Leander tosses his head and vocalizes—a sound I’ve learned to interpret after years of friendship. His daughter attempts to mimic her father’s call but loses her balance in the process. My displacer beast reflexes kick in, and I catch her before she can fall. “Easy, little one. Those legs are brand new,” I chuckle, steadying her as I continue the gentle drying process.
I notice Leander growing increasingly agitated, his massive form shifting restlessly. “What’s wrong?” I ask, though Balor answers before my friend can respond.
“Foals need to run shortly after birth,” he explains, and Leander tosses his head in confirmation.
Understanding floods through me. This isn’t just parental anxiety—it’s survival instinct. In the wild, a foal that can’t run is a dead foal. “Need me to get you outside?” I glance over my shoulder toward the other eggs, noting they’re not close to hatching yet. We have time for this crucial test. Looking back at Leander, I see him toss his head again in clear agreement.
“Bella, you and Azalea help get the little one to the ground floor. I’ll get Leander down there,” I instruct. Within seconds, my daughters have their tentacles wrapped carefully around the foal, and they’re gone—phased away to safety below.
“Okay, big guy, your turn.” I wrap my arms around Leander’s powerful neck, feeling the heat radiating from his nightmares form. The familiar tingle of displacement magic courses through me as I phase us both downstairs in a single heartbeat.
We materialize to find the foal already following my daughters as they walk in a slow, encouraging circle. I release Leander and step back to watch what happens next. My friend ignites his mane, tail, and the fur around his hooves in supernatural flame—a display of the nightmare’s true power. His daughter stares in fascination, then looks down at her own small hooves. There, barely visible but unmistakably real, are tiny flickering white flames dancing around her feet.
Pride and pure elation swell in my chest as I watch this magical moment between father and daughter unfold before us. Leandermakes a sound unlike any I’ve heard from him before. A gentle, encouraging vocalization pitched perfectly for his offspring, filled with such tender love that it makes my eyes burn with happy tears. He arches his neck majestically and stomps his front hoof before beginning to prance away with fluid grace, every movement a masterclass in equine beauty.
His daughter hesitates for just a moment, uncertainty flickering in her dragon-slitted eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. Then instinct and trust take over, and she trots after him with increasing confidence. Within seconds, Leander picks up speed, and his foal follows behind him without missing a beat, her tiny hooves striking the ground with surprising strength. The fear that she might not run evaporates like morning mist, replaced by overwhelming relief and celebration coursing through my veins.
“Yes! Look at her go!”My heart practically sings with triumph as I watch them move together—father and daughter, nightmare and dragon-nightmare hybrid, both strong and capable and gloriously, magnificently free. At least now we can rest easier knowing she has the strength to flee if danger ever threatens our family.
But even as I savor this moment of triumph, my thoughts drift back upstairs. There are still two more hatchlings waiting to enter the world, and knowing my family, I can only imagine what chaos might have erupted in my absence. My eerie green eyes glow brighter with anticipation as I prepare to phase back and rejoin the vigil.
After all, this is what being part of this extraordinary family means—being there for every precious moment, every triumph, every challenge. Mina chose us all for a reason, binding us together with bonds stronger than blood. I wouldn’t trade this chaotic, wonderful life for anything in any realm.
Chapter
Fifteen
When I phase back upstairs,the familiar tingle of displacement magic still coursing through my veins, I find Callan pacing like a caged predator. The sight of my friend in such an agitated state tugs at my heart—years of friendship have taught me to read his moods, and right now he’s wound tighter than a bowstring. Vaughn stands statue-still, watching his egg with the intensity of a hawk eyeing prey. In his weathered hand, I notice he’s clutching a second amulet, its silver surface catching the chamber’s light.
“Leander and his daughter are off and running,” I announce, my voice still bubbling with residual joy from witnessing that incredible first moment between father and child. “Everything is right in the world.” The words feel like a blessing as they leave my lips, a declaration of the perfect harmony that comes when family bonds grow stronger.
“Looks like Callan’s egg is next,” Abraxis observes, his keen eyes tracking the movements of our older hatchlings as they call encouragingly to their siblings still trapped within their shells.
“Is this normal? I mean the hatchlings calling to the other ones?” I glance from Abraxis to the ancients, my eerie green eyes glowing brighter with curiosity. After all these years with dragons, there’s still so much wonder to discover about their ancient ways.
“The hatchlings from previous clutches usually encourage or help the newest additions into the world because they are the strongest,” Klauth explains, though I catch the note of sadness in his ancient voice as he watches his son pace anxiously, barely paying attention to the last two precious eggs.
“My Raven seems especially attuned to the eggs,” Thauglor says with unmistakable pride radiating from every word, and my heart swells with matching paternal joy for our remarkable daughter.
No sooner does he mention it than she moves with purpose toward Callan’s egg, her black scales gleaming as she sniffs delicately at the small hole. A brilliant golden eye suddenly lines up with the opening, peering out at us with desperate hope, and a loud, piercing whistle echoes from within. The sound sends Callan into high alert, his massive form coiling with protective tension.
“My baby is stuck—the shell is too thick,” Callan’s voice cracks with anguish, and before the words have fully left his mouth, our incredible Raven springs into action. She calls to the other hatchlings with an authority that makes my chest swell with pride, and they immediately shore up the egg, working in perfect coordination. Raven rears up magnificently and begins using her razor-sharp talons to break away the stubborn shell piece by methodical piece.
“Did she just organize her siblings?” I stare in amazement at the coordinated rescue effort and Thauglor, my voice filled with wonder and delight.
“That she did. She’s a natural leader in the clutch,” he confirms with a smile that could light up the entire chamber, his pleasure in his daughter’s capabilities clear in every line of his ancient features.
“She’s acting like a dominant dragoness—takes after her mom,” Klauth adds with genuine warmth, and I can’t help but beam at the compliment to our beloved Mina. I notice Abraxis glance at Lily, and the question in his eyes is unmistakable—why didn’t his daughter take charge? My heart goes out to him, understanding that paternal concern all too well.
Raven makes a commanding noise that brooks no argument, and immediately both of my daughters move forward without hesitation, using their tentacles to help pull the stubborn shell apart with gentle precision. The gryphon chick comes tumbling out in a rush of movement, and Callan’s reflexes kick in as he catches his child protectively. Heavy white fluff covers the hatchling’s body like the softest clouds, while its front feet are perfectly draconic, as is the general wing structure beneath those magnificent feathers.
Azalea looks up at me with those expressive eyes and meows with obvious congratulation. “Azalea says congratulations on the son, Callan,” I translate for my daughter, my voice warm with shared happiness for my dearest friend.
Tears well up in Callan’s golden eyes as he scoops up his child with infinite tenderness, his powerful hands cradling the small form against his chest. “I have a son,” he whispers with such raw emotion that it makes my throat tight with sympathy. Hepauses, running gentle fingers over the downy feathers, and his face transforms with wonder. “He has scales under his down. My baby is armored.” The pure, unbridled joy in Callan’s voice is impossible to hide, and it resonates through my very soul.
I step closer without hesitation, resting a comforting hand on my best friend’s shoulder and gazing down at the absolutely beautiful hatchling in his protective embrace. The little one looks around the room with bright, curious eyes, every tilt of his head and flicker of his gaze revealing an inquisitive nature that will no doubt lead to countless adventures.
Glancing across the chamber, I spot Vaughn still staring intently at his egg, where a small chip now mars the previously perfect shell. Slowly, almost tentatively, a tiny claw peeks through the opening and begins the delicate work of breaking free. I phase over to Vaughn’s side, the familiar rush of displacement magic carrying me across the space in an instant, and crouch down beside him to watch the determined little one work. “How’s your hatchling doing?” I ask softly, not wanting to disturb this sacred moment.
