“Mightyclaws,” Sunny said, holding out her talons. “Wait, don’t overreact. We don’t even know —”

“I have to warn the others!” he cried. He bolted up the tunnel toward the main hall.

“Oh, good,” said Tsunami. “School-wide panic. We haven’t had any of that in at least two days.”

“Mightyclaws!” Sunny called, running after him. “Wait!”

“Tell me everything,” Tsunami said to Turtle. He hurried to keep up with her as they strode along the winding stone tunnel. The violet and rose glass lights overhead reflected off her thoughtful expression.

He didn’t tell her everything. He didn’t tell her about his own magic. He sort of skimmed over the part where he hid from Darkstalker, implying that tall bushes and fallen trees were involved. But he had to tell her about Moon’s powers, although he felt as though that should have been Moon’s secret to share. Still, there was no other way to explain the prophecy and how Moon had been communicating with Darkstalker.

“Arrgh, no,” Tsunami said, sweeping her tail across the floor. “More powers and prophecies? Seriously? I thought we were all done with that!”

Turtle had told Sunny about Moon’s prophecy before, after his winglet left, but he’d left it up to her to decide who else to tell. Apparently Tsunami hadn’t been on that list.

“I hate prophecies,” Tsunami muttered darkly. “All cryptic and demanding. Most useless way to communicate in the history of the world. Is Darkstalker as terrifying as he sounds? That NightWing student looked like he’d just been bitten by a ghost shark.”

“He scared me,” Turtle admitted. He felt a little better now, here in Tsunami’s shadow. The dragonets of destiny could deal with Darkstalker. He didn’t have to do anything. He could leave saving the world in their talons.

“Let’s swing by the library and ask for a lecture,” Tsunami said, grinning at Turtle. “It’ll make Starflight’s day.”

They took another branch of the tunnel and soon came to the wide, open cave lined with scrolls. One of the leaf windows had been torn apart when Icicle leaped out of it, and it still hadn’t been fixed, allowing a burst of bright sunbeams to cut across the otherwise cool green light. Starflight was behind his desk with Fatespeaker, nudging scrolls into three different piles. His forehead was creased with worry, as it often was.

Turtle liked Starflight. He was quiet, and better yet, he let other dragons be quiet. After the rest of Jade Winglet left the school, Turtle would often sit in the library by himself, and Starflight never asked questions or made him talk.

“Hey, Starflight.” Tsunami tapped the desk lightly so the blind librarian would know where she was. “Don’t explode with joy or anything, but I have a historical question for you.”

“Really?” Starflight’s face lit up, turning toward the sound of her talons. “Which era?”

“I have no idea,” Tsunami snorted. “Is there an Era of Sinister Bad Guys? What do you know about a dragon called Darkstalker?”

Something clattered to the floor across the room, and Turtle realized there was a trio of IceWings studying over by the windows. They’d dropped their scroll when they heard Tsunami’s question, and now they were leaning toward Starflight with sharp, curious expressions.

“He was a very powerful animus NightWing who disappeared over two thousand years ago,” Starflight said cautiously. “The stories say he was betrayed by his friend, a SeaWing animus named Fathom, and perhaps also by his girlfriend, Clearsight. But nobody knows exactly what happened to him.”

“He didn’t really disappear,” said one of the IceWings. “He spent years lurking in the shadows and killing IceWings.”

“And you’re leaving out the part about him killing his own father,” said another IceWing, flicking her wings back. “Who was an IceWing prince, by the way.”

“Whoa, really?” Tsunami said, giving Turtle a worried look.

“That story has been highly oversimplified,” said Darkstalker, poking his head in through the broken window. “I mean, don’t any of the scrolls mention that he totally deserved it?”

The IceWings shrieked in unison, loud enough to break glass. They scrambled over one another to get away from the oversized NightWing, knocking down an entire shelf of scrolls in the process. Paper unfurled across the cave in cascading fountains.

Turtle froze, trying to sink into the floor. How had Darkstalker gotten here so fast? Was he already done hunting? Where were Turtle’s friends?

“What’s happening?” Starflight cried. “Who was that?”

“A really, really, really big NightWing,” Fatespeaker yelped, clutching his arm. “I haven’t had any visions about this! This seems seriously vision-worthy! Powers, help me out!” She closed her eyes. “Oh, no! I see … darkness ahead!”

“That’s because you have your eyes closed, you ninny,” Darkstalker said pleasantly.

“Who are you?” Tsunami demanded.

“You already know,” he said, startled. “This is amazing. How in Pyrrhia did you know I was coming?” He paused. “I can’t even find the answer to that in your mind. What in the world? A fascinating mystery.”

Don’t think about it too hard, Turtle prayed. Don’t figure out there’s a secret to uncover here.

“So you are Darkstalker.” Tsunami lashed her tail. “You’d better not hurt any of my students.”

“What?” Starflight sputtered. “Darkstalker? How?”

“Why would I hurt any of your students?” Darkstalker protested. “There’s literally zero motivation for me to do that. Dragons today, so full of mistrust and hostility. Now, in my time — no, wait, we were exactly the same.” He poked at the ragged green edges of the leaf windowpane. “That’s one of the many problems I was going to fix.”

“It’s the Darkstalker!” shouted one of the IceWings. “Die, you monster!” She leaped across the cave, blasting frostbreath in Darkstalker’s face, landed in a roll right in front of his snout, and slashed her serrated claws across his nose.

All of which, of course, did nothing to him. The IceWing staggered back, shaking her arm as if she’d just smashed it into a rock.

Darkstalker gave her a bored look, then reached one of his long talons through the window and casually pinned her to the floor.

“All right,” he said. “Now I’m a little motivated to hurt somebody.”

Tsunami started toward him and he chuckled. “Oh, I won’t,” he said. “I promise! No need to get all ferocious with me, Tsunami. But you might want to add a manners class to your curriculum. Or is it fine with you if your students attack innocent visitors?”

“Let her go,” Tsunami growled.

Darkstalker lifted his claws and the IceWing scrambled away. All three ice dragons bolted out of the cave as fast as they could run.

“I don’t think I’ll fit through the tunnels to get in here,” Darkstalker said regretfully, glancing around the library. “But I love what you’ve done with the space, Starflight. Could you please bring any scrolls you have about Clearsight and meet me in the main entrance hall?”

“Scrolls about Clearsight?” Starflight echoed. “Your, uh — the dragon you —”

“Yes,” said Darkstalker. “The dragon I loved. Specifically about what happened to her after … well, after our … unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“But nobody knows,” Starflight blurted. “She disappeared at the same time you did.”

“Maybe there’s a clue somewhere,” Darkstalker said. “You’re a terrific librarian. If anyone can find it, you can.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps it would also be useful to bring any scrolls about what happened to Fathom.”

“I — I —” Starflight stammered, moving his claws along the desk. Fatespeaker grabbed one of his talons and leaned in to him.

“Thanks ever so much,” said Darkstalker. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone is trying to attack my tail.” He swung his head out the window and Turtle heard him say, “Seriously? You too? Does everyone believe everything they read these days?”

Tsunami hurried over to the window. Turtle managed to breathe again, managed to move one foot slowly in front of the other to follow her.

Outside, two small NightWings were dive-bombing Darkstalker, shooting trails of flame across his scales. Turtle saw his friends hovering in the sky not far away. Moon was trying to call to the NightWings, but they weren’t listening to her.

Darkstalker lifted off from the mountainside and turned in a large, slow circle, watching the NightWings without fighting back. He looked faintly amused.

“Tiny dragons,” he boomed. “Listen, I’m impressed, but this really isn’t necessary.”

“We’re not going to let you hurt our tribe!” shouted one of the dragonets. It was hard to tell from a distance, but Turtle thought that was Mightyclaws.

“By the shining moons, I’m not planning to hurt the tribe,” said Darkstalker. “It’s my tribe, too, isn’t it? I’m a loyal NightWing. Don’t the stories ever mention that? Come on now, NightWings are usually so clever; you must have noticed this isn’t working.” He caught Mightyclaws gently in his talons and set him on a ledge.

The other NightWing darted in and wrapped herself around Darkstalker’s neck, trying to plunge her claws in between the scales of his underbelly.

“I don’t mean the attack itself,” Darkstalker went on, as if he barely noticed his new violent scarf. “Although that’s not working either. I mean the distraction. It’s not actually possible to distract me, because, guess what, mind reading! Plus also visions of the future. But good try.” He whipped around, dove toward the forest, and emerged a moment later with a third NightWing dragonet struggling between his talons.

“No, no.” Darkstalker shook his head at her. “Listen, I understand; if I were you, I’d want to sneak off and warn the rest of the tribe, too. But you know what they’ll do then? I do; I saw it in a vision. They’ll run away and try to hide from me again! Without even giving me a chance to introduce myself.”

“We know all about you!” Mightyclaws yelled. “We know you’ve been trying to break free for two thousand years so you can get revenge on our tribe!”

“That makes no sense,” Darkstalker said reasonably. “I did just escape a two-thousand-year trap, but the tribe didn’t deceive me and stick me underground. That was two foolish dragons, using magic — it was nothing to do with the other NightWings. I adore my tribe. I’m wildly excited to rejoin you and let everyone see the real me.”

He set down the NightWing next to Mightyclaws and unwrapped the other one from his neck as though she were a harmless sloth. “So we’re not going to ruin the surprise, all right? We can all go together to tell the tribe I’m back. Trust me, it’ll be great! Much less bloody and horrifying than what you all have in your minds. More … feasting and rainbows! Hang on, where did that come from? Ah, I know.”

Darkstalker turned toward the landing area that led to the main school entrance. Clay and Sunny stood there, both of them breathing heavily, as though they’d been running.

“Feasting,” Darkstalker said, pointing at Clay. “And rainbows.” He pointed at Sunny and grinned.

“Step. Away. From my students,” Sunny hissed.

“Sunny!” Darkstalker cried with enormous delight. He swooped down to land facing her. “You’re so tiny for such a shaker of worlds! Don’t you know who I am?”

“I do. You’re the Darkstalker,” she said.

“It’s just Darkstalker,” he corrected her. “Not sure where this ‘the’ came from. That makes me sound like some kind of lurking kraken-type monster.”

Clay cleared his throat. “Isn’t that, um … kind of what you are?”

“Not at all,” Darkstalker said with a laugh. “Sunny! Get this. I’m your great-great-great-great-great-okay-I’m-losing-count-many-greats-great-uncle!” He bowed. “Surprise! More funny-looking family for you.” He spread his wings and Turtle realized he had a line of silvery scales against the black, along the curve under his wings where they met his body. Those must be from his IceWing father.

Sunny hesitated, glancing around at all the listening dragons lit by the pink-orange sunrise sky. The three NightWings stood close together on the ledge where Darkstalker had put them, shivering but unharmed. Overhead, the sunlight glinted off the scales of Turtle’s companions: Winter’s bright white, Qibli’s pale yellow, and Peril’s fiery copper.

Moon landed beside Sunny, and they brushed wings for a moment, each reassuring the other silently.

Turtle wished he could read minds like Moon did. What did Sunny think of Darkstalker? She’d obviously prepared to defend her students from a monster, only to find a charming relative instead. Beside him in the library window, Tsunami was lashing her tail as though she couldn’t decide whether to go out and attack him or not.

“Uncle?” Sunny asked Darkstalker. “Really?”

“Great-Uncle Darkstalker.” The huge NightWing shook his head, chuckling. “That sounds SO weird. Like I’m a thousand years old — I mean, I know I’m technically ancient, but I sure don’t feel that way. Did Whiteout end up marrying that glassblowing dragon with the spectacles? I’ll have to ask Starflight; I bet he knows. Sunny, you have my sister’s eyes. Hers were bluer, of course, not so green, but the same shape. You would have loved her.”

“How can you say that?” Sunny asked. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I do,” said Darkstalker. “I can read your mind and see your futures, remember? I woke up several months ago to find myself under a mountain and twenty centuries older than I was when my friends betrayed me. Since then I’ve had nothing to do except read all your minds and dream of freedom.”

“All our minds?” Clay asked. “That’s kind of … nosy, isn’t it?”

“Literally nothing else to do,” Darkstalker said apologetically. “But don’t worry, Clay, your thoughts are all very sweet. Especially when it comes to certain dragons.” He winked, and Clay managed to look embarrassed, alarmed, and confused all at the same time.

“But wait, what makes you think we’re related?” Sunny asked.

“Your father’s a NightWing animus,” Darkstalker pointed out. “So he must be descended from me or Whiteout, and I know I didn’t have any dragonets … although I was supposed to.” He caught a fragment of cloud between his talons and watched it fade into empty air.

“So … your sister, Whiteout, was my great-great-great-something-greats-grandmother?” Sunny asked.

“She must have been,” Darkstalker said, shaking himself. “But there’s so much I don’t know. All my friends and family are gone, Sunny. I miss them, and I have no idea what happened to them. So I’ve asked Starflight to find some scrolls for me — just to fill in the gaps and answer my questions. I hope that’s all right.” He smiled, but his eyes were sad.

Turtle glanced over his shoulder. Starflight was hurrying around the library, pulling out scrolls and putting them back, checking their titles with his claws. He kept slipping on the loose scrolls and catching himself. Every once in a while he paused and gave a scroll to Fatespeaker, who wrote the title down on a slate.

Maybe this really is all Darkstalker wants, Turtle thought. A few answers about what happened all those hundreds of years ago. Maybe he’s as friendly and harmless as he seems.

And yet … and yet … the way he’d looked at Turtle and Winter. That flash of darkness deep inside him, peering out.

Not to mention the ominous prophecy, of course.

Turtle touched the pouch that rested against his heart. Don’t be noticed. He would stay hidden until he was absolutely, positively sure it was safe.

“Darkstalker!” a voice called from above. A peal of thunder boomed off the clouds like an echo.

Turtle looked outside again, and up, just like everyone else, including Darkstalker.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the outline of a dragon against a sky that was suddenly and rapidly getting darker. She spread her front talons, and wind rushed up behind her with a howling force that made even the giant NightWing stagger back a few paces. Her wings twitched, and the thunder rolled again, louder and closer and more menacing than before.

Darkstalker gathered his wings and planted his feet, watching the dragon overhead. A slow smile spread across his face.

“Anemone,” he said. “Just the dragon I was looking for.”