Gritting her teeth, Serenna refused to let panic sweep her away. She anchored herself to the fragile shape sealed beneath her palm. Her breath rasped, sweat slipping down her spine as she reached for stillness. The sunfire narrowed, its flow aligning to her direction while Essence coursed through the faceted channels.
Fine as spun thread, a crack whispered through the crystal. Another fissure branched deeper, sunfire bleeding toward the obsidian core. The glow wavered, perilously bright. Too bright. Panic jolted through her that she’d pushed too far, that the sunfire would turn the egg to ash.
Serenna tore her hand back an instant before the crystal ruptured. It shattered like a dying star. Light flared outward. Fragments scattered across the rugs, glinting like shards of a rising dawn.
And there, cradled in the heart of the pedestal, an obsidian shell steamed.
Whole.
Serenna’s breath caught, a tremor shuddering through her. A stunned laugh escaped—disbelief tangled with relief, a sliver of wonder unfurling that the egg hadn’t cracked open.
Her hands still trembled as she released Essence, the light fading. She turned to Kaedryn and Cinderax, seeking confirmation that the hatchling inside was truly unharmed.
A rush of air brushed her calves as Cinderax flapped his wings and rose, hovering above the pedestal. Fire streamed from his maw, coiling in a measured arc around the egg, a benediction wrought in heat and flame.
“The ember is strong,”he said, pride roughening the rumble in his words.
Heart still racing, Serenna stood buoyed by the belief the dragon would endure.
Cinderax settled beside her again, his warmth radiating close. Serenna turned to the next egg. She drew a breath and reached back into her Well, Essence answering in a rush.
She moved from pedestal to pedestal, each step a quiet reckoning as she shattered the crystalline shells. Through the Starshard, sunfire spilled from her palm in woven strands, ribbons spun like moons and stars. Gone was the reckless torrent that had nearly torn her apart. This was different—no longer a flood to survive, but a stream she could guide.
One by one, the casings gave way. Each time, the air seemed to hold its breath with her.
Yet beneath the awe, fear still lingered—silver-tongued whispers of collapse and crowns, of stars and surrender. Of ascension.
The voices pressed close, but Serenna anchored herself before they could take hold. Each time, she steadied her magic and slowed the current, turning her focus back to the fragile life curled beneath her palm.
By the time she reached the final egg, her limbs shook. The last of her sunfire flickered at her fingertips, her Well thinned to a dwindling pool. The Starshard no longer blazed at her throat but pulsed faintly, its reservoir as spent as she was.
Still, Serenna lifted her hand. One final filament of Essence answered, unspooling as her palm met the shell. Sunfire seeped into the crystal casing. For a heartbeat, the magic wove through the facets as it had before.
Then a fracture lanced across the surface.
Too deep. Too fast.
Light burst outward. Serenna yanked her hand back, the Starshard flaring once before it went dark.
The crystal shattered, fragments scattering across the rugs. Her pulse slammed through her ribs, each beat a warning.
As the glow dimmed and the sunfire faded, a new crack split through the egg itself. Jagged and snaking toward the base, it crawled deeper through the shell.
Another crack snapped through the air, brittle as bone breaking. Serenna flinched as if she’d been struck. Silence fell, heavy as ash, crushing what hope remained.
She hadn’t freed this hatchling. She’d destroyed its only protection.
CHAPTER 18
LYKOR
Rain hissed through the canopy, froze into sleet, and then thickened to snow as frost raced over bark and frond. Lykor’s skull still rang from the dragon’s voice, each breath a flurry that scraped his throat.
Jassyn stood closest to him, wings drawn tight, eyes lifted to the whitening sky. The jungle heaved as the canopy split open, vines snapping, branches bowing beneath the sudden weight of wingbeats. Even Vesryn and Fenn had gone still, the same rigid stance gripping them all.
A roar tore through the jungle, deep as mountains grinding, the shock punching through Lykor’s chest. Light fractured above as wings swept past, trailing frost like smoke. The air shuddered under the dragon’s passage—a shape too vast to map, too real for legend, too immense for reason.
The bellow struck again, but inside Lykor’s head this time, a blow that sent frost splintering behind his eyes. Words surfaced, cold as tidewater dragging him under.
