Page 1 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

Abraxis

Twenty Years Ago…

The thunderous sound of wing beats fills the air, vibrating through my chest as we soar toward the Bladesong nest. Tension coils in my stomach—this place, these people, have been our enemies for generations. But that ends today, at least according to my mother. I am to be betrothed to the next daughter born to the Bladesong family. If it’s a son, my mother will try to produce a daughter to wed him. The thought makes my skin prickle.

We’ve lost so many lives on both sides. It has to end somewhere, somehow. Mom’s wings tilt sharply as she banks hard to the right, the wind screaming past my ears as we circle the Bladesong courtyard, preparing to land. The nest looks imposing from up here, jagged spires rising like sharpened claws toward the sky, their dark stone flecked with the blood of battles long fought. I swallow hard, the weight of it all pressing against me.

Dad lands first, his massive form shifting seamlessly into his human body. His fighting leathers strain across his chest as he adjusts them, eyes sharp as ever, scanning the courtyard for threats. Always vigilant, always ready. I follow his gaze as Mom begins her descent.

When she lands, I stretch my wings; the muscles flexing and straining as I glide down next to Dad, landing softly on the courtyard’s stone floor. Like him, when I shift, my dragon wings remain—broad and dark against the pale light. I flex them a few times, feeling the tension ripple through me, trying to shake off the unease gnawing at the edge of my thoughts.

“Keep them up,” Dad mutters under his breath, eyes forward, not acknowledging the slight nod I give.

I can feel the weight of this moment settling into my bones as I stand at his side, the thick silence of the Bladesong stronghold suffocating. The place reeks of power and danger.

My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my expression neutral, just as dad taught me. The courtyard is unnervingly still, shadows flickering under the torchlight, and my wings are pulled tight against my back. “Stay vigilant.” Father’s voice echoes in my mind, urging me to watch the shadows closely—always watching. The Bladesong flight prides itself on being swift, silent killers, but tonight, something darker lurks in those shadows.

A voice, deep and resonant, cuts through the silence. “Vox...” The single word reverberates through the tunnel just ahead, sending a shiver up my spine. When the figure steps into view, I instinctively take a step back.

His leathers are a deep, almost-black green—the mark of a poison master, an assassin of the highest order. His presence alone makes my skin crawl, but it’s the scattering of green scales along his neck thatcatches my eye. A green dragon. My father always said they are the worst of their kind, far more dangerous than even black dragons. Their venom, their cruelty... they make the most ruthless look like saints.

“Abaddon,” my father says, his tone steady as stone. He moves in front of my mother, shielding her, but he pulls me to stand at his side. My stomach tightens. Abaddon’s eyes, sharp and predatory, are fixed on me now, as if sizing up a prize.

“So, this is the heir,” he says, his head tilting in a snake-like motion, studying me with cold, calculating eyes. “The one who may marry my hatchling.” His words make my blood run cold. There’s no warmth, no hint of genuine interest. Just calculation and expectation. His gaze bores into me, leaving no room for defiance. “Step forward. I want to see you better.”

The command leaves no space for hesitation. My father taught me well—never show weakness. I push the fear down, stepping forward with measured precision. My wings unfurl slightly, showcasing the strength of my leathers, the sharpness of my bones. It’s a display meant to impress, to show my potential as a future leader, a warrior.

Abaddon studies me for what feels like an eternity, his expression unreadable. The air around him feels toxic, suffocating. I’m careful to keep my breathing even, but the tension is like a coil winding tighter and tighter in my chest.

“Cerce,” Abaddon finally speaks, lowering his head slightly to my mother, his voice a soft, dangerous purr, “you’ve produced a fine son.” The compliment is laced with something that feels more like a threat, and I can’t shake the feeling that every word he speaks is part of some larger game.

Without another word, he turns sharply, his movements swift, almost serpentine, as he strides toward the main keep. I hold my breath, only exhaling once he disappears from view. But the knot of dread in my stomach doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. This is only the beginning, and I have the sinking feeling that whatever fate awaits me is darker than any shadow blade lurking in the night.

Dad steps forward, his broad shoulders casting long shadows as he follows Abaddon into the dark, winding tunnel. The sound of his boots echo with each heavy step, blending with the rhythmic drip of water from the ceiling, splashing into puddles below. The air is damp and cool, but there’s an undercurrent of heat—like something ancient and alive, waiting just beyond.

At the end of the tunnel, Abaddon stands by a set of massive double doors, his eyes flashing gold, like his dragon’s—sharp and foreboding. Without a word, he pushes the doors open. The creak of the hinges breaks the silence, revealing a vast chamber beyond, bathed in soft, flickering light. A great fire crackles in the hearth, its warmth battling the chill of the stone walls.

“Cerce, Layla is through the wooden door to the right,” Abaddon says, his voice a low rumble. “Bring your progeny with you to meet the hatchling when it arrives.”

Mom’s hand presses gently between my wings, her touch a grounding force against the rising tension in the room. She nudges me forward, her voice low and steady. “Don’t look back.”

I don’t. I keep my gaze fixed ahead as she urges me toward the silver door. The heat that rolls out the moment she pushes it open is suffocating, nearly stealing my breath. It wraps around me like a thick blanket, heavy and oppressive.

“Cerce, you made it!” A woman with gleaming silver horns steps forward, her presence striking against the fiery glow of the egg chamber. She kisses my mom on both cheeks, her smile warm but powerful, like the iron she’s made of.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Layla,” Mom replies, her voice soft but firm, the weight of their shared history clear in the way she says it. Then her gaze shifts to me, a smile touching her lips. “This is my son, Abraxis. Baby, this is Layla. She’s an iron dragon. We don’t see many of them anymore.” There’s sadness in her tone, like a thread woven into something much larger than just this moment.

“We went to the academy together,” Layla adds, offering me a hand. Her smile is warm, inviting—so unlike the cold, calculating demeanor of her male counterpart. “Come, I have a seat next to the nest for you.”

The heat presses in as I move to the chair she’s indicated. It’s almost overwhelming, like standing too close to a furnace. I can feel the weight of expectations settling on my shoulders as I stare at the egg before me. It gleams metallic silver, with dark green veins running between the scale-like patterns of the shell. The heat radiating from it is palpable, alive. My mind races as I wonder which dragon the hatchling will favor more—its mother or its sire.

“Lady Layla, are you and Vox mates?” The question slips out before I can stop it, though I know the answer. My parents aren’t mates either—just betrothed, bound by the same duty that will soon be mine if the hatchling is female.

“Sadly, no,” Layla answers, her smile faltering. “Mates are uncommon these days. Especially since they’re trying to keep the dragon lines pure.”

Her words hang in the air, thick with the weight of something unsaid. My eyes drift back to the egg, the metallic sheen of it reflecting the firelight. It feels like a silent promise, waiting to be fulfilled.

Several hours later…

---