Page 71 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
Klauth arrives next, his presence marked by the glint of a silver diadem atop his head. As he steps in, Mina pauses and smiles up at him—a fleeting moment of tenderness amid the looming storm. Wordlessly, he retrieves a velvet pouch from his coat and places the diadem, a gift from Ziggy, onto her head. “I agree with Zigmander—this one is perfect for you. It compliments your horns nicely,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with both admiration and a hint of mischief. He leans forward and kisses her forehead. He takes a seat beside Abraxis, his every movement radiating a cool, dangerous confidence.
I shake my head slightly as I launch the first two battles, my eyes never leaving the screen. Every click and clatter of the keys blends with the low, tense hum of combat, and I can almost taste the metallic tang of impending defeat and victory. Occasionally, I glance over at Mina, who looks up at the performance board as I update the statistics with swift, precise keystrokes. She reaches into her bag and retrieves a small notebook, scribbling something down with intensity. I suspect she’s assembling her team for the war games—a silent, determined strategist in a sea of chaos.
The class progresses as it must: wins, losses, and flashes of temper from those who fail to perform as expected. Midway through, a letter arrives for Mina. She waves a courier over, and with a subtle nod, I take the note from the outstretched hand. The crisp paper carries the seal of the council. As I read, a shiver runs down my spine. Mina is barred from actively participating in the war games. Instead, she is permitted to command her troops from the base. I cross the room and show her the note, my heart pounding in my chest.
She pauses her reading on the finer points of diplomacy. Taking the card from me, she flips it between her fingers, the paper rustling softly. With a swift motion, she pulls a pen from her pocket and writes her consent. She adds the stipulation that her team will be chosen from any class year between one and three by her hand. With a flick of her wrist, she sends the card back to the courier, who departs without a word.
Abraxis waves me over as I start the next two simulators, the screens flickering to life. “What was that about?” he asks, his voice low and laced with suspicion.
“The council is barring Mina from the frontline of the war games,” I explain, leaning in as I update the display with new data, the keys clacking beneath my fingers. “They’ve offered her control of the legion instead. She accepted—but with the condition that she selects her team from her year and the two years younger.” I arch a brow, silently questioning the logic behind her request.
I lean forward as Klauth interjects, his voice slicing through the stale air of our Art of War class. “Tactically, it’s brilliant,” he declares, his tone both approving and chilling. He reclines in his chair with a slow, eerie smile that sends a tremor down my spine. I watch as he crosses his arms, and even Abraxis mirrors his guarded gesture, a barely perceptible tension thick in the room.
Abraxis scans our classroom before announcing, “We’ll have another answer soon. I believe Mina’s match is up next.” In that instant, a sinking dread coils in my gut. If our suspicions are correct, then Idris is not the skilled tactician we believed him to be. We have been set up, and someone on the council is planning to kill us both. The weight of betrayal presses down like the suffocating darkness outside the high, narrow windows.
Abruptly, Abraxis stands and clutches a card with a smooth, cold edge meant for the simulator. “Here’s the rematch we have all been waiting for. Mina vs. Idris.” I hear the soft slide of the card into theslot, a sound that echoes ominously as he returns to his desk. The simulator hums to life, its low mechanical vibration mixing with the murmurs of anxious students. The air smells faintly of burnt ozone and metal—a foretaste of the impending clash.
Mina remains absorbed in her worn diplomacy book until a beep signals the simulation is ready. With a swift, almost careless motion, she drops the book onto the cold floor beside her and slides Thauglor’s egg back into its carrier. Her fingers dance over the keyboard, each click reverberating in the hushed room. All eyes lock onto the unfolding match between Mina and Idris. Whispers ripple through the class about Mina facing an actual war-proven tactician. I catch sight of Balor, Ziggy, and Leander casually leaning against the wall behind Abraxis and Klauth, their presence adding to the heavy tension.
Every nerve in my body screams that this match holds the answers to our long-standing border disputes. Mina’s final keystroke echoes sharply as she slams the metal cover over her keyboard. With deliberate care, she locks the padlock in place. I step forward, retrieve the key from her hand, and return her book. Deep inside, I’m convinced she’s destined to win; no one has ever bested her, and even as a veil walker, she seems to foresee the outcomes before they unfold.
Mina leans back in her chair and resumes reading, her calm facade belying the storm beneath. To an outsider, she appears indifferent, but we all know better. Mina is methodical, precise—she commands the field like a seasoned ruler. Idris, meanwhile, hesitates at his terminal, entering and then erasing orders. Mina’s head tilts ever so slightly as her fingers tap the edge of her book in silent protest, the rhythm a subtle yet powerful rebuke.
I murmur to Klauth, “I wonder what happened?”
“He changed his mind about troop placement. The results will be the same,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. I nod, feeling the weight of his words as palpably as the chill in the room.
Eventually, Idris slams his cover shut, the sound reverberating like a death knell. I approach, and he reluctantly hands me the key, which I place on the desk with a clack that seems too loud in the tense silence. “Okay, let’s let this play out!” I announce, my hand slapping the execute button on the side of the simulator.
At the start, the match appears evenly balanced, but as the simulation unfolds. I notice Mina has held back roughly a quarter of her forces. Even with only seventy-five percent of her strength deployed, she is steadily containing Idris’s maneuvers.
“If I win, Your Highness, I’d like a special dinner at the fort,” Idris taunts, leaning over his terminal to scrutinize Mina. His voice drips with condescension, the words slithering through the air like poison.
Mina places her book atop the keyboard cover and smiles—a smile that is disarmingly sweet yet laced with lethal confidence. “In about five minutes or less, I’ll have your job,” she replies, her eyes sparkling as she peers around the divider, her gaze sharp as a blade.
The first explosion booms through the simulation, a deep, resonant sound that shakes the room. Mina’s smile widens as she stands to watch the unfolding chaos on the big screen. I can see her orchestrating a devastating maneuver. A contingent of black and red dragons release a wave of acid breath ignited by the red dragons’ fire, so potent that the attackers disintegrate before our eyes. In fewer than four calculated moves, she obliterates the enemy forces, her precision as cold and brutal as the coldest winter.
The replay mirrors a recent, harrowing battle—the very one in which Mina and Abraxis were ambushed. I watch as the last remnants of the invading forces crumble away. I note the blank, almost emotionless mask on Mina’s face as she stares unblinkingly at the screen, her eyes reflecting the flickering light.
“How?” Idris almost shouts, rising abruptly so that his stool topples to the ground behind him with a harsh clatter.
Mina whirls around, her voice low and feral. “You are not qualified to call the shots for an outpost.” Her eyes burn with a fierce intensity as she fixes Balor with a glare, the air crackling with her authority. “Send him to Blackhaven—I want answers.” In that moment, I see the transformation in her: the weight of command and the responsibility for her people awaken something primal and formidable within her.
“General, you seriously can’t let your inexperienced mate do this,” Idris protests, attempting to sway Abraxis to his side, his voice tinged with desperation.
Abraxis’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, his tone icy. “My mate has beaten you not once, but twice. Your inability to out think the enemy has cost us hundreds of lives over the past three years.” He glances sharply at Balor and Ziggy, his command ringing through the room. “Do as your queen said. Take him to Blackhaven.” With that, Balor and Ziggy vanish into the shadows, leaving behind a lingering silence.
I quickly dismiss the class, my heart pounding, and join Mina to watch the replay in slow motion. As the simulation resets, I ask quietly, “What made you hold back those two specific species of dragons?”
Mina moves to the whiteboard, her chalk tracing crisp, deliberate lines. “Out of the species available at the fort, these two possess the strongest offensive and defensive capabilities,” she explains, her voice measured and clinical. “Realistically, green dragons are useless—their scales are soft and their talons small. Their breath weapons are impressive, but they lack any real defense. Blue dragons can absorb a normal hit of lightning, but they crumble under fire, acid, and my breath weapon. They’re best as a secondary line.” She stands before us, a strategist in full command, every word dripping with cold logic.
Mina murmurs, almost to herself, “I didn’t program that.” She glances at me, then adjusts a line of code with a deft touch before pressing start, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“I wonder why it did that?” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else, my mind racing with possibilities.
We watch the replay together, the tension palpable as Balor and Ziggy reappear. This run is even more efficient—her score is a perfect ten out of ten. “That’s better,” Mina murmurs, a slight smile touching her lips as she packs her things, the rustle of paper and the clink of Thauglor’s egg carrier punctuating the silence.
I turn to Abraxis and Klauth, my voice low. “Our mate—if she were in charge, most of what happened might have been avoided.” I lock eyes with Balor and Ziggy and restart the simulation, the hum of the machine filling the air once more. Mina resumes her seat, her hands resting flat on Thauglor’s egg as she stares intently at the screen. I can almost see the inner fire in her eyes, mirroring the fierce glow of the screen.
