“A Drakoryte seed,” Bobby whispered, his voice full of rare, quiet reverence.
“It looks like... well, a rock,” Sylvie noted.
“It hasn’t met its fire yet,” Arla said seriously.
“The magic happens in the resistance,” Rhavor added, his gaze fixed on the seed with a mix of awe and unease. “They’re nearly extinct now.”
“Collectors would kill for this,” Arla added dryly.
“And we’re supposed to... bake it?” Sylvie asked, her brow furrowing.
“We burn it,” Vera corrected. “We don’t melt it. We don’t crack it. We burn it until the outer shell fractures and the core decides to show itself.”
Bobby stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with manic smithing energy. “And then I yank it out at the exact heartbeat, turning it into a pure Drakoryte gem.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Sylvie noted.
Rhavor looked at her then, his gaze grounding her for a fleeting, intense second. “If we pull this off, we save the farm. We save everything.”
Sylvie laid the book open on the counter. Vera traced the lines of the notes about the Drakoryte with a shaking finger. “Step one: Place the object into open flame. Let it rest until signs of distress appear.”
“Distress?” Julian echoed, looking amused. “Does it start crying?”
Bobby gripped the seed with the tongs and slid it into the roaring belly of the oven. The stone caught the heat instantly, the surface beginning to sizzle and hiss.
“Looks plenty distressed to me,” Julian muttered.
“The shell has to weaken,” Vera said sharply, her face lit by the orange glow. “Don’t let it break. Just crack.”
Bobby leaned in, sweat beading on his forehead as he applied calculated, terrifying pressure with the tongs. A fine, spiderweb fracture appeared across the gray surface.
“There,” Vera breathed. “Back in. Now. The heat will peel it.”
Rhavor stepped in front of Sylvie, a wall of muscle and wing, shielding her from the rising intensity. She watched over the curve of his shoulder as the outer layer began to curl and peel away like charred paper, revealing something pulsing underneath.
The room went deathly silent. Sylvie felt it then—a shift in the air. A heavy, hypnotic stillness. Both Rhavor and Vera were staring into the flames, their eyes glazed, their breathing synced.
“So beautiful,” Vera whispered, her voice sounding like she was miles away. “Grandfather would have kept it. Don’t you think, Rhavor? It’s perfect.”
Rhavor didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink. He was frozen, a statue of gold and shadow.
“Rhavor?” Sylvie touched his arm. Nothing. His muscles were corded like iron, his gaze locked on the fire.
Vera suddenly recoiled, a sharp, jagged gasp tearing from her throat. She grabbed the book, scanning the margins frantically. “Oh gods,” she whispered, horror washing the color from her face. “If a dragon watches the peeling for too long... the resonance... their heart can explode.”
“Explode?!” Sylvie screamed, her stomach dropping into her shoes.
Arla lunged, catching Rhavor just as his knees started to give, but his eyes were still glued to the glowing core in the oven.
“Get it out!” Julian shouted, his usual snark replaced by pure panic.
“It needs more time!” Bobby cried, sweat stinging his eyes. “The book says wait until the peeling is finished or it’ll—”
“We’re taking it out now!” Vera ordered, her voice a whip crack.
Bobby didn’t hesitate. He thrust the tongs into the furnace and yanked the stone free. The second the seed hit the cooler air, a violent, ear-splitting crack shattered the silence of the bakery. The Drakoryte seed didn’t just break—it dissolved. It turned into a cloud of glittering, silver-gray ash that drifted to the floor like dying embers.
Rhavor blinked, the spell snapping instantly. His body sagged against Arla, his breathing ragged.
