Chapter 8 - Whispers of the Coast
By midday, the assembly concluded, and Elara stepped out onto the grand stone steps of City Hall.
Spring had finally arrived in Newport, chasing away the remnants of the bitter winter storm. The air smelled of salt spray, blooming jasmine, and fresh rain. Down below, the harbor bustled with activity—cargo ships moving freely without corporate kickbacks, local fishermen casting their nets without paying tribute to feudal tariffs, and children playing along the newly opened boardwalks.
A sleek, modern electric car pulled up to the curb, but Elara shook her head, signaling the driver to wait. She preferred to walk.
As she strolled along the coastal path leading toward the cliffs where the ruined cathedral stood, a familiar, low rumble vibrated through the earth beneath her boots.
She paused, looking out toward the jagged rocks of Blackthorn Point.
Hovering gracefully above the ruins of the cathedral—now being safely dismantled into a public memorial park and research center—was the ice dragon. Its sapphire scales shimmered brilliantly in the afternoon sun, catching the light like crushed diamonds. It didn't roar or unleash freezing breath; it simply soared in a wide, majestic arc across the sky before banking toward the open ocean, disappearing into the vast blue horizon.
Elara smiled. The beast was free. And so was she.
"Thinking of taking another flight?"
Elara turned to find Julian walking up the path beside her, hands in his pockets, an easy grin on his face.
"Only if I'm steering," Elara replied lightly, falling into step beside him.
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"Well," Julian laughed, gesturing toward the bustling city behind them. "You've already managed to steer the entire financial capital of the continent into the twenty-first century. I'd say flying a dragon is the easy part."
"Don't underestimate dragons, Julian," Elara said with a playful glint in her eye. "They have very long memories."
