s way out of my range of abilities. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure they’ll send another transport to get us,” I say, just as Dad stops beside me. 

“If only that were true, Talya,” Dad says.

I look up at him, squinting against the bright sunshine behind him. “What do you mean, Dad? They have to send another ship. How else are we supposed to get to the domes with all of our stuff?”

“There aren’t any other transports available. They dispatched the others to explore space.” Lifting his chin toward the wreckage, he added, “This one was assigned to round up the last of the inhabitants in our region.”

Hope looks back at the ruined aircraft and says, “Why don’t they send the gravity waves? They’re not the best for transporting goods, but they’re certainly faster than walking.”

“Huh?” I ask. 

“What’s a gravity wave?” Dad asks at the same time as me.

As if in slow motion, Hope turns to look at us. Her frown deepens until her eyebrows block the sunlight hitting her light-colored eyes, darkening them into an unrecognizable color. 

“Have things truly gotten that bad? Have you lost all of the technology? I assumed after I saw the domes that things were still pretty modern. After all, you can’t create biodomes of that size without some pretty advanced tech.”

“You’ve been to the domes?” Dad asks. “I can’t believe they let you leave. Where’s your transport?”

“Dad, we’ll have to talk about this when there’s more privacy. She doesn’t have any means of transportation. Right, Hope?” If we have to walk to the domes, I’ll have days, weeks, or possibly even months to hear Hope’s dragon stories. I couldn’t have planned this any more perfectly.

Mercifully, Dad nods as if he understands the need for discretion. 

“I thought you said the transport was on fire, Edom,” Mom says, drawing everyone’s attention back to the wreckage. 

Dad frowns. “Huh, I guess we were mistaken. Right, Hope?” He quirks his eyebrow but doesn’t say more. 

Her lips twitch, but Hope doesn’t respond. 

I grab Hope’s hand and tug her away from the path that everyone is using to return to the ship. I call over my shoulder, “Hope and I are going back up near the cave to talk until the powers that be decide what we’re going to do.”

Thankfully, Hope doesn’t balk about our hasty retreat. Her long strides match mine, even though her legs are inches longer. 

I trudge up the hill, letting go of Hope as the steepness takes my breath away. By the time I reach the top, the stitch in my side is almost unbearable, and I’m wheezing so loud I can hardly hear our footfalls on the rocky path. 

I perch on a boulder, keeled over with my elbows resting on my knees. Only then do I realize that Hope didn’t struggle as I did. “Do you exercise like this often?”

Hope’s expression turns comical. She gestures back down the steep path and says, “For that short walk? That’s nothing compared to dragon-riding.” 

She lowers herself onto the ground at my feet, looking up at me, her face a mask of concern now. “I noticed that most of the people here look pretty frail and sickly. And the sky—I’ve never seen anything like it. What’s happened to Heliok over the last two hundred years, Talya?”

I glance up. “What’s wrong with the sky? It always looks like this. Well, except for when the red clouds move in and bring the solar storms.”

“Solar storms? Wow! Talya, the sky should be bright blue, not this nauseating green. And other than a random, harmless thunderstorm, there shouldn’t be anything like solar storms. Those are definitely not normal.”

“Really? I’ve heard stories about blue skies, but I never believed them. I can’t imagine it any other way. Why do you think they changed?”

Hope scoots over until her back rests against the stone. She sighs deeply before answering, “Probably because the air dragons aren’t here to purify everything.” She grabs a handful of dust from beside her and lets it trickle between her fingers to float away in the breeze. “And you don’t have earth dragons to keep the land fertile. The world is dying, just as we warned.”

She slaps her hand onto the ground, her voice low but urgent. “Why didn’t they believe us?” She looks up at me and says, “And why didn’t they call the dragons back before it got to this point? Are they so stubborn and selfish that they’d rather see everything die before admitting they were wrong?”

I don’t have an answer. I don’t even know who they are, but Heliok is indeed a dying planet. And to think that it could’ve been prevented makes me furious. “Can’t you call them back? I mean, you’re a dragon rider, right?”

DAD BRUSHES AGAINST ME, jolting me out of my daydream. “Talya, we’ve only got a couple more minutes. Grab what you really need before they force us out of here,” Dad says.

He’s right, of course. I turn to the crate that has my name on it. I paw through the contents, wrinkling my nose at the tattered clothes and smelly shoes. I don’t want any of it, especially if we can get all new things in the domes. But I have to think more practically than that. I’ll need at least a few changes of clothes during our walk plus at least another pair of shoes.

Even my best clothes pale in comparison to the quality of Hope’s. One glance shows me how impoverished we’ve become. I ball up my bundle, not even wanting Hope to see how awful they are.

“Don’t you want me to carry something?” she asks, kneeling beside me and leaning forward to peer inside the crate.

I drop the lid, barely missing her nose in my haste. “No, I got everything I need. Maybe Mom could use some help.” And maybe we can investigate her mystery treasure while we’re at it. “What do you think, Mom? Can Hope carry anything for you?”

Mom’s frazzled expression clears almost instantly. She nods and says, “Well, aren’t you just a sweetheart? Here, is this too heavy for you?” Mom passes her a long fabric-wrapped bundle and purses her lips to wait for Hope’s answer.

Hope accepts the package, adjusting it across her shoulder. “No, this’s nothing. I can carry more if you like.”

Mom shakes her head, “I can’t overload you, dear. I just don’t want to leave anything behind. We already have so little, and it’s just awful to think that we may never get to retrieve our things.”

Dad loudly sighs. “Don’t think like that, Janice. The flight crew assured us that they would bring our things once another transport returns from their space voyage. We’ll just have to wait for a few months. It won’t be forever.”

Mom inelegantly snorts. “Ha! They also said this would be a short trip on the transport!”

“Well, they didn’t lie about that,” I say under my breath, sarcasm practically dripping from my tone.

“Oh!” Mom says just before she grins.

Dad starts laughing until the sound echoes through the cargo hold.

I didn’t think it was that funny, but I’m glad my parents’ mood has lightened. After everything we’ve endured in the last couple of hours, being able to joke and laugh with them is a blessing I won’t soon forget. “We’ll wait for you outside,” I say, tugging on Hope’s sleeve to get her to follow me. This might be my only chance to peek inside the mysterious bundle Hope carries.

I set a quick pace toward the exit, my mind already envisioning what I might discover. Only a few feet to go, and we can duck behind the transport. My heart hammers in anticipation.

Chapter Ten

Hurry!

THE VALLEY SEEMS LIKE an endless abyss now, and the acid rain is getting closer. Desperation fuels my speed, and my parents urge me on with worried looks. Time is slipping away, and my heart clenches at the thought of losing them or any of the new friends we’ve made on this journey.

I have to find shelter, and I have to do it now. The path to the valley seems to stretch on forever, and I don’t know how much time we have left before the acid rain reaches us. My breath comes in sharp gasps, and my muscles ache, but I refuse to give up. I will find a way to survive this, to make it to the domes. We have to make it, no matter the odds against us.

Every step I take echoes the relentless weight of my circumstances. Here I am, surrounded by jagged, unforgiving rocks, and yet, no refuge. The very earth seems to conspire against me.

The chilling wind scrapes against my cheeks, stinging my eyes and making them water. I blink away the tears, frustration mounting. 

I can’t believe there’s no shelter among all these rocks!

I stifle the sob threatening to break free. Crying would solve nothing, and with the deteriorating atmosphere, every moment is vital. I need to find shelter. The domes are still a daunting 30 clicks away, an impossible distance under such unpredictable weather.

A sudden, deafening crack of thunder jolts me from my desperate thoughts. I gasp, my heart thunders louder than the storm itself, and, in my startlement, I stumble. 

Pain shoots through my arm as my elbow smashes into the edge of a cruel rock. Clutching the injured area, I turn to assess the damage, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the icy wind and my rising panic.

But then, a small miracle in the middle of my despair: a shadowy recess in the distance catches my eye. 

Hope surges within me. Is it a cave? 

Did some higher power, perhaps Jehoban, send that fateful thunder to direct my gaze? Maybe He had.

“Thank you!” My voice, hoarse and broken from the cold, echoes in the vast emptiness as I scramble over the rocks, each step beckons me closer to potential safety.

When I squeeze through the narrow entrance, a cavernous expanse unveils itself, its depth hidden from the outside world. The cave is vast, easily large enough to shelter at least twenty or thirty souls.

Breathing heavily, I retrace my steps to the mouth of the cave, my shout cuts through the bitter air, “Over here! There’s a massive cave. Hurry!”

The chilling mountain air bites at my skin, but it’s their eyes that truly pierce me – eyes wide with a blend of frantic relief and unwavering determination. There’s no time to lose. 

The ominous gray clouds, heavy with the impending acid rain, loom threateningly in the unnaturally green sky. 

Each of their footfalls seems to scream urgency, battling against time itself. They must reach the safety of the cave before the sky unleashes its poison. Otherwise, they’ll be caught out in the open, defenseless.

My heart doesn’t just race; it gallops, thundering in my ears. Silently, I pray with every fiber of my being, urging them forward. Their survival isn’t just a necessity; it’s the only thing that matters. As they approach, my hope balloons with each step. Yet, the ever-nearing acid rain casts a shadow over that hope, bringing with it an icy dread.

Suddenly, the air turns a shade darker, and the first malevolent droplets of purple rain splash onto the rocky terrain. Those drops hiss and fizz, burning through whatever they touch, and emitting a toxic aroma that claws its way up my nostrils, making my stomach churn.

Panic is no longer just a possibility; it’s an all-consuming fire. Their footfalls turn from determined to desperate.

Like a stampede, they rush the cave’s entrance, each silhouette a testament to human resilience. But even inside the cave, the stench of acid clings to the cold air, and the once-dry ground now feels damp and treacherous.

Close. So achingly close.

The warmth of their bodies intensifies the collective heat of their fear, relief, and uncertainty.

The cave’s echo transforms the sound of the rain outside into a haunting lullaby of survival. Glancing around, those familiar eyes reflect the same terror that no doubt mirrors my own. But we’re together, facing this tempestuous unknown as one.

Hope, her face pale but eyes fierce, leans into me. “We made it,” she murmurs, her voice fragile as if the very act of speaking might shatter the brief respite. “We’re safe for now.”

I swallow hard, forcing back the rising bile and fear. My hands shake, and I clasp them together. “But for how long? We can’t stay in here forever. We need to figure out what to do next.”

The dim light inside the cave casts shadows that dance across the walls, painting eerie shapes on the rugged surface. As the motley group of survivors settle into our temporary sanctuary, a tall, broad-shouldered man steps forward, his face etched with weariness but with a sense of purpose in his eyes. I vaguely recognize him, possibly one of the transport workers.

“Anyone with injuries, I urge you to come sit along this wall,” his voice is firm but laced with concern. “If you have medical supplies or any experience in healing, please, now’s the time to step forward. We need to band together.”

A quiet murmur runs through the survivors as they start moving, following his directions. Some with limps, others clutching wounded arms or favoring one side. People come forward with bits of cloth, flasks of water, and a few medical kits, their contents now more precious than gold.

I find myself stepping back, feeling a little lost in the shuffle. My own lack of injuries and relevant skills render me momentarily redundant. Hope, her face pale from the strain of our escape, slides up beside me, resting against the cool cavern wall. I shoot her a disgruntled look, a sudden surge of frustration boiling up from within me.

“Why aren’t you out there? Healing them?” My voice sounds more accusatory than I intended, my emotions raw and frayed.

She lifts her gaze, fixing her eyes on the uneven ceiling of the cave as if drawing strength from it, before turning her intense stare back to me. “Do you remember the tremor when I healed your mother? Here, underground, it’s too risky. We’re confined, and the results could be catastrophic.”

A sickening thought churns my stomach. I lean in closer, my voice barely more than a breath, “Hope, did you cause the earthquake earlier?”

She vehemently shakes her head, her usually neatly tied hair flying about wildly. “Absolutely not. My powers can create ripples, not devastation.”

The rain’s fury grows, each droplet transforming into a battering ram against the cave’s mouth, magnifying the sound to a deafening crescendo. Shadows dance ominously on the walls, and the air grows thick with anxiety.

The cave’s confines, once a refuge, increasingly feel like a suffocating snare. Decisions press heavily on us; time is both our ally and adversary.

A knot of dread tightens in my stomach, but determination pulses in my veins. This is no time to surrender to despair. The journey thus far has been a testament to our spirit, our grit. Challenges have been thrown our way, but they have not broken us. As if rallying to an unspoken call, we huddle, our resolve solidifying, planning our next assault against Heliok’s wrath.

But in the dim, shifting light, the painful realities of our situation become evident. The woman I noticed earlier with the child’s shirt is visibly shaken and injured, clutching her arm where a rock hit her during the chaotic descent. Another older man has a deep cut on his leg from a sharp rock, and a young girl is struggling to catch her breath, coughing from the toxic fumes in the air.

A surge of guilt and desperation wells up within me. These people, bound by a shared fate, have suffered alongside us. It’s heart-wrenching to witness their pain, a stark reminder of the fragile thread that binds us all in this dire predicament.

I look around at the worried faces of my family and the other survivors, and I see the weight of the situation settling heavily on all of us.

As the hours pass, the tempest outside eventually tires. The rain lessens, and the toxic smell dissipates, leaving a tense calm in its wake. We know we can’t stay in the cave forever, but we also know that venturing back out into the wilderness is equally dangerous.

To pass the time in the cave while the injured are being treated, Hope takes me aside and tells me a story. In no time at all, I’m caught up in her story.

Hope’s voice reverberates softly within the cave, gently breaking the silence, transporting me to a time much different from now. Her gaze distant, recalling the memories she now chose to share.

“Years ago, when Whimza was but a hatchling, she was caught in a skirmish with a feisty water dragon over territory. The air was filled with their roars, and before I could intervene, the water dragon unleashed a powerful jet of water, slamming Whimza into a rock. She fell, her fragile wing torn and gasping in pain.”

Tears brim in Hope’s eyes as she continues, “I remember running toward her, my heart pounding loudly against my chest. The world blurred around me, and all I could think of was saving my baby dragon. Without hesitation or understanding of what was happening, I placed my hands over her wound, willing it to heal. To my astonishment and relief, a warm, glowing light emerged from my palms, mending the torn tissues, sealing the gashes.”

I hang onto every word, mesmerized.

“Whimza took weeks to fully recover, even with my newfound healing ability. The emotional scars took longer to heal than the physical ones. But during that period, something extraordinary happened.” Her voice is filled with wonder. “Though I was bonded with an air dragon, my hands held a healing prowess typically reserved for those who bonded with earth dragons. It was... unprecedented.”

Hope chuckles softly. “This unique gift didn’t remain a secret for long. Leah with Aaliyah, sought me out. Imagine a young, inexperienced girl like me standing before the queen rider, her gaze piercing yet filled with kindness. She recognized the potential in me and said my gift was ‘a beacon in times of darkness.’”

I listen, entranced, piecing things together. The realization hits me, and my heart races. “Wait... Aaliyah? We’ve been pronouncing it wrong. As in...my grandma told me stories about the last queen rider named Leah, who was her grandmother. Is this the same person?”

Hope nodded, “Yes, the very same Aaliyah and Leah from your legends. Your grandmother’s grandmother’s dragon and her rider. Over generations, the pronunciation must have evolved, and stories got diluted, but the essence remained.”

I’m stunned speechless. Here is Hope, sharing stories not just of her past but of my own lineage, bringing our histories together in a tapestry of courage, hope, and resilience. The weight of the connection settles over me. My ancestors, their legacy, and Hope’s tales intertwine. Each story she shares now holds a deeper resonance, a bridge between our pasts and the present.

For the first time since the storm began, I’m excited for the delay. I have so many questions, I can hardly sort through them enough to make sense. I lean closer to Hope, and say, “Tell me about the hatching. Were you scared? How many people were standing on the hatching grounds? Had you been invited before, or was it your first time?”

Hope’s face takes on a dreamy quality, the weight of the present momentarily lifts as she delves into the past. “Ah, the hatching,” she murmurs. “It was a day of wonder, a day of destiny.

“The hatching grounds were a vast expanse of hot, sun-baked sand, shimmering with heat waves in the intense sunlight. The thirty-three eggs lay scattered, their multi-colored shells glistening as if adorned with jewels, their colors betraying no hint of the dragon’s color within.

“I remember feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety,” she says, her voice slightly trembling at the memory. “My feet sank into the warm sand as I took my position among the gathered candidates. The grounds were crowded, buzzing with the chatter of candidates from all walks of life. More of us were invited than there were eggs, to ensure the dragons had a myriad of souls to choose from. There must have been over a hundred candidates that day, each one eagerly awaiting the opportunity to bond with a dragon.

“It was my first time at the hatching grounds,” Hope confesses, her eyes sparkling. “I was only fifteen, the youngest age allowable to stand on the grounds. Some people disapproved of me being there because of my age, but others were encouraging with their smiles. While I had always been fascinated by dragons, I never imagined being chosen to bond with one. I had heard stories, but being there... it was surreal.

“Everywhere I looked, people whispered their guesses, their hopes. But the truth was, no one really knew which dragon would emerge from which egg. The atmosphere was electric, the anticipation tangible while we waited for the first signs of hatching.”

“As the sun reached its zenith, the first crack appeared, drawing all eyes to the egg that started to wobble. Then another, and another. Soon, the grounds echoed with the soft cracks, widening to reveal glimpses of the dragons within, and chirps of dragonets breaking free.

“With a suddenness that took everyone’s breath away, a light blue wing thrust out from one egg, followed by an equally delicate snout. The first of the air dragons made its appearance, its eyes scanning the crowd with intelligence that belied its age. Almost instantly, it locked eyes with a young man nearby, and a palpable bond formed. The duo moved toward each other as if magnetized, the other candidates parting to let them through.

“One by one, dragons of various colors emerged—brown earth dragons that seemed to merge with the sand, dark blue water dragons shimmering with a fluid elegance, and the fierce red warrior dragons, exuding strength even in their infancy. The air was thick with anticipation, and a quiet symphony of gasps and exclamations played as each dragon made its choice.”

Candidates were being chosen left and right. Some dragons took their time, examining multiple candidates before settling on their partner. Others knew right away. And then, there was Whimza.”

Hope pauses in her story, her gaze distant. “Among the myriad of colors, my eyes were drawn to an egg that was pulsating with an odd rhythm. As it cracked open, out peeked Whimza, her iridescent wings catching the sun. She emerged and her eyes locked onto mine almost immediately, and in that moment, everything else blurred. The connection was electric and immediate, but it felt like an eternity. I felt her thoughts, her emotions, intertwining with mine. It was as if two souls, long lost, had found their way back to each other. It was just her and me. I wasn’t scared anymore; I was complete.”

Tears well up in Hope’s eyes. “Being chosen by Whimza was the greatest gift. From that day on, we were inseparable, bound by an unbreakable bond.”

She chuckles softly, “And true to her nature, the first thing she ‘said’ to me, in that bond we now shared, was a demanding plea for food. I obliged, and soon after, she fell into a deep slumber right there on the sands, exhausted from her grand entrance.”

As Hope concludes the enthralling tale of Whimza’s hatching, a profound silence envelops me. I feel like a spectator, gazing into a tapestry of emotion and history, woven with colors of hope, joy, and the sacred bond between dragon and human. It’s more than just a story—it’s a reverie of a time when destiny danced on the very sands of the hatching grounds.

The biting cold of the cave momentarily fades, replaced by a pang of jealousy and longing. I stare at my hands, imagining them not clenched in frustration, but rather reaching out to touch the warm, thrumming scales of my very own dragon. It strikes me then that I am the same age as Hope was on that fateful day. Yet our destinies couldn’t be more different.

Anguish bubbles within me, a tempest threatening to spill. “It should’ve been me,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone. Visions of myself astride a magnificent creature, soaring among the clouds, flood my mind. But the harsh reality seeps in, casting a grim shadow over those dreams.

Driven away. The elemental dragons, the very beings who could’ve been our salvation, were driven away. And here I am, not basking under the benevolent sun with a dragon companion, but hunkering in this dank, cold cave, the acrid scent of the acid rain stinging my nostrils. The green, foreboding sky outside feels like a cruel reminder of what our world has become—a fading echo of its former vibrancy.

Fury and sorrow churn within, mingling with a sense of despair. My fists clench involuntarily, nails digging into my palm. I don’t desire a life confined within lifeless domes, every breath a gift of artificiality, every hope resting on uncertain chances. Heliok, our once-beautiful planet, hangs on the precipice of doom, and it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on my chest.

My thoughts spiral, torn between yearning for a past I never experienced and dreading an uncertain future. Just then, a distant sound pierces the cave’s stillness—a sound neither of rain nor of storm, but something altogether strange.

I snap to attention. What was that? I nudge Hope’s arm and tilt my head toward the far recesses of the cave. “Did you hear that?”

Chapter Eleven

Eureka!

HOPE'S GAZE, SHARP AND CURIOUS, turns toward the back of the cave, where the faint, mysterious sound resonates. A moment of shared uncertainty passes between us. She arches an eyebrow playfully, a challenge glittering in her eyes. “Adventure awaits?” she grins, motioning to the recesses of the cavern.

I hesitate, remembering Dad’s stern warning about straying from the group. But I’m struck by the absurdity of my own caution. “I mean, it’s a cave,” I mutter, chuckling lightly. “What’s the worst that can happen inside?”

Hope nods, trying not to laugh, her lips curling. “Famous last words?”

The cavern stretches before us like an ancient corridor of whispered secrets. The further we delve, the more palpable the shift in the atmosphere becomes. The entrance’s crisp and slightly acrid air, tainted by the acid rain, gives way to an unmistakably damp coolness, wrapping around us like a soft shroud.

The very essence of the cavern changes. It becomes more earthy, the scent of wet stones and mineral-rich soil filling our nostrils. Every so often, the distant sound of droplets echoes, suggesting hidden crevices and rivulets carved by time. A faint but distinct musk, reminiscent of long-forgotten spaces, intermingles with these new scents, reminding us that this place has seen countless ages pass.

As the distant murmur grows louder, anticipation builds within me. I’d grown up hearing stories of once-vast oceans and serene lakes, but in my drought-ravaged homeland, such tales seemed more myth than memory. My heart races at the thought of seeing a genuine body of water — something I’d only ever dreamed of.

With every step, an unspoken question reverberates in my mind: “Is this what abundance feels like? Is this what it means to have more than just enough?” My fingers itch to touch the water, to confirm its reality. Memories of cracked earth and withering crops stand in stark contrast to this newfound hope.

As we venture deeper into the cave, the sound becomes clearer – a soft, rhythmic lapping. Suddenly, the narrow passage opens into a vast chamber, revealing a serene underground lake. The water’s surface, still and mirror-like, reflects the cave’s craggy ceiling, making it appear as if the world above and below are seamlessly intertwined

Awe washes over me. It’s as if I’m reconnecting with a part of our planet’s history, and in turn, a part of myself. The realization that life, in all its richness and variety, might still find a way, rekindles a flame of hope deep within.

My heart skips a beat. “Is that... acid rain pooled here?” My voice wavers, envisioning the caustic droplets seeping into the earth.

Hope, ever the voice of calm, points toward the water’s edge. A small, four-legged critter, its fur a mottled shade of brown and gray, is lapping at the water. “See that little guy? If this were toxic, it would know better than to drink.” She nudges me playfully. “Nature’s own litmus test.”

Relief washes over me. “Let’s explore,” I suggest, enthusiasm bubbling up. “Who knows what other secrets this cave hides?”

As if answering my question, a glint catches Hope’s eye. Tucked away in a small alcove, we stumble upon ancient equipment. Leather satchels, aged but still sturdy, perfect for carrying water. Hope’s hand dives into one, pulling out a sealed packet.

“MREs!” she exclaims, holding it up triumphantly. “Meals Ready to Eat. Old-world military rations. These babies last for ages!”

I scrunch my nose, intrigued and slightly dubious. “They any good?”

Hope shrugs, smirking. “Edible and nutritious? Yes. Home-cooked and yummy? Not quite.”

Our laughter echoes in the chamber. The cave, which at first seemed daunting, turns out to be a trove of unexpected treasures. The weight of our journey feels a little lighter now.

“I can’t wait to tell the others!” I exclaim, clutching a satchel. “After days of bleakness, this... This feels like a tiny beacon of light in the darkness.”

Hope grins, looping her arm through mine. “To tiny beacons and hidden lakes,” she toasts, the twinkle in her eyes mirroring the shimmer of the water.

The deeper we journey into the cavern, the more it feels like we’ve stumbled into a gift from Jehoban.   Every corner we turn, every crevice we investigate, teems with unexpected wonders.

“Check this out!” I call to Hope, holding up a pair of lightweight walking boots, with treaded soles that look as if they’d grip any terrain. They look almost brand-new, waiting for someone to embark on an adventure with them.

Hope raises an eyebrow, her blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. “Who knew you’d find designer footwear in a mountain cave?” she teases. “Anything in my size?”

I chuckle, tossing a pair toward her. “For your dainty feet? Of course!”

Further in, we stumble upon a stash of what looks like compact, portable solar panels. “Oh wow, these could power anything!” I exclaim.

Hope laughs, unfolding one. “On Heliok, these could harvest the sun’s energy even through the green haze. Imagine if we can power up some of the old tech with this!”

As we traipse through the cave, I can’t help but marvel at our newfound treasures. “You know,” I muse aloud, “I’m kinda embarrassed to admit it, but this... all of this is like the grandest adventure I’ve ever had.”

Hope gives me a side glance, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “You think having a dragon is all thrill and no chill? Sure, there’s magic and flight. But also? Dragon drool and grooming. Lots of grooming.”

I chuckle, imagining her wrestling with a slobbery, oversized dragon. “So, what you’re saying is... today beats a day of dragon dental care?”

“Any day!” she says, her laughter echoing through the cavern.

In the heart of this vast underground expanse, with the weight of our journey temporarily forgotten, it feels like we’re kids on a treasure hunt. It isn’t just about the finds but the joy of discovery. And who could’ve guessed? In the middle of chaos and uncertainty, a dark cave on Heliok offered two friends a glimmer of light-hearted respite.

Hope’s eyes widen as she unveils the cart from beneath a dusty cloth. “Look at this beauty!” She exclaims, running her fingers along the metallic frame. The wheels, thick and rubbery, promise to withstand even the rugged mountain terrain.

I whistle, genuinely impressed. “Now that’s a game-changer. Talk about arriving in style!”

Rolling the cart back and forth, Hope grins cheekily. “Imagine us, the heroes of the day, making a dramatic entrance with this. ‘Behold! We come bearing gifts and... a cart!’”

I chuckle, picturing the scene. “It’s like a modern-day chariot. I mean, sure, no horses, but—“

“But just as epic,” she interjects, adding a mock serious tone, “Maybe even more so.”

We both burst into fits of laughter, the cave echoing our mirth.

As our laughter subsides, I sober up a bit, the weight of our prolonged absence sinking in. “Okay, we’ve had our fun. Time to face the music... and the parental units.”

Hope nods, as we start gathering our troves. “And if your dad does pull the ‘disappointed parent’ card, we’ll just whip out the cart. Instant redemption.”

I smirk, loading up the cart. “Let’s hope it’s that easy.”

We take a moment to admire our fully-loaded cart, our cave spoils gleaming in the dim light. “To the rescue we go!” Hope declares, mock saluting.

Pushing our newfound treasure, we make our way back, excitement and a pinch of apprehension bubbling within us. Will they be relieved, angry, or simply in awe?

The dim light of the cave’s entrance gradually brightens as we near it. As we step into the wider section, the first face I see is Dad’s – creased with worry. Yet, the moment he spots the trove of supplies on the cart and the water containers, that concern is swiftly replaced by an almost boyish excitement.

“Talya!” he exclaims, eyes twinkling, “I was about to send a search party after you two. What have you gotten yourselves into?”

Feeling the rush of our discoveries all over again, I start speaking a click a minute, “Dad! I know I should’ve let you know, but we found so much! There’s an underground lake back there – it’s massive! The water’s clear and clean.” I see a shadow cross his face, and I hastily add, raising my hand defensively, “Don’t worry! I didn’t even think of swimming. But think about it – everyone here could do with a good wash, right? It’d help everyone feel a bit more human and might even fend off any potential infections.”

Dad chuckles, ruffling my hair affectionately. “Always thinking ahead, aren’t you? You’ve got a point, though. Cleanliness in these conditions could be a lifesaver.”

Before I could say anything more, the transport worker, whose name I remember as Joren, approaches us. Dad and Joren exchange a glance, a mix of surprise and admiration. “Looks like you’ve found a goldmine,” Joren says, nodding toward the cart.

Joining in on the newfound excitement, I beam, “And that’s just the beginning. Wait till you see what’s inside!” I beckon them, leading the way back to our underground oasis.

Word quickly spreads throughout the cave about our discovery, and the atmosphere, once heavy with despair, lightens considerably. Families chatter animatedly, lining up with whatever they can use as containers, eagerly awaiting their turn. For a few hours, the cave resounds with laughter, playful splashes, and a sense of camaraderie I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The sun casts a gentle, golden hue on the landscape, its warm embrace a stark contrast to yesterday’s treacherous downpour. Insects, hidden during the storm, now chirp a morning chorus, and the world outside the cave seems almost jubilant. A soft breeze rustles the few twisted trees that stand despite the deteriorating atmosphere, their few remaining leaves dancing in the morning light.

“I can’t believe how different everything feels after just a good night’s rest,” I say, stretching my arms wide and breathing in the crisp mountain air. The once sour, acrid smell of acid rain had been replaced by the earthy scent of freshly wet soil.

Hope, standing beside me, grins, “And a clean set of clothes doesn’t hurt either!” She does a playful twirl, her clothing billowing around her.

From behind us, there’s a hearty laugh. Turning, I see Joren, already harnessing one of the carts we’d found. “You two seem in good spirits! But remember, we have quite the journey ahead. So, let’s use this energy and get moving!”

My dad, helping a family pack their belongings onto another of the three carts found, looks over and nods in agreement. “Joren’s right, Talya. Let’s keep this momentum going.”

One of the injured, an older man named Eli, gingerly makes his way to one of the carts, wincing slightly. “Thanks to these finds,” he says, pointing at the carts, “I might actually make it to the domes without being a burden.”

“Oh, hush, Eli! You’d do the same for any of us,” calls out a woman named Mira from a few feet away, adjusting her daughter’s backpack. The camaraderie among the group is palpable.

As the group starts its descent, the chatter is lively. Little kids who had been silent the day before are now sharing stories of their adventures in the cave. Adults converse about their hopes for life inside the domes.

With a spring in my step, I look over at Hope, who’s steering one of the carts. “Who would’ve thought that a cave, of all places, would be our sanctuary and give us such a fresh start?” I say, laughing.

She smirks, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “Well, every cloud - or in our case, a cave - has a silver lining.” We both chuckle, and with high spirits, continue our journey toward the domes.

The group’s chatter becomes a gentle murmur as we intentionally fall behind. Around us, the landscape changes: the rugged, sharp edges of the mountain giving way to a more gentle valley floor teeming with muted grays and browns. The sun filters through the patchy clouds, casting a dappled pattern on the ground below.

Hope, sensing my anticipation, turns to me with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re bursting at the seams, aren’t you?”

I laugh, the sound echoing softly in the vast expanse. “That obvious, huh? It’s just... I mean, dragons, Hope! Real, living, breathing dragons. And you’ve been with them, touched them. It’s like meeting someone who’s been to another universe!”

She chuckles, “I suppose it is a bit like that. But promise me something?”

“What?”

“Don’t just focus on the dragons. Yes, they’re magnificent, awe-inspiring creatures. But there’s so much more to their world, their culture, and their history. Promise you’ll soak in the whole story?”

I nod eagerly, “Promise. But first things first,” I grin, pulling her to a stop as the valley opens up before us. A wide expanse, dotted with ancient trees, their roots gnarled and branches sprawling. A dry river bed winds its way through, a ribbon of tumbled, smooth rocks among the brown scrubby grass.

“Okay, spill. What was your most memorable dragon moment?”

Hope smirks, skirting a fallen log, her gaze distant as she recalls memories. “Alright, you asked for it. It’s quite the tale!”

Hope’s eyes go distant, as if she’s reaching across time to pluck the memories from the past. “It was the Festival of Fyrial, an annual celebration marking the first day dragons and humans bonded. The whole city would be lit with lanterns of every hue; reds, blues, golds, and silvers, dancing in the night like fireflies.”

I imagine the city, glowing like a jewel against the inky backdrop of the night. Streets filled with excited chatter, children chasing after the lights, laughter ringing in the air.

Hope continues, her voice hushed with reverence. “But the true spectacle began at midnight. The skies would be painted with fire, not from the dragons, but from the humans. It was a firework display unlike any other. Each blast represented a different dragon tale, a moment of history shared between our two species.”

I see it — the sky, a canvas of colors and patterns. A massive red dragon forming among the smoky aftermath of an explosion, wings wide, soaring above the city. The crowd’s collective gasp echoing in the crisp air, their faces illuminated by the spectacle.

She smiles, a far-off look in her eyes. “And then, when the final firework faded, leaving a trail of sparkling embers, the real magic would begin. The dragons would respond. From the mountaintops, they’d swoop down, their scales reflecting the lantern lights, creating a cascade of shimmering colors.”

I can almost feel the rush of wind as they pass, their massive wings displacing the air. The awed whispers of the crowd as a particularly vibrant blue dragon, its scales shining like sapphires, performs a barrel roll, laughter echoing from its rider.

“Many believe it was a choreographed dance, but it wasn’t. It was pure, unbridled joy. A celebration of a bond that couldn’t be broken. They weren’t our pets or mere modes of transportation. They were our equals, our partners. Every dive, spin, and graceful arc in the sky was a testament to the trust between rider and dragon.”

Hope sighs, her voice growing soft. “I remember one particular dragon, a young fiery one with scales as red as rubies. He’d always try to outshine the older dragons with his daring stunts. And every year, he’d end his performance by landing right in the city square, allowing the children to climb on his back and feel the warmth of his scales.”

I picture myself as one of those kids, the feel of the dragon’s scales beneath my fingers, the thrill of touching such a powerful, majestic creature. The dragon’s gentle eyes looking down, a silent understanding passing between us.

Hope’s voice draws me back. “It was a time of harmony, a bond that was taken for granted. And yet, as we now know, even the strongest bonds can fray...”

Her voice trails off, the weight of reality settling in. But for those fleeting moments, the magic was real, and the dragons soared once more.

With the sun casting long, golden-orange shadows against the rugged terrain, I jump back to the present. The stories from Hope had been an escape, and I had lost myself in them. It’s Joren’s shout that snaps me out of my reverie. “Alright everyone, let’s set up camp here for the night!”

I glance around, realizing we’ve reached a small clearing nestled between some low hills. Trees arch overhead, their silhouettes dark against the fading light. I hadn’t even noticed the hours slipping by.

“Thanks, Hope,” I murmur, still in a daze from the tales. “Your stories made the journey feel... effortless.”

She grins, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I did leave out some of the more gruesome dragon tales. Figured I’d save those for another day.”

I chuckle, the thought of scarier dragon tales intriguing yet daunting. “Can’t wait,” I reply with a playful nudge. As we unpack, the mood in the camp is light, filled with the hum of conversation, positioning the carts to block the wind, and the rustling of people settling themselves on the ground.

But as night settles and the full moon shines brightly, a tense stillness envelopes the area. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement. Before I could react, a low growl echoes through the camp.

Chapter Twelve

Stepping into the Unknown

THE CAMP'S LIGHT and jovial atmosphere transforms in an instant into one of abject terror as a mutated creature explodes from the underbrush. Its grotesque form is a nightmarish blend of familiar and alien: elongated limbs terminating in scythe-like talons, a misshapen head from which drool drips, and a spine bristling with jagged, bone-like spikes that seem to vibrate with anticipation.

Its eyes, deep-set and glowing an eerie shade of yellow, bore into everything they gaze upon.

The creature’s snout sniffs the air, revealing rows of jagged, misshapen teeth.

The odor it gives off is an acrid mix of rotten vegetation and something metallic, making the air taste sour. Its odd-shaped head twists and turns, as if gauging its prey.

A symphony of screams, frantic footsteps, and jumbled cries rise to a fever pitch all around me.

Dad’s hands bruise my arm with how tightly he holds onto my arm. “Stay behind me, Talya. Promise me that you won’t wander off. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” he says.

Mom crushes against my other side, effectively pinning me between them. As if I’d be dumb enough to go up against that creature with nothing but an unripe pear and some old, smelly clothes to defend myself.

My gaze flits briefly to my parents. Mom clutches Dad’s arm, her face white as a sheet, her eyes wide with fear. Dad has a protective stance, his body slightly in front of her, ready to step in if the creature breaks past Hope. They look so vulnerable, and for a fleeting moment, the roles reverse — I feel the urge to protect them. The creature’s beady, malevolent eyes zero in on its target: Hope. My blood runs cold as it makes its charge, each bounding step sending tremors through the ground.

Hope, however, seems to merge with the moment as she stands. She draws her sword, the blade singing as it is unsheathed. She meets the creature’s first attack head-on, their forces colliding with a mighty clash that sends a shockwave rippling outward. The creature lunges, trying to skewer her with its deadly spikes, but Hope pivots, narrowly evading its attempt.

I watch, my breath catches in my throat, as Hope dances around the creature. Each time its claws try to find purchase, she sidesteps, causing it to stumble. The gleam of her sword is a blur in the moonlight. There is a hiss and a spurt of sparks as her blade meets one of the spikes on its back, narrowly missing Hope’s leg.

All around, chaos ensues. Some of the group members scramble back, trying to create distance between themselves and the unpredictable beast. Others, especially those with younger kids, form protective huddles, their faces a mix of horror and determination. Whispers and stifled gasps weave through the air, punctuated by the occasional sharp intake of breath as Hope has a close call.

As Hope faces off with the creature, my heart races, each beat echoing the intensity of the unfolding scene. Every movement Hope makes, every twirl of her blade, sends a cascade of emotions through me — awe, fear, and an overwhelming sense of hope. The ambient noises of the camp seem to dull, as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next.

Their dance is a deadly ballet of agility and brute force. Each of Hope’s precise, calculated strikes is met with wild, unpredictable counterattacks. The metallic clang of her blade against the creature’s bone spikes echoes through the night, punctuated by its enraged roars and her own focused shouts.

My own feet feel rooted to the spot, torn between the urge to rush to her aid and the knowledge that I will just get in her way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Joren, clutching a sturdy branch, ready to jump in, his body taut with anticipation. A few other able-bodied individuals grab whatever they can — sticks, stones, even bare fists — ready, yet hesitating, their respect for Hope’s skill evident. They know she’s our best chance.

With a powerful swing, Hope manages to slice the beast’s flank, drawing a cry of pain. It turns, its eyes now filled with rage and fear, meeting Hope’s determined gaze. They circle each other for what seems like an eternity.

But the creature is cunning. In a blindingly swift move, it swipes a clawed hand at Hope, catching her off guard. The talons leave a gash on her upper arm, staining her sleeve with a bloom of red. Pain flashes across her face, but she grits her teeth, using the pain to fuel her determination.

A knot of dread settles in my stomach when the creature’s claw seems to find its mark on Hope’s arm. The gasps around me mirror my own horror. But Hope fights on, and I draw strength from her resilience.

A primal yell emanates from Hope as she goes on the offensive, her sword moving in a flurry of strikes, each one more fierce than the last. The creature, sensing its impending doom, fights with increased desperation. It lunges, and Hope rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding being impaled again.

But as each second ticks by, it’s Hope’s raw determination that captivates me the most. With every parry and dodge, she embodies the fierce spirit of a warrior, someone who’s faced untold dangers before yet stands unyielding.

The moonlight, once a beacon of safety, now acts as a spotlight, highlighting the grotesque creature. It moves erratically, its shadow morphing with each twitch of its lean, muscular frame. The jagged spikes on its back seem to dance, reflecting the moonlight with every movement.

The creature lunges, a quick burst of speed aimed squarely at Hope, its maw wide open to reveal those jagged, rotten teeth. But Hope is faster. She sidesteps gracefully, letting the creature’s momentum carry it past her. As it skids to regain its bearings, Hope lunges, her sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. There’s a spark as it grazes another of the spikes on the creature’s back, causing it to howl in pain.

But this creature is no pushover. Whipping around, it lashes out with its tail, aiming for Hope’s midsection. She jumps back just in time, the spike missing her by mere inches. Hope’s feet barely touch the ground before she’s on the move again, her blade flashing as she aims for its exposed underbelly.

As the battle rages on, I find myself gripping the dirt beneath my fingers, silently willing Hope strength, praying she emerges victorious. I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to her. I exhale and then gasp when the vile creature makes its next move against Hope.

The creature, sensing danger, rears onto its hind legs, trying to knock Hope off balance with its sheer size. But Hope ducks and rolls, positioning herself behind it. With a precise jab, she pierces its hind leg. The creature screams a terrible sound that echoes through the camp, and it crumbles, momentarily incapacitated.

But even wounded, the beast is formidable. It snaps its jaws, attempting to bite Hope’s arm. She parries, her sword acting as a barrier between those deadly teeth and her flesh. They continued in this dance, a dangerous ballet of swipes, parries, and near misses.

In the next heartbeat, seizing an opening, Hope surges forward, using all her might in a downward thrust. The creature tries to dodge, but she is too quick. Her blade finds its mark, piercing the creature’s side. It lets out a final agonizing scream before falling lifeless into the thick brush.

Breathing heavily, I rush to Hope’s side. “That was amazing!” The words burst forth, relief flooding every syllable. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

She wipes her sword clean on the grass before she sheaths it, the smirk on her face belying the adrenaline that must be coursing through her. She whispers, “Not here.”

Silence once again descends on the camp, the only sounds being Hope’s heavy breathing and the distant chirping of nocturnal insects. She staggers slightly, her strength sapped, but the grateful, awed looks she receives from the group, myself included, confirm one thing: Hope is a warrior.

Hope’s eyes still track the spot where the creature had appeared, ever vigilant.

Hope and I find a quiet spot away from the others, nestled against a large boulder. The night air has a slight chill to it, so she wraps a cloak around her shoulders, her gaze distant.

“You know, Talya, when I first started training, it was never with the intention of hurting anyone,” Hope begins, her voice soft, tinged with a mixture of melancholy and nostalgia. “It was a time of unease, with whispers of rebel activities. My family wanted me to be prepared, to be safe.”

The moonlight filters down, casting a gentle glow on her features. Her eyes, usually so bright, seem shadowed by the weight of her memories. “I remember the first day at the training ground. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of metal and sweat surrounded me. My instructor, a stern, battle-hardened man named Calix, put me through the paces from dawn to dusk.”

She laughs softly, “You should’ve seen me. I was all limbs and no grace. Tripping over my own feet, constantly nursing a bruise or scrape.” She mimes a clumsy fall, and we both chuckle. “But with time, the awkwardness faded. The movements became second nature. It was like a dance - every parry, every thrust, all in rhythm.”

“But when the day came that I had to use my skills outside of the training grounds,” her expression darkens, “it was nothing like I imagined. The weight of a blade, knowing it can take a life... it’s heavy. Every face, every scream, they’re etched into my memory. It’s not something I wear with pride, Talya.”

I reach over, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But tonight, Hope... You protected us. You used those skills for good.”

She looks up, meeting my gaze. “That’s what keeps me going. Knowing that, despite my past, I can still make a difference. Tonight, with that creature, with all of you... It gave purpose to all those hours, all that sweat and toil. Even if it was just for this one moment, it was worth it.”

Hope inhales deeply and exhales, shifting her shoulders to find a more comfortable position.

As the camp settles back down, my eyes stay on Hope. She isn’t just a teller of tales; she’s a legend in her own right. I can’t help but feel a newfound respect for her. She’s not just a healer and dragon rider, she’s also a protector.

The soft hum of murmured conversations fills the night air around us, blending with the distant chirping of nocturnal insects. I hear the quiet rustling of people adjusting their makeshift beds, trying to find some comfort on the uneven ground. There’s a faint scent of dried earth and sweat in the air, a testament to the day’s journey and the heart-stopping encounter.

I catch the muted jangle of equipment as someone – probably Joren – goes about organizing a rotation for the night watch. The only light comes from the cloud-shadowed moon and the occasional luminescent tool, creating ghostly pale streams of light that intermittently flash through the area. The lack of warmth and the pressing darkness makes the environment feel even more exposed and vulnerable.

I swear Hope’s arm was speared by that vile creature, but as I sit next to her, I don’t see any evidence of it other than the cloth of her sleeve being torn.

“Did you heal yourself?” I whisper, the idea fascinating me with the possibility of it.

She glances down at her forearm, absently rubbing it with her other hand. “Yes. I never could have continued fighting with it if I hadn’t. It had some kind of poison in it that burned like fire and started to spread up my arm. I’ve never had to work so fast and in the face of such adversity before. I really didn’t know if it would work. Did you feel the ground tremble?”

Hope’s revelation catches me off guard. My eyes widen as I process her words. Healing? Poison? My fingers unconsciously drift to my own forearm, tracing an imaginary wound. I think about it for a few seconds and realize I had. I thought it was the footfalls of the creature, but now I know it was Hope’s doing. I nod.

The idea that Hope, someone I’ve grown so fond of, could have been seriously hurt sends chills racing down my spine.

I glance over at a family huddled together, the younger ones nestled into their parents, their eyes wide and alert, reflecting the fears that they, like everyone else, must be feeling.

Turning back to Hope, I swallow the lump in my throat. “We’re so far from everything we know,” I murmur, my voice slightly shaky. “The creature, your abilities... it’s all so overwhelming.”

She nods in understanding, her gaze still searching the darkness. “We’re stepping into the unknown, Talya. But we’re doing it together.” Her hand briefly finds mine, squeezing reassuringly.

But her words, meant to comfort, do little to assuage the dread that settles heavily in my stomach. The night stretches out ahead, filled with uncertainties, and I find myself silently hoping for the safety of dawn.

Chapter Thirteen

Constantly Shifting

THE SENSATION OF BEING jostled pulls me out of my slumber. A faint grogginess lingers, trying to pull me back into the comfort of sleep. But when the memory of last night’s chaos flits across my mind, my eyes fly open.

Hope stands above me, her silhouette framed by the blazing morning sun, giving her an ethereal glow. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, her tone playful.

“Ugh,” I mumble, squinting up at her, shielding my eyes from the sun’s piercing rays. “What unearthly hour is it?”

She chuckles, “Not as early as you’d think. Everyone’s pretty much set to go. In fact, I think we’re the caboose now. Seriously, how do you sleep through a racket like that?”

I stretch, feeling the tightness in my muscles. “Talent,” I reply with a grin, finally shaking off the remnants of sleep.

Peering around, I see clusters of people already in motion, their conversations and preparations filling the morning air with a low hum of activity. “Wow, they’re efficient,” I remark.

Hope nods, her eyes scanning the horizon. “I had a chat with Joren earlier. Got the lowdown on where the transport went down and our position in relation to the domes.”

That catches my attention. “So, we’re on track?”

Hope’s lips curl into a sly grin, her eyes shimmering with mischief. “Guess what? We’re not only on track but this place? This is home turf for me.” She sweeps her arm out dramatically, encompassing the landscape around us. “Well, two hundred years ago at least. This was my flight training ground.”

I bolt upright, eyes wide. “You’re kidding!” The history, the tales she could share—my mind races with the possibilities. I dust myself off in record time, eager to hear more. As I pat down my hair, Hope plucks out a stray twig, arching an eyebrow.

“Thanks,” I laugh, feeling a bit sheepish. “You never cease to amaze me, you know?”

Hope nudges me playfully, her voice dripping with feigned arrogance. “Well, I do try.”

The banter feels light, grounding, especially after the harrowing night we’ve had. She thrusts a pack of travel rations into my hand. “Eat up, we’ve got clicks to cover.”

As I munch on the rations, I catch my parents’ eyes, giving them a quick thumbs-up. They nod in return, looking relieved. Hope and I begin our trek, her teasing voice carrying on the wind, “Ready for another Hope original?”

I shoot her a mock exasperated look but my excited grin gives me away. “Always,” I reply.

Hope bounces a little on her toes as we walk, her energy palpable. Swinging her pack into a more comfortable position and shifting her sword, she flashes a grin my way. “You know, after Whimza hatched, that little dragon was a whirlwind!”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “How so?”

She lets out a chuckle. “She sprouted so quickly. I was constantly slicking her down with oils because she’d get all itchy and irritable. Imagine a dragon trying to scratch an itch with those massive claws!”

Laughing, I try to picture the scene. “Sounds like quite the sight!”

“Oh, it was,” Hope says, her voice wistful. “Then, out of the blue, Whimza and her fellow clutch mates get this summons from Aaliyah. Can you guess why?”

“Uh... dragon party?” I joke.

She laughs heartily. “Not quite! Flying lessons. And by that time, Whimza was so big I had to jump to pat her on the shoulder. Crazy, right?”

“Completely,” I agree, imagining the majestic creature towering above Hope.

“For a whole month, Whimza received instructions from senior dragons on flying techniques and how to strengthen her wings. And me? I was with the elders, sweating over sheets of leather, learning to craft the perfect harness for her.”

I whistle in appreciation. “Sounds like you both had your hands full.”

Hope nods with a proud smile. “We did. But every scrape, every leather burn, it was all worth it to be able to fly together.”

As we continue walking, I’m wrapped up in the world of dragons Hope’s painted, eagerly awaiting the next part of her story.

Hope chuckles, her gaze distant as memories flood her mind. “You should’ve seen her first attempts at flying. I’ve never laughed so hard.”

I lean in closer, captivated. “Tell me everything.”

She glances over, a playful smirk on her lips. “Where to begin? Whimza was always so energetic. Every morning, before the first rays of sunlight broke through, she’d wake me with an impatient snort and a nudge. She was always ready for the day, even if I wasn’t.”

I chuckle, imagining the young dragon and her antics.

“Whimza’s first flights,” she continues, a hint of fond exasperation in her voice, “were... an adventure, to say the least. We’d head to this open field, and she’d take a running start, flapping her wings with so much vigor you’d think she’d fly into another realm. Instead, she’d leap into the air, hover awkwardly for a few seconds, and then, more often than not, tumble back to the ground with an indignant squawk.”

I can’t help but laugh, trying to picture the scene. “She sounds adorable.”

Hope grins. “She was! But she was also stubborn. Every fall, every misstep, just made her more determined. We’d spend hours practicing. Each time, she’d get a little higher, a little more graceful. As much as I wanted to stay and watch her whole flying lesson, I had lessons to attend as well. While she continued working on her flying, I was taught the art of harness-making.”

“That’s so awesome,” I muse.

“It was,” she admits. “It was long hours in the blazing sun. Whimza’s scales would heat up, sometimes so much that I couldn’t touch her. We had to keep applying oil to prevent them from cracking. And me? Between Whimza’s flight training and learning to create a harness that would expand and adjust to her rapidly growing body, I’d drop into bed each night utterly drained.”

“But,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, “each morning, the excitement was back. The thrill of the new day, of seeing Whimza’s progress, of imagining our future flights together... it was all worth it.”

I nod, lost in the world she’s painted. “I feel like I was right there with you and Whimza.”

She squeezes my shoulder. “That’s the magic of stories, isn’t it?”

The sun’s position puzzles me. Hope’s stories, rich and captivating, have let time slip unnoticed, making the journey feel almost effortless. My legs should be aching, my throat crying out for water, but all I can think of is the vivid tapestry of tales she’s weaving.

Lost in the panorama stretching before us, I barely register how much distance we’ve covered. A thought tickles the back of my mind, and I face Hope. “You mentioned knowing this place, right?”

Her eyes scan the horizon, her face bathed in nostalgia. “Mhm,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Then, with a soft, thoughtful whistle, she adds, “It’s astounding how things change. This land... it was a masterpiece once.”

Something in her tone makes my heart ache with curiosity. “What was it like?”

Drawing a deep breath, she gestures to a barely noticeable hillock. “Right there was a cherry orchard. In spring, it became a sea of delicate pink blossoms. So mesmerizing that couples from across the globe dreamed of exchanging vows among its beauty.”

I squint, trying to superimpose this image on the desolate expanse before me. The stark contrast saddens me. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Hope gives a gentle smile, her eyes distant yet shining with memories. “Me too. But memories keep places alive. And who knows? Maybe the future has some surprises in store for this land.”

The possibility warms me from within, reminding me that landscapes, like stories, have the power to evolve and inspire anew.

As we continue our journey, Hope’s gaze dances across the scenery with a mix of fondness and surprise.

She points to our right to a dry lake bed. “There,” she begins, her voice tinged with wonder, “was once a dense forest. Trees as tall as towers, with leaves that would whisper secrets if you listened closely. And now, it’s all gone? Incredible.”

I nod, captivated, imagining the towering trees she describes. “It must’ve been breathtaking.”

“It was,” she confirms, lost momentarily in the reverie of memory. Then, gesturing ahead, she says, “And there, where you see that meadow of dry grass and tumbled stones? That used to be the bustling heart of a village. People would gather to trade, share stories, and celebrate festivals. It’s hard to believe nature has reclaimed it so completely.”

I’m struck by the ebb and flow of time she’s witnessed, and the stark transformations it’s brought. “Nature has its ways,” I muse.

She chuckles, “Indeed, it does. Oh! And look at that sand dune over there.” She squints, pointing to the left. “Believe it or not, that was a cliffside. Falcons used to nest there, soaring majestically through the skies. I used to watch them for hours.”

I shake my head in amazement. “This world... it’s constantly shifting, isn’t it?”

Hope nods, her face glowing with the wisdom of ages. “Always. Landscapes change, just like stories and memories. But there’s always beauty to be found, no matter how different it might look.”

   With every step, and every memory Hope shares, I’m reminded that we’re walking through a living tapestry of history and hope. The world around us might be ever-changing, but the magic of stories keeps its essence alive.

The wind starts off as a gentle whisper, but in mere moments, it morphs into a forceful gust, making each step forward feel like an uphill battle. The air around us is dancing with debris. I squint upwards, half-expecting the menacing purple hues of acid rain, but the sky deceives with its clarity.

As I’m about to voice my relief to Hope, her grip tightens around my arm, pulling me to a halt. There’s a gravity in her eyes I haven’t seen in a while. “This isn’t good,” she murmurs, her tone tinged with alarm.

Instinctively, my heartbeat quickens. Every fiber of my being is poised for danger. “What? Where?” I ask, scanning our vicinity for threats.

She gestures to our left, her fingers trembling slightly. “See that murky line, slowly spreading across the horizon?”

I squint, and the distant, ominous haze comes into view. Nodding, I say, “What is it?”

"That,” Hope breathes, her voice laced with urgency, “is a sandstorm. And it’s heading our way. If we don’t find shelter soon, it’ll swallow us whole.”

The gravity of the situation sinks in, casting a shadow of unease over our journey. Every grain of sand in the air, every whisper of the wind, is now a warning. We need to act, and fast.

Within heartbeats, a ripple of panic spreads through our group. My parents, always the protective pair, glance back, their faces etched with concern. Dad’s lips move soundlessly, but his urgent gestures speak volumes: “Come on! Hurry!”

My heart thumps against my ribs, the dread growing with every gust of wind. “Hope, tell me there’s a shelter nearby,” I pant, each breath a struggle against the suffocating air.

We sprint, feet kicking up the dust, toward the makeshift circle our group has formed with the carts. They’re using them like bulwarks, but against this looming sandstorm, they’re little more than kindling.

Hope’s eyes dart around, scanning the horizon with a precision only she possesses. The muscles in her neck tense, her focus unwavering. There’s a split second – a silent, tangible moment – when her gaze locks onto something. And I feel it: a sliver of hope.

“We’re going to make it,” she breathes, her voice barely audible above the wind but carrying a weight of certainty. The storm might be formidable, but with Hope by our side, we have a fighting chance.

Chapter Fourteen

Shelter from the Storm

THE WIND'S HOWL IS growing louder, a feral beast clawing at the edges of our panic. Sand scratches against my skin as if tiny knives were being thrown by the gusts. I taste grit and dust, smell the coming tempest, a scent like desiccated earth and dry decay.

“We can’t dilly-dally for long, or the storm will take away all of our choices!” Hope’s shout cuts through the growing tumult, her eyes steely and unwavering. She stands there, a figure of unyielding determination, yet the doubts in the crowd are palpable.

Joren, catching on to Hope’s sense of urgency, clenches his jaw and nods, his agreement a silent support among the uncertainty. He raises his hand, a motion that transcends mere gesture - a transfer of authority, a trust placed in Hope.

With a hurried step, Hope sets off, her direction seemingly toward the storm itself. Murmurs break out around me, tinged with disbelief and fear.

“She’s leading us to our death,” someone grumbles, their voice carrying an edge of hysteria. The carts creak and sway, objects inside clattering like chattering teeth.

I clench my fists and fall in step beside Hope, feeling the anxiety twist in my gut but pushing it down. The shadows of doubt have no place here, not when our very survival is on the line. Her resolve, her knowledge, I have faith in them.

My parents exchange glances and follow, and slowly the group falls into line. The storm rages, a wall of angry grit and sound, drawing ever closer, but in my heart, I know - Hope is leading us not to death but to life. Her plan, a mystery though it may be, is our only chance. The fear gnaws at me, but my trust in her is stronger. Time’s winged chariot is at our heels, and all we can do now is run.

The arduous trek feels endless as the storm continues to roar and the sand assaults us from every angle. Visibility is shrinking rapidly, the world dissolving into a haze of flying grit and chaos. Each step is a battle, the wind pushing against us, determined to halt our progress.

My parents huddle close on either side of me, their hands finding mine in a grip that’s both reassuring and desperate. The fear isn’t just in my mind; it’s etched on their faces, reflected in the tight line of my father’s mouth and the way my mother keeps glancing at me as if ensuring I’m still there.

Hope’s figure is barely discernable in the distance, a faint silhouette in this unrelenting fury. We all cling to her direction, trusting her instinct and knowledge.

Doubt keeps edging closer. What if her knowledge of the land is too old? What if the city she knew was destroyed long ago and no longer offers us any refuge? What if she truly is leading us toward our doom?

With every passing moment, the terror of becoming lost grows. The landscape is alien, twisted by the storm into something even more unrecognizable. Sounds are distorted, howls of wind mingling with the distant cries of our fellow travelers, making communication nearly impossible. The smell of dust and something else - something wild and untamed - fills my nostrils, and I fight the urge to cough.

I feel the strain in my parents’ hands, the way they clutch at me, grounding themselves as much as they are trying to protect me. The storm is a living entity, a relentless force that seems determined to swallow us whole.

We stumble and struggle, moving as one, united by fear and determination. Every muscle aches, every breath is labored, but we press on, driven by the need to survive, to escape the storm’s relentless pursuit.

In the middle of it all, I feel a strange connection, not only with my family but with everyone in our ragged group. We are all in this together, each of us dependent on the others, our very lives hanging in the balance.

The piercing cry for help cuts through the wind like a blade, a desperate sound that sends a chill down my spine. I don’t know how we hear it, but once we do, it’s impossible to ignore. It’s a call of pure terror, a plea that resonates with something primal within us.

“We have to help them!” my mother shouts, her voice almost lost to the storm. She doesn’t need to say it; we all feel the same pull, the same agonizing choice that isn’t a choice at all.

I glance ahead, seeking Hope’s figure, but she’s gone, swallowed by the cloud of dust and debris. Panic rises, but there’s no time to dwell on it. People need our help.

“We can’t leave them!” I yell, pulling my parents toward the source of the cry.

The cart is stuck, mired in the sand that shifts and moves like a living thing. The injured inside cries out, his voice filled with pain and fear, his face twisted in agony.

“Push!” my father commands, throwing his weight against the cart. My mother and I join him, our bodies straining, muscles screaming in protest as we fight both the storm and the sand.

It’s a battle, every inch gained a victory, every moment an eternity. The wind howls in our ears, the sand stings our eyes, but we push on, fueled by adrenaline and sheer determination.

The injured man continues to cry out, his voice a constant reminder of why we’re doing this, why we can’t stop, can’t give up. He’s one of our people, our responsibility. We won’t leave him behind.

Finally, with a cry of triumph, the cart lurches free. We stumble back, exhausted but victorious, my heart pounding in my chest. The injured man murmurs his thanks, his eyes filled with gratitude and something more profound, something that speaks of shared humanity and connection.

With all of our maneuvering, I’m not even sure which direction to go anymore. On pure instinct, we move on, our path altered but our goal unchanged.

Stumbling upon some of our group feels like a stroke of pure luck. Their faces are worn and strained, streaked with tears and grime. Hope is still nowhere in sight, and my heart aches with fear and concern. But then, something inexplicable happens.

The wind shifts, a sudden and unexpected change that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not natural, not in this storm, not in this chaos. It’s being directed, controlled. Only one person I know has learned to manipulate air in that way.

“Hope!” I whisper, eyes wide as I scan our immediate surroundings. And then, like a mirage, she appears from the parting cloud of dust, a beacon of calm in the storm.

“Thank goodness!” I exclaim, relief washing over me like a soothing wave.

“It’s not that far away,” she says, her voice steady. “But you’re walking in the wrong direction.”

That’s when I notice it. She’s pristine, untouched by the filth and fury of the storm, her hair perfectly in place as if she’s sealed herself in a bubble of protection.

My mind whirls with questions, with awe, with a touch of envy. How has she done it? What magic, what skill has she employed?

For all I know, she has indeed wrapped herself in some invisible shield. I’m going to have to ask her about it when we get a moment alone.

It’s not just curiosity; it’s something deeper, a need to understand, to connect, to learn from her.

We follow her lead, trusting her instincts and her knowledge, our path now clear and true. The storm still rages, but with Hope guiding us, it feels manageable, almost conquerable.

My parents huddle close, their faces still etched with worry, but their eyes bright with newfound hope.

We’re not lost; we’re not alone. We have each other, and we have Hope.

As we trudge on, I can’t help but marvel at the girl beside me, at her strength and wisdom, at her connection to the elements and her mastery over them.

She’s right, it’s not far at all, probably only about a hundred strides. The rock wall looms in front of us, solid and unyielding, a sanctuary against the storm’s relentless assault. I assume this will be our shelter, but Hope proves me wrong once again.

With a gentle touch, she presses a stone, and it slides inward, revealing an underground passage. My breath catches in my throat as I glimpse the interior, illuminated by strange, glowing globes affixed to the ceiling. Their soft light dances across ancient carvings, beckoning us into a world of wonder.

Hope’s voice brings me back to reality, urging us inside with an intensity that brooks no delay. As we stumble in, gasping and wide-eyed, she seals the entrance, and the storm’s furious howl is instantly silenced.

“What is this place?” I ask, turning in a circle to take in the marvels surrounding me.

“The dragon riders used it as a stronghold during the final battle,” Hope explains, her voice tinged with a reverence that speaks of history and heroism. “There’re facilities to get cleaned up over here.”

I follow her gesture and spot an area designed for washing and refreshment. It’s remarkable how functional and well-preserved everything appears, as though time itself has chosen to stand still here.

“Did everyone make it here?” I ask, searching the room and only seeing a few of the people.

Hope nods. Only then do I allow myself the luxury of relaxing. I don’t think anything will survive for very long in that storm.

As we move to clean ourselves, the weight of the day’s events starts to sink in. The struggle, the fear, the awe - it all blends into a heady mix of emotions that leaves me both drained and exhilarated.

My parents share glances, their faces reflecting a mixture of relief and wonder. We’re safe, at least for now, in a place that feels like a bridge between the past and the present, between legend and reality.

Hope’s presence adds to the magic, her knowledge and connection to this ancient stronghold turning an ordinary trek into an extraordinary adventure. Her eyes sparkle as she looks around, a reflection of memories and dreams that I long to explore further.

For now, though, we have a brief respite. A chance to rest, to heal, to marvel at the mysteries that have unfolded before us. A chance to be grateful for Hope, our guide, our savior, our connection to a world we never knew existed.

As I rinse the dust from my face, I catch her eye in the dimly lit reflection, and we share a knowing smile.

Hope is waiting for me to finish getting cleaned up. No sooner do I dry my face when she grabs me by the arm and hauls me toward another hallway I hadn’t noticed before.

Hope’s excitement is infectious, and I can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation as she leads me down a dimly lit corridor. Her hand is firm on my arm, her eyes sparkling with a secretive gleam. “C’mon. I want to show you something,” she says, her voice dancing with eagerness.

My heart quickens as we venture further into the ancient stronghold. The cool air smells of moss and stone, filled with whispers of a time long past. The glowing globes cast elongated shadows, turning the corridor into a tapestry of light and darkness.

“Where are we going?” I ask, unable to suppress my curiosity.

“You’ll see,” she replies, her grin widening.

We turn a corner, and the passage opens into a vast chamber, filled with the gentle glow of more mysterious lights. The walls are adorned with intricate carvings of dragons, warriors, and scenes of epic battles. There’s an aura of grandeur that takes my breath away.

But it’s what’s in the center of the chamber that truly astonishes me.

A statue, larger than life, stands proudly on a pedestal. It’s a dragon, sculpted with such detail and mastery that it seems almost ready to take flight. Its eyes are inlaid with gems that shimmer with an inner fire, and its scales are etched with runes that tell a story I can’t quite decipher.

“That’s Aaliyah,” Hope says softly, her voice filled with reverence. “The greatest dragon that ever lived.”

I stare at the statue, mesmerized by its beauty and the tangible connection it offers to Hope’s own history. The very creature she spoke of, brought to life in stone, now standing before us as a testament to a legacy that still resonates.

“How?” I manage to stammer, overcome with awe.

Hope’s hand finds mine, her touch grounding me as she explains, “This was created by the master artisans of the dragon riders. A tribute to Aaliyah’s courage and strength.”

I see the pride in her eyes, the love for her dragon’s dam, and the weight of a past that has shaped her into the incredible person she is today.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice gentle, pulling me back to the present. “There’s still more to see.”

And with that, we venture deeper into the stronghold.

To be continued next week...

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Chapter Fifteen

Garden of Remembrance

THERE WERE SEVERAL rooms that had either been emptied or ruined by the ravages of time.

We wander further, Hope’s steps leading us with a purpose I can’t quite fathom. The anticipation builds until we turn a corner and enter a room that seems to suck the air from my lungs. It’s a library—or at least it used to be.

Rows and rows of bookshelves stretch out before us, their once proud contents now ruined and rotted. The smell of mildew and decay hangs heavily in the air, and a chill runs down my spine as I imagine the knowledge that’s been lost to time.

“Oh no,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. My heart aches at the sight, a profound sense of loss overwhelming me.

Hope’s hand finds my shoulder, her touch both comforting and sorrowful. “I know,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with regret. “This was the heart of our history, our culture. All gone now.”

I reach out and gingerly touch the spine of a book, only to have it crumble under my fingers. The sound of it disintegrating is a soft, mournful sigh, and tears prick at my eyes.

“What happened here?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Time,” Hope replies, her eyes distant. “Time and neglect. After the final battle, this place was abandoned. Left to the mercy of the elements.”

I look around, taking in the devastation. The library is a tomb, a silent testament to a bygone era. The whispers of scholars and the rustling of pages have been replaced by the creaking of rotting wood and the mournful drip of moisture seeping through the cracks.

“We could’ve learned so much from this place,” I say, my voice thick with frustration.

Hope’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “We still can,” she says, determination in her voice. “Not from the books, but from the spirit of what this place represents. We can carry it forward, preserve what’s left in our hearts and minds.”

Her words ignite something within me, a spark of resolve. We may have lost the physical remnants of the past, but the lessons, the stories, the essence of what once was, can live on through us. We can be the historians to ensure nothing else is lost.

I nod, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “Let’s do it,” I say, meeting Hope’s eyes. “Let’s carry it forward.”

She smiles, and together we leave the library, the weight of history on our shoulders, but also the promise of a future where the past is honored and cherished.

The disappointment of the ruined library still lingers as Hope and I tread back through the dimly lit passages. The musty scent of decayed books fills my nostrils, a sorrowful reminder of knowledge lost to time.

We’re returning to our group by a different route, a hidden maze of hallways I’m glad I don’t have to navigate alone. The soft patter of our footsteps echo in the emptiness, a testament to the solitude of the place.

Then, something catches my eye. A door, tucked away to the right, so unassuming that Hope strides past it without a glance.

“What’s in here?” I ask, curiosity piqued. My hand reaches for the doorknob, the cool metal sending a thrill up my spine. With a creaking groan, I push the door open, revealing the darkness within.

Hope’s expression transforms into one of sheer wonder as she turns back. Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open in awe. “I’ve heard about this room, but I didn’t think it really existed. Talya! Do you know what you’ve just done?”

I’m taken aback by her intensity, a flutter of excitement rising in my chest.   “What? What is it?”

“Only a queen rider or her descendant can open this door. I didn’t even see it until you opened it.” Her hand finds mine, pulling me eagerly into the room. A wave of cool, fresh air greets us, so unlike the stagnation of the rest of the stronghold. The smell of earth and blooming flowers fills the space.

As our eyes adjust, we find ourselves in a hidden garden, a sanctuary of life amidst the stone. Lush greenery cascades from the walls, vibrant flowers bloom in every hue, and a gentle waterfall murmurs in the distance.

“It’s... it’s beautiful,” I stammer, tears pricking my eyes. The contrast to the decay we’ve just left is staggering, a miracle of nature preserved in this hidden chamber.

Hope’s face glows with joy. “This is the Garden of Remembrance. The queen riders would come here to meditate, to connect with their dragons, and to honor those they’d lost.”

We wander through the garden, our footsteps softened by the mossy floor. Every leaf, every petal seems to tell a story, a living testament to a time when dragons and riders roamed the earth.

I reach out to touch a delicate blossom, its petals cool and velvety. The fragrance is intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and longing.

“This place...” I whisper, unable to find the words.

Hope squeezes my hand, understanding in her eyes. “It’s a gift, Talya. A reminder that even in the darkest places, beauty can survive.”

We linger in the garden, each lost in our thoughts, and I’m grateful for this unexpected discovery.

The garden is a feast for the senses, and I feel an overwhelming sense of awe as we wander through the pathways. Lush greenery surrounds us, and the colors of the flowers are so vivid, so alive, that it’s hard to believe they’re real.

I pause to breathe in the sweet, intoxicating scent of a nearby blossom, and a profound realization washes over me. “We lost this,” I say, my voice choked with emotion. “All of this beauty, this life. They sent the dragons away, and we lost this legacy.”

Hope comes to stand beside me, her hand finding mine. “It wasn’t theirs to lose,” she says softly, echoing my thoughts. “But we can fight to bring it back. We can make things right again.”

I look at her, struck by the determination in her eyes. She’s right, and her words ignite a fire within me. Anger, yes, but also a fierce resolve to do whatever it takes to restore what’s been lost.

“We will,” I vow, squeezing her hand. “We’ll make them see what they’ve done, and we’ll bring it all back.”

We stand there for a long moment, two souls united in purpose, surrounded by the beauty of a world that once was and could be again. The garden is a reminder of the splendor that awaits if we succeed.

“I’m forever changed,” I whisper, and Hope nods, understanding exactly what I mean.

As we make our way back through the garden, something nags at me, a question that won’t let go. The lush, vibrant garden is a stark contrast to the decayed ruins of the library. I finally voice my thoughts, turning to Hope with a puzzled expression.

"Why is the garden perfectly preserved but the library is completely deteriorated?” I ask, my eyes searching hers for answers.

Hope’s eyes light up, and she smiles, her expression clearing. “Ah, that’s an interesting question! The queen used her dragon scales in the garden to keep it alive. Those scales have a sort of magic to them. With nothing to disrupt it, it can last that way for many more centuries. The library, though? Full of man-made items, so it didn’t have that kind of protection from the elements.”

I can’t help but feel a pang of longing at her explanation. “I wish we’d had a few of those dragon scales back on the farm. Then maybe we wouldn’t have had to move into these sterile domes.” My voice trembles with frustration, and I kick at a loose pebble, sending it skittering down the path.

Hope reaches out and gently takes my arm, her touch grounding me. “I know it’s hard to see what’s been lost, but those scales wouldn’t have fixed everything. Sure, you’d have full bellies, but your air is getting pretty bad. And don’t forget the acid rain and solar storms. Those things didn’t happen back in my time.”

Her words are a sobering reminder of the reality we face, but her understanding, her shared sense of loss, helps ease the sting. We stand there for a moment, the scent of flowers heavy in the air, the gentle trickle of a waterfall underscoring our conversation.

“I know,” I finally say, my voice soft. “It’s just hard not to dream of what could have been.”

Hope squeezes my arm, her eyes warm with compassion. “We can still make a difference. We can fight to restore what’s been lost. We can build a better future.”

Her words resonate deep within me, lifting my spirits. She’s right.

With renewed determination, we continue on our way, leaving the garden behind but carrying its memory with us.

***

Since we’re stuck waiting out the sandstorm anyway, an idea begins to form in my mind, a yearning to share the Garden of Remembrance with my parents. I find myself pacing, the thought growing more insistent until I finally approach Hope.

“Hey, Hope, I want to show the garden to my parents,” I say, my eyes wide with excitement. “Would you mind coming with us? I know they’d love to hear your stories.”

Hope’s face brightens, and she readily agrees, “Of course! I’d love to share the garden with them.”

Together, we head to where my parents are huddled, talking quietly. Their faces light up when they see us, curious about what’s brought us their way.

“Mom, Dad, you have to see this place we found,” I gush, practically bouncing on the spot. “It’s called the Garden of Remembrance, and it’s breathtaking.”

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, a mixture of confusion and curiosity in her eyes. “The Garden of what?”

I turn to Hope, knowing she can explain it better. She takes a step forward, her voice soft and inviting as she begins to unfold the story of the garden, Leah, and her queen dragon, Aaliyah.

The scent of fresh flowers and earth fills my nostrils as we enter the garden, and I see the wonder in my parents’ eyes as they take in the vibrant colors, and the lush foliage. They listen, enraptured, as Hope weaves her tales, her words painting vivid pictures, her voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the narrative.

Dad’s hand reaches out to touch a blooming flower, his face etched with awe. Mom’s eyes glisten, reflecting the beauty all around us.

“I can’t believe this place has been hidden all this time,” Mom whispers, her voice filled with reverence.

“It’s a piece of history,” Hope replies, smiling warmly. “A piece of what once was, preserved in time.”

We spend hours there, Hope’s stories flowing one into the next, my parents hanging on every word, just as enthralled with her storytelling as I’ve been along our journey. Laughter and tears mix as the tales unfold, the connection between us growing deeper.

Finally, as we prepare to leave, Dad turns to Hope, his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you for sharing this with us. It’s a memory we’ll carry with us always.”

Hope’s eyes shine, and she places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s been my pleasure. Sharing stories, connecting with the past, that’s how we keep the memory alive.”

As we make our way back to the main group, Dad’s eyes dart from room to room, his curiosity piqued by the mysteries of this ancient place.

He has that look in his eye that I know all too well – the look that says he’s about to discover something extraordinary.

“Dad, come on! We need to get back,” I call, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

“Just a minute!” he replies, his voice echoing from one of the rooms.

I exchange a knowing glance with Hope and Mom, but there’s a spark of excitement in the air. Dad’s curiosity has led to many unexpected discoveries in the past.

When we finally catch up to him, he’s standing in a massive room filled with sleek, metallic machines, their surfaces reflecting the strange glow of the globes above. The air smells faintly metallic.

“What are these?” he asks, his voice filled with wonder.

I see Hope’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight. “Gravity waves,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.

None of us know what she means, but her excitement is contagious.

“Gravity what?” Mom asks, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Gravity waves,” Hope repeats, rushing over to one of the machines. She runs her hands over its surface, her face lighting up with recognition. “My father taught me about these. He was a metallurgist, always tinkering with things like this.”

She climbs onto one, expertly tuning it, her hands moving with practiced ease. The machine hums to life, floating off the ground, and we all gasp.

“With these, we can make it to the domes in hours rather than days!” Hope exclaims, her voice filled with joy. “Even the injured can ride these. They float, see? No discomfort at all.”

My heart pounds, the implications of this discovery sinking in. Dad’s inquisitive nature, Hope’s knowledge – it’s all come together to potentially save our lives.

Dad’s face is flushed with pride, and he claps Hope on the shoulder. “You think we can really use these?”

“I know we can,” Hope replies, her voice full of conviction.

We spend the next hours testing the machines, Hope guiding us, teaching us, her voice filled with excitement and assurance. The room echoes with laughter and shouts of triumph as we master the gravity waves, the air filled with the hum of the machines and the scent of possibility.

As we finally return to the group, I can’t help but feel a rush of gratitude for the incredible turn of events that has led us here.

“We’re going to make it,” I whisper to myself. “We’re really going to make it.”

Chapter Sixteen

You Can't Keep It

FRUSTRATION BOILS WITHIN me as I stand before our ragged group, the gravity waves humming softly in the background. Their sleek, metallic surfaces gleam under the strange glow of the globes, but the people are eyeing them with suspicion, mistrust in their faces.

“We can’t just trust these things!” one of the men shouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?” I shoot back, my voice tinged with disbelief. “They’ll get us to safety so much faster!”

“There’s no need to take unnecessary risks,” a woman adds, her voice dripping with fear.

I run my fingers through my hair, the scent of metal and ancient dust filling the air. I want to scream, to shake some sense into them. Haven’t they seen enough death and suffering? Aren’t they tired of this arduous journey on foot?

Hope steps forward, her voice calm and soothing. “I understand your concerns, but I assure you, these gravity waves are safe. I’ve tested them myself.”

A murmur of doubt ripples through the crowd, but I can see some faces softening, curiosity winning over fear.

“You’ve seen what we’ve been through,” I plead, my voice cracking. “How many more of our people must be injured or die before we accept help? This technology might look strange, but it’s our best chance!”

I lock eyes with a young girl in the crowd, her face pale and drawn. She’s lost her parents on this journey, and I can see the longing for safety in her eyes, for an end to this nightmare.

Finally, a voice from the back speaks up, an elderly woman leaning on a cane. “The girl’s right. We’ve seen enough suffering. Let’s trust in these machines, in Hope’s knowledge. Let’s take a chance.”

Her words seem to break the spell of fear and uncertainty, and slowly, people begin to nod, the murmur of agreement growing.

Hope smiles at me, a proud glint in her eyes,

The sudden slam of the door echoes through the room as a dissenting man storms out, his words of anger and fear lingering like a dark cloud. “I’m not going to be a part of your plan to get yourself killed!” his voice ricochets off the walls, leaving a silence that’s filled only with the low, mechanical hum of the gravity waves.

I feel the doubt creeping back into the room, whispers of uncertainty beginning to spread like wildfire. My heart pounds in my chest, and frustration gnashes at me. We can’t afford to lose this momentum. We can’t go back to walking!

The young girl I noticed earlier steps forward and locks eyes with Joren, desperation in her voice as she pleads, “Can we use the gravity waves to go back to the crash site to search for other survivors?” The words tumble out, a frantic attempt to hold on to the hope and the plan that’s slipping through our fingers.

Hope’s eyes narrow, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I won’t know without further testing of their systems. It’s fair to say they have enough power to go the remaining five clicks to the domes, though,” she answers, her voice measured and calm.

“But what about going back?” she presses, feeling the urgency in the room. “What if there are others out there?”

I hear the soft rustle of clothing, the scuffing of shoes as people shift nervously, and I see their eyes darting between Hope, the girl, and the gravity waves.

My dad steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We have to trust Hope’s judgment,” he says, his voice carrying weight and wisdom. “But we also have to care for the people here, now.”

“I know,” she replies, her voice breaking with frustration and fear. “I just want to do what’s right.”

Hope reaches out, her fingers gentle on her arm. “We all do,” she says, her voice soft yet strong. “But we have to make choices, sometimes hard ones. We have to move forward.”

Her words settle over the room, a balm to the uncertainty and doubt. Slowly, the whispers fade, replaced by a renewed determination.

“We’ll make it,” Joren adds, his voice firm. “With these gravity waves, we’ll reach the domes, and we’ll find a way to help others too.”

I take a deep breath, the metallic scent of the machines mingling with the ancient smell of the hidden base. We’re doing what we can, making the best choices we can. And we’re doing it together.

Joren’s eyes follow the path where Edgar stormed out, a thoughtful crease in his brow. “I’ll talk with Edgar,” he declares, his voice filled with determination. His fingers glide over the seat of a nearby gravity wave, a look of sheer fascination in his eyes. The soft, appreciative whistle he emits sounds almost like a child’s giggle, echoing my own excitement.

My dad’s eyes twinkle as he watches the gravity waves, and I see he shares Joren’s eagerness.

The hum of the gravity waves fills the room, a gentle undertone to the excited chatter. The room buzzes with mixed feelings: awe, fear, anticipation. Conversations break out, some people inspecting the machines, others conferring in hushed tones.

The smell of ancient metal and a hint of ozone is in the air, tickling my nostrils. It’s the smell of technology, of progress.

I find myself drifting closer to one of the gravity waves, my hand reaching out to touch its sleek surface. It’s cool and smooth, thrumming with potential. The image of us gliding into the domes, riding these gravity waves, flashes before my eyes. My heart pounds at the thought.

I can’t help but feel a burst of giddy anticipation myself, and I lean closer to Hope, my voice hushed with excitement. “No matter what the group decides, my family is riding on these bikes. Can you imagine the looks on people’s faces when we arrive at the domes?” The thrill of the idea makes me feel giddy, like a child with a secret.

Hope’s eyes twinkle as she follows my gaze. “You like the idea of surprising them, don’t you?”

I laugh, a short, joyful sound. “Surprising them? We’ll stun them. Nobody’s ever seen anything like this. We’ll be... we’ll be special.”

The word hangs in the air, and I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks.

The idea of being special, even just for a moment, thrills me, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. I’ve never been the center of attention, never been remarkable. But now, with these gravity waves, we have a chance to be something more, something extraordinary.

Hope reaches out, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You already are special,” she says softly. Her eyes hold a warmth, a sincerity that touches something deep within me.

I swallow, feeling a lump in my throat.

I glance around the room, absorbing the sounds and smells. The hum of the gravity waves and the distant murmur of Joren’s voice as he speaks with Edgar down the hall.

My mom places a gentle hand on my arm, her eyes filled with understanding. “It’s an adventure, isn’t it?” she whispers, her smile knowing.

I nod, feeling a connection with her, with all of them. This journey is more than just a trek to safety. It’s a shared experience, a moment in time when we all face the unknown together.

“We never expected our trip to be like this,” I tell her, my voice filled with conviction. “But it will certainly give us something to talk about for years to come.”

She squeezes my arm, her smile widening. “Yes, it certainly will.”

The room feels alive with purpose. These gravity waves, these strange and wonderful machines, are more than just transportation. They’re a symbol of hope, of innovation, of a future we’re all eager to embrace.

What if they are the spark we need to bring the dragons back? Stranger things have happened. Right?

My fingers itch to write all of this in my journal, but it’ll have to wait until I can get a new one.

The room is a whirlwind of activity, filled with the buzz of excited chatter and the scent of freshly oiled machinery. Gravity waves are lined up against the wall, gleaming and ready, their low hum echoing my pounding heart. People are zipping bags, testing their controls, voices rising in anticipation.

I’m standing by my bike, hands damp with sweat. I wipe them on my pants and reach out to touch the contact pads. They feel cool and responsive. Hope glides over, her eyes scanning the pad, then mine.

“Don’t worry,” she assures me, her voice calm. “Your sweat won’t affect them.”

I try to smile, but my stomach is a knot of excitement and nerves. Twenty minutes. That’s all we have to wait. It feels like an eternity.

I turn to Dad, trying to distract myself. “I wonder where we’re going to store the gravity waves at our new house.”

Joren, passing by, stops and frowns. “You won’t get to keep them. Didn’t you read the contract?”

“What contract?” Mom’s voice is sharp, alarmed.

Dad’s face goes pale, and he avoids our eyes.

Joren’s frown deepens, his arms crossing. “All valuables will be turned over to the Dome’s Peacekeepers to pay for the facilities. Although, with these gravity waves, you should insist on Dome 1 housing.”

Mom’s voice trembles with anger. “So these Peacekeepers—they’ll inspect everything and take what they deem valuable?”

“Exactly. Although, with our transport trouble, I’m not sure how they’ll handle this bunch. Probably put everyone in Dome 5,” Joren mutters as he walks away.

The room seems to freeze. I feel a cold chill as Mom rounds on Dad. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

Dad nods, his face stricken.

My mind races, thoughts tumbling over one another. The family heirloom. We can’t lose it. Panic sets in, and I hear the blood rushing in my ears.

“We can’t take the heirloom inside. What do we do with it?” Mom’s voice breaks.

Hope’s eyes narrow, a determined look in her eyes. “I know of a place. I’ll be right back.” She sprints from the room, the mysterious bundle bouncing on her back.

The room comes back to life, but the excitement has been replaced by tension. I look around, seeing faces drawn and worried. The gravity waves seem to hum a more somber tune.

We were so close to a new beginning, a thrilling adventure. Now uncertainty looms, casting a shadow over our departure.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Dad, his eyes apologetic, understanding.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, his voice soft but sure.

I nod, trying to believe him. But the seed of doubt has been planted, and the road ahead suddenly seems less clear, less certain.

The minutes tick by, each one heavy, laden with questions and fears. Our new life is within reach, but at what cost?

As I stand there, waiting for Hope’s return, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re on the brink of something unknown, something that will challenge us in ways we never expected. And I really don’t like the sound of the Dome Peacekeepers.

Chapter Seventeen

The Race

My mind is still racing with questions about the hidden package, but the restless energy of our group pulls me back to the present. I glance at Hope, wanting to ask her what she’s done with it, but she’s already at the exit door, her face set with resolve.

With a hiss and a creak, the door opens, revealing mounds of sand that have transformed the once-familiar landscape into something foreign and otherworldly. The dry scent of the desert fills the room, and a collective sigh echoes through the group.

“I’ve programmed all of the gravity waves to have the Dome’s coordinates,” Hope begins, her voice steady but loud. She walks over to her bike, resting her hands on the front, eyes scanning the faces of our group. “Nobody can get lost, but we should all stay together to make sure every machine functions properly.”

I watch her, a swell of pride mixed with apprehension filling my chest. We’re on the brink of something new, something unknown. My hands are clammy again, but I can’t look away as Hope explains, “The process is very simple, the handles activate the power and speed.”

Edgar’s voice cuts through the room like a knife, dripping with arrogance. “I don’t need any instruction from a girl. I’m leaving.”

I see heads turn, mouths drop open as he slings his leg over his bike and presses his hands against the handlebars. The bike hums to life, and he takes off, leaving behind a trail of stunned onlookers.

But his triumph is short-lived. Not twenty feet away, he leans forward, and the bike pitches, throwing him headlong into the sand.

A gasp ripples through the room, followed by a moment of silence, then Hope’s concerned voice. “Edgar, are you okay?”

He glares up at her, nods, and stands, dusting himself off, his face red with embarrassment and anger.

“As I was saying,” Hope continues, her voice tinged with a mixture of annoyance and patience, “it’s simple, but your body position is what matters. Don’t lean forward, unless you’re planning on going down a steep slope since it pitches the machine down.”

The room is a mix of emotions. Some faces show amusement at Edgar’s folly, others concern, while still others are filled with determination, ready to learn, ready to embrace this new experience.

The low hum of the gravity waves permeates the room, practically pulsating with electric energy. People are shifting, whispering, eyes on Hope as she continues her instructions.

My heart is a wild drum in my chest, excitement, and fear warring within me. I glance at my family, and see the same mix of emotions on their faces.

And as I look back at Hope, she’s calm and confident as she guides us.

A crash on one of these gravity waves won’t be the end of the world, it seems. I watch Edgar as he fiddles with his machine, pretending not to listen to the rest of Hope’s instructions. But his careful adjustments and deliberate delay in remounting give him away. It’s a small comfort that even the most stubborn among us are taking heed.

Dad’s eyes are twinkling, his hands hovering to grip the bike’s handlebars as if he’s born to ride it. He turns to me, his excitement palpable, “Can you believe this, kiddo? We’re riding on gravity waves!”

I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Mom’s next to him, her face flushed with giddiness. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she adds, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Around us, the room buzzes with energy. The older folks in our group are getting help mounting their bikes, their faces etched with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The air is filled with the mingled scents of metal and sand, the low hum of the gravity waves creating a unique symphony of future promise.

But what catches my attention is the younger people. Some are standing back, skepticism and fear in their eyes. It doesn’t make sense.

I lean over to Joren, who’s helping an elderly woman onto her bike, and whisper, “Why do you think some of the young ones are so reluctant?”

He pauses, glances at them, and shrugs. “Fear of the unknown, maybe? Or perhaps they think it’s too good to be true.”

I nod, understanding but still puzzled. Aren’t the young supposed to be fearless and eager for adventure?

I look back at Edgar, now cautiously remounting his bike, his pride likely stung but his curiosity still intact. Then at my parents, their faces alive with joy and expectation.

We’re a mix of ages, experiences, and emotions, yet here we are, united by a common goal, about to embark on a journey like no other.

The realization hits me like a shockwave. These young folks have known only tragedy with technology. First, the transport crash, and now Edgar’s embarrassing tumble. Their faces aren’t just masked with reluctance; they’re etched with genuine fear.

I glance at them, then at the gravity waves, their soft hum almost soothing. I smell the mingled scent of metal and freshly disturbed sand, a reminder of both the marvel and the wilderness we’re about to face.

“Why would they trust these machines?” I murmur, half to myself, half to Hope, who’s standing nearby, explaining controls to another rider.

She looks over, following my gaze. “You mean the youngsters?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling a tightening in my stomach. “They’re scared, Hope.”

She sighs, resting her hand momentarily on a gravity wave. “I don’t blame them,” she says softly. “All they’ve known is disaster with technology. We need to show them that these are different. That these can be trusted.”

“How?” I ask, the question hanging heavy in the air.

We both look at the gravity waves, then at the hesitant faces of the young ones. There’s no easy answer, no quick solution.

But there’s a determination in Hope’s eyes, a resolve that’s infectious.

“We’ll take our time,” she says, her voice steady. “We’ll let them approach at their own pace, allow them to feel the machines, understand how they work. And we’ll be here for them, every step of the way.”

The stubbornness in Hope’s expression is a spark that ignites something in me. I nod at her plan, feeling it’s the right path, but then a wild idea surges through me.

“What if we make a game out of it?” I blurt out, my heart pounding with excitement as I grab Hope’s arm.

She raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

“A race,” I say, words tumbling out. “One that proves that the bikes are faster than walking—and way more fun. Can you ride double?”

“Sure,” she answers, a smile tugging at her lips. “What did you have in mind?”

“You carry one of the scared people on the bike with you while their friend runs alongside. Race to a specified point to see who gets there first. What do you think?”

Hope’s eyes light up, and her laughter rings out. “I think that’s brilliant!”

Together, we pitch the idea to Joren, who quickly gets on board. I see the spark of competition in his eyes, and I feel the buzz of excitement growing among the group.

The smell of sand and machinery mixes with the rising anticipation as we set up the races. Even the skeptical youngsters are now looking at the gravity waves with interest, curiosity replacing fear.

And then, the races begin.

Laughter and shouts fill the air as Hope and Lizbet, riding double, race alongside Jack and Michelle who choose to run. The sounds of the gravity waves mix with the pounding of feet, creating a symphony of joy and camaraderie.

One by one, the hesitant riders become participants, and the winners become champions of fun. The machine’s soft hum, the whoosh of sand, and the exhilarated cries create a lively atmosphere that’s contagious.

We watch, cheer, laugh, and participate. Every race is a victory, every smile a milestone.

By the time the people tire, the gravity waves are no longer foreign, menacing machines. They’re partners in adventure, tools of joy.

And as we prepare to embark on our journey, I look around at the faces, once filled with apprehension, now glowing with excitement.

We’ve done it. Together, we’ve turned fear into fun, strangers into friends, and the unknown into a thrilling adventure.

I glance at Hope, and our eyes meet. Her smile says it all.

We’re ready.

Finally, the gravity wave lifts and the sensation sends a thrill through me. It’s a blend of fear and exhilaration. I glance down, my hands clammy against the sensors. The machine responds to my touch, almost as if reading my thoughts. It’s easier to control the more I relax, a strange and fascinating experience I never thought I’d have.

The terrain rushes by below us, a combination of sand and rocky outcrops, the wind carrying the distant scent of dry earth. I glance at the speedometer; we’re cruising at five clicks per hour. It feels like we’re flying, but a glance at Hope’s face tells a different story.

She looks over, frustration clear in her eyes, her hair whipping in the wind. “Can’t they just turn up the power?” she calls to me, her voice rising above the whir of the gravity waves. “We could be there already!”

“I know, but it’s all new to them,” I shout back, trying to balance my excitement with an understanding of the others’ hesitations.

She shakes her head, sending a cloud of dust swirling around her, and swings her bike around to round up the stragglers. “I’ll be back,” she yells, her voice tinged with impatience.

I watch her go, my heart still pounding with the thrill of the ride. Around me, the others are scattered, some gripping the handles of their bikes with white-knuckled fear, others starting to enjoy the journey.

Mira, an older woman now beside me smiles, her eyes wide with wonder. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she says, her voice trembling with emotion. “Riding on air, like a bird!”

Her words capture the essence of the moment, and I grin back, feeling a shared connection. This isn’t just about getting to the domes; it’s about one last adventure, an experience none of us will ever forget.

The thrill of the ride fades as a sudden thought grips me: this could very well be my last adventure. The uncertainty of what awaits in the domes gnaws at my gut. My grip on the handles loosens, and my gravity wave slows. The world seems to shrink, the vast landscape losing its allure.

“What’s wrong?” Hope’s voice breaks through my reverie, filled with concern.

“Nothing,” I manage to say, but the lie is apparent in my voice.

Dad circles over to my other side, his face etched with worry. “Talya, what’s going on?” he asks.

I’m about to reply when Hope’s gravity wave slows and sinks to the ground, the sudden silence startling. It stops without warning, the thrum of its engine replaced by a quiet stillness that feels unnatural.

“I guess we’ve discovered the range of the gravity waves—or this one, at least,” Hope says, tapping the readout screen. Her voice is calm, but I can see a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “Seventeen clicks with all of the races and circling back and forth. Can I ride double with you, Talya?”

“Of course,” I say, but my mind is elsewhere, still wrestling with my fear of the unknown.

As Hope climbs onto my gravity wave, the smell of hot sand fills the air. The others gather around, curiosity mixed with concern, their faces reflecting a myriad of emotions. Some are amused, others perplexed.

“Is everyone okay?” someone calls out.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Hope responds, her voice strong, but I hear the underlying concern.

As we continue on our journey, the landscape shifts and the wind picks up, carrying with it the scent of a storm. The gravity waves move beneath us, their steady hum a comforting reminder of the path we’re on.

But the uncertainty remains, a nagging doubt that won’t let go. What awaits us in the domes? What will become of this adventure, this bond we’ve formed? The questions linger, unanswered, as we press on, the unknown stretching out before us.

We crest a sand dune, and my breath catches in my throat as the domes loom before us, colossal and gleaming. They sprawl across the horizon, a testament to human ingenuity and our sheer will to survive on Heliok.

I can’t help but gape at the grandeur. The enormity of the structures stuns me, a mix of fear and awe welling within.

“Look at that,” I hear someone murmur behind me, a note of reverence in their voice.

But the marvel is short-lived. A flash of light pierces the sky from the far side of the domes, electrifying the air with a sudden jolt of terror.

“Solar storm!” Joren and I cry in unison.

“Finally!” Hope’s voice rings with a strange excitement, snapping me back to reality. “Put some speed on, and let’s get to the domes already.”

The gravity waves hum beneath us, and we surge forward, racing against the storm that’s barreling down on us. Fear mingles with determination as we push our machines to their limits.

“We’re not going to make it, Joren. Is there another entrance?” Hope’s voice crackles over the wind, urgency sharp in her tone.

Joren points to the left, his face tight with concentration. “Go left. The entrance is farther away, but if we go faster, we’ll have a chance.”

The world becomes a blur of motion and sound as we veer left, the storm’s fury a constant presence at our side. Another flash of lightning strikes close, the sharp tang of ozone filling the air, a stark reminder of our vulnerability.

“Come on, we can do this!” I hear Dad encouraging, his voice strong but laced with concern.

The sound of the gravity waves intensifies, a mechanical symphony that drowns out everything else. We race toward safety, each heartbeat a countdown, each breath a prayer. The domes grow closer, but so does the storm, a relentless force of nature that won’t be denied.

“Keep going!” Hope shouts, her voice filled with both command and encouragement. “We’re almost there!”

Chapter Eighteen

TBD

This isn’t the way I’d imagined my first glimpse of the domes. My eyes itch to wander, to pierce through the plasglass structures, to unravel the mysteries within. But the treacherous path before me demands my full attention. My heart pounds as I grip the controls, knowing that a single lapse could spell disaster.

Ahead, Joren’s gravity wave surges forward, a beacon in the chaos. He’s leading us, but the uncertainty gnaws at me. How many entrances are there? Have we chosen the right one?

“Is everyone keeping up?” I call to Hope, my voice taut with worry.

I feel her body twist as she surveys the group. The wind howls, whipping her hair across her face, but she doesn’t falter. “Yep,” she shouts, her voice tinged with triumph. “It looks like the storm has erased all of their reservations!”

A sudden flash of light rips through the sky, followed by a thunderous boom that shakes me to my core. My heart leaps into my throat, and I hear a scream from behind. I risk a glance back, my heart wrenching as I see Lizbet’s gravity wave wobble precariously. But with grit and determination, she wrestles it back under control, a triumphant look in her eye.

“Keep it steady, Lizbet! You’ve got this!” I hear someone cheer, and I realize it’s my mom.

My focus snaps back to the path ahead, and the enormity of our situation settles around me like a heavy cloak. The storm is relentless, a wild beast that won’t be tamed. The tang of ozone fills the air, the howl of the wind a constant reminder of our fragile existence.

“I see the entrance!” Joren’s voice crackles over the comm, excitement and relief mingling in his words.

“Almost there!” Hope calls, her voice a lifeline in the chaos.

Drawing closer to the domes, a surge of elation builds within me, overtaking the storm’s thunderous roar. We’re almost there; we’re doing it. The domes loom larger, a sanctuary gleaming in the distance.

"Is this how you saw us at the domes when you first arrived?” I ask Hope, my voice barely heard above the storm.

Her laughter rings out, clear and joyful, a sound that warms me despite the cold, biting wind. “Yes. But I didn’t know how to explain any of this when I didn’t know how to find the gravity waves. As soon as your dad found them, that’s when I knew everything was going to be okay.”

Her words are a soothing balm, and I find myself exhaling, a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Our adventure, this perilous and exhilarating trip, is nearing its end.

One by one, the bikes ahead of us vanish into a tunnel. Mom’s bike glides in, then mine, the dark mouth of the tunnel swallowing us whole. The transition is jarring; our speed slows to a crawl, though I haven’t changed the input. A question forms in my mind: Was the gravity wave programmed this way? But it’s a thought for another time.

The tunnel echoes with the sounds of gravity waves, a symphony of mechanical purrs and human chatter. The scent of damp earth mingles with the tang of ozone, the walls close and confining after the vast openness of the desert.

“Everyone’s here,” I hear Hope’s voice, her words filled with satisfaction.

I glance back, counting the bikes, my heart pounding in time with the steady stream of arrivals. One by one, they glide in, familiar faces etched with exhaustion and exhilaration. Friends, family, strangers – we’ve become a community, bound by shared experience.

We’ve made it. Together.

The tunnel gives way to light, and the domes stretch out before us, a new world filled with unknowns. But as we move forward, the gravity waves humming beneath us, the storm a distant memory, I can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation.

This is just the beginning.

To be continued next week...

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Chapter Nineteen

TBD

Coming soon...