Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Spring stirred, disorientation sweeping over her. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. Her head rested against something warm and solid—firm muscle beneath the soft brush of cotton. The familiar scent of masculine cologne, moss, and boy-sweat invaded her senses.
Roam.
She jolted awake, her eyes snapping open in alarm. She would know his scent anywhere in the galaxy! What she didn’t recognize was the collage of scents from the surrounding terrain. It wasn’t the Valdier garden they had left behind.
Spring stiffened when she realized that Roam had one arm wrapped protectively around her, his cheek pressed against her hair, his other hand still resting on the curve of her waist like she belonged to him.
Like she mattered.
Fury surged through her.
Fat chance of that!
She shoved him—hard—and climbed to her feet.
Roam jolted awake with a startled yelp, rolling to the side in a sprawl of limbs and leaves. His wild blue eyes darted around, his pupils dilated like a cat jolted from a nap.
Then he saw her.
A lazy, crooked smile curved his lips. “Spring!” he said, his voice rough with sleep before his eyes widened with excitement. “We’re alive!” he whooped, throwing his arms wide and collapsing back onto the moss. “Yes! I can check that off my near-death bucket list. This cat has nine lives, baby!”
Spring glared down at him, her arms folded tight across her chest. “What is wrong with you?!”
Roam blinked at her, still grinning like an idiot. “Uh… we survived plummeting through a magical wormhole of doom and didn’t end up as a frozen space pop or smeared like bug guts on a skimmer windshield? That feels like a win.”
She rolled her eyes, scanning the dense jungle canopy above. Thick vines twisted around enormous tree trunks that went up higher than she could see from a standing position, each wider than a palace. A single glowing blue leaf drifted past her face—larger than her head.
Everything was… wrong.
“Grow up,” she snapped, irritated that out of everyone in the group, she was stuck with him! “We need to figure out where we are and find the others. Without Phoenix, there’s no way to get home.”
Roam groaned dramatically, flopping back again and draping an arm over his eyes. “Can we please just take five minutes to celebrate not being squished like dragon pancakes before the doom and gloom?”
“I am not being doom and gloom. I’m being responsible.” Her voice tightened. “Something you should try sometime.”
Roam peeled his arm back and arched an eyebrow at her. “Oh, responsible, huh? Right. Because when I think of a calm, responsible person, I totally think of the girl who decorated the training officer’s office with toilet paper last semester because he gave you a B for the obstacle course.”
“I beat everyone to the finish line and never once got tagged! It shouldn’t matter that he didn’t like how I did it!”
“You dug a tunnel! Of course you beat everyone and didn’t get tagged. No one could see you!”
Her cheeks flushed, but she pressed on. “Unlike you, I want to make sure we’re safe. And unlike you, I’m not just playing like we’re kids, because I don’t have the luxury of pretending everything’s a game!”
Roam sat up, the humor draining from his face.
“And unlike you,” he said quietly, “one day I’m going to have to rule a planet. I’d like to enjoy being young and carefree while I can.”
The words hit her like a slap. Her breath hitched, her arms folding tighter around herself like a shield.
He didn’t notice—he never did.
She turned away sharply as the pain knifed through her chest.
Why did it always hurt this much with him?
Why did he always have to make her feel worse?
Her throat tightened. She blinked furiously, but a single tear slipped free. She swiped it away before he could see and lifted her chin. Her voice, cool and distant as starlight, shimmered with the ache she refused to show.
“Fine. Enjoy being a kid while you still can,” she said, not looking at him. “I’m going to make sure we’re safe. Try not to get lost.”
“Spring, wait—”
But she was already shifting.
A swirl of white light enveloped her as her dragon form emerged—long and sleek, her shimmering scales edged with a soft iridescent pink. Her wings unfurled, translucent and glowing like moon petals in the rising light.
Roam’s mouth pursed in aggravation. “Spring—!”
With a snap of her wings, she launched into the sky.
She didn’t look back.
Let him sit in the moss and figure it out for once.
Let him wonder what it feels like to be left behind.
The moment she cleared the tree canopy, she froze mid-air, her wings faltering. A tight gasp slipped past her lips.
The trees below weren’t just big. They were monstrous.
A dragon could have curled up in the knot on any of the branches and still have room for snacks. Flowers the size of starships swayed gently in the breeze. Leaves big enough to be used as ships dotted the forest.
The forest towered around her like a land built for giants.
Or are we… tiny?
Her heart began to race as realization dawned.
Something had happened during the portal’s fracture.
The size of the plants, the trees… the very shape of the bark she had brushed against in the clearing. They hadn't just landed in a strange place; the sheer scale of everything—the colossal trees, the massive flowers, the towering grass—left her breathless.
We must be on the Isle of the Giants.
Her thoughts whirled.
What else was out there?
Who else?
She continued flying, surveying the surrounding landscape for any signs of inhabitants. Several miles away, she thought she spied a spiral of smoke rising above the trees.
What do you think? she asked her dragon.
Smell wood burning. We see if safe.
She angled downward, focusing on the tendril of smoke. Entering the upper canopy, she was once again struck by how everything was disproportionately large compared to herself and her dragon. Even the distance she flew felt exaggerated, stretched like the rest of this outsized world.
Watch out!
The words ripped through her when a massive insect three times her size rose from a branch. Her dragon, startled by the creature that blended in with the brown and green bark, released a stream of blue dragon fire. The insect swerved to avoid the flame and disappeared back into the forest.
I no like this place, her dragon snarled.
Well, we’re here, whether we like it or not. We need to find the others so we can get out of here!
There! Big house.
I see it. Get as close as you can to it, she murmured.
Spring’s wings barely stirred the air as she glided through the thick, sun-dappled forest, weaving between branches the size of palace gates.
Her white dragon scales shimmered with hints of pink where the sunlight caught them, casting dancing reflections on the mossy ground below.
Everything around her dwarfed her dragon form.
Sapling branches were the size of a towering tree. Mushrooms, clustered near the roots of trees, were taller than she was. Even a rabbit’s den resembled a small cavern.
Wonder how far we are from Valdier, she thought, trying to distract herself from how her heart still ached from her fight with Roam. Adrenaline pushed her forward.
Then, just ahead, the forest thinned.
A golden light filtered through the trees, warm and beckoning.
Spring’s wings slowed, then tucked close to her body as she landed on a wide, winding path that unfurled beneath her claws like a silk ribbon. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Her breath caught.
Magic.
The path shimmered faintly, as if woven from morning dew and sunlight, leading her through a corridor of bright, oversized flowers—poppies, bluebells, sunbursts in vibrant hues. Their petals trembled with laughter in the wind, and somewhere nearby, children giggled.
Children?
Spring crept forward on silent feet, crouched low. As she rounded a cluster of golden snapdragons the size of carriages, the full view opened before her—
A meadow. Vast and radiant under the afternoon sun.
In the center stood a large, inviting cottage with a red-shingled roof and flowering ivy twining up the chimney. The soft scent of lavender and honey drifted through the air, mingling with the perfume of hundreds of blooming flowers.
Laughter bubbled up like a song.
Dozens of giant children raced across the meadow—yes, giants—their bare feet thudding softly on the grass as they chased after equally oversized chickens, scruffy dogs, and each other.
Spring’s jaw dropped, her dragon eyes wide with awe and disbelief.
We’re not just small… we’re tiny.
She barely dared to breathe. Yet instead of fear, what pulsed through her was wonder. It felt like stepping into a storybook. Vivid images of the story of Thumbelina swept through her mind. It had been her favorite as a child.
Everything loomed, vibrant and oversized—like she’d flown into a dream painted for giants. The joy radiating from the meadow wrapped around her, pulling her forward.
The path led her straight to the cottage. Brightly painted shutters stood open to the sun, and from within, she could hear the low hum of a woman’s voice. Spring’s heart stuttered. Something about the sound drew her in—warm, gentle, familiar.
With a flutter of her wings, she leapt onto the wide window ledge, careful not to disturb the flowerpots teetering on the edge. Her talons clinked softly on the wood as she edged closer.
Inside, a tall woman with silver-streaked black hair stood at a wide wooden counter, rolling out dough in smooth, practiced strokes.
The kitchen glowed with golden light. Herbs hung from the rafters.
Dried flowers were twisted into wreaths.
There were pies cooling on the windowsill and a bubbling pot on the stove. And that humming…
Spring’s breath caught in her throat.
The woman was humming the same song her mom used to sing when she baked pies back home. How was that possible?
The ache hit hard.
Sudden and sharp.
She missed her mom.
Missed home.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she leaned closer. The woman moved with serene grace, her presence wrapping the room in quiet magic.
I wish I could just stay here, Spring thought, blinking back the wetness in her eyes. Just for a minute. Just to pretend everything’s okay again.
She stepped forward for a better view, resting one claw on the low windowsill.
A sudden squeal shattered the stillness.
Spring jerked her head up, startled—
Whomp!
A heavy clink of glass echoed around her as a clear container slammed down over her, trapping her in a bell jar the size of a greenhouse.
She yelped, twisting in alarm, her wings flaring against the glass. She pressed her claws to the smooth surface, her breath fogging the inside.
A shadow loomed over her.
Bright, curious brown eyes blinked down at her through the glass.
A child. A giant child.
A little girl with curly hair and a smear of flour on her cheek giggled as she crouched on the kitchen counter and peered in closer.
“Oooh!” she squealed. “Nana! I caught a fairy dragon!”
Spring backed until her tail hit the curved glass. Her heart pounded wildly as the girl tapped the container with one sticky finger, sending small vibrations through the floor beneath her claws.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the girl whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. “You’re so pretty!”
Oh stars, Spring thought, swallowing hard. I’ve been fairy-caught by a toddler.
The giant girl’s face was alight with fascination. She held up a finger as if she wanted to pet Spring through the glass. “Do you grant wishes? Can you talk? Are you a baby guardian dragon?”
Spring exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain calm, even as her tail twitched nervously behind her.
From further in the kitchen, the woman’s voice—calm and knowing—called out, “Liana, what have I told you about trapping magical creatures?”
“But she’s a tiny dragon, Nana!” Liana called back. “I’ve never seen a tiny fairy-dragon before!”
Spring groaned softly and laid her head against the glass, silently muttering, “This can’t get any worse.”
But even as she grumbled, some tiny part of her—deep down in the fragile place where homesickness and heartbreak curled—felt the first flicker of hope.
At least she was somewhere. And maybe—just maybe—the old woman could help her and Roam find the others.
As the little girl examined her, Spring pressed back against the glass, wondering if dragons had nine lives, too. She hoped so.