Page 68 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“I’ve already tested out of the third quarter. Samara made sure I could. I’ll go back during the fourth quarter when I’m sure you’re okay,” she replies firmly, stepping in front of him and resting her hand on his chest, her touch gentle but insistent.
“Mina, you need to finish school,” Abraxis sighs, leaning his forehead against hers, the gesture intimate and tender.
“I will. I already told you—I tested out of this marking period. You need me here,” she insists. Her hands gently framing his face as she presses a soft kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering on his skin. “Please, let me take care of you.” I’ve never heard Mina beg outside the bedroom. Seeing the strongest dragoness on the continent pleading to care for her mate sends a chill down my spine. It’s a cold, unsettling feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach.
Abraxis gives a weak nod, the movement slight and pained, and then turns to me with a wry smile. The expression not quite reaching his eyes. “Mind giving me a hand, old friend?” he laughs softly as I approach, the sound hollow and strained.
“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady and reassuring. I step forward and carefully slip an arm around his back, positioning myself under his uninjured right arm. The muscles tense beneath my touch. Within seconds, I phase us into the deep end of the hot spring. The warm water enveloping him, its soothing heat easing some of the pain etched into his scars, the lines of his face relaxing slightly.
Mina swims over, her movements graceful and fluid, her eyes scanning us with equal parts determination and fear. The emotions warring on her face. “I need to change the old bandages once they’re soaked—they’ll peel off easier then,” she murmurs, gliding behind Abraxis. Her hands hover over his wounds, hesitant to touch. She bites her bottom lip, the gesture a sign of her anxiety. I can see the fear flickering in her eyes, a shadow that refuses to dissipate.
“Let’s have you help him float—it might ease his discomfort,” I suggest, sliding to his side and carefully placing an arm under his shoulder and lower back, mindful to avoid the wounds.
“Ugh, I hate feeling so helpless,” he growls, his voice raw with vulnerability. The admission is a sharp contrast to his usual strength and confidence.
“You were granted a second chance, Abraxis,” Klauth says as he walks around the edge of the hot spring, his footsteps echoing on the damp stone. I notice he deliberately avoids calling him “hatchling” or “youngling” this time, a small mercy in the face of his suffering.
“Mina was threatening Null,” Balor adds. His voice is low and grave, and I see Klauth’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his eyes widening slightly.
“I wouldn’t put it past our mate,” Abraxis replies, a small, bitter laugh escaping him as he closes his eyes.
Mina moves closer again, her movements slow and deliberate. She gently checks the bandages on his ribs, untying them with trembling fingers. She hums softly—a familiar tune, one that dragonesses often sing to their hatchlings, the melody soothing and comforting. The gentle sound mingles with the soft bubbling of the water, easing the oppressive darkness that lingers in the room, a momentary respite from the pain and fear.
I watch as Mina’s eyes widen in horror when she sees just how grievously injured Abraxis is, the full extent of the damage laid bare before her. In that split second, her eyes flare a brilliant, unsettling gold before settling back into their usual guarded shade. The color is a fleeting glimpse of the power that lurks beneath the surface. Every inch she peels away the grimy, bloodstained bandages feels deliberate and slow. The rustle of fabric and the faint, metallic tang of iron in the air heightening my unease, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow.
Callan takes the soiled bandages and drifts them toward the murky edge of the spring where the water laps against the stone. The sound is a gentle whisper in the oppressive silence. Nearby, Klauth methodically collects the discarded cloths and dumps them into a garbage bag, the crinkling noise echoing in the stillness. Vaughn moves with a surgeon’s precision as he sets up a makeshift med station. Mina, drawing on lessons learned from past healings, shoulders more thanher fair share of the responsibility. The burden of her love etched on her face, a weight that seems almost too heavy to bear.
Once every bandage is removed, we gently lower Abraxis into the hot water so he can lie alone for a moment. The steam rising around him in wispy tendrils. Mina climbs out with measured steps, her movements graceful and deliberate, and begins organizing the scattered medical supplies. I watch as she discreetly slips a piece of paper to Leander. He vanishes from the room with urgent quiet, his footsteps fading into the distance. Nearly ten long minutes later, he reappears carrying a spray bottle filled with a purplish-blue liquid that glimmers eerily under the weak light; the color unsettling and strange.
“I’m ready for you, Abraxis,” Mina says softly. She pats the makeshift hospital bed with a tenderness that belies the level of stress she’s under, her touch gentle and reassuring.
“I’ve got you,” I reply, my voice steady and calming as I lift Abraxis and guide him to where Mina has set the bed, my muscles straining with the effort. I steady him as his legs wobble, watching his pallid face twist in pain—a moment that sends a chill down my spine. Almost immediately, Klauth is at my side, his powerful arms holding Abraxis upright as if to shield him from the encroaching darkness.
I catch the fear in Mina’s eyes as she watches every trembling movement, her gaze sharp and assessing. “When you’re ready, he needs to lie down,” she instructs, her tone a mix of command and concern. The words are heavy with unspoken emotion.
“How do you need me, mate?” Abraxis asks, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he glances over his shoulder. The expression is a pale imitation of his usual confidence.
“On your stomach for now,” Mina directs, her smile wavering as her bottom lip trembles—a silent confession of the pain she feels, the depth of her love laid bare. Together, we maneuver him until he lies with his head cradled on a soft pillow. Balor and Callan shuffle in,hauling two more tables to support the weight of his injured wings. The clatter of their arrival punctuating our heavy silence, the sound harsh and jarring.
“I’m going to make you sleep for a little bit, baby. Cleaning everything is going to hurt too much,” she murmurs, waving for the rest of us to step back, her hand trembling slightly.
“If you think that’s best, I love you,” Abraxis says with a fragile smile, his words barely audible above the gentle splashing of the water.
“I love you too. Forgive me,” Mina replies. Her voice is thick with unshed tears as she sprays the blueish-purple liquid over him. The mist settles on his skin like a fine sheen. Within moments, his eyes close, and sleep overtakes him, his breath evening out into a slow, steady rhythm. I watch as silent tears slip down Mina’s cheeks, their paths glistening in the low light. She bites her lip in a desperate effort to hold herself together before turning her attention to his wounds. Her hands are steady and sure despite the pain that radiates from her in palpable waves.
Klauth shakes his head, his hand trailing down his face as if to wipe away his own despair, the gesture weary and resigned. Balor and I step closer when he asks, “What did you see that we don’t understand?” Gesturing for the others to assist Mina. We follow him into the cold, echoing hallway, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding.
He sighs heavily before confessing, “I do not believe his wing will support his weight in his human form—unless, by some miracle, the tendon wasn’t severed. Even if the surgeons did a good job, there’s only a slim chance his dragon could ever fly again.”
The tension in his shoulders speaks volumes, the words hanging heavily in the air between us. “You don’t think he’ll ever fly again—neither as man nor as dragon?” I ask, watching his face intently as one of his eyes twitches in a fleeting moment of vulnerability. The sight is unsettling and strange.
“I promoted him to supreme general, anticipating he might lose the skies. A war dragon that cannot fly is not a war dragon—it’s a target. At least with the promotion, no one would question why he isn’t fighting,” Klauth explains quietly, his voice heavy with regret, the admission a bitter truth. I realize then that this decision was made to preserve Abraxis’s honor, a small mercy in the face of a devastating loss.
“Thank you,” Balor says as he moves to shake Klauth’s hand before returning to aid Mina, his touch brief but sincere.
“When will we know if he can’t fly?” I ask, glancing back toward the steamy, shadowed edge of the hot springs.
Klauth stares at the ground and sighs, “The minute he tries.” His voice cracks, mirroring the heartbreak in Mina’s eyes, the sound a sharp contrast to his usual composure. I recall the dark tales I’ve read—how flightless drakes were once mercilessly killed so that their mates could be taken. It’s a grim reminder of our brutal reality. An icy shiver runs down my spine at the thought.
