Chapter 38
KELAN
The eggs begin to tremble in the moments before dawn.
Darial is the first to sense it. He is curled around them in the nesting room we built beside our bedroom.
A thick mattress is topped by so many furs that his half-shifted dragon body is almost hidden.
His golden scales shimmer faintly, and his wings tremble as he allows controlled heat to flow from his body.
They’re moving, he murmurs through our mental connection.
I’m there in seconds, followed by Ronyn and Aura, who scrubs the sleep from her eyes with her fist, glancing round, uncertain of why she’s been dragged from her bed.
The black egg cracks first.
A thin line fractures one scalloped ridge, glowing faintly from within. The shell isn't brittle like a bird’s. It is layered and scaled, black as cooled lava. It pulses as something inside shifts. I kneel beside it, barely breathing.
The gold egg shudders next. Then the scarlet.
The air thickens with that familiar, sacred hum we felt the first time Aura’s magic unfurled in full.
Aura gasps as she realizes what’s about to happen. At the size the eggs have reached, we suspected our offspring were close to emerging.
The crack widens.
A small hand punches through the black shell, then the shell splits in two with a wet, crystalline sound, collapsing outward. In its place lies a tiny, furious, utterly human-looking dark-haired infant.
He inhales sharply and wails, and my knees nearly give out. He has a shock of dark hair plastered to his skull which is damp and soft-looking. His fists flail with surprising strength. His skin is flushed from heat, but faint shadows lie beneath it, like scales waiting beneath the surface.
Ronyn makes a broken sound in his throat, and Aura is there in a flash to pick up the infant and hold him to her chest.
My son.
Before we can take it in, the gold egg splits.
Another infant spills into Darial’s waiting hands; a girl this time. Her pale hair is already visible, and her cry is lower and angrier, as if offended by the indignity of birth.
Then the scarlet egg breaks, its shell fracturing into jagged seams as a second girl emerges, her red hair catching the firelight. She doesn’t cry immediately. She blinks up at us, solemn and almost wise, as if she recognizes us already.
Aura sobs in joy.
“They’re… so beautiful,” she whispers, as Darial and Ronyn embrace their children, kissing damp hair and cheeks, breathing in their scents. I reach for my son, and Aura allows me to take him, bending to check on her other children. I have never held something so small and fragile.
Ronyn gathers the scarlet-haired infant against his broad chest, swearing softly as tears spill freely down his face.
“I would burn the world for you,” he murmurs to his daughter.
Darial cradles his daughter, pressing his forehead gently to the baby’s. “Little sun,” he whispers.
Aura slides from the bed and joins us on the floor, her gold shift pooling around her. She touches each child with trembling reverence, kissing damp foreheads and whispering soft endearments.
“You did it,” she breathes. “You’re here. My precious babies.”
She studies them carefully. “I wonder if they will grow faster like Ahya.”
“Who knows,” I say. “Their existence is a miracle.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kelan growls. “As long as they are strong and healthy.”
A warmth unlike any dragon fire blooms around us. The candles along the walls flare untouched. Aura’s runes ignite in soft light.
Above us, the ceiling trembles.
Light filters through the window as the star-filled night sky is obliterated by a single beam descending like a blessing, illuminating the four of us and the three small lives between us.
In that light, for the briefest heartbeat, I see wings. The presence is vast and luminous; an intense presence settles into my bones with ancient approval.
The goddess.
The babies stop crying all at once. Three tiny pulses of light shimmer beneath their skin, black, gold, scarlet, then fade.
Ronyn exhales shakily. “She welcomes them.”
“Yes,” Aura whispers. From her heart, an answering beam streams toward the window. She raises her left hand with instinctive praise. Our mate is pure maternal power.
I bow my head without meaning to. I don’t bow often, but in this precious moment, surrounded by my mate and our children, I understand.
We were never meant to dominate Aura’s power.
We were meant to guard it. To love it. To help it flourish.
My son yawns in my arms.
The golden-haired girl grips Darial’s thumb like a warrior claiming a sword.
The red-haired child stares at Ronyn with solemn, assessing eyes.
I laugh softly, and it’s a sound that reverberates strangely in my chest.
“We will teach you to fly,” I murmur to them. “But first, you will learn to crawl and walk.”
Aura leans into my side, exhausted but radiant.
“This,” she says quietly, watching them breathe. “This is what my magic was for.”
Outside, the first light of dawn spills over the city.
Inside, three new heartbeats join ours.
The future of dragonkind rests safe in our arms.