Kuro stares at my talons through the glass of the ancient window, shocked into silence. Through harried confusion, I flick my gaze to the ground but see nothing out of the ordinary at my talons or in the surrounding area. I sniff the air, lift my legs, twist around, and gaze at the wall, but can’t locate the source of her terror. What is going on?

“Kuro, what’s wrong?!” I say, loping forward to join her in the center of the room. As I do so, the expression on her face softens somewhat, but her gaze remains pointed, following me until I’m standing beside her.

No longer seeing me through the window, stark relief fills her face. “Asha!!” she cries, throwing herself on top of me. She curls her neck around my own and buries her face into my feathers. “Asha, Asha!!” she repeats as her spiced scent fills my nostrils. “I thought you were…!”

RARRR!

Kuro unleashes an anguished cry, a shrill noise that I’ve never heard from her before. By the Goddess, what happened? What the hell did she see through that glass?

Agh, damnit! I can’t just let her wail in agony! I told myself I wouldn’t do anything like this, but…!

“It’s okay,” I murmur into her ear. I recall the times I was scared as a child, and the soothing voice Mom used to calm me. Holding it in my thoughts, I reassure my friend, “Everything will be alright. I’m right here. Nothing’s happened to me.”

Kuro whines, heaving quick and erratic breaths. As she buries her head deeper into my neck, I feel her heart racing against my feathers. Gradually it begins to subside, and her breathing slows. Feeling like the crisis has passed, I begin to lower myself and Kuro follows, keeping her head pressed against my neck. Once we’re both lying down, I crane my head around and nuzzle it against hers.

“What did you see?” I ask, barely louder than a whisper.

Slowly, Kuro removes her head from my feathers. Her eyes are swollen and red — tears have flowed recently. But instead of answering me, she averts her eyes and stays silent.

“Kuro?” I ask again.

“Asha,” she croaks. “It was you. I saw you… as a Lemur.”

My eyes become as wide as sunflowers. “A Lemur?!”

Kuro shuffles her talons and nods sheepishly. “At first, I couldn’t see you through the glass. You were there, but you looked… strange. I could see you again as you stopped in front of the wall, but… you looked like a Farlander. I thought you had become a Lemur again.”

I blink, then shift my gaze between Kuro and the ancient window. How did she see me as a Lemur through it?! What kind of sorcery is imbued in that glass?!

Kuro lays her head against my neck once more. “I-I don’t know why, but… when I saw you as a Lemur, it felt like I was losing my parents all over again. I thought I lost you, Asha.”

Oh, gosh.

Kuro…

I curl my head around and nuzzle it back against her own. She thinks so much of me that even the sight of my former self… it was like I had taken my last breath and fallen over dead. The misery of grief — what a heart-wrenching thing to experience.

As we lay with our heads entwined, her breathing becomes quick and irregular. It’s been a long time since I lost someone close to me, but I know what’s occurring — In her thoughts, she’s reliving the trauma all over again.

…

I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to her, but how could I lay idle while she endures so much pain? My eyes trace down her neck, and… mmh, on second thought, that area wouldn’t be appropriate. I pass her neck and locate a spot of unkempt feathers beside a wing joint. Gently, I lower my head away from Kuro’s and begin to straighten the soot-plumaged feathers bunched around her shoulder blades. Moments later I feel a gingerly pair of fangs against my back, engaged in the same act of comfort.

For a time, we groom.

How long did we lay with each other, I wonder?

It must have been an hour, at least. Can you really blame us? Tomcat was right; having your whole body groomed by someone else is… well, it’s indescribable. As we lay in silence dutifully cleaning our feathers, never had I felt so contended and at peace. The world and all its anxieties seemed to dissolve around me, replaced by a simple act of shared compassion. Nothing existed but Kuro, our feathers, and our warmth.

But, inevitably, we ran out of feathers to preen, and the strange reality of our situation weaved itself back into my thoughts. Somehow, Kuro saw me as a Lemur through that ancient window. Could it be some kind of magical mirror? It seems impossible, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve witnessed phenomena that defies science. The lights of the Grandfather Tree have no visible power source, and the blue flames used to summon Keuvra act nothing like true fire. Could they all be related to each other? Could I somehow use that window to turn myself back to normal?!

…On second thought, perhaps now isn’t the best time to contemplate such things.

Eventually, Kuro felt comfortable enough to re-examine the strange window. First, I tried directing her to the spot where she saw me as a Lemur. As I watched her approach the wall through the translucent veil, there was no sign of the ‘strangeness’ Kuro saw with me. She appeared utterly normal.

I’ve been against it, but Kuro insists she wants to see me through the window again. “Are you sure about this?” I ask as she approaches the center of the room. “You’ll probably see me as a Lemur again.”

Kuro inclines her head. “I’m prepared. I know that if I see your Lemur body, it’s just an illusion. On the other side of the glass, you’re still a Dragon.”

An improbable scenario plays out in my head, one where I change back right now. The timing would make it the joke of the century if it weren’t so tragic.

As Kuro moves into the observer position behind the window, I reposition to stand a few feet before it on the opposite side. She mentally prepares herself to take another look, and I draw a careful breath. Even if Kuro knows I haven’t transformed, seeing the prey form of the Dragon you love must be staggering. How many Lemurs has she preyed on during her trips to the Farlands? How does the savage predator inside her see me as a Lemur?

Slowly, Kuro saunters to the other side of the window. Her gaze lowers to my talons, and her muzzle draws open in muted shock. Somehow, she maintains her composure.

“Oh, Asha…” her voice dissipates. She sounds crestfallen, like she was speaking with the dead. “I-I can’t believe this is what you look like as a Farlander.”

Kuro’s doing much better this time, but I won’t allow her mind to dawdle. I ask, “What happens if I open my wing?”

I draw a wing wide to the side, but Kuro’s eyes remain fixated on my talons. “It happened again. For a moment you looked strange, but then returned to normal. Your body hasn’t moved.

“And my legs?” I raise a foreleg into the air.

“Whoa,” Kuro quickly chirps. “Your… arm. Your arm just went up.”

It seems my arms became my forelegs when I transformed into a Lithan. I guess that makes sense. But what’s Kuro talking about when she says I look ‘strange?’ Determined to find out, I trot forward and join her on the opposite side of the glass. As I pass the window, relief washes across Kuro’s face.

“May I?” I ask.

Kuro steps aside, giving me full access to the dusty window. Using my wing, I snake some flight feathers around the opposite side, and everything becomes clear. Or rather, the opposite of clear. As I move my wing up and down, my feathers move as a blur, like the image of my feathers can’t keep up with how quickly they move. Then as I hold them steady, they disappear entirely!

“Whoa,” I mumble. “Kuro, are you seeing this?”

“Yes,” she speaks from behind me. “Asha, this happened to your entire body as you walked. And when you stopped moving, you were a Lemur.”

Of all the strange things I’ve witnessed in Felra, a window that shows the viewer what I looked like as a Lemur takes the cake. There can be no denying it: Somehow, my transformation into a Lithan is tied to this building from the ancient past.

“Let’s keep exploring,” I say, folding my wings. “Maybe we can learn more about this den and what it was used for.”

We search the rest of the room for anything unusual but come up empty-taloned; the underbrush in here is simply too thick. However, Kuro is able to locate a passage that connects to another room through a dense thicket of small trees and raven’s thistle.

Nature has worked to reclaim the second room just as much as the first. Daylight shines through a collapsed section of the roof where a mature oak tree has grown unrestricted from a pond of dirty rainwater, fallen leaves, and stone rubble. The ground is soft and muddy, muffling our talonsteps as Kuro and I branch off to explore in closer detail.

As my neck twists around, I spot an exposed section of wall where the stone appears largely intact. At its base is a pile of rubble which has prevented the vines from growing up the wall. As I approach it, the finer details become visible. Finer details, like…

…

“By the Goddess,” I murmur.

“Asha?” Kuro calls from across the room.

“Kuro…” my voice trails off as I scale the rubble, eager to confirm a suspicion. What I see leaves me breathless. Someone has carved crude inscriptions against the wall; words I can read! “This is the Goddess Language!” I announce. “Oh, wait a second.”

Kuro’s scent approaches from behind. “Are these Farlander symbols?”

“They are,” I say, moving my head about the wall, trying to view the words at different angles. Although the clawvines haven’t reached this section of the wall, the letters have been heavily eroded by other forces. “Some of these symbols are part of the goddess language, but some aren’t. See this?”

I draw my wing forward and point it toward the top left of the paragraph.

“This word spells ‘Dragons.’ And over here, this word spells ‘beyond.’ Or at least, it almost spells ‘beyond.’ There’s a digraph I don’t recognize.”

Kuro looks at me confused, then steps forward to brush her wing across the stone. She moves her feathers slowly, feeling the outlines of every word as she goes. “I can’t believe Farlanders can read this many symbols. Asha, can you read what it says?”

I shake my head and exhale a stiff sigh. “Not quite. The stone is so eroded that I can only translate bits and pieces of what it’s trying to say. I really wish I could, but—“

As my eyes fruitlessly scan the words, I notice something near the end of the carvings -- the faint outline of a symbol I’ve known my entire life. I rub the area with my wing, allowing the oil in my feathers to soak up the dirt. I pull it back, rub harder, and blow off the excess.

“By the Goddess,” I murmur. It’s exactly what I thought it was.

“Lordanou,” I whisper. “This is the symbol of the Lordanou clan — my family. Kuro, do you know what this means?!”

Kuro’s ears droop, and she remains silent.

“My family was in Felra! We have a connection to the flock! And my ring was the proof!”

I can’t believe this! Everything is beginning to fall into place. The Serpentine Diamond, my family, and this strange building buried deep in the forest. They’re all connected somehow, and the ramifications are staggering.

It’s well known that the royal family of Ellyntide — the Lordanou Clan — has ruled the Kingdom since its founding in ancient times. Although the details are fuzzy, the Goddess has said this happened before the continents rose. It seems crazy, but could ascendant Animals have played a part in the wars between the Dragon Clans and the eventual rise of the Snowfell Flock? Is that why this building exists? Because it was some kind of embassy? And then there’s the window in the other room. It was built at the perfect height for a Dragon to gaze through, showing me my true form. When you put it all together, there’s really only one conclusion you can draw:

I’m not the first Animal to be transformed into a Dragon. There were others like me.

I retreat a step from the wall, feeling the dizzying weight of possibility. If I’m not the first, then what happened to the others? Did they return to normal? They couldn’t have integrated into the flock… could they? And why was all this information forgotten? Or, perhaps it was…

…I should stop thinking in conjecture. The answers to my questions could be right under my muzzle; there are still more rooms in this building to explore! Though I wish I could translate this ancient version of the Goddess Language. The answer to why I became a Lithan could be right here!

“Hmm…” Kuro mumbles, inspecting my family’s symbol up close. “Even a fledge couldn’t make symbols this small. Are you saying a Farlander left these? Maybe even someone from your family?”

I nod. “That’s exactly right.”

Kuro exhales a long and drawn-out breath — she must be coming to the same moon-shattering realizations I just came to. Like the stones we found in the Great Valley, this challenges the beliefs she’s held for her entire life. “I don’t know about this, Asha.”

“Why don’t we keep exploring?” I offer. “We still haven’t found where the stale scents are coming from. Maybe we’ll find some Goddess Language in another room that I can translate.”

Kuro relaxes her wings and nods slowly. We continue exploring the room until we come across another passage, this time leading us into a massive, wide-open room with a completely collapsed roof. A battleship grey sky greets us as we stroll into a groomed clearing flanked by large, mature redwood trees that rise to join the forest canopy surrounding us. Stone columns litter the clearing, half-collapsed and covered in thick vines and stale moss. The stale scents of Dragons fill the air, permeating with the earthen smells of dried moss and decomposing bark. When Loners come to roost in this ancient building, they make this clearing their home.

“Keep your wits about you,” Kuro grunts, her head held low to the ground. “The scents are stale, but there could be Loners in hiding.”

I survey the scene around us, searching for any obvious signs of Dragon activity. There are no emberoot pits, gnawed branches, or claw marks against the redwood trunks. It been a while since someone was here. The only sound is our talons crunching through the bone-dry underbrush, and our hearts beating against our chests.

“Well, well, well!”

The smug voice of a male Drakon echoes through the clearing, its source indeterminate.

Kuro tears her wings open. “What the…?!”

“Blue skies, Daughter-Of-Mecali,” the voice taunts. “And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

Frantically, my eyes dart about the clearing but locate no signs of another Dragon. I taste the air, but the scents are unchanged. Finally, from a section of non-collapsed roof to our left, the steely-plumaged body of a drakon struts into view. His complexion is familiar, though I can’t pin a claw on where I’ve seen him before.

“The Farlander herself,” taunts the confident Drakon. “I’d thank you for bringing her here if I wasn’t so disgusted to see you, Kuro.”

“Moth!” Kuro seethes, issuing a ferocious warning snarl. “What are you doing in Loner territory?”

From the recesses of my mind, a faint memory resurfaces; Moth was the drakon who foolishly challenged Kuro to a spar on my initial visit to the White Mountain aerie. Kuro defeated him and made it look easy.

“I could ask the same of you,” Moth says, flexing his talons. “It seems we both have business in this fetid swamp.”

“As do the rest of us!”

At that utterance, Moth and four other drakons descend from the shadows like hawks, landing in the clearing to surround us on all sides. Instinctively I fall into a defensive posture and snarl a baleful warning cry before realizing how pointless it is. In the blink of an eye, we’ve been cornered by five hostile Dragons! As fierce growls rise from Dragons I don’t recognize, I lower a wing and take an uneasy step toward Kuro. How are we going to escape this?!

“Tell me, Kuro,” a familiar voice rasps from behind. Instantly recognizing who it is, my stomach sinks, and my blood freezes to ice. “Is your heart so full of hatred that exile wasn’t enough?”

Slowly, I swivel my neck around to discover the Dragon I least wanted to see.

Relmoon.