Page 12 of Klauth
I find myself wondering what happened to our kind—why these basic nesting instincts disappeared from so many dragonesses. Thauglor’s curiosity ripples through me, too; I feel his echo, pulsing questions within his own unhatched shell.
Eventually, Abraxis hands me back to Mina. Her careful inspection soothes my nerves. She adjusts the straps securing me to her body, the soft hum of our bond lulling me, even though the mere idea of being left in a rival’s care makes my scales itch with unease. The air around her shifts, and she mentions an egg chamber. I suspect it’s the exact spot where she first hatched, years ago—a place once sacred, now soured by memory.
No matter how well she hides it, her dread seeps through the bond. She’s searching for something—an old possession or perhaps a shred of lost innocence. I feel flickers of excitement beneath her sadness, but the weariness runs deep. She senses that this place is better abandoned to time and nature, its walls, and corridors reclaimed by vines and silence. Still, I can’t ignore the pull inside her, an instinct to go to her new nest. She knows she needs to be there, though she doesn’t fully grasp why. Later, when the moment is right, I’ll help her understand that part of herself—the part that’s ancient and dragonic.
For now, exhaustion settles over me like a heavy blanket. My lids drift shut, and the world darkens to muted shadows behind my shell. I wonder how long I’ll sleep this time, how long it will be before I can finally break free and stand at her side, no longer trapped in this egg prison.
Chapter Eleven
The wallsof my prison press in on me like a second skin, smooth yet unyielding. It’s a constant reminder that I’m sealed away, floating in darkness. And yet, the only consolation is that I can still hear everything beyond this shell. Vibrations echo through the egg’s barrier in muffled pulses, blending into a low hum that wraps around me like an oppressive shroud.
Sometimes, I share visions with Mina. In those moments, the darkness of my confinement is replaced by flashes of her world: the clash of steel, the rush of air against her skin as she moves. Her most recent vision nearly stops my heart. I see her darting around the battlefield with twin blades, slicing through opponents twice her size. My pride surges at the sight—my fierce dragoness. But beneath that pride, there’s a dull, unrelenting ache in my chest. She fights because she believes it’s the only way her father would ever love her. He bred her to be a weapon.
If my suspicions are correct, she’s half iron and half green dragon—a living war machine armed with near-immunity to most threats. The thought brings a bitter taste to my mouth, like metal on my tongue.
My mind drifts to what the mage said he would do to me: rewrite my history to make me look unstable and insane. A flicker of dread courses through my veins, pooling in my stomach. What if her other mates believe that lie? None of them could truly harm me in my full draconic form, but in my human skin, they might stand a chance.
I force myself to recall the details of the vision, focusing on the snippets I glimpsed through Mina’s eyes: her other mates being methodically separated from her, one by one, until she’s utterly isolated. I clench my fists against the smooth interior of this cursed shell, my nails scraping the slick surface. A dragoness is only as weak as her strongest mate—it’s an old saying, and one that cuts through me like a blade.
Perhaps my fragile bond with her will be enough. If I can maintain that tether, it might give her the strength to keep fighting. I can almost feel her heartbeat through that tenuous link, a faint, rhythmic thrum weaving through my own pulse. The hope that I’ll reach her—break free of this prison and stand by her side. It’s the only thing keeping me from succumbing to the numbness of this endless dark.
I press my forehead to the inner curve of the egg, letting the muffled warmth of Mina’s distant presence wash over me. I cling to that sensation, because once I’m free, I will do whatever it takes to ensure she never again feels the need to fight just to be loved. I pull every trick I’ve learned to make my egg pulse for her, send my warmth and affections to her.
I float in a soft,muffled darkness, the curved walls of my egg-prison pressing around me like an eternal night. The inside smells faintly of damp, earthy minerals, and with every breath I take, the tang of old magic prickles the back of my tongue. Suddenly, there’s a rush of emotion from Mina—her anxiety crackles through the bond like lightning. I see her fear in vivid, fragmented images: the Headmaster’s stern face, the claustrophobic corridors of the academy, the tense set of her shoulders. Thauglor’s presence hums at the edge of my consciousness, resonating with my thoughts. He agrees: we need to stay with her, protect her. If we can’t be there in the flesh, at least we can lend her our strength and hope that exhaustion claims us only after she’s safe.
‘Don’t leave us behind!’I shout through the bond, my voice echoing in this cramped, egg-like chamber. My words reverberate off the inside of my prison, and I sense Thauglor’s voice join mine, both of us pleading with her. The thought of being sent away carves a hollow ache in my chest.
Her response trickles into my mind, soft as a whisper. “I can’t shift to defend myself if you’re strapped to my chest. It’s only for an hour, I promise.” Her voice coats my fear like a salve, easing the tension in my muscles. A pang of frustration follows—I’m too far, too confined. It isn’t time for me to break free yet.
There’s a subtle shift, like being nudged off balance, and I realize she’s removing the carrier. Darkness deepens around me,pressing in. My surroundings grow quieter, but I still sense her life force—weak but steady. I cling to that faint pulse. When her lips brush against my shell, I strain to press my taloned hand against the spot I feel her warmth. She admits we were arguing. Maybe so, but really, we were begging her not to leave us.
Next, I feel the change in our location. We’re handed over to Abraxis—Mina’s instruction, no doubt. The clank of armor and muffled shouts reach me through the shell. He’s training students. His commands ring out, sharp and resolute, like a battle-hardened general. My chest tightens at the realization: perhaps the so-called “hatchling” isn’t as useless as I assumed. If there aren’t many elders left, it could be because we’re all sealed in prisons like this. Maybe this is how the mages maintain balance—by trapping dragons.
Still, Abraxis isn’t so terrible, I think grudgingly. He exudes discipline, strength, and a keen understanding of war. I focus on that thought until a sudden spike of dread from Mina seizes my attention. Abraxis stiffens. His voice thunders, “Ziggy, go get her. Now!” The sound rattles through the shell, making my heart pound. Almost instantly, Mina’s fear subsides.Intriguing.
She comes for us as soon as she can. Relief washes over me like a cool breeze through stifled air. When I sense her touch again, I finally relax. She explains what happened in the Headmaster’s office, and my blood boils beneath my scaled skin. The Headmaster fears Thauglor and me—fears what we can do if we’re allowed to remain with our mate. And that’s why he wants to tear us away from Mina. A low growl builds in my throat, echoing off the slick, curved walls. No one will keep us from her. Not for long.
Mina’s voicedrifts through the shell, muffled and distant, but still clear enough for me to make out her words. She’s discussing her vision with the others, and one thing stands out above all else: over and over, they repeat that I hatch to save her. A thrill rushes through my scales. I have about two months left in this wretched prison, two months before I see my mate in the flesh. I press a talon against the inside of the egg, the curved point scraping across the surface with a soft, futile hiss. Not a single mark remains. So much for etching the days, counting down to my freedom.
The walls of this egg feel thick, damp, and claustrophobic. Sometimes it grows so hot I swear I can taste the earthy mineral tang in the back of my throat. Other times, an uncomfortable chill seeps in, making me shudder. The echoes of voices reverberate against the shell, and I pick up the heightened tempo of Mina’s heartbeat, as if she’s standing right beside me. My own heart thrums in response, an instinctive desire to protect her pounding in my chest.
“We still have the matter of finishing Mina’s nest for her yearly,” a male says, his tone crisp and clear through the shell. He must be close.
Her yearly is coming early? The plates along my spine rise and fall with growing anxiety. My wings itch to stretch free. I can’t stand being trapped in here when she might need me soon. Then Mina speaks, her voice soft but sure, and I freeze in place.
“I have four bonded mates…” she says, and I concentrate on her every syllable. It makes sense that her yearly is coming sooner if she hasn’t been bred yet. Once a dragoness has a clutch, she controls when she’s fertile, at least in my time. Now, apparently, it’s all changed.
I listen to them strategize, planning for the possibility that her yearly might sneak up on them. The tension in their voices hints at how crucial this is. Footsteps shuffle, and the faint clink of metal suggests they’re taking notes or examining gear. They’re ready to rearrange everything for her—a testament to my mate’s sway. I can’t help but marvel at her cunning: she’s collected a variety of mates that cover almost every tactical advantage.
The black dragon is powerful, territorial, and equipped with a devastating breath weapon. A gryphon offers impeccable eyesight for defense. The gargoyle’s stone-like hide is nearly indestructible, perfect for protecting eggs. And the nightmare? That one intrigues me most. Able to see truth, able to incite or prevent nightmares… It’s a formidable array of talents.
Then there’s the basilisk and the displacer beast. The basilisk should have been chosen earlier—its traits are vital, especially for breeding strong scales. I recall how black dragons gained their legendary hides from such a lineage. On rare occasions, the basilisk can produce dragonic offspring in winter months. As for the displacer beast, it’s brilliant for safeguarding young; it can vanish with eggs or hatchlings to safety in a heartbeat.
A sudden shift in Mina’s energy makes me focus intently. She’s looking at her forearm. I remember her mentioning that implant—it prevents her from laying eggs. A low growl rumbles in my throat at the mere thought. It’s as unnatural as a dragon refusing to ever take its true form. My stomach twists uneasily.
Here, in this cramped darkness, I can’t help but shiver. The shell feels damp against my scales, my own heat reflecting back at me. All I want is to break free, to feel the cool rush of air on my wings, to wrap myself around Mina and keep her safe. The press of the egg closes in around me with every breath. I remind myself that my hatching is inevitable, that I will save her—just as she has foreseen.
Still, two months is a long time to wait in this half-lit, humid tomb. I dig my talons into the shell again, longing to leave my mark, to prove my presence. But the shell remains smooth, unyielding. So I bide my time, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of my mate’s pulse lull me into a restless anticipation.
