Pryce watched as Stormwing limped into the rusty cell. Its injured wing dragged along the dust-covered floor, leaving a trail.

As the dragon settled in the far corner of the cell, Pryce couldn't help but notice Stormwing's labored breaths. Each one was accompanied by a soft whimper that made Pryce wince.

"We need to close the door," Kai said.

Pryce tore his gaze away from Stormwing. Together, he and Kai grasped the heavy iron bars of the cell door. The metal was cold and rough against Pryce's palms. As they pushed, the door groaned in protest, years of disuse evident in its stubborn resistance. Pryce gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he and Kai fought against the rusted hinges.

Finally, with a loud, drawn-out creak, the cell door slammed shut. The sound reverberated off the stone walls, making Stormwing flinch. Pryce felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Storm," Pryce said.

Old Man Finnegan approached, his cart laden with fish he had brought. He stopped at the feeding hatch, a small, barred opening next to the main door. "This'll have to do for now." He reached into the cart, grasping a slippery silver trout, and tossed it through the hatch. It landed with a wet slap in the trough.

Pryce watched as Stormwing's nostrils flared at the scent of food. But to Pryce's dismay, the dragon made no move to eat.

Finnegan frowned. "Come on, you need to keep up your strength."

Pryce watched Finnegan continue to feed Stormwing through the hatch. Each fish landed uneaten in the trough.

The dragon finally stirred. Stormwing slowly dragged himself toward the pile of fish.

"That's it," Finnegan said, nodding with satisfaction. "I'll come back tomorrow daytide to have a proper look at that wing. For now, let's give him some peace and quiet."

Pryce heard his father's distant voice. "It's getting dark. We need to set up camp for the night."

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in breathtaking hues of orange and purple.

"Those old barracks should provide decent shelter." Finnegan pointed with his walking stick toward a cluster of run-down buildings. "Not much, but it'll keep the night chill off our bones."

The group trudged toward the buildings. The once-sturdy wooden walls were now weathered and gray, with patches of moss creeping up from the foundation like green fingers. Several planks had fallen away, leaving gaping holes that exposed the building's skeletal frame.

Tyler pushed open the squeaky door and they filed inside. Pryce's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior. Dust motes danced in the fading light that filtered through the cracks in the walls and roof.

The floor was littered with debris—broken furniture, tattered scraps of cloth, and what looked like animal droppings. Pryce wrinkled his nose at the smell, a mixture of decay and neglect. In one corner, a rusted bedframe stood, its mattress long since rotted away. Cobwebs adorned every corner and rafter.

"Well," Kai said, "it's not exactly the Dragontide Inn, but it'll have to do."

"At least it's got a roof," Pryce said, moving to help clear a space on the floor. He pushed aside the remnants of what might have once been a chair. As he worked, he overheard snippets of conversation between his father and the others who had come to help.

"Alright, gang, let's make this place somewhat livable before nightfall," Tyler said.

Pryce looked up, surveying the ragtag group his dad had gathered. Ana caught his eye, her stance and bearing suggesting combat experience. Next to her towered Jack, his gangly frame topped by a mop of ginger locks. In the background, Declan lingered, his mild-mannered presence seeming out of place in the dilapidated setting.

"Ana, can you and Jack check the perimeter?" Tyler asked. "Make sure there are no weak spots where wild animals might get in. Or worse, dragons looking for a midnight snack."

Ana rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Always with the dragons, Ty. You'd think we were in a storybook or something."

Jack elbowed Ana playfully. "Come on, let's go dragon-hunting. I'll protect you from the big, bad beasties."

"In your dreams, Red."

Pryce watched them go. He turned back to see his father addressing Declan.

"Dec, let's see about getting a fire going," Tyler said. "This place is damp as a fish's backside. And speaking of fish, I don't suppose you've got any of that magic touch of yours to whip up some grub? I'm starving enough to eat a dragon."

"I'll see what I can do, Tyler. Though I can't promise dragon steaks on such short notice."

The fireplace was a sorry sight, choked with years of debris and ash. Pryce helped Declan set to work clearing it and the old iron stove out, using broken pieces of furniture as makeshift shovels.

As they worked, Pryce's fingers brushed against something smooth and round. He pulled it out, revealing a dragon scale. It was about the size of his palm.

"Well, would you look at that," Declan said, peering at the scale. "Seems this place has some history with dragons after all."

With the fireplace cleared, Tyler returned with an armful of driftwood he'd gathered from outside. "This should do for now," he said, arranging the wood in the hearth.

Pryce watched as his father struck a flint, sending sparks dancing into the dry kindling. After a few attempts, a small flame caught, growing steadily as Tyler carefully fed it more wood. The fire cast a warm, flickering light across the room, chasing away some of the gloom and dampness.

As the fire began to crackle and pop, Tyler stood up, brushing his hands on his trousers. He reached for a torch on the wall, striking it against the rough stone until it flared to life. "Pryce, come with me. We need to bring in the supplies from the ship."

He followed his father out into the cool evening air, shivering slightly as the chill wind blew in from the lake. The sky had darkened considerably, transforming into a canvas of deep purples and blues. Stars were beginning to peek out, twinkling faintly in the twilight. As they made their way down to the shore where their boat was moored, Pryce couldn't help but cast worried glances back toward Stormwing.

"He'll be alright for now," Tyler said, noticing his son's concern. "Let's focus on getting everyone fed and settled for the night."

Declan jogged up behind them, his footsteps crunching on the gravelly path. "Thought you could use an extra pair of hands," he said, falling into step beside them.

"Appreciate it," Tyler said.

Pryce glanced at Declan. "So, Declan, how long have you known my father?"

"Oh, longer than I care to admit, lad. Your old man and I go way back."

"Declan here was green as spring grass when we first met."

"Aye, and you were just a pup yourself. But we've seen our fair share of adventures since then, haven't we?" Declan turned to Pryce. "We had to save your dad's butt more times than I can count. There was this one time, deep in the Dragonspine Reaches, when he got himself tangled in a nest of sea serpents. Thought we'd be having Tyler soup for dinner!"

Pryce couldn't help but smile, trying to imagine his usually composed father in such a predicament.

"Oh, come off it, you old sea dog. If I recall correctly, it was you who needed rescuing when that kraken decided your leg looked like a tasty snack." He looked at Pryce. "Don't let Declan fool you, son. Half his stories are tall tales, and the other half are pure fantasy."

Declan clutched his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Tyler! I'll have you know every word I speak is the honest truth." He leaned in conspiratorially towards Pryce. "Your dad's just sore because I'm better looking than him, even after all these years."

As they reached the boat, they began loading their arms with supplies—dried meats, hard tack, and waterskins. Pryce grunted under the weight of a heavy sack of provisions, his muscles straining with the effort.

"Easy there, son." Tyler reached out to steady him. "No need to overdo it."

As they made their way back to the barracks, Pryce's eyes caught sight of something in the fading light. He squinted, making out the silhouette of an old ship, its mast tilting at an odd angle. "Hey, look at that."

Declan followed Pryce's gaze. "Well, I'll be. That looks like the Swiftwind sloop we used to save your pa from the Dragonkin Marauders." He winked at Tyler. "Remember that little adventure?"

"How could I forget? You nearly got us all killed with that harebrained rescue plan of yours."

Pryce took in the ship's condition, his imagination running wild with thoughts of the daring rescue his father had once been part of. The once-proud Swiftwind was a shadow of its former self.

"What happened?" Pryce asked. "How did it end up like this?"

Tyler sighed. "Time and tide wait for no man, son. Or ship, for that matter. The Swiftwind served its purpose, and now it rests here, a reminder of days gone by."

As they continued their trek back to the barracks, Pryce couldn't help but steal glances at the derelict ship. His mind raced with possibilities as he gazed at the Swiftwind. He could almost see it restored to its former glory, cutting through the waves of Lake Dragontide once more. "I bet I could fix her up."

His father's response was deflating. "Bad idea, son. That ship's seen better days. It'd be more work than it's worth."

But before Pryce could argue, Declan spoke up. "I don't know, Tyler. With a lot of elbow grease and some know-how, it might be possible. The bones of a good ship are still there."

Pryce envisioned the entire outpost transformed. The old barracks could become healing pens for injured dragons like Stormwing. The watchtower, now listing slightly to one side, could serve as a lookout point for spotting dragons in distress. And the Swiftwind . . . she could be the crown jewel, sailing out on rescue missions across the vast expanse of the lake.

But as quickly as the dream had formed, it began to crumble. Pryce caught sight of his father's face. The excitement deflated like a punctured balloon.

"Even if we could fix it up, where would we get the coin?" Tyler said. "The village coffers are as empty as our nets these days."

Declan added. "Aye, and materials don't come cheap. We'd need lumber, nails, tar . . . not to mention tools."

Pryce's shoulders slumped as they trekked back to the barracks. The supplies he carried seemed to grow heavier with each step, as if weighed down by his dashed hopes.

As they entered the barracks, Declan immediately set to work preparing supper, despite the less-than-ideal conditions. Pryce could hear him muttering under his breath, complaining about the state of the kitchen.

"Blasted stove's more rust than iron," Declan grumbled. "And these pots! I've seen better kept chamber pots in a pirate's galley."

Despite the cook's griping, the aroma of cooking fish and herbs soon filled the air. Pryce's stomach growled.

The door burst open with a bang, startling Pryce. Jack and Ana strode in, looking pleased with themselves.

Pryce watched as Jack announced their progress on patching up the barracks, his unruly red hair now adorned with cobwebs.

"Well, we've patched up every hole we could find," Jack declared, brushing at his hair. "Should keep the critters out, at least for tonight."

"Unless they're determined little buggers. Then all bets are off," Ana said.

Tyler chuckled. "Let's hope they're not. I'd rather not wake up with a raccoon for a bedmate."

"Speak for yourself. Might be an improvement over some of the company I've kept." Jack continued to fuss with his hair, muttering about "blasted spiders" and their "inconsiderate web placement."

"At least the raccoons would have better manners." Ana tossed a small pebble at Jack's head. "And probably smell better too."

Pryce couldn't help but laugh at the exchange.

"I'll have you know," Jack puffed out his chest, "that I bathed just last week. In a proper stream and everything!"

Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Was that before or after you fell into that mud pit trying to catch that 'monster fish' that turned out to be a log?"

The group erupted into laughter.

Pryce made his way over to where Kai and Old Man Finnegan were inspecting the beds. He watched as Kai tested the strength of the frames.

"Think these'll hold?" Pryce asked.

Kai shrugged. "They might. Or we might end up in a pile on the floor come morning."

Finnegan ran a hand over one of the threadbare mattresses. "In my day, we didn't have the luxury of beds. We slept on rocks and were grateful for 'em."

Pryce and Kai exchanged amused glances. Pryce couldn't resist the urge to tease the old man. "And I suppose you walked uphill both ways to get to those rocks?"

"You're darn right we did. And we liked it that way!"

Pryce heard the sound of metal clanging against metal. He looked up to see Declan standing near the makeshift kitchen area, banging a dented pot with a wooden spoon.

"Grub's up, lads!" Declan called out.

They gathered around the makeshift table, bowing their heads as Old Man Finnegan led them in an old Shorling prayer.

"Blessed be the waters that sustain us," Finnegan said. "Blessed be the fish that fill our nets and our bellies. Blessed be the family that surrounds us, whether by blood or by choice. May our bonds be as strong as the ancient oaks that line our shores. And blessed be the dragons that watch over our waters, reminding us of the power and mystery that dwell in this world."

As the prayer drew to a close, Pryce opened his eyes, catching Kai's gaze across the table.

"Now," Finnegan declared, "let's eat before this grub gets any colder!"

Pryce eagerly dug into the fish. Laughter and conversation filled the air, as Ana playfully attempted to steal food from his plate.

Pryce swallowed a mouthful of the fish, savoring the smoky flavor. He glanced around the table, taking in the warm smiles and lively chatter of his family and friends. His gaze settled on Old Man Finnegan, who was busy regaling Ana with one of his well-worn tales.

"You know," Pryce said, "I couldn't help but notice that bit in the blessing about dragons watching over our waters." He leaned forward. "Stormwing could do that, you know. I bet he'd make an excellent guardian for Crystal Shores."

"Ah, lad," Finnegan said, "that blessing's as old as the shores themselves. It harkens back to a time long past, when dragons and men lived in closer harmony."

Pryce opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead, he turned his attention back to his plate, pushing a piece of fish around with his fork.

As Pryce reached for another piece of fish, a faint sound caught his attention. He paused, fork hovering midair, and strained his ears. There it was again—a soft, mournful whimper. Stormwing.

Finnegan noticed Pryce's distraction. "I know that look, lad. But don't go getting any foolish ideas. Night's no time to be wandering about, especially not with what's out there."

"Finnegan's right, son. These parts can be dangerous after dark. More than you know."

"What kind of dangers?" he asked.

Ana plucked a slender bone from the fish she was eating. She held it up, gesturing with it as she spoke. "Well, there's the Thornveil Wolf for one. Nasty beast, that. Big as a horse, with teeth like daggers and claws that could tear a man in two."

Jack put his elbows on the table. "Aye, and that's not the worst of it. They say its howl can freeze a man's blood. I've heard tell of seasoned warriors dropping their weapons and fleeing at the mere sound of it."

Pryce's hand tightened around his fork. He'd heard tales of the Thornveil Wolf before. Now, in the flickering shadows of the barracks, those stories seemed far more plausible.

Another whimper drifted through the night, louder this time. He knew the dragon needed him.

The others continued to share tales of the dangers that lurked in the night. Declan spoke of ghostly lights that lured unwary travelers to their doom, while Tyler recounted a close encounter with a pack of shadow cats whose eyes glowed like embers in the dark.

But Pryce barely heard them. His mind was outside, with Stormwing, imagining the dragon alone and in pain.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Pryce stood up. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing all eyes to him. "I have to check on him. I can't leave Stormwing out there alone. He needs me."