Chapter 14
Chapter 14: Food for a Molt
Lowmoor's winter deepened. Ice crusted on every slate roof, and chimneys spat thin smoke that vanished in a pewter sky. Guild scouts still guarded the gates, their slate‑gray cloaks a silent warning: We are watching.
Deep below greenhouse wing, in the dim blue glow of lichen, Zephyr crouched beside Star's nest. The hatchling's wings now stretched twenty‑seven centimeters tip to tip. Each flight drill lengthened the span, but they needed more growth. The System said a first molt would trigger at thirty‑five. Only then would Star's bones harden for true sustained flight—and only then could they risk the sky‑exit route Zephyr and Fenna had scouted on the ruined rookery roof.
Yet growth had slowed. The ember pellets were not enough.
Fenna unrolled a yellowed page she had stolen from the academy's sealed herb records.
"Fireheart moss," she whispered, tapping a charcoal diagram of a red‑veined plant. "Said to fuse with iron minerals and push reptile blood to burn hotter."
Zephyr traced the sketch. "Where do we get it?"
"Old smelter tunnels," Fenna replied. "Beyond the cliff‑face foundry, past the southern ravine. They closed that wing years ago. The moss only grows near warm ore pockets."
Zephyr looked at Star. The little dragon lapped water from a carved shell bowl, unaware of the danger outside.
He folded the map. "We go tonight."
After curfew bell, they crept from the cellar. Zephyr wore his mud‑stained caretaker coat; Fenna donned a dark healer's cloak scented with mint to hide their tracks. Star curled in the sling, disguised under spare bandages.