[Evolution target confirmed: White Falcon → Dragon species]
[Evolution initiated]
[Evolution progress: 0.0001%]
[Current stage: Dragon Blood Awakening]
The white bird shook out its feathers.
Nothing happened.
Exactly like the day with Ember.
The white bird gave its feathers one more quick fluff, tilted its head at Limpick, then hopped onto the rabbit bones, snatched a scrap of meat, and tossed its head back to swallow.
Limpick watched.
0.0001%.
One in ten thousand again.
He glanced down at Ember. The glow at the tip of its tail had died down. Ember lay there with its eyes closed like it was asleep, but its ears stayed locked in the white bird's direction.
"Keep an eye on it," Limpick told Ember. "You're the big brother now."
Ember's ears twitched. It didn't open its eyes.
Limpick finished the last of the rabbit, cracked the bones open, and sucked out every bit of marrow. He stacked the clean bones in a pile and left a couple with shreds of meat still clinging to them on the ground—for the bird.
The white bird didn't waste time. It hopped right over and started pecking.
Limpick leaned back against the wall and watched it eat.
This white falcon was way bigger than Ember had been at the start. Ember started as a palm-sized gray rat you could squash without trying. This bird spread its wings as wide as both his hands and stood tall enough to reach his shins.
But the progress bar was identical. 0.0001%.
"You're bigger than Number One ever was," Limpick said, "but you're not getting any extra credit for it."
The white bird ignored him and kept pecking at the meat.
Limpick studied it and frowned.
"You can't stay Number Two forever," he said. "You need a real name."
The white bird lifted its head, black eyes fixed on him.
Limpick thought it over.
"White," he muttered. "And a bird. White Feather? Too fancy. Snowplume? Nah."
He looked closer at its feathers. They were blinding white, shining like polished silver in the sunlight, every single one clean and perfect.
"Silver," he decided. "Silver feathers. Let's call you Plume."
The white bird tilted its head.
"Plume," Limpick repeated.
The bird let out a bright, clear call—like a tiny silver bell—then lowered its head and went back to eating.
"It likes it," Limpick told Ember.
Ember cracked one golden eye, glanced at Plume, and closed it again.
That afternoon Limpick wandered the ruins of Harrenhal looking for anything edible.
Ember walked beside him. Plume perched on Ember's back like it was a moving tree, tucked into a tight white ball between the dragon's shoulders and wing roots, occasionally preening a feather.
On the far side of the castle Limpick found a small pool—two feet wide, water seeping up clean and cold from underground. No stink, no scum. He dropped to his belly, drank until his stomach sloshed, then filled the cracked clay jar he carried.
Plume dropped off Ember's back, landed at the edge, dipped its beak twice, then started bathing. It spread its wings, slapped the water, and sprayed Limpick right in the face. Then it shook hard, flinging droplets everywhere that sparkled in the sun.
Limpick wiped his face and grinned.
Plume finished, flew back up, and settled into its usual spot on Ember's back. It started preening again.
Ember stood perfectly still, tail hanging, eyes half-lidded. Plume's claws scraped across its scales with little clicking sounds, but Ember didn't flinch or complain.
Limpick stared at the pair—one dog-sized black dragon carrying a gleaming white falcon on its back in the middle of Harrenhal's ruins—and shook his head.
"This is getting ridiculous."
He picked up the jar and started back. Ember followed. Plume stayed perched.
A few steps later Limpick stopped and looked up.
The five massive towers of Harrenhal stabbed into the sky like five burned fingers. The afternoon sun behind them stretched long black shadows across most of the castle.
But right where they stood, sunlight still reached the ground.
Limpick looked down. Ember's golden eyes glowed softly in the shade like two small lanterns. Plume huddled on its back, a bright white ball against all that dark scale.
"Let's go," Limpick said. "Back to camp. We'll hunt more food tomorrow."
He turned and kept walking.
The next few days they settled into a routine at Harrenhal.
"Settled" meant Limpick found a room that didn't leak, piled rotten cloth and broken wood into something like a bed, and stacked stones into a crude fire pit. The castle had plenty of stone and empty space. Two days of work and it was livable.
Food was Ember's job.
Every morning it headed out. A couple hours later it came back carrying something—rabbits, fish from the Gods Eye, once even a wild duck whose wings still flapped weakly. The duck had thrashed around the room until Plume chased it down and pecked it a few times.
Limpick did the roasting.
His technique sucked, but hunger fixed everything. Burned rabbit? Scrape off the black. Overcooked fish? Eat the middle. Half-raw duck? Chew harder. As long as it went down, it counted.
Plume's progress bar moved slower than Ember's ever had.
Ember used to disappear and come back having eaten a few rats and the bar would tick up. Plume refused rats, bugs, or even the cooked fish Limpick offered. It only wanted fresh, raw meat. Whenever Limpick roasted something, Plume wouldn't touch it. It would snatch a couple pecks straight off whatever Ember dragged in, then shake its feathers like the meat wasn't fresh enough.
Limpick's mouth broke out in stress blisters watching that damn bar sit there.
"Can't you learn from your brother?" he asked Plume one day. "He ate rats and still grew. I give you meat and you act like it's garbage."
Plume perched on the window frame, tilted its head, and gave one bright silver-bell call.
Then it flew over, landed on Ember's back, curled up, and ignored him.
Limpick sighed.
Ember, meanwhile, had changed a little more.
Not bigger—still dog-sized—but its scales on the back and neck had turned deeper black, almost glossy. In direct sunlight faint dark-red lines showed underneath, like veins or cracks pulsing with heat.
Its golden eyes had grown sharper too. The pupils narrowed to vertical slits. When it stared at something, even Limpick felt the thing wanted to run.
Rats feared it. Rabbits feared it. Even the fish in the Gods Eye stayed in deeper water when Ember sat on the bank.
Plume didn't fear it at all.
Plume would peck at Ember's scales with loud clicks. Ember just let it.
Sometimes Limpick sat and watched the two of them—a big black dragon with a shining white falcon perched on its back, sunning themselves in the ruins—and thought the picture was pretty damn funny.
About seven or eight days later, Plume's progress bar finally moved.
That afternoon Limpick was patching his ragged shirt with thread he'd scavenged from some trash pile. Plume flew in, landed in front of him, and dropped something from its beak.
A small snake. Finger-thick, greenish, already dead.
Plume pecked it once, looked up, and gave that clear call.
Limpick stared at the snake, then at Plume.
"You caught this?"
Plume called again, lowered its head, tore off a piece of snake meat, and swallowed.
[Evolution progress: 0.0002%]
It had doubled.
Limpick stared at the number and finally understood.
Plume wasn't just eating the snake. It was absorbing something from it—the same way Ember had pulled the ancient dragon flame from those bones underground. Only this time it was whatever lived inside the snake.
He closed the system panel and watched Plume finish the whole snake.
When it was done, Plume shook its feathers, flew to the window frame, and started preening. Its white feathers looked even brighter—maybe the light, maybe not.
Limpick stood and walked over. He leaned in close.
"You can feel it too, can't you?" he asked quietly.
Plume gave one soft call.
Limpick glanced back at Ember, who sat by the doorway watching the courtyard, tail sweeping lazily across the stone.
"One of you eats rats, the other eats snakes," Limpick said. "One crawls on the ground, the other flies."
He smiled.
"Fine. We'll take it slow."
He set the half-mended shirt aside, walked to the doorway, and sat down beside Ember.
The sun was sinking. Harrenhal's long shadows stretched across the stones. The five towers glowed dark red at the tips, like cooling charcoal.
Limpick leaned against the doorframe. Ember sat next to him. Plume flew out from the window and settled onto Ember's back.
One man, one dragon, one bird—watching the sun disappear.
The Long Summer days were endless, but night always came.
Limpick wasn't afraid of the dark anymore.
He had Ember.
He had Plume.
One could smash stone with its tail. The other could hunt snakes from the sky.
It was enough.