Page 6 of Klauth
Thauglor points toward the northern mountains. “What’s that?” he asks.
My heart nearly stops. “The nest…” I whisper, my voice hoarse with dread. My eggs. My progeny. Syrax laid them there. I roar and summon my strongest warriors. Mid-stride, I shift, propelled by fury. I bellow Syrax’s name repeatedly, praying for any reply—a weak cry, any sign that she is alive. But there is only silence. A bleak, endless silence that burns in my ears.
As we near the nest, the carnage is undeniable. Wyvern corpses litter the foothills. Grotesque crystals sprout from their chests, pinning them to the ground. Syrax fought back with her crystal breath, impaling a half-dozen of them. But it was not enough. I land on the rock face, my claws scraping stone as I scramble upward. The sight is gruesome, and the bitter taste of iron fills the air.
The odor of burned flesh and decaying scales overwhelms me. My stomach clenches. There, curled around the nest, Syraxlies shriveled and withered—as if centuries have passed in an instant. She stood no chance against the shadow dragons’ draining breath. I force a shift into my human form. Talons extend from my fingertips as I slice through what remains of her body to reach my eggs.
They’re gone. Drained completely. One hatchling broke halfway out of its shell; now it crumbles to ash in my hands. A weak cry chokes me. My eyes burn with tears I refuse to shed. Thauglor approaches, his posture grim and respectful.
“Oh no…” he whispers, his eyes mirroring my devastation.
Syrax crumbles to ash as the wind picks up, scattering her remains into the sky she loved. I cradle the emptiness of my progeny, watching it slip through my fingers like silt. I feel utterly helpless. In over two centuries, I have never known such despair. The wind carries the bitter scent of char and loss.
“She fought well,” Thauglor says, placing his hand gently on the nest’s remains. “She took many down before she fell.”
“She did what any good dragoness would do—defend her clutch with her life.” My voice trembles. Guilt coils in my chest like a poisonous serpent. I wanted her gone, but not at the cost of my hatchlings.
Thauglor moves fallen stones to bury the shattered eggs. “What now?” he asks.
Fury surges again, hot and all-consuming. “Hunt down every last shadow dragon and wyvern. Drive them to extinction,” I snarl. I cannot decide what enrages me more: that they attacked a weak female on her nest or that something bigger is at play—a plot I did not foresee. My scales burn with anger as the words leave my mouth.
Thauglor’s eyes glint with wrath. “Then let’s make a plan. I’ll help you burn it all down.”
I place my hand on the bone plate that was once Syrax’s brow. My heart twists at the sight of her half-rotted remains. She is frozen in defiance, jaw agape as if readying one final breath attack. “I will avenge our clutch,” I say softly, my voice cracking. “You did your best, Syrax. You brought honor to your name. Rest now. I will finish what you started.” The rough texture of bone fuels my grief.
Suspicion reels in my mind. One of the rival nests must have hired the shadow dragons and wyverns for this attack. But who? And why? I push down the grief and let my rage become my weapon. If I cannot save my clutch, I will make our enemies regret ever crossing me. The bitter taste of loss only sharpens my resolve.
I standamid the ruin of my den. The acrid stench of smoke clings to every surface—a bitter reminder of what I have lost. My throat itches with every labored breath. Distant embers smolder in the wreckage. They accuse me silently of failing to protect my clutch. Four tiny lives were snuffed out before they ever opened their eyes. Anger burns behind my rib cage, hotter than any fire I have ever breathed.
I drum my fingers on the scorched tabletop. Before me lies a rumpled map, its edges curled by the heat. The setting sun sends a weak glow through cracked windows. Ash drifts in the light,swirling like lost memories. Outside, an eerie stillness settles. The world seems to know that something terrible has happened.
I think of several dens that might have orchestrated the murder of my hatchlings. At the top of my list is a den of red dragons. I know how vicious we can be. Next is the blue dragon nest. I refused their daughter because of her deformed wing. My insult sparked a grudge that burns like acid. Then there are three dens of greens. They are cunning assassins and masters of poison, lurking in the shadows. The thought makes my heart clench painfully. I almost taste the tang of blood on my tongue, recalling my hatchlings’ fragile shells shattering under relentless force.
I grit my teeth. For a split second, my vision blurs. Hot tears threaten to spill. I blink them away and clear my throat as Thauglor strides in behind me. He props his feet on the corner of my desk and surveys my scattered notes. Smoke curls around his silhouette, adding to the room’s oppressive heat.
“Any luck narrowing it down?” he asks.
“Not even close,” I reply, my voice rough. “I have four major contenders for four lost hatchlings. Part of me wants to burn them all to ash, just in case.” My hand trembles, and the map rattles under my grip. Thauglor’s eyes flicker with dark amusement.
“Only part? I’d rain acid on every last one of them.” His deep rumble shakes the charred walls. “Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission…” He leans forward, his eyes gleaming. I can almost feel his bloodlust pulsing in the thick air.
“Where should we start?” I ask, fighting a wave of nausea. “I’m sure you won’t let me spew fire and brimstone without you.”
“Definitely not…” Thauglor glances toward the window. The sun is nearly swallowed by a smoke-choked horizon. “Who has the most against you? Who did you piss off or insult the most?”
He does not know that this is the last piece of the puzzle. My blood pressure spikes as the truth crystallizes. “The blue dragon conclave,” I say through clenched teeth. “I refused their daughter because of her deformed wing. I told them I’d rather fuck a cockatrice and risk having my dick turned to stone than breed with her.” A sneer twists my lips. Thauglor nearly spits out his water.
He pounds his chest and coughs. “Fuck … warn me before you say things like that.” After another ragged cough, he grins. “So, it’s the blues. Makes sense. But remember, they have mages as friends. We don’t need some nasty curse biting our asses.”
A strangled laugh escapes me—bitter and raw. “What’s the worst that can happen? They try to curse us?” My voice drops, thick with contempt. “That stupid ‘hold monster’ trick never worked on our kind. And if that’s all they’ve got, they’ll be easy prey.” I rise from the chair and move to the window. The dying sun casts a cold glow on the blackened stones outside. My hands ache to unleash the inferno in my chest—to see that entire nest burn for taking my eggs.
A swirl of ash drifts by, lit by the fading light. My reflection startles me in the glass: eyes ringed with exhaustion, jaw set in grim resolve. Grief twists my heart, strangling every breath. Yet beneath that sorrow burns a rage that begs to be unleashed.
I exhale slowly, feeling the building heat ripple under my skin.They will pay.The thought roars through my veins, hotter than any flame I have ever breathed.
“Pack your gear,” I tell Thauglor in an icy calm. “We’re going hunting.”
Chapter Six
