In the quiet, sun-drenched playroom of New Wighthelm, a space filled with plush toys and enchanted blocks that floated in lazy circles, a grand and terrible plan was taking shape.

  Lyra Wight, all of five years old, lay on her stomach on a soft rug, her brow furrowed in fierce concentration. Spread before her was a large, sapphire-blue piece of parchment. In her small hand, she clutched a thick, white crayon, which she was using to draw a series of intricate, overlapping circles and jagged, energetic lines. Just like her big brother, she was making a blueprint.

  The concepts of "blueprint" and "mission plan" had become somewhat confused in her young mind, but the core principle was the same: you draw a plan, and then you make it happen. She finished her final, decisive squiggle, a magnificent, star-shaped explosion, then sat up and examined her work with a proud, critical eye. The plan was perfect.

  It was a sequential diagram, a story told in pictures. The first panel showed a drawing of her, a stick figure with wild silver pigtails. The second panel showed her pointing imperiously at one of the colossal Mark-M MECHs that she had seen patrolling the hangar bays. The third and final panel was a masterpiece of childish, chaotic artistry: the MECH was firing its cannons, and the entire right side of the parchment was taken up by a single, enormous, all-consuming BOOM.

  Now, she needed to execute it.

  Her plan was simple, elegant, and born of a deep, abiding love. She was going to make a very, very big boom. A boom so big and so sophisticated that it would finally prove to her brother that she was no longer a little kid. It would show him that she understood his work, that she was ready to join him in the grand family business of making things explode. Then, surely, he would let her come and "help" in his real workshop.

  She looked back at the parchment. There was one huge problem. A critical flaw in her otherwise flawless strategy.

  No one took her seriously.

  Her mother would just say, "That's lovely, dear," and put it on the wall. Her father would chuckle and pat her on the head. Even her new knight, Kael, would just look confused and ask if she wanted him to fetch her a doll. They were all useless. They didn't understand the serious, scientific principles of "booms."

  She needed a partner who understood. She needed her other big brother.

  Her face, which had been scrunched in thought, suddenly lit up. Of course. She scrambled to her feet, snatched the precious mission plan from the floor, and began her hunt.

  Her first stop was the command bridge. The vast, cavernous space hummed with the quiet, focused energy of a hundred Legionary officers at their consoles. She marched right past them, her fluffy red dress a tiny splash of color in the sea of stark blues and blacks, and went straight to the obsidian throne at the center of the room. It was empty. The great, cosmic dragon that was usually coiled around its spire was gone.

  She pouted. "Where's Eggy?" she asked a nearby Legionary captain, who nearly jumped out of his armor at being addressed directly by the little princess.

  "I… I believe Lord Kaelus is in the draconic habitat, Your Highness," the officer stammered, pointing a gauntlet toward the portal at the far end of the bridge.

  Lyra gave him a solemn nod of thanks and marched into the pocket dimension. The air here was cool and smelled of ozone. The great Cygnus was asleep on the main floating island, his snores a low, rumbling thunder. The other Azure Dragons were dozing or quietly conversing in their own draconic language. But Kaelus was not among them.

  She checked her parents' new quarters in the partially constructed castle. No luck. She even peeked into her brother's private workshop, a place she was absolutely, under no circumstances, ever supposed to enter. The room was empty, save for the silent, sleeping giants of steel that lined the walls.

  Frustrated, she trudged back toward her own room, her grand plan in jeopardy. Kaelus was nowhere to be found.

  Just as she was about to give up and resort to a nap, a familiar figure glided down the corridor. It was Patricia, the head maid, her expression as calm and unreadable as ever. Lyra's eyes lit up. Patricia always knew where everything was.

  She ran to the maid, her small hands clutching at the crisp, red fabric of her dress. "Patricia! Patricia! I can't find him!"

  Patricia stopped, her eyes softening as she looked down. "Can't find who, little one?"

  "Big brother Kaelus!" Lyra said, her voice filled with the tragic weight of her quest. "I need to show him my mission plan!" She held up the crumpled blue parchment for inspection.

  Patricia’s gaze flickered over the chaotic crayon drawing, then back to Lyra's determined face. A hint of something—hesitation, perhaps—entered her eyes. For a fraction of a second, she seemed to weigh the consequences of her next action. Then, with a faint, almost perceptible sigh, she reached into a small pouch at her belt and produced a tiny, silver comm-bead. She whispered a single, inaudible word into it.

  The air beside them shimmered.

  With a soft pop of displaced space, Kaelus appeared. He was in his cat-sized, starlit form, floating serenely on his favorite red velvet pillow. He had clearly been in the middle of a very important nap somewhere quiet.

  Lyra gasped with delight, her search complete. Her partner-in-crime had arrived.

  . . .

  Kaelus blinked, his cosmic, starlit eyes focusing on the small, determined girl before him. He listened with rapt attention as Lyra unfurled her crumpled blue parchment and conducted a war-room briefing with the utmost seriousness.

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  …and then, her mental voice, a high-pitched, excited whisper only he could hear, concluded, we make the big, BIG boom!

  Kaelus felt a familiar knot of draconic anxiety tighten in his non-existent stomach. He had a bad feeling about this. His older brother, Alarion, would most certainly not like this plan. Not one bit. But then he looked at Lyra’s face, at her sapphire eyes shining with a faith so absolute it could move mountains, and his resolve crumbled. He couldn’t say no to her.

  To her attendants, Elara and Kael, who had just rounded the corner, it seemed the two were simply staring at each other. Then, in a coordinated move that was too fast for their eyes to track, both Lyra and Kaelus vanished in a faint shimmer of displaced space.

  The two young elves froze, their faces masks of pure, unadulterated panic. They looked at the empty spot where their charge had been standing a second ago. They looked at each other. Then, they began to sprint, their frantic footsteps echoing through the silent, obsidian corridors.

  …

  Lyra reappeared in the cavernous, echoing expanse of Hangar Bay 3. The air here was cool and smelled of grease and cold steel. All around her, a forest of colossal, twenty-meter-tall Mark-M MECHs stood in silent, dormant ranks.

  “Okay,” Lyra said aloud, her voice a small sound in the vast chamber. “Now we need one of the big ones.”

  Kaelus floated beside her, his velvet pillow bobbing nervously. He sent a silent, encrypted query to Tes. I require access to a Mark-M chassis for… advanced combat training simulations. It was a plausible, well-crafted excuse.

  A beat of silence. Tes’s reply was a stream of cool, dispassionate logic. [Primary user Alarion has authorized full system access for Lord Kaelus for designated training exercises. Access to Basic MECH functions is granted.]

  The nearest Mark-M MECH, Unit 3-Gamma, came to life. Its single, central optical sensor flared with a soft, blue light. With a low hum of hydraulics, it knelt, its massive form lowering to the deck. Kaelus zipped forward, and Lyra, giggling with glee, was gently levitated by his spatial magic up to its broad, flat shoulder pauldron.

  The MECH stood. It walked with deep, resonant THUMPS toward the colossal elevator platform at the far end of the hangar. No one batted an eye. A Dragon Prince requisitioning a training unit was unusual, but not unheard of.

  The elevator ascended. This time, it rose not into a simulated sky, but into the real world. For the first time since their departure from the Dominion, the fleet's storm cloak was down for routine maintenance, and The Aegis floated on a calm, open sea under a clear, bright blue sky.

  The MECH walked to the edge of the flight deck, its feet stopping inches from the precipice. It faced the endless expanse of the ocean. The twin fortress-breaker cannons on its back swiveled forward over its shoulders with a heavy groan of machinery, locking into a horizontal firing angle.

  Now, the crew noticed. Panic began to set in. Klaxons, soft at first, then rising in a frantic crescendo, began to blare across the flight deck.

  Lyra, however, was disappointed. She pointed a small, demanding finger at the ocean. “Make it go boom, Eggy!”

  Kaelus relayed the command. The MECH’s cannons charged with a high-pitched whine and unleashed a standard, low-yield plasma blast. A ball of brilliant blue energy shot out over the water and slammed into the ocean's surface a kilometer away. The impact created a massive plume of steam and a satisfying, thunderous FWOOSH.

  Lyra pouted. It was a good boom, but it wasn't a big boom.

  “Bigger!” she demanded. “Make a bigger one!”

  Tes, Kaelus projected, a note of desperation in his tone. She wants a bigger boom. Can… can we launch a missile?

  [Affirmative,] Tes replied. [Lord Kaelus possesses the same launch clearance as the Lord Commander. However, launch codes are required.]

  A problem. He didn't have the codes.

  Lyra’s pout intensified. Kaelus could feel a tantrum brewing. He had to do something. He couldn't use the ship's weapons. So he would use his own.

  He zipped away from the MECH’s shoulder, his small, cat-sized form expanding with breathtaking speed. In an instant, the thirty-meter, cosmic titan that was his true form materialized over the flight deck. Raw, untamed power began to pour from him. The clear blue sky above The Aegis darkened as he drew upon the ambient energy, the very light and heat of the sun. A storm of his own making began to brew, arcs of azure lightning crackling between the horns on his head. He was gathering his draconic magic for a single, colossal lightning bolt.

  …

  Deep within the shielded reactor chamber, I felt it.

  I was at peace, the hiss of the plasma welder a soothing sound, my mind lost in the clean, hard logic of physics. Then, a sudden, jarring sensation. A tingling, an electric hum that seemed to resonate with the very core of my being. It felt… familiar. It was the sensation my father had described, the feeling of two islands connected, a bridge being formed. Someone, somewhere, was trying to use draconic magic. But it was raw, unfocused, and terrifyingly powerful.

  Then, the alarms started blaring.

  Red lights flashed across the walls of my workshop. [WARNING! UNCONTAINED, TIER 7 ENERGY BUILD-UP DETECTED ON FLIGHT DECK ALPHA!]

  My blood ran cold. I dropped the welder and shot through the portal, sprinting through the corridors of the flagship.

  I arrived on the flight deck to a scene of absolute, adorable chaos. Kaelus, in his full, raging glory, was preparing to unleash a storm that could have punched a hole in the ship’s hull. And sitting on the shoulder of a twenty-meter MECH, clapping her hands with glee, was Lyra.

  My two younger siblings.

  I teleported. One moment, I was at the edge of the deck; the next, I was standing directly in front of them, my face a mask of cold, controlled fury. They both froze, their grand plans interrupted. They looked at me, their faces a perfect, synchronized picture of wide-eyed, innocent guilt.

  A volcano was about to erupt in the middle of my flagship. An unauthorized MECH was on the flight deck. Alarms were screaming. And all I could feel was a profound, soul-deep exhaustion.

  The scolding was long overdue.

  “You two,” I began, my voice dangerously quiet. I grabbed the floating velvet pillow with one hand and Lyra with the other. “My office. Now.” I started dragging them back toward the command tower, my anger warring with the sheer, ridiculous absurdity of the situation. “We are trying to hide from the entire world! And you decide to create a miniature volcano?! Do you have any idea how inconspicuous that is?!”