The Head Dragon slams her claw on the stone podium. "Who can count the drops in the Moonveil Waterfall?" Great lanterns swing; every dragon rattles an answer like a pocketful of pebbles. Nox's jaw opens. Closes. Gives back nothing.
He backs out of the circle, scales catching none of the gold light that glints off the others. He pushes toward the cliff's edge where the river winds black below. *I'll find it up there*, he thinks, the roar of the waterfall swallowing his footsteps.
Nox perches on a flat rock above the white roar and asks the rushing water, "Where is the Answer?" The foam hisses. The river laps cold at his claw. He lifts a smooth stone to the moonlight and squints. "Are you the Answer?" The stone is just a stone.
A rustle in the reeds — small, quick — stops his next question mid-breath. A fox steps onto the wet grass, ears flat, one paw on the damp earth. "I'm looking for the top of the mountain," the fox says, tail-tip leaving a pale smear on the reeds. "And you?"
"I was looking for the Answer," Nox says, and his claws scrape the loose stones as the fox pads up the winding path toward the floating cliffs. The wind pulls at his wings. The fox does not look back. Neither does Nox.
At the summit, the full moon hangs low and silver-white. Nox taps his snout and whispers, "There's nothing in here." The fox presses her warm nose to his claw. "Watch," she says. The stars aren't dots anymore — they crawl, slow as beetles, trailing faint blue threads.
Nox lands in the castle courtyard, the great lanterns swinging in the midnight wind. The Head Dragon's voice carries: "And who can tell me why the stars trail blue?" He steps forward, claws scraping the stone floor. "I don't know yet. But I'd like to find out."
He turns to the cliff's edge, where a small fox sits on the riverbank, tail flicking over the dark water. Nox perches beside her. The moonlight pools between them. He opens his mouth to the wide, crawling sky.
