Limpick sat on the rock, staring at the pile of bones. The light on them grew brighter and redder, then started flowing in one direction—straight toward Ember and Plume. Those dark-red threads seeped out of the bones like glowing blood, drifting through the air and heading for the lakeshore. Some sank into the water. Others floated onto the bank and burrowed into Plume. Plume perched on the rock with every feather puffed up, beak wide open, swallowing the red lines one by one. Its eyes were no longer black—one had turned gold, the other stayed black. Gold and silver, shining so bright in the sunlight it hurt to look at.
A huge splash exploded across the water. Ember burst out of the lake. Every scale on its body glowed—black, red, gray—blindingly bright. It stood in the shallows, water only up to its knees. No, the water hadn't dropped. Ember had grown. It stood there with the water barely reaching its leg joints, spine higher than Limpick's waist. It shook itself hard, spraying water everywhere, then spread its wings. They were more than twice as big now, membranes stretched tight, veins bulging like rivers underneath. It flapped twice. The gust nearly knocked Limpick back a couple steps.
Plume launched off the rock and landed on Ember's back. It was changing too—wings longer, tail longer, claws bigger, fine white scales starting to grow across them and blend into the white feathers. Its beak had curved sharper, edges now serrated—like a hawk's but meaner, more hooked.
Limpick stood on the bank, watching the two of them. Ember stood in the shallows, sunlight glinting off its black scales. Plume crouched on its back, white feathers stirring in the breeze, gold-and-silver eyes fixed on the lake.
The system panel numbers finally stopped.
[Ember: Evolution progress 7.2% → 41.5%]
[Plume: Evolution progress 0.0002% → 28.3%]
Limpick stared at that 41.5% for a long time. From 3.7% to 41.5%—a jump of thirty-seven point eight. The dog-sized dragon was now horse-sized. Bigger than a horse. It stood in the shallows with its spine level with his shoulders, head high enough to brush the top of his. Its neck had thickened and lengthened, covered in glossy black scales, those dark-red veins pulsing underneath like blood vessels or cracks running from neck to chest to wing roots to tail.
The tail had lengthened too, dragging behind, coiled twice with the tip resting on a rock. Where the tail tip touched, the stone started smoking. Limpick walked over and checked—it was scorched red in a small round spot, like it had been branded with a hot iron. He reached out and yanked his hand back fast. Burning.
"You breathing fire now?" he asked Ember.
Ember opened its mouth. Its throat rumbled a few times, and out came a jet of flame. Small, just a thin stream of orange-red with black smoke, shooting two or three feet before it died. But it was fire. Real fire—not smoke, not heat, actual flames.
Limpick watched that flame for a long time. Ember closed its mouth and tilted its head at him. Its eyes weren't gold anymore—they'd deepened to something like molten copper or lava, gold base with red light flowing through. It looked at Limpick the same way it always had, head tilted, ears twitching.
Limpick reached out and rubbed its head. The scales were still cool, hard, smooth, but underneath he could feel the warmth—living heat, like real skin.
"Forty-one point five," Limpick said. "You're damn near half a dragon now."
Ember rumbled in its throat and rested its head on his shoulder. Heavy, like a sack of flour. Limpick staggered a step but held steady.
Plume flew down from Ember's back and landed on Limpick's shoulder. Its claws gripped tighter now—used to feel like a sparrow, light as air; now like a fat hen, weighing his shoulder down. The claws had changed too: four of them, two front two back, covered in shiny white scales, tips black and curved like hooks.
Limpick turned his head and glanced at it. Plume tilted its head back at him, those gold-and-silver eyes gleaming like two gems in the sunlight. It let out a call—not the silver bell anymore, deeper, like a bronze bell ringing out over the lake.
"You've grown too," Limpick said. "Twenty-eight point three. A bit slower than Ember, but not bad."
Plume pecked his ear—not hard, but it startled him. Limpick ducked his neck. Plume called again, sounding like it was laughing.
The mist over the lake cleared. The sun climbed straight overhead, shining on the Gods Eye, on Harrenhal's black towers, on the pile of gray-white dragon bone fragments by the shore. The light on those fragments had gone out, leaving them dull and ordinary, crumbling to dust in the wind.
Limpick looked at the bones, then at Ember and Plume. "Let's go," he said. "Back home. You two have plenty to digest after this."
He turned and headed for Harrenhal. Ember followed, each step of its four legs shaking the ground slightly. Its claws left deep prints—not footprints, claw marks, four deep pits with charred, smoking edges. Plume flew up from his shoulder and settled into its usual spot on Ember's back, between the shoulders and wing roots. It curled up tight, gold-and-silver eyes half-closed, watching the road behind them.
They walked a long way. Limpick glanced back once. The Gods Eye lay behind them, blue and calm like nothing had happened. The bone fragments still sat on the shore, gray-white and scattered. In a few days the water would wash them away, sand would bury them, or someone would pick them up. But the two dragons were gone. Vhagar and Caraxes, lying at the bottom for over a hundred years, now sucked dry by a rat and a bird.
Limpick turned forward and kept walking. Ember paced beside him. Plume rode on its back. Three sets of tracks stretched behind them—human footprints, dragon claw prints, and a long tail-drag line—from the Gods Eye shore all the way toward Harrenhal's black gates.
The sun beat down. The Long Summer wind blew. Limpick walked a few more steps and suddenly chuckled. "Vhagar," he said. "Caraxes. One of you got the biggest, one got the oldest. If they ever fight, who wins?"
Ember blew a puff of smoke. Plume called out. Neither answered, but Plume launched off Ember's back and fanned him with a wing, nearly knocking him over. Ember's tail swung over, wrapped around his waist, steadied him, then let go.
Limpick caught his balance, looked at Ember, then at Plume. "Fine," he said. "Not asking."
He kept walking. Harrenhal's black gates grew closer, bigger, mouth open and dark, waiting for them.
When Limpick stepped inside, he glanced back at the sky outside. The Long Summer sun was still brutal. The Gods Eye was still blue. But he knew there was nothing left underwater. Two dragons, over a hundred years old, eaten clean by a rat and a bird in one morning.
He stepped into the gateway. Darkness swallowed him. Behind came the click of Ember's claws on stone and the soft flap of Plume's wings.
"From now on," Limpick's voice echoed in the passage, "you two better learn to control yourselves. Don't get too excited and set Harrenhal on fire. We still live here."
Ember blew a puff of smoke that glowed for a second in the dark. Plume called out. The sound bounced through the empty castle, echoing louder and farther.
Limpick felt his way forward in the dark, followed by a near-half-dragon beast and a white bird with gold-and-silver eyes perched on his shoulder.
He suddenly felt like Harrenhal wasn't quite so dark anymore.