Here are some fragments from the end:
A door opened, a hoof clacked upon pavement, life stirred. Fire was behind the veil, gone, yet not quite veiled on the knoll.
Cobb looked to the sky, to the west, and a second sun winged its way to the mountains, already small with distance.
“In the mountains the dragon will not be bound. There is a veil between magic and the world, one we see or make. It is stronger here in the Empire, but now not so strong at Dragon’s Head, I think.”
All dawns are the first day of creation. We are sunlight, we are aware. We are consciousness, meant to fly.And now to make the short story better, to burn away the veil of lesser words until the right words burn brightly, accurately. Or at least to try.