Antia floated across the room toward her mirror, the cool water of this room refreshing to her. A taste of the Depths.

She stared into the mirror, hands gripping the dresser intently.

Her reflection stared back at her.

She adjusted her crown, the gold points sparkling in the dim light of the room.

Antia closed her eyes. She needed to think, figure this all out.

Who was to say the dragons were actually dying?

The others were foolish in their blind trust of those goblins, Antia thought. Stupid men follow stupid creatures.

That might’ve been a little much. They weren’t stupid. Just so blind. How could the humans turn against their dragon kin? It made no sense.

If there had been a catalyst, a sign to them all, it would maybe show fragments of an answer. But no, the statement was unfounded.

She needed to clear her head of all this nonsense.

She swam over to the door, hands bracing against the doorframe before shooting herself out of the room, twirling through the water as she broke against the underwater resistance.

Antia slowed to the pace of a whalebeast as she looked out at the city she had swam out from. Located on the edges of the tropics, the merfolk capital city was a hub for merfolk, merchants and the like. Antia could watch over the bustling marketplace from her palace or swim through the streets—there were no threats from the other merfolk.

Well, except that one.

But she had been an exception.

Antia hovered there, fish brushing her fins as she gazed fondly at her kingdom. Then she looked behind her, at the cliffs before Depths, where the water grew darker. On occasion, you could see a water dragon swim out of the Depths, hunting, but she couldn’t see any at the moment.

She started to swim back toward the city, calmed by the peace of the waters with her head cleared, when she heard a loud groan.

She turned, and was surprised to see a merfolk sentry swimming toward her on the back of a whalebeast. He was waving a spear at her, attempting to get her attention.

She swam up to the wood-armoured vanguard and his whalebeast, and he nodded his respect. Dismounting the whalebeast, his helmet plume flowed softly in the water’s current.

“My queen,” he began.

She nodded back at him. “Dymitri.” Dymitri was an experienced vanguard, having served before she was even queen.

“I have found something that you might find…” he stopped, looking for the right word, forehead crinkled in thought.

“Take me there.” Antia said, not waiting for Dymitri to finish. She trusted this man. He wouldn’t waste the queen’s time on such frivolities as a shiny piece of coral.

He remounted the whalebeast and she followed him as they swam out—along the edge of the Depths.

She saw a watchtower in the distance, and Dymitri sped up. Schools of fish joined them, and Antia smiled as her seaweed hair came loose in the water. Nothing beat swimming.

Antia stopped at the base of the watchtower as Dymitri disembarked the whalebeast, then, after a “thank you” and a pat on the head, the whalebeast groaned happily and swam off.

Dymitri and Antia swam up the side of the watchtower, turning onto the top observation deck. Dymitri put down his spear and laid it across a wall—Antia did not do the same.

Leaning against the railing and looking into the Depths, Antia asked the question. “What is it that was so pressing?”

“It’s—” he began, but was cut off by a muffled shout from above.

“ANTIA!” A familiar voice yelled.

Antia looked up at a bubble that was rapidly descending toward them. Inside, a man stood, cape and cloth rippling.

“Arn?” Antia asked in bewilderment, raising her spear.

“Antia! This decision will end badly for you! Join us, for the greater good! Set aside your prejudices!” Arn said, looking directly into her eyes now.

Dymitri looked at the elvish prince and then back at Antia. “Pardon my interruption, your highnesses, but what decision was made?”

Antia turned to Dymitri. “The other species are trying to rope me into a conflict that is based off of loose evidence and the words of a barely intelligent species. One dragon dying in the lavafields is not enough to warrant—”

“—Antia,” Dymiti said, dropping the formal title in surprise, “that’s why I called you here. I found a body. Anari wasn’t lying.”

He turned to Arn. “Who did you say was responsible?”

Arn joined them on the platform, still in the bubble. “The evidence is pointing to the humans. Corrupted ones, with glowing eyes and bone weapons.”

Dymitri looked horrified. “Antia. We imprisoned a victim, a witness, as well then. Anari was corrupted by the humans. She only spoke the truth.”

Antia looked at the both of them, her childhood friend turned prince and protector turned loyal guardian. “Before I make any decisions, I want to see the dragon myself.”

The body was pierced with the same bone weapons the goblins had presented. No doubt about it, they had been right.

Antia was silent. This was horrific. It was sprawled against the edge of a cliff, arrows pressed into its skin. Burn marks on the wings (Antia didn’t even know how that was possible) were singed into their wings, and the eyes were empty sockets, teeth removed.

She felt sick. She quivered. It was horrible.

Arn and Dymitri didn’t notice the moment of weakness. They were too busy looking around the dragon for further clues.

Antia stood up a little straighter.

She had made her decision. She would help the other species.

But before that could happen, there were some things that needed to get straightened out.

The wooden bars clicked open.

“You’re free,” Dymitri said gruffly. Behind him, Antia stood, hands held behind her back.

The woman came out of her cell, swimming out from the ceiling. Her eyes flicked with the same orange glow. She looked at Antia expectantly.

“I’m sorry for this…misunderstanding.” Antia said, not looking her in the eyes.

“Misunderstanding? I was in here for two months, and that’s all I get?” Anari said, her eyes glowing brighter with rage.

Dymitri drew his spear.

Antia tried again.

The army was growing restless. Antia stood with Arn, who had returned from meeting with Enetri—still in his bubble.

“They’re waiting on the edge of the forests.” Arn told her.

“Next to the river?” Antia asked.

“We have a different idea for your attack,” Arn said, “but it’ll involve some cooperation.”

Antia sighed. “Only this time.”

Arn smiled, adjusting his headband. “Well, I’ve left a plan on your general’s desk.”

Arn swam off, and Antia turned to her general. “Let me see that plan. Tomorrow, the attack begins.”

Across the Dragonrealm, unknown to each other, the leaders all raised their weapons, standards to rally behind.

Antia raised her spear to the merfolk: to unity and accepting her mistakes.

Enetri raised his sword to the dwarves: to protection and ensuring the safety of their future.

Arn raised his leafblade to the elves: to unity and ensuring the safety of their future—as well as proving himself.

And in the desert, Vaine raised his knife to feast—unaware of the coming attack.