Page 41 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

“Fucking nightmares,” I grumble under my breath, slamming a book down on top of the ungraded papers. They shift under the sudden force, but I don’t care. Nothing feels solid right now. “What do you want me to say, Leander?” I lean forward, the sharp scrape of my chair’s legs against the stone floor echoing ominously. “I know she’s my mate. I know she can feel the pull because of being mated to Abraxis.”

I push up abruptly; the chair rolling back until it crashes against the wall with a dull thud. The sound is almost satisfying—almost enough to drown out the thoughts that won’t leave me alone. “But I’m useless to her!” I jab a finger at my empty socket, the empty chasm where my eye used to be. “I can’t protect her. I’m blind on one fucking side. I could get an ersatz eye, sure, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same as the real thing.”

My voice breaks at the end, a bitter, hollow sound. Slowly, the anger drains out of me, leaving nothing but a heavy, suffocating despair. I drop back down into the chair, shoulders slumping under the weight of my inadequacy. “I’m not what she needs. I’m not enough…”

The words hang between us, filling the silence with their awful, undeniable truth. Leander’s gaze softens—sympathy, maybe pity, lurking in the depths of his eyes. I hate it. Hate him. Hateme. My fingers curl into fists as I fight the urge to punch something, anything.

But what’s the point? Hitting things won’t change the fact that she’s out there, and I’m in here, safe and sound. Broken and scared.

“Callan,” Leander murmurs, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re not useless, and you’re not broken. You’re just … scared. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I scoff, turning away from him, staring at the empty socket reflected in the glass of the framed picture on my desk. The empty space mocks me, a constant reminder of my failures. “Easy for you to say. You still have both your eyes.”

“And I’d trade them both if it meant getting you out of this damn office and back into the world.” His words are quiet but firm, laced with a determination that makes something tighten in my chest. I can’t look at him. If I do, I might crumble completely.

“Mina needs you, Callan,” he continues softly. “Maybe not to fight for her. But to be there. To believe in her.”

“I don’t even know if I can do that,” I admit, my voice so low I’m not sure he hears.

But he does. Leander always does.

“Then start by believing in yourself.” He stands, resting a hand on my shoulder, squeezing once before turning to leave. “You might be flightless, but you’re still a gryphon. Stop letting fear clip your wings.”

The door swings shut behind him, leaving me alone once more with nothing but my own bitter thoughts for company.

Believing in myself? I let out a humorless laugh, fingers brushing against the worn edge of the book in front of me. Easier said than done, Leander. Easier said than done.

Several hours later…

Still no word from the Malivore Conservatory about whether Willamina is alive or … My jaw clenches at the thought.Would I evenfeel it if she were gone?The thought twists like a blade in my gut, sharp and relentless. Shaking my head, I push the unease aside and focus back on the task at hand—teaching Abraxis’s class on siege weapons to the third years. The field we use for class, once a place of solace for me, now feels like a cage. The chatter of the students is like a swarm of bees.

Today, we’re covering the construction and use of ballistas against flight shifters. I glance at the three massive examples positioned in the field, their menacing silhouettes stark against the overcast sky. The students gather around, shifting uneasily under my gaze as I explain how these weapons pierce through the scales of a full-grown wyvern mid-flight. Their nervous energy mirrors my restlessness.

The class drones on, a monotonous blur of voices and half-baked theories. One particularly stubborn fire drake decides he knows more than me, puffing up his chest as if to prove his dominance. A flicker of irritation ignites within me as I watch him fumble with the mechanism, nearly severing his own hand in the process.

The ensuing chaos is a flurry of activity—healers rush in, their expressions tight with disapproval, and several elders appear from nowhere, all sharp eyes and whispered critiques. I can barely keep my temper in check as I let the class out early, my voice cold and clipped.

Walking back to the Shadowcarve Campus, the usual quiet is shattered by a buzz of activity I haven’t seen since Mina first stepped foot through those massive double doors. The courtyard is alive, students and staff alike murmuring and gesturing toward the center. My heart lurches, a strange mix of hope and dread twisting inside me as I push through the crowd.

There, in the middle of the courtyard, stands Abraxis, his wings curled protectively around something—or someone. My breath catches. Hemoves slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her. Mina. She’s here. Relief crashes over me, leaving me almost dizzy. She looks positively radiant, her hair glinting like polished silver and emerald under the midday sun as she glances around, taking in the sight of familiar faces.

“Let me out, you big lug!” She laughs, pushing against Abraxis’s wings. He relents, unfolding them with a soft, affectionate rumble. The crowd shifts, murmurs of confusion and excitement rippling through them. I take a step closer, my gaze locked on her. There’s something in her arms, wrapped carefully in cloth.

An egg carrier.

My feet move on their own accord, carrying me closer. The smell of the egg reaches me—a unique, ancient scent that sends my senses spinning. A dragon egg. But I can’t tell which one. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I step into her line of sight.

“What did you bring back?” I manage, my voice coming out softer than I intended.

She glances around, her eyes searching for Balor, Ziggy, and Leander before finally stepping closer. The egg and maybe three inches of space separating us. “I want you to see first—well, fourth. Lysander and, of course, Abraxis already saw.” A soft rose blush colors her cheeks, and I feel my face heat at the sight of it.

“Why me?” The words escape before I can stop them, quieter still.

“Because you don’t feel you deserve to.” Her words are a whisper of truth that cuts deeper than any blade. Her hand reaches up, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before cupping my cheek. I still, the contact sending a shock of warmth through me. The nausea that the others spoke about, the overwhelming protective sensation theirbonds defenses—none of it hits me like it did them. Instead, there’s only a strange, calm acceptance. Mina’s eyes soften and she nods slowly, acknowledging what this means for us. Carefully, she moves back the flap of cloth.

The sight of it robs me of breath.

A crimson and silver swirled egg, its colors gleaming like freshly spilled blood and molten metal, sits nestled in the carrier’s depths. The faint hum of power radiates from it, filling the air with a tense, electric charge.

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