Kinkajou had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

Which, honestly, wasn’t that different from any other day.

Her claws dug into the soft moss of the rainforest floor as she darted between thick trunks and hanging vines, her scales shifting from a bright, excited gold to a deep, curious emerald. The letter—if you could call it that—was still clutched in one talon, slightly crumpled from the way she'd grabbed it without thinking.

A prophecy. A real, actual prophecy.

Kinkajou's heart practically sang with excitement as she bounded into the clearing, wings half-flared for balance. She skidded to a stop just short of crashing into a half-rotted log, breath coming fast, eyes glowing with the kind of glee only Kinkajou could manage after learning that the fate of the world might—just might—depend on her. Or at least someone near her. Or someone she could boss around into saving the world for her.

The parchment was old. Crumbly. Definitely not forged, unless someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make it look ancient and full of doom. The words still rattled in her mind:

“When the Forgotten Star returns to the sky, one will rise, and all will fall—unless the path is chosen before the shadow spreads.”

Cryptic. Ominous. The best kind of prophecy, honestly.

“I mean, it doesn’t say I’m the chosen one,” Kinkajou muttered aloud, pacing the moss with her tail flicking. “But also, it doesn’t not say that.” Her scales shimmered with faint pink as she grinned at no one in particular. “And besides—someone has to do something before this ‘shadow’ shows up and ruins everything. May as well be me.”

Of course, she wasn’t completely reckless. She knew she couldn’t do it alone.

…Well, okay, she could probably try. But it would be way less fun. And, fine, slightly more dangerous.

So she’d sent word—well, more like shouted word—to every dragon she could think of. RainWings, MudWings, NightWings, even a couple of SkyWings if they were willing to fly this far south without being overly dramatic about it. Anyone who felt like they were meant for something more. Anyone curious enough to chase a whisper of destiny. Anyone bored enough to answer a ridiculous dragonet shouting about prophecies in the marketplace.

And now, she waited.

Kinkajou flopped dramatically onto her back in the grass, wings spread wide, the letter dangling above her snout. Her scales faded to a lazy blue, the color of a clear afternoon sky.

“Any minute now,” she sang, her voice lilting. “Any minute, a team of legendary heroes will show up and I’ll finally get my destiny moment. And maybe a cool nickname. Ooooh, or a heroic statue. I’d be so good as a statue. Head high. Big smile. Fangs out. Very dramatic.”

Kinkajou giggled to herself, rolling onto her side to pluck a small orchid and stick it behind one ear-spike.

But beneath the giggles, beneath the pink-and-gold sheen of excitement, something tight coiled in her chest. A whisper she didn’t like to admit was there: What if no one comes? What if I’m not meant to be important after all?

Her scales dulled for half a heartbeat—then flared bright green again with determination. Nope. Not happening. Kinkajou didn’t do hopeless.

She sat up straighter, puffed out her chest, and narrowed her eyes at the tree line.

“They’ll come,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “They have to.”

And somewhere, far overhead, the first glimmer of an unfamiliar star began to burn in the darkening sky.