They Journey: Book 3, Chapter 16 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 17: Twilight
The desert did not give up its secrets easily.
By midday the heat had turned the air into a wavering curtain, bending distance and distorting shapes so that the elven cavalry seemed to arrive twice — first as mirages, then as reality. Nekira shaded his eyes as the riders approached, their cloaks wrapped tight against sun and grit, their mounts stepping carefully over the wind-carved ridges of sand. Behind him, the first uncovered crate sat half-exposed like the rib cage of some buried titan — the one Tabby had led them to before everything went wrong.
Amira stood nearby, wings slightly lifted from her sides to vent heat, orange and violet scales glinting like banked embers. She had been restless since morning, pacing in slow arcs, nose testing the air as if the desert itself were whispering to her.
The elves dismounted and bowed quickly, wasting no motion.
“We came as commanded,” their captain said. “You said the crest was real.”
Nekira brushed sand from the crate lid and revealed it again: the unmistakable royal mark burned deep into the wood — King Aragorn’s seal, preserved by dryness and time.
A murmur passed through the riders.
“That king has been dead a century,” one said quietly.
“Dead kings still leave problems,” Nekira replied. “Help me find the rest of them.”
They spread out in a widening grid, using spear shafts and short shovels, probing for buried edges. The work was brutal. Sand slid back into every hole as fast as it was cleared. Twice they had to start over when shallow trenches collapsed. Armour grew hot enough to sting through cloth wraps. Water skins were rationed to mouthfuls.
The second crate announced itself with a hollow knock beneath a spear tip.
Everyone converged. Digging became faster, then careful, then slow again as the outline emerged — longer than the first, reinforced at the corners with blackened metal. When they levered it free, it took six elves and a rope harness looped around Amira’s foreleg to drag it onto firmer ground.
The lid came off with a groan of old wood.
Inside lay fitted racks of equipment — not random stores but commissioned pieces. Armour plates curved to fit a dragon’s neck and chest contours. Jointed wing guards. Reinforced riding saddles with locking rings and grip rails. Every piece dyed a deep crimson that had not faded despite the years.
No one spoke for several breaths.
“Not decorative,” said the captain. “Functional.”
“Custom,” Nekira added. “Made for someone specific.”
Amira leaned close, nostrils flaring, then pulled back with a low uncertain rumble. Not rejection. Not approval. Recognition without context.
They marked the find and resumed the search.
The third crate nearly killed the momentum — and one of the diggers.
A shout cut through the wind as the sand shelf collapsed under an elf’s boots. He dropped to his hip and slid fast into a sink pocket, one leg plunging deep. Two others lunged and caught his arms before he went under. The sand there behaved like liquid grain, flowing instead of piling. Ropes came out. Weight was redistributed. Orders sharpened. No more standing near cut edges.
It took an hour to stabilise the pit before they could continue.
When they uncovered the crate beneath that unstable patch, it was bound in doubled chain and sealed in pitch. The smell rose sharp and bitter as they cracked it open. Inside lay another armour set — this one midnight blue with silver inlay, etched with flowing line-work that suggested wind currents and cloud arcs. Alongside it rested bundled lances and compact bolt throwers designed to mount to a saddle frame.
“Three dragons outfitted,” the captain said slowly. “Not ceremonial. War-ready.”
“Or expecting war,” Nekira said.
The wind shifted.
Amira lifted her head abruptly and turned toward a low dune ridge they had not yet searched. Her pupils narrowed to slits. She moved without waiting — three quick strides, then a fourth that sprayed sand behind her claws.
Nekira followed.
“This one,” he called back. “Here.”
The final dig site fought them from the start. The sand was packed harder, mixed with mineral crust, as if deliberately compressed. Tools scraped instead of sliced. The outline that emerged was smaller than the others — and shaped differently. No corner bands. No crest burned into the lid. No chain.
They uncovered it in near silence.
Up close, the wood looked wax-treated, sealed against moisture and time. Smooth. Protective rather than logistical.
One of the younger elves stepped forward carefully, hands steady, eyes wide. He meant only to secure the egg for transport.
Amira’s reaction was immediate.
Her wings shot outward, blotting the sun. A low, resonant vibration rose from her chest — not threat, not anger, but warning. The elf froze mid-step, then slowly withdrew, bowing his head.
Nekira stepped in beside her, placing his palm against her side. Her scales were hot, but beneath the warmth he felt something he had never sensed: a mixture of awe, tension, and… raw, untamed excitement.
'What is it?' he sent in his mind.
'He is male,' Amira responded.
The words struck him. 'Male?'
'Yes,' she continued, her voice in his mind carrying emotion he had rarely felt from her before. 'I am female. Elqiana is female.'
Nekira’s chest tightened. He realised — for the first time — the significance. Only two dragons they had ever encountered were female. This male… this was the first chance at continuation. Renewal. Survival.
Amira’s tail swept the sand once, a slow, deliberate arc. Her body hummed with restrained excitement. 'If he lives… our kind does not end with us. Elqiana and I… we can breed. We can ensure dragons continue.'
The revelation hit Nekira in layers — awe, urgency, responsibility. He could feel her joy, tempered with protective instinct.
"We have to move him carefully," he whispered aloud.
She inclined her head in agreement, but her body stayed tightly positioned between the crate and the elves.
Behind them, the captain approached cautiously. “The armour is secured. We can build a suspension sled for the egg. It will ride smoother than a horse.”
Nekira glanced at the egg, then at the sealed crates. An idea sparked. Faster. Safer. More controlled.
Amira… Elqiana… you can carry everything.
Amira’s head tilted, a flicker of curiosity and understanding passing across her eyes. She exhaled a long, shivering breath — not fear, not warning — excitement. She understood immediately. With her and Elqiana, they could transport the egg and crates safely over the desert in one flight, bypassing collapse, sand damage, and the slow struggle of manpower.
'And… I will see Tarasque. I will see Elqiana again,' Nekira thought, feeling anticipation, nervous, and responsibility coil together.
Amira lowered her wings slightly, but she remained near the egg. Her snout hovered just above the shell, breath warming it.
'He was buried like treasure,' she sent to Nekira. 'But he is not treasure. He is future.'
Nekira nodded. We will protect him. We will move carefully. And the dragons will survive.
The desert wind had softened to a dry whisper, but Nekira’s mind raced. The crates were secured, Amira had lowered her wings, yet one question burned brighter than the sun above: how to move them quickly and safely?
He knelt in the sand and set the copper bowl before him. The metal gleamed, catching the late light of day. A faint tremor ran through him as he whispered the words, “akvo,” and water arced from the desert air, pooling smoothly into the bowl. The surface shimmered, clear and still, and Nekira’s reflection wavered with the currents of magic twisting beneath it.
He looked into the water and whispered, “Gabija. The water rippled outward, contracting into a window of light. Across the miles, the throne room of Queen Gabija appeared — tall, golden light spilling across the carved floors, the queen herself seated with Snowy curled on her lap, Tunstall and the guards alert but waiting.
“Your Majesty,” Nekira said, voice calm though his heart hammered, “the desert cache has been located. Three large crates, each bearing King Aragorn’s crest, fully intact. We’ve secured them for transport. The elves are ready.”
Gabija’s eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept the scene. “And the contents?”
“Armour, weapons, and equipment built for dragons,” Nekira replied, carefully omitting the truth of the egg. “Nothing perishable. They are ready to travel.”
“Very well,” Gabija said, voice softening. “I will ask Tara and Elqiana if they can assist. They may be to help move the crates safely and quickly.”
Nekira inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Across the desert, the horizon remained empty, sun glaring down, rippling heat turning the dunes into a mirage. Days would pass before the dragons and rider could cover the distance. Even creatures of such power needed endurance and caution.
Amira’s ears twitched, her tail sweeping sand nervously, sensing the urgency but forced to wait. Nekira placed a hand on her flank. They’re on their way. Soon.
Over the next two days, the desert sun beat down relentlessly. Nekira and the elves shifted crates, repaired harnesses, and marked the paths. The sand threatened to bury their work each evening, relentless in its slow, creeping movement. Amira rested during the heat of the day, venturing only when it cooled, but every shimmer on the horizon sharpened her focus. She could sense it — Elqiana and her rider, Tara, were coming as fast as possible.
On the third day, distant shapes appeared, growing larger with every heartbeat. Nekira squinted, shielding his eyes. Two figures approached across the dunes: one opal-white with scales glinting in the sun, the other perched atop her back, moving with the ease and precision of a practiced rider. Tara, her eyes bright, guided Elqiana’s flight as they raced across the desert expanse.
Nekira felt his chest tighten. They know something is urgent.
Amira’s tail flicked once, a twitch of anticipation. She lowered her head, ready to guide and protect.
When they landed, the ground trembled lightly beneath Elqiana’s weight. Tara slid from the saddle, feet touching the sand. Her eyes met Nekira’s immediately, recognition sparking, mingled with something heavier — longing, restrained joy, and the tension of unspoken feelings.
Nekira instinctively stepped forward. Tara mirrored him. Their arms rose almost in unison, the world narrowing to the hope of touch — but both hesitated, stepping slightly aside, awkwardly smiling.
Amira let out a soft, impatient rumble and nudged Nekira forward with her snout, a gentle push that left no room for hesitation.
Elqiana, equally impatient, brushed one wing against Tara, shifting her lightly toward Nekira, the movement subtle but insistent.
The two humans froze for half a heartbeat… and then, guided by the dragons’ quiet insistence, they closed the distance, letting their embrace settle naturally. Arms wrapped around each other, hesitant at first, then slowly with growing comfort, holding on tightly as if the desert wind itself could sweep them away.
“It’s… been too long,” Tara whispered, her voice catching slightly.
“Yes,” Nekira replied, pressing a hand against her back, feeling the steady warmth beneath her armour. “Too long, and… complicated.”
She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, searching. “I don’t know how to… do this… with… everything we know.”
He sighed, voice low. “I know. Neither do I.”
A long silence fell between them, filled with desert wind and the soft breathing of dragons. Then Tara smiled, small, tentative, but genuine.
“We have to focus,” she said finally. “The crates, Amira, Elqiana… we have work to do.”
Nekira nodded, though his heart still thudded loudly. We’ll figure the rest out later, he thought, taking comfort in the closeness they had reclaimed, awkward and tangled as it was.
The crates were secured, the desert sun dipping toward the horizon, and Amira’s gaze never left the final crate. Her ears twitched, her tail flicked, and her body hummed with quiet tension. Slowly, she stepped closer to Elqiana, nudging the opal-white dragon gently with a foreleg, guiding her toward the blue male dragon egg.
Elqiana paused, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes widening as her gaze met the shimmering surface of the egg. At first, it was subtle — a ripple in her scales, the faint quiver of excitement in her limbs. Then, as recognition dawned, the reactions escalated: she bounced lightly on her paws, wings fluttering and flaring outward, causing a small gust that nearly sent one of the elves stumbling back in surprise.
Tarasque, standing close by, felt it immediately — the surge of exhilaration, amplified through their rider-dragon bond. Her chest tightened, heart thudding, but she couldn’t yet understand why Elqiana’s joy was so intense.
The excitement built further: Elqiana ruffled her scales in a full-body shiver, wings flaring wider, nostrils flaring, tail sweeping back and forth like a pendulum. Then — whap! — her tail lashed too far, striking one of the crates. The impact dented the wood and sent a few small items tumbling inside.
“Elqi!” Tarasque shouted, hurrying forward, placing herself between her dragon and the crate. Her hands brushed along Elqiana’s neck, trying to calm her without dampening the joy. “Easy, girl… calm down! Focus!”
Elqiana let out a low, melodic rumble, still trembling with excitement, eyes locked on the male egg. She lowered her tail slightly but stayed quivering, the energy of joy and anticipation radiating from her in waves.
Tarasque’s own emotions surged tenfold through their bond — she felt Elqiana’s joy, awe, and exhilaration as if it were her own heartbeat. Her mind raced.
Nekira, watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape despite the tension. “It’s a male,” he said softly, seeing Tara’s sudden realisation.
Tara’s eyes widened. “Of course… that’s why she’s like this!” The implications hit her all at once. “And… I found a red female egg a couple of weeks ago.”
Nekira blinked, momentarily stunned, then nodded slowly. The pieces fell into place — a male and a female, the first step toward survival and renewal.
Amira flicked her tail, her amber eyes glinting knowingly, acknowledging the moment as the dragons’ energy settled, yet leaving the desert charged with anticipation.
The male dragon egg gleamed softly in the crate, a symbol of hope and survival, while the playful, comical energy of Elqiana reminded them all that even in serious moments, dragons were creatures of boundless spirit.
The desert shimmered under the midday sun, heat rising in waves from the sand. Nekira adjusted the makeshift sling tied securely around his shoulders and chest, the blue male dragon egg cradled snugly within the folds of his cloak. Leather strips and chains kept it immobile against him, but even so, he could feel its weight pressing into him, alive with potential.
Amira crouched, wings tucked but ready, eyes fixed on the crates. Elqiana flared her wings experimentally, excitement bubbling beneath her scales, tail twitching occasionally in subtle spasms of anticipation. Tarasque climbed atop her dragon carefully, hands brushing Elqiana’s neck, sending gentle signals to keep her focused, even as the opal-white dragon’s eagerness hummed through their bond.
“Ready?” Nekira asked, voice tight with tension.
Tarasque nodded, jaw set. “Focus. We lift carefully, slow and steady. Elqiana, Amira — remember your spacing.”
With a mighty sweep of wings, Amira lifted her crate into the air, the sand below trembling as she rose. Elqiana followed, her crate in her claws, lifting with precision but bouncing slightly with her suppressed excitement. Her tail flicked too far once, hitting a small dune and sending sand spilling over the elves on the ground. One of them yelped but managed to steady the suspension sled they had built, holding the last crate carefully as it began to glide over the sand, pulled by ropes and pulleys.
“Easy, girl!” Tarasque called, leaning close to Elqiana’s neck. “Keep it steady!”
Elqiana rumbled low, flaring her wings but easing her tail slightly, still vibrating with quiet bursts of energy. Her eyes, wide and shimmering, never left the crates in her claws, yet they flicked frequently to the blue male egg strapped to Nekira’s chest. She could feel the new life, and the significance of what it meant.
Nekira’s grip tightened instinctively on the sling, leather strips creaking under tension. His heart raced not just from the flight, but from the weight of the responsibility — if the egg fell, if a crate slipped, it could all be lost. Beside him, Tarasque kept her eyes on the crates, on Elqiana, and on Nekira, sensing every emotion and surge through their shared bond.
The first leg of the flight was smooth, the wind carrying the dragons in long, powerful sweeps over the desert. Yet the heat shimmered, creating mirages, and the shifting dunes made precise navigation tricky. Small gusts buffeted Elqiana’s wings, and she flared them slightly, bouncing with restrained excitement, causing her crate to tilt — sand spilling lightly from its edges.
“Hold it!” Tarasque barked. Elqiana steadied, shaking her wings once in relief, tail flicking instinctively. Amira kept her crate steady with unyielding focus, her amber eyes scanning the horizon.
As they rose higher to clear a sudden ridge, Nekira adjusted the sling, pressing the egg closer to his chest. Its warmth throbbed subtly through the layers of cloth — alive, a heartbeat of potential. He glanced at Tarasque, who nodded sharply, signalling him to remain steady and trust the dragons’ strength.
For a moment, Elqiana’s excitement spilled over again — a small hop, a flap of her wings, tail swishing, sending a puff of sand up from the dunes below. She let out a low, musical trill, eyes glittering, wings vibrating in subtle bursts. Tarasque felt the thrill radiating through her chest, amplified through the bond, and smiled despite the tension.
Amira flicked her tail in a subtle, reassuring gesture, letting Elqiana know she had support. The two dragons rose together, side by side, carrying their precious loads, sand and wind whipping around them. The elves on the suspension sled followed as best they could, the ropes taut and groaning but holding fast under their careful guidance.
Nekira exhaled, heart thudding. Keep it steady. Just a little longer. He could feel Tarasque beside him, focused and steady, yet he could also feel the thrill and hope radiating from her as strongly as from Elqiana.
The desert stretched endlessly ahead, sun dipping slowly, turning the dunes to gold and bronze. Each beat of wings, each careful adjustment, brought them closer to safety — to Caa Alora. And through it all, the male dragon egg pressed to Nekira’s chest, a quiet heartbeat of hope amid the roaring wind and the chaos of flight.
The desert began to thin in colour long before it surrendered. Gold faded to pale dust, dust gave way to scrub, and scrub darkened into the first scattered trees — twisted, stubborn things clinging to the edge of the forest that cradled Caa Alora.
From above, the change looked gentle.
From within the wind, carrying a crate in her claws, it was anything but.
Amira angled her wings, adjusting for the rising air currents that always formed where hot desert met cooler woodland. The shift was subtle but treacherous — thermals lifting unpredictably, crosswinds tugging at the weight beneath her. She tightened her grip on the crate, talons biting into wood reinforced centuries ago with King Aragorn’s sigill burned deep into its grain.
Beside her, Elqiana shimmered like moonlight dropped into daylight. The opal-white dragon’s wings caught the changing air beautifully — perhaps too beautifully. She rode the currents with a kind of delighted curiosity, testing them, learning them mid-flight. Her tail swished once, twice, just a little too playfully.
“Steady,” Tarasque called, leaning forward, her hands firm along Elqiana’s neck. Through the bond she felt everything — the thrill of nearing home, the bubbling anticipation of the male egg strapped to Nekira’s chest, the echo of the red female egg she herself had found weeks ago.
It was like trying to steer a thundercloud that had just discovered fireworks.
Below and slightly behind, the elves strained against the suspension sledge, ropes groaning as the final crate skimmed above sand and scrub. Nekira flew low enough to remain near them, the sling across his chest pulled tight. The blue male egg pressed warmly against him, each movement of his body reminding him how fragile hope could be.
He glanced upward as the tree line thickened ahead.
“Tarasque,” he called over the wind. “We’ll need altitude. The canopy will be dense.”
She nodded sharply. “Up! Both of you — climb before the forest thickens!”
Amira responded first, powerful wings driving downward, lifting her crate higher with disciplined strength. Elqiana followed half a heartbeat later — but in that half-beat, she caught a new thermal, unexpected and exhilarating. She rose faster than intended, her crate swinging slightly.
Tarasque felt the surge before she saw it. “Easy—”
Too late.
The first branches brushed the underside of Elqiana’s crate with a heavy rustling scrape. Leaves exploded upward in a flurry of green and gold. A second later Amira’s crate clipped the top canopy of a towering oak, the reinforced wood slamming into branches thick as spears. Twigs snapped. Birds scattered in alarm.
The forest answered.
A deep, resonant hum rolled through the air — not sound exactly, but pressure. Awareness. Ancient and vast.
'Be mindful,' a voice said — not spoken, but placed gently and firmly inside every mind present. 'You trespass upon living roofs.'
The words were neither angry nor kind. They were simply enormous.
Nekira felt the egg warm sharply against his chest as if reacting to the presence. His breath caught. He knew that voice.
The Forest Guardian.
Around them, the canopy seemed to shift. Branches flexed not with wind but with intention. Leaves trembled in layered waves.
Tarasque straightened in the saddle, heart pounding. Through Elqiana she felt a flash of embarrassment — a sheepish, startled flutter that would have been comical if they weren’t suspended dozens of metres above an ancient forest with a crate full of dragon relics dangling beneath them.
“We mean no harm,” Tara projected, her mind steadying through the bond. “We carry what was lost. We return what must be protected.”
Elqiana, for once, stilled completely. Not a twitch. Not a tail flick. She hovered with surprising precision, wings beating in slow, controlled arcs.
Amira dipped her head respectfully mid-air — a feat that required extraordinary balance. Her crate steadied.
The presence lingered, brushing through their thoughts like wind through leaves.
'Then fly with care,' the Guardian replied. 'Life grows here in ways you do not see.'
The pressure eased. The forest resumed its natural rustle, though it felt… attentive.
Tara exhaled slowly. “Higher,” she murmured.
They climbed.
This time both dragons measured their ascent carefully, adjusting for the canopy’s true height. Elqiana’s earlier exuberance returned, but in smaller bursts — a little shimmy of scales, a restrained flick of tail that she caught halfway through when Tarasque tightened her legs.
Tara felt her dragon’s excitement about the male egg spike again as Nekira drew nearer in formation.
She glanced down at him. “How is it?”
“Warm,” he answered. “Very warm.”
Their eyes met — wind, distance, history between them. Complicated affection threaded through urgency.
She remembered telling him about the red female egg. He remembered nodding, stunned and hopeful all at once.
A sudden gust slammed sideways as the forest generated its own weather. Elqiana wobbled, crate tilting dangerously.
Tarasque reacted instantly. “Shift right! Counter the wind!”
Nekira adjusted his own flight path to buffer the gust, positioning himself where Elqiana could draft off him slightly. The sling creaked, leather biting into his shoulders as he shielded the egg with his body.
Amira angled across the wind with calculated force, creating a stabilising airflow. The two dragons moved in practiced tandem now — less excitement, more discipline.
Elqiana corrected, claws tightening. The crate steadied.
Tarasque felt the rush of adrenaline, the echo of Elqiana’s near-miss amplifying her own heartbeat. She swallowed hard, focusing. “We’re close,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
Through a break in the treetops, the distant shimmer of Caa Alora emerged — hidden spires woven into living trunks, golden light threaded between ancient branches.
Home.
But not safe yet.
The forest canopy rose again ahead, thicker and taller than before. This time they judged the height correctly, climbing in synchronised rhythm — Amira steady as stone, Elqiana vibrating with contained joy, Tarasque and Nekira moving like a single thought stretched between them.
Below, the elves’ suspension sledge skimmed just above the treetops as forest pathways subtly opened to accommodate them — a quiet concession from the Guardian.
The wind roared. Leaves spun upward in spirals.
Nekira pressed his palm briefly against the egg through the sling.
“Almost there,” he whispered.
The canopy fell away behind them and Caa Alora opened beneath the dragons like a secret exhale of the forest itself. Living towers rose between ancient trunks. Platforms curved organically from bark and branch. The training grounds lay at the heart of it all — a wide, carefully maintained clearing where grass grew short and the earth was packed firm by centuries of claws and boots
Amira descended in a wide, disciplined spiral, adjusting for the forest’s unpredictable lift. The crate in her talons did not sway. Nekira remained mounted behind her shoulders, one arm braced around the sling across his chest, the other gripping the harness strap. The blue male egg rested against him, wrapped in his cloak, secured with leather lashings and light chain. Every movement he made accounted for its weight.
They landed as one creature.
Amira’s claws struck earth. The impact rolled outward but stopped where she willed it to. Elves were already in position beneath the crate — padded braces lifted, ropes tensioned. She released only when she felt the transfer of weight stabilise.
Nekira slid down her side immediately after, boots touching the ground in the same motion that his hand pressed instinctively against the sling.
Still warm.
Still steady.
Elqiana followed — faster.
She overshot her descent by a fraction, corrected mid-air with a sharp wing adjustment, and landed in a lighter, more elastic motion. The crate in her talons dipped slightly as she touched down.
And then the excitement broke loose.
Her scales rippled in a full-body ruffle. Wings half-flared. Tail lifting in a broad arc—
“Careful—” Tarasque began, already sliding down.
Too late.
The tail struck the edge of the crate with a sharp crack. Not catastrophic, but loud enough to split one reinforced seam.
Tara hit the ground and moved to Elqiana’s head at once, hands on her jaw, forehead nearly touching scale.
Through the bond the emotion was enormous — awe, triumph, anticipation. The male egg’s presence thrummed in Elqiana’s awareness like a beacon.
“Elqiana,” Tara said quietly but firmly. “Center yourself.”
The dragon gave a small, almost sheepish trill and lowered her head, wings folding in with visible effort. The tail stopped mid-sway.
Across the clearing, Amira observed with steady, amber-eyed composure. Protective, grounded, unmoved by spectacle. She stepped subtly nearer to Nekira without being asked.
The training grounds settled into order with practiced efficiency. Elves moved around the crates, reinforcing the seam Elqiana had cracked, checking lashings, speaking in low, controlled tones. The air smelled of sun-warmed grass and resin.
Queen Gabija stopped before Nekira.
Up close, the sling across his chest was impossible to ignore.
He bowed his head slightly. Amira stood just behind him, vast and steady, her presence like a wall of living flame held in check.
“We secured the cache, Your Majesty,” Nekira said evenly. Then he drew a breath and chose not to circle the truth. “And we found a dragon egg.”
Gabija’s gaze sharpened, but her face remained composed.
“What kind?” she asked.
Nekira met her eyes. “Male.”
The word landed.
For a fraction of a second — a rare, human fraction — Gabija’s composure cracked. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened, not theatrically, but unmistakably. Surprise. Genuine and unguarded.
Around them, the training grounds seemed to still.
Then, like a door closing softly but firmly, her expression reset. Authority returned to her posture, her voice smoothing into command.
“A male,” she repeated quietly, as if weighing it against the history of her people.
Her gaze flicked briefly to Amira, then to Elqiana, who vibrated beside Tarasque with barely contained energy.
Gabija straightened. “Bring it,” she said. “Both of you. Follow me.”
She turned without waiting for acknowledgment, her guards falling into step.
Nekira adjusted the sling instinctively and fell in beside Tarasque. Amira and Elqiana walked behind them, claws soft on the earth, heads lowered just enough to move beneath the living arches of the forested city.
“Where are we going?” Nekira murmured under his breath.
Tarasque leaned closer, voice barely above the rustle of leaves. “To Sharkie.”
He glanced at her.
She gave the smallest smile. “That’s the name of the dragon in the red egg.”
For a moment, Nekira simply absorbed that — the reality of it, the simplicity. Not prophecy. Not legend. Just a name. A future given something personal.
Behind them, Elqiana felt the shift in conversation through the bond. Her excitement flared again, but this time it was warmer, more focused. Amira responded with a low, grounding hum, steadying the emotional current between them.
As they reached the edge of the inner grounds, both dragons hesitated — then, without needing to speak, they understood each other.
Amira crouched.
Elqiana mirrored her.
With two powerful beats of wings, they rose into the canopy-filtered sky above Caa Alora, climbing into open air where the forest thinned and the thermals lifted clean.
They did not leave the city.
They circled above it.
Hunting patterns, but slower. Controlled. Private.
Up there, away from elven ears and human questions, dragon minds brushed together freely.
Amira’s thoughts were measured, protective, anchored in responsibility.
Elqiana’s were bright, electric, racing ahead into possibilities.
Below, Gabija continued toward the inner sanctum where the red egg rested, and two riders walked behind her carrying the weight of something that had not existed in living memory.
Above them, the dragons spoke in currents of instinct and memory older than any throne — circling, watching, considering what renewal might demand of them all.
Chapter 17: Twilight
The desert did not give up its secrets easily.
By midday the heat had turned the air into a wavering curtain, bending distance and distorting shapes so that the elven cavalry seemed to arrive twice — first as mirages, then as reality. Nekira shaded his eyes as the riders approached, their cloaks wrapped tight against sun and grit, their mounts stepping carefully over the wind-carved ridges of sand. Behind him, the first uncovered crate sat half-exposed like the rib cage of some buried titan — the one Tabby had led them to before everything went wrong.
Amira stood nearby, wings slightly lifted from her sides to vent heat, orange and violet scales glinting like banked embers. She had been restless since morning, pacing in slow arcs, nose testing the air as if the desert itself were whispering to her.
The elves dismounted and bowed quickly, wasting no motion.
“We came as commanded,” their captain said. “You said the crest was real.”
Nekira brushed sand from the crate lid and revealed it again: the unmistakable royal mark burned deep into the wood — King Aragorn’s seal, preserved by dryness and time.
A murmur passed through the riders.
“That king has been dead a century,” one said quietly.
“Dead kings still leave problems,” Nekira replied. “Help me find the rest of them.”
They spread out in a widening grid, using spear shafts and short shovels, probing for buried edges. The work was brutal. Sand slid back into every hole as fast as it was cleared. Twice they had to start over when shallow trenches collapsed. Armour grew hot enough to sting through cloth wraps. Water skins were rationed to mouthfuls.
The second crate announced itself with a hollow knock beneath a spear tip.
Everyone converged. Digging became faster, then careful, then slow again as the outline emerged — longer than the first, reinforced at the corners with blackened metal. When they levered it free, it took six elves and a rope harness looped around Amira’s foreleg to drag it onto firmer ground.
The lid came off with a groan of old wood.
Inside lay fitted racks of equipment — not random stores but commissioned pieces. Armour plates curved to fit a dragon’s neck and chest contours. Jointed wing guards. Reinforced riding saddles with locking rings and grip rails. Every piece dyed a deep crimson that had not faded despite the years.
No one spoke for several breaths.
“Not decorative,” said the captain. “Functional.”
“Custom,” Nekira added. “Made for someone specific.”
Amira leaned close, nostrils flaring, then pulled back with a low uncertain rumble. Not rejection. Not approval. Recognition without context.
They marked the find and resumed the search.
The third crate nearly killed the momentum — and one of the diggers.
A shout cut through the wind as the sand shelf collapsed under an elf’s boots. He dropped to his hip and slid fast into a sink pocket, one leg plunging deep. Two others lunged and caught his arms before he went under. The sand there behaved like liquid grain, flowing instead of piling. Ropes came out. Weight was redistributed. Orders sharpened. No more standing near cut edges.
It took an hour to stabilise the pit before they could continue.
When they uncovered the crate beneath that unstable patch, it was bound in doubled chain and sealed in pitch. The smell rose sharp and bitter as they cracked it open. Inside lay another armour set — this one midnight blue with silver inlay, etched with flowing line-work that suggested wind currents and cloud arcs. Alongside it rested bundled lances and compact bolt throwers designed to mount to a saddle frame.
“Three dragons outfitted,” the captain said slowly. “Not ceremonial. War-ready.”
“Or expecting war,” Nekira said.
The wind shifted.
Amira lifted her head abruptly and turned toward a low dune ridge they had not yet searched. Her pupils narrowed to slits. She moved without waiting — three quick strides, then a fourth that sprayed sand behind her claws.
Nekira followed.
“This one,” he called back. “Here.”
The final dig site fought them from the start. The sand was packed harder, mixed with mineral crust, as if deliberately compressed. Tools scraped instead of sliced. The outline that emerged was smaller than the others — and shaped differently. No corner bands. No crest burned into the lid. No chain.
They uncovered it in near silence.
Up close, the wood looked wax-treated, sealed against moisture and time. Smooth. Protective rather than logistical.
One of the younger elves stepped forward carefully, hands steady, eyes wide. He meant only to secure the egg for transport.
Amira’s reaction was immediate.
Her wings shot outward, blotting the sun. A low, resonant vibration rose from her chest — not threat, not anger, but warning. The elf froze mid-step, then slowly withdrew, bowing his head.
Nekira stepped in beside her, placing his palm against her side. Her scales were hot, but beneath the warmth he felt something he had never sensed: a mixture of awe, tension, and… raw, untamed excitement.
'What is it?' he sent in his mind.
'He is male,' Amira responded.
The words struck him. 'Male?'
'Yes,' she continued, her voice in his mind carrying emotion he had rarely felt from her before. 'I am female. Elqiana is female.'
Nekira’s chest tightened. He realised — for the first time — the significance. Only two dragons they had ever encountered were female. This male… this was the first chance at continuation. Renewal. Survival.
Amira’s tail swept the sand once, a slow, deliberate arc. Her body hummed with restrained excitement. 'If he lives… our kind does not end with us. Elqiana and I… we can breed. We can ensure dragons continue.'
The revelation hit Nekira in layers — awe, urgency, responsibility. He could feel her joy, tempered with protective instinct.
"We have to move him carefully," he whispered aloud.
She inclined her head in agreement, but her body stayed tightly positioned between the crate and the elves.
Behind them, the captain approached cautiously. “The armour is secured. We can build a suspension sled for the egg. It will ride smoother than a horse.”
Nekira glanced at the egg, then at the sealed crates. An idea sparked. Faster. Safer. More controlled.
Amira… Elqiana… you can carry everything.
Amira’s head tilted, a flicker of curiosity and understanding passing across her eyes. She exhaled a long, shivering breath — not fear, not warning — excitement. She understood immediately. With her and Elqiana, they could transport the egg and crates safely over the desert in one flight, bypassing collapse, sand damage, and the slow struggle of manpower.
'And… I will see Tarasque. I will see Elqiana again,' Nekira thought, feeling anticipation, nervous, and responsibility coil together.
Amira lowered her wings slightly, but she remained near the egg. Her snout hovered just above the shell, breath warming it.
'He was buried like treasure,' she sent to Nekira. 'But he is not treasure. He is future.'
Nekira nodded. We will protect him. We will move carefully. And the dragons will survive.
The desert wind had softened to a dry whisper, but Nekira’s mind raced. The crates were secured, Amira had lowered her wings, yet one question burned brighter than the sun above: how to move them quickly and safely?
He knelt in the sand and set the copper bowl before him. The metal gleamed, catching the late light of day. A faint tremor ran through him as he whispered the words, “akvo,” and water arced from the desert air, pooling smoothly into the bowl. The surface shimmered, clear and still, and Nekira’s reflection wavered with the currents of magic twisting beneath it.
He looked into the water and whispered, “Gabija. The water rippled outward, contracting into a window of light. Across the miles, the throne room of Queen Gabija appeared — tall, golden light spilling across the carved floors, the queen herself seated with Snowy curled on her lap, Tunstall and the guards alert but waiting.
“Your Majesty,” Nekira said, voice calm though his heart hammered, “the desert cache has been located. Three large crates, each bearing King Aragorn’s crest, fully intact. We’ve secured them for transport. The elves are ready.”
Gabija’s eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept the scene. “And the contents?”
“Armour, weapons, and equipment built for dragons,” Nekira replied, carefully omitting the truth of the egg. “Nothing perishable. They are ready to travel.”
“Very well,” Gabija said, voice softening. “I will ask Tara and Elqiana if they can assist. They may be to help move the crates safely and quickly.”
Nekira inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Across the desert, the horizon remained empty, sun glaring down, rippling heat turning the dunes into a mirage. Days would pass before the dragons and rider could cover the distance. Even creatures of such power needed endurance and caution.
Amira’s ears twitched, her tail sweeping sand nervously, sensing the urgency but forced to wait. Nekira placed a hand on her flank. They’re on their way. Soon.
Over the next two days, the desert sun beat down relentlessly. Nekira and the elves shifted crates, repaired harnesses, and marked the paths. The sand threatened to bury their work each evening, relentless in its slow, creeping movement. Amira rested during the heat of the day, venturing only when it cooled, but every shimmer on the horizon sharpened her focus. She could sense it — Elqiana and her rider, Tara, were coming as fast as possible.
On the third day, distant shapes appeared, growing larger with every heartbeat. Nekira squinted, shielding his eyes. Two figures approached across the dunes: one opal-white with scales glinting in the sun, the other perched atop her back, moving with the ease and precision of a practiced rider. Tara, her eyes bright, guided Elqiana’s flight as they raced across the desert expanse.
Nekira felt his chest tighten. They know something is urgent.
Amira’s tail flicked once, a twitch of anticipation. She lowered her head, ready to guide and protect.
When they landed, the ground trembled lightly beneath Elqiana’s weight. Tara slid from the saddle, feet touching the sand. Her eyes met Nekira’s immediately, recognition sparking, mingled with something heavier — longing, restrained joy, and the tension of unspoken feelings.
Nekira instinctively stepped forward. Tara mirrored him. Their arms rose almost in unison, the world narrowing to the hope of touch — but both hesitated, stepping slightly aside, awkwardly smiling.
Amira let out a soft, impatient rumble and nudged Nekira forward with her snout, a gentle push that left no room for hesitation.
Elqiana, equally impatient, brushed one wing against Tara, shifting her lightly toward Nekira, the movement subtle but insistent.
The two humans froze for half a heartbeat… and then, guided by the dragons’ quiet insistence, they closed the distance, letting their embrace settle naturally. Arms wrapped around each other, hesitant at first, then slowly with growing comfort, holding on tightly as if the desert wind itself could sweep them away.
“It’s… been too long,” Tara whispered, her voice catching slightly.
“Yes,” Nekira replied, pressing a hand against her back, feeling the steady warmth beneath her armour. “Too long, and… complicated.”
She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, searching. “I don’t know how to… do this… with… everything we know.”
He sighed, voice low. “I know. Neither do I.”
A long silence fell between them, filled with desert wind and the soft breathing of dragons. Then Tara smiled, small, tentative, but genuine.
“We have to focus,” she said finally. “The crates, Amira, Elqiana… we have work to do.”
Nekira nodded, though his heart still thudded loudly. We’ll figure the rest out later, he thought, taking comfort in the closeness they had reclaimed, awkward and tangled as it was.
The crates were secured, the desert sun dipping toward the horizon, and Amira’s gaze never left the final crate. Her ears twitched, her tail flicked, and her body hummed with quiet tension. Slowly, she stepped closer to Elqiana, nudging the opal-white dragon gently with a foreleg, guiding her toward the blue male dragon egg.
Elqiana paused, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes widening as her gaze met the shimmering surface of the egg. At first, it was subtle — a ripple in her scales, the faint quiver of excitement in her limbs. Then, as recognition dawned, the reactions escalated: she bounced lightly on her paws, wings fluttering and flaring outward, causing a small gust that nearly sent one of the elves stumbling back in surprise.
Tarasque, standing close by, felt it immediately — the surge of exhilaration, amplified through their rider-dragon bond. Her chest tightened, heart thudding, but she couldn’t yet understand why Elqiana’s joy was so intense.
The excitement built further: Elqiana ruffled her scales in a full-body shiver, wings flaring wider, nostrils flaring, tail sweeping back and forth like a pendulum. Then — whap! — her tail lashed too far, striking one of the crates. The impact dented the wood and sent a few small items tumbling inside.
“Elqi!” Tarasque shouted, hurrying forward, placing herself between her dragon and the crate. Her hands brushed along Elqiana’s neck, trying to calm her without dampening the joy. “Easy, girl… calm down! Focus!”
Elqiana let out a low, melodic rumble, still trembling with excitement, eyes locked on the male egg. She lowered her tail slightly but stayed quivering, the energy of joy and anticipation radiating from her in waves.
Tarasque’s own emotions surged tenfold through their bond — she felt Elqiana’s joy, awe, and exhilaration as if it were her own heartbeat. Her mind raced.
Nekira, watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape despite the tension. “It’s a male,” he said softly, seeing Tara’s sudden realisation.
Tara’s eyes widened. “Of course… that’s why she’s like this!” The implications hit her all at once. “And… I found a red female egg a couple of weeks ago.”
Nekira blinked, momentarily stunned, then nodded slowly. The pieces fell into place — a male and a female, the first step toward survival and renewal.
Amira flicked her tail, her amber eyes glinting knowingly, acknowledging the moment as the dragons’ energy settled, yet leaving the desert charged with anticipation.
The male dragon egg gleamed softly in the crate, a symbol of hope and survival, while the playful, comical energy of Elqiana reminded them all that even in serious moments, dragons were creatures of boundless spirit.
The desert shimmered under the midday sun, heat rising in waves from the sand. Nekira adjusted the makeshift sling tied securely around his shoulders and chest, the blue male dragon egg cradled snugly within the folds of his cloak. Leather strips and chains kept it immobile against him, but even so, he could feel its weight pressing into him, alive with potential.
Amira crouched, wings tucked but ready, eyes fixed on the crates. Elqiana flared her wings experimentally, excitement bubbling beneath her scales, tail twitching occasionally in subtle spasms of anticipation. Tarasque climbed atop her dragon carefully, hands brushing Elqiana’s neck, sending gentle signals to keep her focused, even as the opal-white dragon’s eagerness hummed through their bond.
“Ready?” Nekira asked, voice tight with tension.
Tarasque nodded, jaw set. “Focus. We lift carefully, slow and steady. Elqiana, Amira — remember your spacing.”
With a mighty sweep of wings, Amira lifted her crate into the air, the sand below trembling as she rose. Elqiana followed, her crate in her claws, lifting with precision but bouncing slightly with her suppressed excitement. Her tail flicked too far once, hitting a small dune and sending sand spilling over the elves on the ground. One of them yelped but managed to steady the suspension sled they had built, holding the last crate carefully as it began to glide over the sand, pulled by ropes and pulleys.
“Easy, girl!” Tarasque called, leaning close to Elqiana’s neck. “Keep it steady!”
Elqiana rumbled low, flaring her wings but easing her tail slightly, still vibrating with quiet bursts of energy. Her eyes, wide and shimmering, never left the crates in her claws, yet they flicked frequently to the blue male egg strapped to Nekira’s chest. She could feel the new life, and the significance of what it meant.
Nekira’s grip tightened instinctively on the sling, leather strips creaking under tension. His heart raced not just from the flight, but from the weight of the responsibility — if the egg fell, if a crate slipped, it could all be lost. Beside him, Tarasque kept her eyes on the crates, on Elqiana, and on Nekira, sensing every emotion and surge through their shared bond.
The first leg of the flight was smooth, the wind carrying the dragons in long, powerful sweeps over the desert. Yet the heat shimmered, creating mirages, and the shifting dunes made precise navigation tricky. Small gusts buffeted Elqiana’s wings, and she flared them slightly, bouncing with restrained excitement, causing her crate to tilt — sand spilling lightly from its edges.
“Hold it!” Tarasque barked. Elqiana steadied, shaking her wings once in relief, tail flicking instinctively. Amira kept her crate steady with unyielding focus, her amber eyes scanning the horizon.
As they rose higher to clear a sudden ridge, Nekira adjusted the sling, pressing the egg closer to his chest. Its warmth throbbed subtly through the layers of cloth — alive, a heartbeat of potential. He glanced at Tarasque, who nodded sharply, signalling him to remain steady and trust the dragons’ strength.
For a moment, Elqiana’s excitement spilled over again — a small hop, a flap of her wings, tail swishing, sending a puff of sand up from the dunes below. She let out a low, musical trill, eyes glittering, wings vibrating in subtle bursts. Tarasque felt the thrill radiating through her chest, amplified through the bond, and smiled despite the tension.
Amira flicked her tail in a subtle, reassuring gesture, letting Elqiana know she had support. The two dragons rose together, side by side, carrying their precious loads, sand and wind whipping around them. The elves on the suspension sled followed as best they could, the ropes taut and groaning but holding fast under their careful guidance.
Nekira exhaled, heart thudding. Keep it steady. Just a little longer. He could feel Tarasque beside him, focused and steady, yet he could also feel the thrill and hope radiating from her as strongly as from Elqiana.
The desert stretched endlessly ahead, sun dipping slowly, turning the dunes to gold and bronze. Each beat of wings, each careful adjustment, brought them closer to safety — to Caa Alora. And through it all, the male dragon egg pressed to Nekira’s chest, a quiet heartbeat of hope amid the roaring wind and the chaos of flight.
The desert began to thin in colour long before it surrendered. Gold faded to pale dust, dust gave way to scrub, and scrub darkened into the first scattered trees — twisted, stubborn things clinging to the edge of the forest that cradled Caa Alora.
From above, the change looked gentle.
From within the wind, carrying a crate in her claws, it was anything but.
Amira angled her wings, adjusting for the rising air currents that always formed where hot desert met cooler woodland. The shift was subtle but treacherous — thermals lifting unpredictably, crosswinds tugging at the weight beneath her. She tightened her grip on the crate, talons biting into wood reinforced centuries ago with King Aragorn’s sigill burned deep into its grain.
Beside her, Elqiana shimmered like moonlight dropped into daylight. The opal-white dragon’s wings caught the changing air beautifully — perhaps too beautifully. She rode the currents with a kind of delighted curiosity, testing them, learning them mid-flight. Her tail swished once, twice, just a little too playfully.
“Steady,” Tarasque called, leaning forward, her hands firm along Elqiana’s neck. Through the bond she felt everything — the thrill of nearing home, the bubbling anticipation of the male egg strapped to Nekira’s chest, the echo of the red female egg she herself had found weeks ago.
It was like trying to steer a thundercloud that had just discovered fireworks.
Below and slightly behind, the elves strained against the suspension sledge, ropes groaning as the final crate skimmed above sand and scrub. Nekira flew low enough to remain near them, the sling across his chest pulled tight. The blue male egg pressed warmly against him, each movement of his body reminding him how fragile hope could be.
He glanced upward as the tree line thickened ahead.
“Tarasque,” he called over the wind. “We’ll need altitude. The canopy will be dense.”
She nodded sharply. “Up! Both of you — climb before the forest thickens!”
Amira responded first, powerful wings driving downward, lifting her crate higher with disciplined strength. Elqiana followed half a heartbeat later — but in that half-beat, she caught a new thermal, unexpected and exhilarating. She rose faster than intended, her crate swinging slightly.
Tarasque felt the surge before she saw it. “Easy—”
Too late.
The first branches brushed the underside of Elqiana’s crate with a heavy rustling scrape. Leaves exploded upward in a flurry of green and gold. A second later Amira’s crate clipped the top canopy of a towering oak, the reinforced wood slamming into branches thick as spears. Twigs snapped. Birds scattered in alarm.
The forest answered.
A deep, resonant hum rolled through the air — not sound exactly, but pressure. Awareness. Ancient and vast.
'Be mindful,' a voice said — not spoken, but placed gently and firmly inside every mind present. 'You trespass upon living roofs.'
The words were neither angry nor kind. They were simply enormous.
Nekira felt the egg warm sharply against his chest as if reacting to the presence. His breath caught. He knew that voice.
The Forest Guardian.
Around them, the canopy seemed to shift. Branches flexed not with wind but with intention. Leaves trembled in layered waves.
Tarasque straightened in the saddle, heart pounding. Through Elqiana she felt a flash of embarrassment — a sheepish, startled flutter that would have been comical if they weren’t suspended dozens of metres above an ancient forest with a crate full of dragon relics dangling beneath them.
“We mean no harm,” Tara projected, her mind steadying through the bond. “We carry what was lost. We return what must be protected.”
Elqiana, for once, stilled completely. Not a twitch. Not a tail flick. She hovered with surprising precision, wings beating in slow, controlled arcs.
Amira dipped her head respectfully mid-air — a feat that required extraordinary balance. Her crate steadied.
The presence lingered, brushing through their thoughts like wind through leaves.
'Then fly with care,' the Guardian replied. 'Life grows here in ways you do not see.'
The pressure eased. The forest resumed its natural rustle, though it felt… attentive.
Tara exhaled slowly. “Higher,” she murmured.
They climbed.
This time both dragons measured their ascent carefully, adjusting for the canopy’s true height. Elqiana’s earlier exuberance returned, but in smaller bursts — a little shimmy of scales, a restrained flick of tail that she caught halfway through when Tarasque tightened her legs.
Tara felt her dragon’s excitement about the male egg spike again as Nekira drew nearer in formation.
She glanced down at him. “How is it?”
“Warm,” he answered. “Very warm.”
Their eyes met — wind, distance, history between them. Complicated affection threaded through urgency.
She remembered telling him about the red female egg. He remembered nodding, stunned and hopeful all at once.
A sudden gust slammed sideways as the forest generated its own weather. Elqiana wobbled, crate tilting dangerously.
Tarasque reacted instantly. “Shift right! Counter the wind!”
Nekira adjusted his own flight path to buffer the gust, positioning himself where Elqiana could draft off him slightly. The sling creaked, leather biting into his shoulders as he shielded the egg with his body.
Amira angled across the wind with calculated force, creating a stabilising airflow. The two dragons moved in practiced tandem now — less excitement, more discipline.
Elqiana corrected, claws tightening. The crate steadied.
Tarasque felt the rush of adrenaline, the echo of Elqiana’s near-miss amplifying her own heartbeat. She swallowed hard, focusing. “We’re close,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
Through a break in the treetops, the distant shimmer of Caa Alora emerged — hidden spires woven into living trunks, golden light threaded between ancient branches.
Home.
But not safe yet.
The forest canopy rose again ahead, thicker and taller than before. This time they judged the height correctly, climbing in synchronised rhythm — Amira steady as stone, Elqiana vibrating with contained joy, Tarasque and Nekira moving like a single thought stretched between them.
Below, the elves’ suspension sledge skimmed just above the treetops as forest pathways subtly opened to accommodate them — a quiet concession from the Guardian.
The wind roared. Leaves spun upward in spirals.
Nekira pressed his palm briefly against the egg through the sling.
“Almost there,” he whispered.
The canopy fell away behind them and Caa Alora opened beneath the dragons like a secret exhale of the forest itself. Living towers rose between ancient trunks. Platforms curved organically from bark and branch. The training grounds lay at the heart of it all — a wide, carefully maintained clearing where grass grew short and the earth was packed firm by centuries of claws and boots
Amira descended in a wide, disciplined spiral, adjusting for the forest’s unpredictable lift. The crate in her talons did not sway. Nekira remained mounted behind her shoulders, one arm braced around the sling across his chest, the other gripping the harness strap. The blue male egg rested against him, wrapped in his cloak, secured with leather lashings and light chain. Every movement he made accounted for its weight.
They landed as one creature.
Amira’s claws struck earth. The impact rolled outward but stopped where she willed it to. Elves were already in position beneath the crate — padded braces lifted, ropes tensioned. She released only when she felt the transfer of weight stabilise.
Nekira slid down her side immediately after, boots touching the ground in the same motion that his hand pressed instinctively against the sling.
Still warm.
Still steady.
Elqiana followed — faster.
She overshot her descent by a fraction, corrected mid-air with a sharp wing adjustment, and landed in a lighter, more elastic motion. The crate in her talons dipped slightly as she touched down.
And then the excitement broke loose.
Her scales rippled in a full-body ruffle. Wings half-flared. Tail lifting in a broad arc—
“Careful—” Tarasque began, already sliding down.
Too late.
The tail struck the edge of the crate with a sharp crack. Not catastrophic, but loud enough to split one reinforced seam.
Tara hit the ground and moved to Elqiana’s head at once, hands on her jaw, forehead nearly touching scale.
Through the bond the emotion was enormous — awe, triumph, anticipation. The male egg’s presence thrummed in Elqiana’s awareness like a beacon.
“Elqiana,” Tara said quietly but firmly. “Center yourself.”
The dragon gave a small, almost sheepish trill and lowered her head, wings folding in with visible effort. The tail stopped mid-sway.
Across the clearing, Amira observed with steady, amber-eyed composure. Protective, grounded, unmoved by spectacle. She stepped subtly nearer to Nekira without being asked.
The training grounds settled into order with practiced efficiency. Elves moved around the crates, reinforcing the seam Elqiana had cracked, checking lashings, speaking in low, controlled tones. The air smelled of sun-warmed grass and resin.
Queen Gabija stopped before Nekira.
Up close, the sling across his chest was impossible to ignore.
He bowed his head slightly. Amira stood just behind him, vast and steady, her presence like a wall of living flame held in check.
“We secured the cache, Your Majesty,” Nekira said evenly. Then he drew a breath and chose not to circle the truth. “And we found a dragon egg.”
Gabija’s gaze sharpened, but her face remained composed.
“What kind?” she asked.
Nekira met her eyes. “Male.”
The word landed.
For a fraction of a second — a rare, human fraction — Gabija’s composure cracked. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened, not theatrically, but unmistakably. Surprise. Genuine and unguarded.
Around them, the training grounds seemed to still.
Then, like a door closing softly but firmly, her expression reset. Authority returned to her posture, her voice smoothing into command.
“A male,” she repeated quietly, as if weighing it against the history of her people.
Her gaze flicked briefly to Amira, then to Elqiana, who vibrated beside Tarasque with barely contained energy.
Gabija straightened. “Bring it,” she said. “Both of you. Follow me.”
She turned without waiting for acknowledgment, her guards falling into step.
Nekira adjusted the sling instinctively and fell in beside Tarasque. Amira and Elqiana walked behind them, claws soft on the earth, heads lowered just enough to move beneath the living arches of the forested city.
“Where are we going?” Nekira murmured under his breath.
Tarasque leaned closer, voice barely above the rustle of leaves. “To Sharkie.”
He glanced at her.
She gave the smallest smile. “That’s the name of the dragon in the red egg.”
For a moment, Nekira simply absorbed that — the reality of it, the simplicity. Not prophecy. Not legend. Just a name. A future given something personal.
Behind them, Elqiana felt the shift in conversation through the bond. Her excitement flared again, but this time it was warmer, more focused. Amira responded with a low, grounding hum, steadying the emotional current between them.
As they reached the edge of the inner grounds, both dragons hesitated — then, without needing to speak, they understood each other.
Amira crouched.
Elqiana mirrored her.
With two powerful beats of wings, they rose into the canopy-filtered sky above Caa Alora, climbing into open air where the forest thinned and the thermals lifted clean.
They did not leave the city.
They circled above it.
Hunting patterns, but slower. Controlled. Private.
Up there, away from elven ears and human questions, dragon minds brushed together freely.
Amira’s thoughts were measured, protective, anchored in responsibility.
Elqiana’s were bright, electric, racing ahead into possibilities.
Below, Gabija continued toward the inner sanctum where the red egg rested, and two riders walked behind her carrying the weight of something that had not existed in living memory.
Above them, the dragons spoke in currents of instinct and memory older than any throne — circling, watching, considering what renewal might demand of them all.
