64.

                                    

                                          
content warning: discussions of self-sacrifice, perilous situations (is that the right word for it?? you know what i mean), way-typical levels of angst. sharp eyes.


Way
"This is everything I've lost in the war," Whiteout says.
The mural sprawls out across the four walls of her room, not a single space left blank. She's painted forests and valleys and sunsets, and the faces of our family. Grandma and Mom and Dad and all my siblings, and–
"Is that..." I point to the IceWing staring back at me, looking more tired than angry.
"That's your grandfather," she says quietly. "Do you want me to elaborate?"
It feels wrong  to hear about it from her before I hear it from my dad. I shake my head. 
He has the same face shape as Dad; a look in his eyes that feels distorted, but somehow vaguely familiar. If I look really, really closely, I think we might have the same eyes--not the colour, but the shape. Or maybe I'm just losing my mind.
"He was a sad, complicated dragon, and in some alternate universe, he would have been a good father. But it isn't this one. That's all you need to know," Whiteout tells me.
So many of the faces I don't even recognize. It feels rude to ask. I wonder if they're ex-lovers or old friends, or relatives that died before I hatched.
"I miss them too," I say. Our eyes meet for half a second. 
"I know you do, crocus," she says, resting a talon on my back. 
I look up at everything my home used to be–should have been–and for once, I don't cry.
***
I sit by the window, holding my breath. Fireworks shoot up from the street. There are so many dragons; half the tribe must be down there. It looks... nice.
I've never actually seen fireworks before. They're even more beautiful than I imagined; lighting up the sky in explosions of colour. I can hear the sound faintly through the walls.
Indigo and Solstice were the ones who figured out the code with the lights, and got in touch with the New Star. It was Indigo's idea, and Solstice, apparently, was in the army for some period of time; long enough he could still recall the code that NightWing scouts used to flash with mirrors. Fathom told me that they moved Listener's mirror to the window, and Indigo spent all day spelling out their message before someone responded.
I didn't do any of this. I'm not down in the streets, risking my scales. 
But I still had a part in it, however small, and for a moment, I let myself feel proud of that.
I breathe onto the glass, scribble my name, then watch it fade.
"Are we good?" Listener asks, glancing at me. "Whiteout, can you tell—I mean, is he—" she makes a circular gesture.
I respond before my aunt does. "I don't think Sharp-eyes is listening." 
Whiteout confirms with a nod a moment later. "The sky is grey as ever," she says wistfully. 
"I.... thought so. Good to know." She's the only mind-reader here. I can't imagine it's a very nice role to find yourself in. I sure wouldn't want to be inside Trailblazer's head, let alone Brilliance's. I guess she's lucky Sharp-eyes didn't take her power yet.
Listener isn't cruel to me exactly, but she always seems... prickly. It hurts, but it's more than fair, really. We try to keep our distance from each other whenever possible. I don't need to be a mind-reader to know she's convinced my loyalities are false. I guess it's good—that she's being careful for the rest of them.