The Journey: Book 3, Chapter 18 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 19: Future
High in the living heights of Caa Alora, the council chamber had not been built merely for rulers. It had been grown for dragons.
The chamber formed a vast circular hall carved from the heart of an ancient world-tree whose trunk alone was wider than most castle towers. Elven shaping magic had guided the wood over centuries, coaxing it upward into colossal sweeping arches that curved like the ribs of some ancient beast. The ceiling opened high above into a wide crown of branches where sunlight spilled through crystal leaves and drifting ivy.
The opening was enormous.
Large enough for dragons.
Wind moved gently through the chamber, carrying the clean scent of pine and distant mountain snow. Sunlight fell in slow shifting beams that drifted across the polished wooden floor and gathered naturally at the center of the hall.
That was where the future rested.
Two pedestals of living wood had grown from the floor itself, curling upward like careful hands presenting an offering to the sky.
Upon those hands rested the eggs.
The red dragon egg.
And the blue dragon egg.
They were not frightening things.
Not here.
Everyone in the chamber had seen dragon eggs before in carvings, histories, and ancient tapestries. What made these different was not their appearance.
It was their timing.
The red egg possessed a quiet presence that drew the eye easily. Its shell was deep crimson with darker veins marbling across its surface like slow rivers of fire trapped beneath stone. In the shafts of green sunlight filtering through the leaves above, the shell seemed to hold a subtle inner warmth—not glowing exactly, but alive in a way stone never quite was.
The blue egg was calmer.
Its shell was the deep blue of an ocean seen at night, crossed by thin silver streaks that twisted faintly like distant lightning beneath water. Where the red egg seemed warm and vibrant, the blue one possessed a quiet stillness that almost felt thoughtful.
Neither egg moved.
Neither egg trembled.
They simply rested at the center of the room like two sealed promises.
Around them, the rulers of several peoples had gathered.
Elven nobles in robes of layered greens and silvers sat with graceful patience. Human envoys leaned forward in their chairs with careful interest. Dwarven representatives sat solidly in thick carved seats, their heavy beards braided with metal rings that caught the drifting light.
No one feared the eggs.
Fear was not the problem.
Ambition was.
Because somewhere inside those shells were two dragons who would one day choose riders.
And that choice would echo across kingdoms.
At the head of the circular council table sat Queen Gabija, ruler of the elves of Caa Alora. Her posture was relaxed but attentive, hands resting lightly upon the polished wood as her eyes moved slowly across the gathered leaders.
Across from her sat King Althor, king of the dwarves, whose thick frame looked almost sculpted from granite. His arms were folded over his chest, and though his expression remained calm, his sharp gaze returned again and again to the eggs.
Not with worry.
With calculation.
Standing near the pedestals were the two riders who had brought the eggs here.
Tarasque, human rider of the opal white dragon Elqiana, stood closest to the red egg. Her presence there felt natural somehow, as though the warmth of the shell had quietly invited her nearer without words.
Across the circle stood Nekira, half human and half elvish, rider of the orange-and-purple dragon Amira. His attention lingered on the blue egg, though his posture remained relaxed.
He knew something the others did not.
Dragon eggs listened.
But there was something else in the chamber now.
A deep rushing sound began far above.
Wind.
Not the gentle forest breeze that drifted through the branches.
Wingbeat.
Several heads tilted upward as the massive opening in the canopy darkened briefly.
A colossal shape descended through the sunlight.
Elqiana landed first.
Her wings spread wide as she dropped gracefully into the chamber, the opal-white scales across her body catching the green light and shattering it into fragments of color that danced across the wooden walls. Blues, reds, golds, and pale greens rippled across her body as she folded her wings carefully against her sides.
Despite her immense size, her landing was almost silent.
She settled onto the wide stone platform that had been shaped into the floor specifically for dragons.
Moments later another shape followed.
Amira descended like a falling sunset.
Her wings beat once, twice, stirring warm currents of air through the chamber as she lowered herself beside Elqiana. Her scales burned orange and purple like twilight consuming the sky.
When she folded her wings, the colours settled into a striking contrast beside Elqiana’s shimmering white.
Two dragons now rested within the council chamber.
No one panicked.
No one fled.
This was Caa Alora. Dragons had walked these halls before.
Still, the atmosphere shifted.
It is one thing to discuss dragons.
It is quite another to feel two of them watching you think.
Elqiana lowered her long neck slightly, her luminous eyes drifting toward the red egg.
Amira’s gaze moved toward the blue one.
For a moment the chamber held an odd symmetry: two dragons observing two eggs, while rulers observed everything else.
Queen Gabija allowed the moment to settle before speaking.
“Let it be remembered,” she said calmly, “that the eggs sit here not as prizes, but as guests.”
King Althor gave a slow nod.
“Aye,” the dwarven king rumbled. “But the riders they choose will change the world.”
Around the chamber, quiet agreement followed.
That was the true matter at hand.
Not the eggs.
Not the dragons.
The riders.
Because somewhere in the world, perhaps already walking unknowingly toward this forest city, lived two individuals whose lives were about to become legend.
Tarasque rested a hand lightly on the edge of the pedestal holding the red egg.
“Elqiana chose me,” she said quietly.
Nekira glanced at the blue shell.
“And Amira chose me.”
King Althor leaned forward slightly.
“So the question before us,” he said, his voice steady and blunt, “is not whether dragons will choose riders.”
His eyes moved across the chamber.
“It’s who those riders might be.”
Silence followed.
Above them, sunlight shifted through the canopy.
Between the two pedestals, the red and blue eggs rested quietly beneath the watchful gaze of two ancient dragons.
And somewhere deep inside the blue shell, something stirred—not with impatience, but with interest.
The future, it seemed, had arrived early to listen.
The chamber had settled into a thoughtful quiet after the dragons landed. Elqiana lay with her great opal body coiled like a living crown of light beside the council circle, her scales scattering shards of colour across the curved wooden walls. Nearby, Amira rested in striking contrast—orange fire and deep purple twilight folded into patient stillness, her tail curled around the wide stone platform where dragons had rested for centuries.
At the center, the eggs remained where all eyes inevitably drifted.
The red egg’s veins glimmered faintly in the filtered sunlight.
The blue egg remained still as deep water.
Then Tarasque blinked.
It wasn’t visible to most of the room, but Nekira noticed instantly. Riders recognised that look—the subtle shift when a dragon’s mind brushed against its partner’s thoughts.
Tarasque inhaled slowly.
Inside her mind, Elqiana’s voice rang like crystal struck by wind.
Not loud.
But vast.
Tarasque’s gaze drifted to the gathered rulers as she spoke the words aloud.
“Dragons will not be, and cannot be forced to hatch for anyone… without grave consequences.”
Her voice carried through the chamber with an odd weight, as though the words themselves possessed gravity.
The hall grew utterly still.
Tarasque continued, repeating the thoughts that flowed from Elqiana’s mind into hers.
“Dragons are bound by the First Treaty between Dragons and Elves. Braiden and Zeindaryss in their infinite wisdom made that so.”
Several elven nobles exchanged quiet glances. The names were ancient even among elves—figures from the earliest age when dragonkind and the forest peoples had first learned not to destroy one another.
Tarasque’s voice softened slightly.
'I chose Tarasque because her soul was pure and unblemished.'
The words left her lips, but everyone present knew the voice behind them.
The statement sank into the chamber like a stone dropped into deep water.
No one spoke for several long seconds.
At the council table, Queen Gabija folded her hands together thoughtfully. Her expression remained composed, yet her pale eyes carried the weight of centuries of memory. She knew the old histories. The First Treaty had shaped the balance between dragons and the younger races since the earliest days of the world.
Across from her, King Althor rubbed his beard slowly.
Dwarves respected treaties the way mountains respected gravity.
Break one, and the consequences tended to be… catastrophic.
“A wise reminder,” the dwarven king said at last, his voice low and thoughtful.
Gabija inclined her head.
“The dragons have always chosen.”
Tarasque exhaled quietly, feeling Elqiana’s presence settle back into the warm quiet of her mind like a great creature resting after speaking.
For a moment, the council returned to contemplation.
Then Nekira stepped forward.
His movement was calm, but it drew attention immediately.
Half-human, half-elvish, rider of Amira, he had the look of someone carefully shaping a thought before releasing it into the world.
“Maybe we have a solution,” he said.
The room shifted slightly toward him.
“That is,” he added, glancing briefly toward the two dragons beside the council platform, “if Elqiana, Amira… and Tarasque are amenable to it.”
He paused, looking between the dragons and Tarasque herself.
Elqiana watched him with quiet curiosity.
Amira’s eyes gleamed with interest.
Nekira continued.
“Perhaps the eggs should not remain in one place.”
Several brows furrowed.
“They could travel,” he said. “One elf, one dwarf, and one human entrusted to carry them together.”
The idea hung in the air.
“A neutral procession,” Gabija murmured.
Nekira nodded.
“They would journey between the three great peoples—elves, dwarves, and humans.”
King Althor leaned forward slightly.
“And the purpose of this travelling circus?” the dwarven king asked dryly.
Nekira smiled faintly.
“Children.”
The room blinked.
“Children?” one of the human envoys repeated.
“Children of fourteen years,” Nekira clarified. “Old enough for character to begin revealing itself, young enough that ambition has not yet hardened the soul.”
His gaze drifted toward the eggs.
“In every city, in every hall, the children may line up and place their hands upon the shells.”
Silence deepened as the idea unfolded.
“The dragons choose,” Nekira said simply. “As they always have.”
The room slowly absorbed the implications.
No favouritism.
No secret political maneuvering.
Just a simple truth: if a dragon wished to hatch for someone, it would.
Tarasque’s eyes drifted toward the red egg.
“Sharkie would enjoy that,” she murmured softly.
But before anyone could respond—
The blue egg moved.
A subtle tremor rolled across the deep blue shell, the silver streaks along its surface catching the shifting light.
Nekira stopped mid-breath.
The tremor came again.
This time unmistakable.
Every ruler in the chamber stared.
Even Amira lifted her head slightly.
Then it happened.
A voice touched the room.
It moved through the air like a slow ripple across still water, brushing gently through the thoughts of every mind present.
Soft.
Rough.
Almost like gravel shifting beneath a quiet stream.
At first the words formed slowly.
As though the speaker were learning how to speak at all.
'I’m…'
The voice strengthened slightly.
'…amenable…'
A pause followed.
Then the final word rolled through the chamber like a quiet stone dropped into destiny.
'…to that proposition.'
Silence detonated across the room.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
At the center of the chamber, the blue egg rested quietly once more.
But now everyone in the room understood something fundamental.
The dragon inside had been listening the entire time.
And it had opinions.
For several seconds after the young dragon’s voice faded, the chamber held the kind of silence that follows lightning.
No one moved.
No one dared speak first.
At the center of the hall, the blue egg sat exactly as it had before—calm, polished, almost dignified in its stillness, as though the voice that had just rippled through every mind in the chamber had been the most natural thing in the world.
Then Elqiana lifted her great head.
A low, musical rumble rolled from her chest, the sound shimmering faintly like wind moving through glass chimes. To those who did not share a bond with dragons it might have sounded like a simple draconic murmur.
But Tarasque heard the meaning clearly inside her mind.
‘Well now,’ Elqiana said with unmistakable amusement.
‘I like the sound of him.’
Across the chamber, Amira shifted slightly, her orange-and-purple scales catching the filtered sunlight like embers stirred in twilight. A soft, pleased rumble escaped her as well.
Inside Nekira’s mind, her voice carried a note of warm curiosity.
‘Strong voice,’ she observed.
‘Confident.’
Elqiana’s mental laughter chimed again like distant bells.
Very confident.
The two elder dragons regarded the blue egg with the same expression seasoned warriors sometimes gave a promising young recruit.
Interest.
And perhaps a little pride.
Then the voice returned.
This time it did not creep slowly into the chamber. It arrived with far more certainty, like someone who had discovered their footing and decided they rather liked the feeling.
The soft gravel-toned presence brushed across every mind present.
'Just as much as dragons choose their riders…'
A faint pause followed.
'…I too shall choose who I mate with.'
The sentence landed in the room with the delicate subtlety of a dropped anvil.
Several of the human envoys blinked.
One of the dwarven councilors choked slightly on his breath.
A few younger elven advisors looked suddenly fascinated by the patterns in the wooden floor.
Near the center of the chamber, Tarasque slowly closed her eyes for half a second.
Nekira rubbed the back of his neck.
Because the comment had not been vague.
Not really.
They both knew exactly where that particular declaration had been aimed.
Dragons, it seemed, possessed a sense of timing that bordered on theatrical.
Across the table, Queen Gabija coughed politely into her hand.
It was a very controlled cough. The sort used by rulers who had spent centuries navigating awkward diplomatic moments without allowing their composure to fracture.
When she lowered her hand again, her expression had returned to serene professionalism.
“Well,” she said gently, “that is… reassuring.”
A few quiet chuckles escaped the chamber.
Even King Althor allowed a brief rumbling laugh before stroking his beard again.
Gabija continued smoothly, as though discussions of future dragon courtship had been entirely expected.
“The next question,” she said, “is who will teach the new riders.”
That thought settled quickly across the room.
Training a dragon rider was not a small matter.
It involved far more than learning how to stay seated on a flying creature the size of a fortress tower.
There were bonds to understand.
Mental discipline.
The strange, shared instincts between rider and dragon that could either become a harmony… or a catastrophe.
Near the pedestals, Tarasque glanced toward Nekira.
Nekira glanced toward Tarasque.
The moment stretched.
Not long.
Just long enough.
Both of them understood the implication immediately.
If they trained the new riders…
They would be working together.
Traveling together.
Spending a great deal more time together.
Amira’s eyes narrowed slightly with amusement.
Inside Nekira’s mind her voice slid in, soft and unmistakably teasing.
Stop staring at each other and speak.
Nekira blinked.
Tarasque coughed lightly and looked away with sudden interest in the red egg.
Nekira cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Your Majesty,” he said, addressing Gabija.
Her attention shifted to him immediately.
“I’m not certain what arrangements were originally set in place by Braiden and Zeindaryss for the training of new riders.”
Several of the elder elves leaned forward slightly at the mention of the ancient treaty makers.
Nekira gestured lightly toward Tarasque.
“Elqiana was the first dragon to hatch in over a hundred years,” he continued.
He then nodded toward Tarasque herself.
“And she chose Tarasque.”
His gaze moved briefly to Elqiana, whose opal scales shimmered faintly as she listened.
“That makes them the first bonded dragon and rider in more than a century.”
He paused.
Then finished his thought with calm logic.
“So I believe the responsibility would fall to them… would it not?”
The chamber considered that.
Queen Gabija tilted her head slightly, her eyes thoughtful.
Across the table, King Althor nodded slowly.
“Aye,” the dwarven king said. “Hard to argue with the first success in a century.”
Tarasque blinked in mild surprise.
Elqiana’s mental voice chimed softly in her mind again, amused.
Congratulations, the dragon said.
‘You appear to have been volunteered.’
Nearby, Amira’s deep rumbling chuckle echoed faintly through the chamber.
And at the center of the room, the blue egg sat very quietly—though if eggs could look pleased with themselves…
This one might have.
The chamber had begun to settle into the rhythm that follows difficult decisions. Not peace exactly—politics rarely grants that luxury—but the steady calm that arrives when a path forward finally appears.
Sunlight filtered through the wide crown of branches high above Caa Alora’s great council hall. The beams of green-gold light drifted slowly across the polished floor and came to rest where everyone’s attention inevitably returned.
The egg rested at the center of the chamber like two quiet stars around which the entire conversation orbited.
Nearby, the dragons themselves observed with quiet interest.
Elqiana, opal white and shimmering with shifting colours, lay curled like a sleeping constellation beside the council floor. Every subtle movement of her scales scattered tiny fragments of light across the chamber walls.
Beside her, Amira rested in striking contrast—orange and purple scales glowing like the last fire of sunset. Her long tail curved lazily across the stone platform as her violet eyes watched the proceedings with amused patience.
At the council table, Queen Gabija spoke calmly.
“The eggs will travel,” she said. “Escorted by representatives of elf, dwarf, and human alike. Children of fourteen will approach them, and the dragons will choose their riders freely.”
Across from her, King Althor nodded approvingly.
“A fair road,” the dwarven king said.
Gabija inclined her head.
“But before we finalise such a plan, we must hear from those most closely bound to the matter.”
Her gaze moved first toward Tarasque.
Then to Nekira.
Finally, to the dragons.
“Elqiana.”
The opal dragon lifted her head slightly. Light rippled across her scales like shifting rainbows.
Her voice flowed gently into Tarasque’s mind.
'It is a sensible path.'
Tarasque spoke aloud.
“Elqiana agrees.”
Gabija turned her attention to the other dragon.
“And Amira?”
The orange-and-purple dragon shifted slightly, wings rustling softly.
Inside Nekira’s thoughts her voice arrived with quiet approval.
'I find the idea agreeable.'
Nekira nodded.
“Amira agrees as well.”
A quiet murmur of relief spread through the gathered rulers.
Then Tarasque folded her arms loosely and turned her attention toward Nekira. Her expression shifted into something far less formal.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose I don’t mind helping train the new riders.”
Nekira glanced at her.
Tarasque tilted her head slightly, a playful spark in her eyes.
“But only if you help.”
Several council members looked up with sudden interest.
Tarasque took a slow step closer to him, her voice warm with teasing confidence.
“I’d hate to spend months alone teaching dragon riders,” she said. “Especially when there happens to be another rider standing right here who already knows a thing or two about dragons.”
She looked him up and down with open amusement.
“And besides,” she added softly, “I imagine you’d make a very helpful partner.”
Above them, Amira’s tail flicked once in pure delight.
Inside Nekira’s mind her voice purred with amusement.
'Careful. She’s hunting you.'
Nekira cleared his throat, trying to maintain some measure of dignity while half the council chamber suddenly pretended not to watch the exchange.
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that arrangement could be… acceptable.”
And immediately—
A bright, enthusiastic voice burst through every mind in the chamber.
'Well the sexual tension in this room is absolutely ripe.'
Time stopped.
Tarasque froze.
Nekira nearly swallowed his own breath.
Across the table, one of the dwarven councillors barked out a laugh before quickly disguising it as a cough.
King Althor’s beard twitched violently as he fought to remain composed.
Several elven advisors stared fixedly at the ceiling.
Nearby, Amira lowered her head and released a deep rumbling sound that was very clearly a dragon trying not to laugh.
Elqiana slowly closed her eyes.
Inside Tarasque’s mind, the opal dragon sighed with ancient patience.
'Sharkie…'
The red egg sat on its pedestal, radiating innocent satisfaction.
Queen Gabija pressed her fingers briefly to the bridge of her nose.
When she looked up again, her composure had returned with the effortless grace of someone who had ruled through centuries of strange council meetings.
“Well,” she said politely, “that particular matter appears… resolved.”
The chamber slowly recovered.
King Althor leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat.
“If the eggs are to travel,” he said, voice steady again, “they’ll need escorts.”
Beside him, a broad-shouldered dwarf shifted in his seat.
Grey-bearded and relaxed, he looked like someone who had spent decades standing beside kings without ever feeling the need to act impressed.
“This sounds like a journey worth seeing,” the dwarf said.
Althor glanced sideways.
“You volunteering, Donal?”
Donal shrugged.
“Aye. Someone’s got to keep the riders honest.”
Gabija nodded thoughtfully.
“One dwarf escort.”
From the elven side of the chamber, a tall figure stepped forward.
Timtur.
Nekira recognised him instantly.
The elf inclined his head slightly.
“I helped train Nekira when he was a boy,” Timtur said calmly. “It seems fitting I help guide the next generation.”
Nekira smiled.
“I’d welcome that.”
Near the back of the chamber, a human man stood.
Weathered hands. Travel-worn boots.
Not a noble.
A horseman.
“Name’s Colm,” he said. “Horse trainer from Edena.”
King Althor eyed him.
“And what makes you think you’re suited to escort dragon eggs?”
Colm scratched the back of his neck.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “dragons might be bigger than horses… but creatures tend to respect the same thing.”
“And what’s that?” Althor asked.
Colm smiled.
“Someone who doesn’t panic around them.”
Amira gave a low approving rumble.
Gabija inclined her head.
“Then it seems the escort has volunteered.”
Donal the dwarf.
Timtur the elf.
Colm the human.
Three travellers for two very important eggs.
At the center of the chamber, the red and blue shells rested quietly beneath the watchful gaze of two dragons and one very satisfied unborn commentator.
Above them all, sunlight shifted across the branches of Caa Alora.
The journey had begun long before the eggs ever left the room.
Chapter 19: Future
High in the living heights of Caa Alora, the council chamber had not been built merely for rulers. It had been grown for dragons.
The chamber formed a vast circular hall carved from the heart of an ancient world-tree whose trunk alone was wider than most castle towers. Elven shaping magic had guided the wood over centuries, coaxing it upward into colossal sweeping arches that curved like the ribs of some ancient beast. The ceiling opened high above into a wide crown of branches where sunlight spilled through crystal leaves and drifting ivy.
The opening was enormous.
Large enough for dragons.
Wind moved gently through the chamber, carrying the clean scent of pine and distant mountain snow. Sunlight fell in slow shifting beams that drifted across the polished wooden floor and gathered naturally at the center of the hall.
That was where the future rested.
Two pedestals of living wood had grown from the floor itself, curling upward like careful hands presenting an offering to the sky.
Upon those hands rested the eggs.
The red dragon egg.
And the blue dragon egg.
They were not frightening things.
Not here.
Everyone in the chamber had seen dragon eggs before in carvings, histories, and ancient tapestries. What made these different was not their appearance.
It was their timing.
The red egg possessed a quiet presence that drew the eye easily. Its shell was deep crimson with darker veins marbling across its surface like slow rivers of fire trapped beneath stone. In the shafts of green sunlight filtering through the leaves above, the shell seemed to hold a subtle inner warmth—not glowing exactly, but alive in a way stone never quite was.
The blue egg was calmer.
Its shell was the deep blue of an ocean seen at night, crossed by thin silver streaks that twisted faintly like distant lightning beneath water. Where the red egg seemed warm and vibrant, the blue one possessed a quiet stillness that almost felt thoughtful.
Neither egg moved.
Neither egg trembled.
They simply rested at the center of the room like two sealed promises.
Around them, the rulers of several peoples had gathered.
Elven nobles in robes of layered greens and silvers sat with graceful patience. Human envoys leaned forward in their chairs with careful interest. Dwarven representatives sat solidly in thick carved seats, their heavy beards braided with metal rings that caught the drifting light.
No one feared the eggs.
Fear was not the problem.
Ambition was.
Because somewhere inside those shells were two dragons who would one day choose riders.
And that choice would echo across kingdoms.
At the head of the circular council table sat Queen Gabija, ruler of the elves of Caa Alora. Her posture was relaxed but attentive, hands resting lightly upon the polished wood as her eyes moved slowly across the gathered leaders.
Across from her sat King Althor, king of the dwarves, whose thick frame looked almost sculpted from granite. His arms were folded over his chest, and though his expression remained calm, his sharp gaze returned again and again to the eggs.
Not with worry.
With calculation.
Standing near the pedestals were the two riders who had brought the eggs here.
Tarasque, human rider of the opal white dragon Elqiana, stood closest to the red egg. Her presence there felt natural somehow, as though the warmth of the shell had quietly invited her nearer without words.
Across the circle stood Nekira, half human and half elvish, rider of the orange-and-purple dragon Amira. His attention lingered on the blue egg, though his posture remained relaxed.
He knew something the others did not.
Dragon eggs listened.
But there was something else in the chamber now.
A deep rushing sound began far above.
Wind.
Not the gentle forest breeze that drifted through the branches.
Wingbeat.
Several heads tilted upward as the massive opening in the canopy darkened briefly.
A colossal shape descended through the sunlight.
Elqiana landed first.
Her wings spread wide as she dropped gracefully into the chamber, the opal-white scales across her body catching the green light and shattering it into fragments of color that danced across the wooden walls. Blues, reds, golds, and pale greens rippled across her body as she folded her wings carefully against her sides.
Despite her immense size, her landing was almost silent.
She settled onto the wide stone platform that had been shaped into the floor specifically for dragons.
Moments later another shape followed.
Amira descended like a falling sunset.
Her wings beat once, twice, stirring warm currents of air through the chamber as she lowered herself beside Elqiana. Her scales burned orange and purple like twilight consuming the sky.
When she folded her wings, the colours settled into a striking contrast beside Elqiana’s shimmering white.
Two dragons now rested within the council chamber.
No one panicked.
No one fled.
This was Caa Alora. Dragons had walked these halls before.
Still, the atmosphere shifted.
It is one thing to discuss dragons.
It is quite another to feel two of them watching you think.
Elqiana lowered her long neck slightly, her luminous eyes drifting toward the red egg.
Amira’s gaze moved toward the blue one.
For a moment the chamber held an odd symmetry: two dragons observing two eggs, while rulers observed everything else.
Queen Gabija allowed the moment to settle before speaking.
“Let it be remembered,” she said calmly, “that the eggs sit here not as prizes, but as guests.”
King Althor gave a slow nod.
“Aye,” the dwarven king rumbled. “But the riders they choose will change the world.”
Around the chamber, quiet agreement followed.
That was the true matter at hand.
Not the eggs.
Not the dragons.
The riders.
Because somewhere in the world, perhaps already walking unknowingly toward this forest city, lived two individuals whose lives were about to become legend.
Tarasque rested a hand lightly on the edge of the pedestal holding the red egg.
“Elqiana chose me,” she said quietly.
Nekira glanced at the blue shell.
“And Amira chose me.”
King Althor leaned forward slightly.
“So the question before us,” he said, his voice steady and blunt, “is not whether dragons will choose riders.”
His eyes moved across the chamber.
“It’s who those riders might be.”
Silence followed.
Above them, sunlight shifted through the canopy.
Between the two pedestals, the red and blue eggs rested quietly beneath the watchful gaze of two ancient dragons.
And somewhere deep inside the blue shell, something stirred—not with impatience, but with interest.
The future, it seemed, had arrived early to listen.
The chamber had settled into a thoughtful quiet after the dragons landed. Elqiana lay with her great opal body coiled like a living crown of light beside the council circle, her scales scattering shards of colour across the curved wooden walls. Nearby, Amira rested in striking contrast—orange fire and deep purple twilight folded into patient stillness, her tail curled around the wide stone platform where dragons had rested for centuries.
At the center, the eggs remained where all eyes inevitably drifted.
The red egg’s veins glimmered faintly in the filtered sunlight.
The blue egg remained still as deep water.
Then Tarasque blinked.
It wasn’t visible to most of the room, but Nekira noticed instantly. Riders recognised that look—the subtle shift when a dragon’s mind brushed against its partner’s thoughts.
Tarasque inhaled slowly.
Inside her mind, Elqiana’s voice rang like crystal struck by wind.
Not loud.
But vast.
Tarasque’s gaze drifted to the gathered rulers as she spoke the words aloud.
“Dragons will not be, and cannot be forced to hatch for anyone… without grave consequences.”
Her voice carried through the chamber with an odd weight, as though the words themselves possessed gravity.
The hall grew utterly still.
Tarasque continued, repeating the thoughts that flowed from Elqiana’s mind into hers.
“Dragons are bound by the First Treaty between Dragons and Elves. Braiden and Zeindaryss in their infinite wisdom made that so.”
Several elven nobles exchanged quiet glances. The names were ancient even among elves—figures from the earliest age when dragonkind and the forest peoples had first learned not to destroy one another.
Tarasque’s voice softened slightly.
'I chose Tarasque because her soul was pure and unblemished.'
The words left her lips, but everyone present knew the voice behind them.
The statement sank into the chamber like a stone dropped into deep water.
No one spoke for several long seconds.
At the council table, Queen Gabija folded her hands together thoughtfully. Her expression remained composed, yet her pale eyes carried the weight of centuries of memory. She knew the old histories. The First Treaty had shaped the balance between dragons and the younger races since the earliest days of the world.
Across from her, King Althor rubbed his beard slowly.
Dwarves respected treaties the way mountains respected gravity.
Break one, and the consequences tended to be… catastrophic.
“A wise reminder,” the dwarven king said at last, his voice low and thoughtful.
Gabija inclined her head.
“The dragons have always chosen.”
Tarasque exhaled quietly, feeling Elqiana’s presence settle back into the warm quiet of her mind like a great creature resting after speaking.
For a moment, the council returned to contemplation.
Then Nekira stepped forward.
His movement was calm, but it drew attention immediately.
Half-human, half-elvish, rider of Amira, he had the look of someone carefully shaping a thought before releasing it into the world.
“Maybe we have a solution,” he said.
The room shifted slightly toward him.
“That is,” he added, glancing briefly toward the two dragons beside the council platform, “if Elqiana, Amira… and Tarasque are amenable to it.”
He paused, looking between the dragons and Tarasque herself.
Elqiana watched him with quiet curiosity.
Amira’s eyes gleamed with interest.
Nekira continued.
“Perhaps the eggs should not remain in one place.”
Several brows furrowed.
“They could travel,” he said. “One elf, one dwarf, and one human entrusted to carry them together.”
The idea hung in the air.
“A neutral procession,” Gabija murmured.
Nekira nodded.
“They would journey between the three great peoples—elves, dwarves, and humans.”
King Althor leaned forward slightly.
“And the purpose of this travelling circus?” the dwarven king asked dryly.
Nekira smiled faintly.
“Children.”
The room blinked.
“Children?” one of the human envoys repeated.
“Children of fourteen years,” Nekira clarified. “Old enough for character to begin revealing itself, young enough that ambition has not yet hardened the soul.”
His gaze drifted toward the eggs.
“In every city, in every hall, the children may line up and place their hands upon the shells.”
Silence deepened as the idea unfolded.
“The dragons choose,” Nekira said simply. “As they always have.”
The room slowly absorbed the implications.
No favouritism.
No secret political maneuvering.
Just a simple truth: if a dragon wished to hatch for someone, it would.
Tarasque’s eyes drifted toward the red egg.
“Sharkie would enjoy that,” she murmured softly.
But before anyone could respond—
The blue egg moved.
A subtle tremor rolled across the deep blue shell, the silver streaks along its surface catching the shifting light.
Nekira stopped mid-breath.
The tremor came again.
This time unmistakable.
Every ruler in the chamber stared.
Even Amira lifted her head slightly.
Then it happened.
A voice touched the room.
It moved through the air like a slow ripple across still water, brushing gently through the thoughts of every mind present.
Soft.
Rough.
Almost like gravel shifting beneath a quiet stream.
At first the words formed slowly.
As though the speaker were learning how to speak at all.
'I’m…'
The voice strengthened slightly.
'…amenable…'
A pause followed.
Then the final word rolled through the chamber like a quiet stone dropped into destiny.
'…to that proposition.'
Silence detonated across the room.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
At the center of the chamber, the blue egg rested quietly once more.
But now everyone in the room understood something fundamental.
The dragon inside had been listening the entire time.
And it had opinions.
For several seconds after the young dragon’s voice faded, the chamber held the kind of silence that follows lightning.
No one moved.
No one dared speak first.
At the center of the hall, the blue egg sat exactly as it had before—calm, polished, almost dignified in its stillness, as though the voice that had just rippled through every mind in the chamber had been the most natural thing in the world.
Then Elqiana lifted her great head.
A low, musical rumble rolled from her chest, the sound shimmering faintly like wind moving through glass chimes. To those who did not share a bond with dragons it might have sounded like a simple draconic murmur.
But Tarasque heard the meaning clearly inside her mind.
‘Well now,’ Elqiana said with unmistakable amusement.
‘I like the sound of him.’
Across the chamber, Amira shifted slightly, her orange-and-purple scales catching the filtered sunlight like embers stirred in twilight. A soft, pleased rumble escaped her as well.
Inside Nekira’s mind, her voice carried a note of warm curiosity.
‘Strong voice,’ she observed.
‘Confident.’
Elqiana’s mental laughter chimed again like distant bells.
Very confident.
The two elder dragons regarded the blue egg with the same expression seasoned warriors sometimes gave a promising young recruit.
Interest.
And perhaps a little pride.
Then the voice returned.
This time it did not creep slowly into the chamber. It arrived with far more certainty, like someone who had discovered their footing and decided they rather liked the feeling.
The soft gravel-toned presence brushed across every mind present.
'Just as much as dragons choose their riders…'
A faint pause followed.
'…I too shall choose who I mate with.'
The sentence landed in the room with the delicate subtlety of a dropped anvil.
Several of the human envoys blinked.
One of the dwarven councilors choked slightly on his breath.
A few younger elven advisors looked suddenly fascinated by the patterns in the wooden floor.
Near the center of the chamber, Tarasque slowly closed her eyes for half a second.
Nekira rubbed the back of his neck.
Because the comment had not been vague.
Not really.
They both knew exactly where that particular declaration had been aimed.
Dragons, it seemed, possessed a sense of timing that bordered on theatrical.
Across the table, Queen Gabija coughed politely into her hand.
It was a very controlled cough. The sort used by rulers who had spent centuries navigating awkward diplomatic moments without allowing their composure to fracture.
When she lowered her hand again, her expression had returned to serene professionalism.
“Well,” she said gently, “that is… reassuring.”
A few quiet chuckles escaped the chamber.
Even King Althor allowed a brief rumbling laugh before stroking his beard again.
Gabija continued smoothly, as though discussions of future dragon courtship had been entirely expected.
“The next question,” she said, “is who will teach the new riders.”
That thought settled quickly across the room.
Training a dragon rider was not a small matter.
It involved far more than learning how to stay seated on a flying creature the size of a fortress tower.
There were bonds to understand.
Mental discipline.
The strange, shared instincts between rider and dragon that could either become a harmony… or a catastrophe.
Near the pedestals, Tarasque glanced toward Nekira.
Nekira glanced toward Tarasque.
The moment stretched.
Not long.
Just long enough.
Both of them understood the implication immediately.
If they trained the new riders…
They would be working together.
Traveling together.
Spending a great deal more time together.
Amira’s eyes narrowed slightly with amusement.
Inside Nekira’s mind her voice slid in, soft and unmistakably teasing.
Stop staring at each other and speak.
Nekira blinked.
Tarasque coughed lightly and looked away with sudden interest in the red egg.
Nekira cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Your Majesty,” he said, addressing Gabija.
Her attention shifted to him immediately.
“I’m not certain what arrangements were originally set in place by Braiden and Zeindaryss for the training of new riders.”
Several of the elder elves leaned forward slightly at the mention of the ancient treaty makers.
Nekira gestured lightly toward Tarasque.
“Elqiana was the first dragon to hatch in over a hundred years,” he continued.
He then nodded toward Tarasque herself.
“And she chose Tarasque.”
His gaze moved briefly to Elqiana, whose opal scales shimmered faintly as she listened.
“That makes them the first bonded dragon and rider in more than a century.”
He paused.
Then finished his thought with calm logic.
“So I believe the responsibility would fall to them… would it not?”
The chamber considered that.
Queen Gabija tilted her head slightly, her eyes thoughtful.
Across the table, King Althor nodded slowly.
“Aye,” the dwarven king said. “Hard to argue with the first success in a century.”
Tarasque blinked in mild surprise.
Elqiana’s mental voice chimed softly in her mind again, amused.
Congratulations, the dragon said.
‘You appear to have been volunteered.’
Nearby, Amira’s deep rumbling chuckle echoed faintly through the chamber.
And at the center of the room, the blue egg sat very quietly—though if eggs could look pleased with themselves…
This one might have.
The chamber had begun to settle into the rhythm that follows difficult decisions. Not peace exactly—politics rarely grants that luxury—but the steady calm that arrives when a path forward finally appears.
Sunlight filtered through the wide crown of branches high above Caa Alora’s great council hall. The beams of green-gold light drifted slowly across the polished floor and came to rest where everyone’s attention inevitably returned.
The egg rested at the center of the chamber like two quiet stars around which the entire conversation orbited.
Nearby, the dragons themselves observed with quiet interest.
Elqiana, opal white and shimmering with shifting colours, lay curled like a sleeping constellation beside the council floor. Every subtle movement of her scales scattered tiny fragments of light across the chamber walls.
Beside her, Amira rested in striking contrast—orange and purple scales glowing like the last fire of sunset. Her long tail curved lazily across the stone platform as her violet eyes watched the proceedings with amused patience.
At the council table, Queen Gabija spoke calmly.
“The eggs will travel,” she said. “Escorted by representatives of elf, dwarf, and human alike. Children of fourteen will approach them, and the dragons will choose their riders freely.”
Across from her, King Althor nodded approvingly.
“A fair road,” the dwarven king said.
Gabija inclined her head.
“But before we finalise such a plan, we must hear from those most closely bound to the matter.”
Her gaze moved first toward Tarasque.
Then to Nekira.
Finally, to the dragons.
“Elqiana.”
The opal dragon lifted her head slightly. Light rippled across her scales like shifting rainbows.
Her voice flowed gently into Tarasque’s mind.
'It is a sensible path.'
Tarasque spoke aloud.
“Elqiana agrees.”
Gabija turned her attention to the other dragon.
“And Amira?”
The orange-and-purple dragon shifted slightly, wings rustling softly.
Inside Nekira’s thoughts her voice arrived with quiet approval.
'I find the idea agreeable.'
Nekira nodded.
“Amira agrees as well.”
A quiet murmur of relief spread through the gathered rulers.
Then Tarasque folded her arms loosely and turned her attention toward Nekira. Her expression shifted into something far less formal.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose I don’t mind helping train the new riders.”
Nekira glanced at her.
Tarasque tilted her head slightly, a playful spark in her eyes.
“But only if you help.”
Several council members looked up with sudden interest.
Tarasque took a slow step closer to him, her voice warm with teasing confidence.
“I’d hate to spend months alone teaching dragon riders,” she said. “Especially when there happens to be another rider standing right here who already knows a thing or two about dragons.”
She looked him up and down with open amusement.
“And besides,” she added softly, “I imagine you’d make a very helpful partner.”
Above them, Amira’s tail flicked once in pure delight.
Inside Nekira’s mind her voice purred with amusement.
'Careful. She’s hunting you.'
Nekira cleared his throat, trying to maintain some measure of dignity while half the council chamber suddenly pretended not to watch the exchange.
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that arrangement could be… acceptable.”
And immediately—
A bright, enthusiastic voice burst through every mind in the chamber.
'Well the sexual tension in this room is absolutely ripe.'
Time stopped.
Tarasque froze.
Nekira nearly swallowed his own breath.
Across the table, one of the dwarven councillors barked out a laugh before quickly disguising it as a cough.
King Althor’s beard twitched violently as he fought to remain composed.
Several elven advisors stared fixedly at the ceiling.
Nearby, Amira lowered her head and released a deep rumbling sound that was very clearly a dragon trying not to laugh.
Elqiana slowly closed her eyes.
Inside Tarasque’s mind, the opal dragon sighed with ancient patience.
'Sharkie…'
The red egg sat on its pedestal, radiating innocent satisfaction.
Queen Gabija pressed her fingers briefly to the bridge of her nose.
When she looked up again, her composure had returned with the effortless grace of someone who had ruled through centuries of strange council meetings.
“Well,” she said politely, “that particular matter appears… resolved.”
The chamber slowly recovered.
King Althor leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat.
“If the eggs are to travel,” he said, voice steady again, “they’ll need escorts.”
Beside him, a broad-shouldered dwarf shifted in his seat.
Grey-bearded and relaxed, he looked like someone who had spent decades standing beside kings without ever feeling the need to act impressed.
“This sounds like a journey worth seeing,” the dwarf said.
Althor glanced sideways.
“You volunteering, Donal?”
Donal shrugged.
“Aye. Someone’s got to keep the riders honest.”
Gabija nodded thoughtfully.
“One dwarf escort.”
From the elven side of the chamber, a tall figure stepped forward.
Timtur.
Nekira recognised him instantly.
The elf inclined his head slightly.
“I helped train Nekira when he was a boy,” Timtur said calmly. “It seems fitting I help guide the next generation.”
Nekira smiled.
“I’d welcome that.”
Near the back of the chamber, a human man stood.
Weathered hands. Travel-worn boots.
Not a noble.
A horseman.
“Name’s Colm,” he said. “Horse trainer from Edena.”
King Althor eyed him.
“And what makes you think you’re suited to escort dragon eggs?”
Colm scratched the back of his neck.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “dragons might be bigger than horses… but creatures tend to respect the same thing.”
“And what’s that?” Althor asked.
Colm smiled.
“Someone who doesn’t panic around them.”
Amira gave a low approving rumble.
Gabija inclined her head.
“Then it seems the escort has volunteered.”
Donal the dwarf.
Timtur the elf.
Colm the human.
Three travellers for two very important eggs.
At the center of the chamber, the red and blue shells rested quietly beneath the watchful gaze of two dragons and one very satisfied unborn commentator.
Above them all, sunlight shifted across the branches of Caa Alora.
The journey had begun long before the eggs ever left the room.