Luna held the last dragon egg to her chest and felt it grow cold. Its shell had glowed warm for years. Now the light was fading, and she knew what that meant. Somewhere in the storm-wreathed peaks lay the one thing that could wake it. She just didn't know where. She stood on the flower-covered bridge that linked her floating cloud islands and stared at the black peaks in the distance. Thunder rolled behind them. The egg needed her, and she had no place to start. She carried the egg home across the petal-strewn bridge. Rose vines and cherry blossoms brushed her wings. She had walked this path a thousand times. Today it felt too small. The peaks were vast. She could search for a lifetime and never find the right cave. Her two axolotls waited by the door, one pink, one purple. They pressed close to her ankles and stared up at the egg. The purple one nosed the shell, then turned and scrambled toward the white treasure chest in the corner. It clawed at the brass latch and whimpered. "What is it?" Luna asked. She had not opened that chest in years. She set the egg down and lifted the lid. Butterflies and painted flowers decorated the wood. Inside lay old maps, dried petals, and a single scale. The scale was not hers. It shimmered with every color, like a butterfly wing turned to glass. She lifted it, and it pulsed against her palm. Warm. The exact warmth the egg was losing. She remembered now. A dragon with radiant wings had left it here long ago, before it flew into the peaks and never returned. The pink axolotl climbed the chest and pointed its nose north. The scale grew warmer when Luna turned that way. Cooler when she turned back. She understood. The scale was pulling toward its owner, and its owner nested where the last egg belonged. Luna held the scale up toward the storm. It burned bright, a small compass of light aimed straight at the tallest peak. Her hands shook. She finally had a direction. She tucked the egg into her satchel and hung the scale around her neck. The axolotls climbed onto her shoulders. She stepped back onto the blossom bridge and faced the dark peaks. The thunder had not stopped. The scale showed her where to go. It did not show her how to cross a storm that could tear her wings apart.