Nemo

They say she sees everything.

There are rumors that she’s blind, that she was born with no eyes—or many. Even as you seek her out, you have no idea what you will find.

But in the end, you don't find her. She finds you.

A massive body hurls itself into the air. You catch a glimpse of shimmering blue scales, a flash of rippling mane, powerful muscles shifting.

The air shudders, pressure increasing as powerful wind rises up—then stills. She circles you, forceful and unyielding, her wings blotting out the sun. And you stand in the calm at the center of the vortex.

Her head turns toward you, and for just a moment you can see raw, furious red flesh streaking out from beneath her guise.

Her voice is a contradiction, gentle like a caress.

“Tell me,” she whispers. “Tell me what you seek.”

Nemo lifted her head to the sky, inhaling deeply. The air was charged, heavy with rain, the smell of petrichor soaking the ground. A trickle of rainwater made its way down her snout, dripping from her chin.

There was a gentle tap at her flank, and she turned to see a familiar skydancer perched beside her.

“How are you?” Neptune signed. She was furiously blinking water from her eyes, flashing yellow down her side. Beneath her damp hood, her feathers appeared bedraggled.

“Same as always,” Nemo said politely. “And you?” It seemed rude to state the obvious, that the Plaguebringer’s gift of Sight was wearing on her, that she felt weak and small and helpless beneath the weight of all the suffering that was to come. Some days she wished she didn’t care so much, that she didn’t feel so deeply. Neptune always tried so hard, though; Nemo couldn’t fault her that.

“I sail with Sunspot tomorrow,” Neptune signed. “We’ll be gone some months. Is there anything I can bring you?”

Nemo hummed. Already her Sight was focusing, feeding her information: the sharp tang of blood in her mouth, the throb of a ripped callus on her paw, the white-hot slash of a blade across her back. The ache of hunger in her belly. Skin blistering in hot, dry wind. She felt weary to her bones, heavy and lethargic with pain.

“You might run into some difficulties at sea,” Nemo said slowly, trying to interpret the sensations, make sense of them. “Maybe the beastclans, or... other dragons? Nothing Sunspot’s crew cannot handle. You should pack extra rations.”

Neptune shook her head quickly.

“You don’t need to do that,” she signed. “I know it hurts. But is there anything you need? Or would like?”

Nemo thought for a moment.

“I don’t need anything,” Nemo said. “But will you stay with me for a while? It’s nice to see you.”

“Of course. And a spell to help you sleep, if you want it.”

Nemo nodded numbly. Sleep. Neptune’s heavy, artificially-induced slumber was always a relief. She shivered forcefully, only now realizing how cold and tired she was, and how desperately she wanted that rest.

“It must be uncomfortable,” Neptune signed. “Why do you come out when the weather is like this?”

“Sometimes it’s nice,” Nemo said, “to feel discomfort and pain that belong only to me, and no one else. To have one thing that is mine.”

“You have at least two things that are yours,” Neptune signed.

“What’s the other?”

“A friend.”

The reminder warmed her.

“That I do. Let’s go in?”

“Aye.”

Nemo shook moisture from her mane, and the two turned to the open mouth of the cave. Inside, Nemo curled up on the stone. She felt the gentle pressure of Neptune’s paw on her neck, and the world began to fade. The last thing she heard before sleep took her was the quiet, distant sound of Neptune's lullaby.