Chapter 31 Finlay #2
She pulls her wing back, exposing the egg fully.
I stand up and move out of the nest, my talons finding purchase on the woven branches as I hop down to the sand.
The grains are warm beneath my feet as I shift back to my human form, the transformation rippling through me in a wave of reforming bones and receding feathers.
“Meet your granddaughter.”
Raven sits the egg up in the nest, one hand steadying its base, the other cradling its curve. The shell catches the light as she shows off its size—nearly three feet of gleaming obsidian, the scale pattern intricate and beautiful, warmth radiating from within.
Then she does the one thing that defies all known dragon logic. She reaches out, takes her father’s hand, and places it on the shell. The silence that follows is deafening.
Thauglor freezes. His entire body goes rigid, his sapphire eyes wide with shock, his hand trembling against the warm surface of the egg.
I can see the conflict in his face—the desperate desire to feel this moment fully warring with the instinct to pull away, to not overstep, to not ruin this impossible gift.
“She’s strong.” Raven’s soft smile makes my heart flip in my chest. There’s so much love in that expression. So much trust.
Thauglor runs his hand over the shell reverently, his touch as gentle as if he were handling the most fragile thing in existence. And perhaps he is. Not physically—dragon eggs are remarkably resilient—but emotionally. This moment is fragile. This gift is precious beyond measure.
“No elder male dragon has ever touched a viable egg of his progeny in all of my memory.” His voice is thick, rough with emotion he’s struggling to contain. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Raven’s forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “Thank you for this great boon.”
I can tell by watching him that he’s holding his emotions back with everything he has. His jaw is tight. His throat works as he swallows repeatedly. His hand continues to stroke the shell with that same reverent touch, as if he can’t bear to break contact.
He clears his throat, visibly trying to get himself under control. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier, though still rough around the edges. “Your new siblings hatched last night. Everyone is healthy and strong.”
Raven’s face lights up, and Thauglor pulls out his phone, turning the screen toward her. I watch her eyes widen as she scrolls through the images, her finger swiping eagerly across the glass.
“My brothers look like me.” She smiles at the pictures, her voice soft with wonder. “They have my silver horns.”
I step closer, drawn by curiosity, and look over her shoulder at the images. The hatchlings are tiny, their scales dark and gleaming, their eyes already bright with intelligence. And there, curving back from their skulls, are the distinctive silver horns that mark Raven as her father’s daughter.
“They are fine-looking hatchlings.” I say, genuinely impressed. Strong. Healthy. Beautiful in the way all new life is beautiful.
A thought crosses my mind.
“Raven, why don’t you hand me your father’s phone.” I hold out my hand, and she passes it to me with a curious tilt of her head. “Then you scoot the egg to the edge of the nest and take a picture with your father.”
Thauglor’s eyes light up like a child given an unexpected gift. He looks hopefully at his daughter, that ancient, fearsome face transformed by something as simple as the possibility of a photograph.
Raven giggles—actually giggles—and scoots her egg carefully to the edge of the nest. Thauglor leans over the rim, positioning himself beside her, and they both raise their wings high.
The black membranes spread wide, catching the bioluminescent light, creating a dramatic backdrop of shadow and scale.
They extend their talons, sharp and gleaming, a display of power and pride.
They look at me for the picture. Their sapphire eyes glow with an inner fire, identical in shade and intensity. But it’s not the power that strikes me. It’s not the danger or the ancient bloodline or the legendary status.
It’s their smiles. And their matching dimples.
She is her father’s daughter, right down to the small indentations that appear in their cheeks when they grin.
The same dimples. The same fire. The same fierce, protective love that burns brighter than any flame.
Raven’s black wings spread wide behind her, echoing her father’s stance side by side.
I snap several pictures, making sure to capture every angle, every expression. The fierce pose. The softer moment when Thauglor glances at his daughter with undisguised adoration. The way Raven leans into her father’s side, comfortable and safe.
I hand the phone back to Thauglor, and he scrolls through the images with visible delight.
“You’ve made my day.” He kisses Raven’s temple, lingering for just a moment, then turns to face the rest of us. He shakes each of our hands—Corvus, then Keir, then Hemlocke, then Solaris, then me. His grip is firm, warm, and grateful. “Take care of my girls.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing into the tunnels that lead out of Blackhaven.
The family group chat explodes into chaos almost immediately.
My phone buzzes relentlessly against my thigh, notification after notification flooding the screen.
I pull it out and watch the messages scroll past faster than I can read them.
Klauth remarks on how an elder drake is never allowed near its progeny’s eggs—the significance of what just happened apparently not lost on the family historian.
Ziggy mentions Raven being Thauglor’s mini-me, complete with a string of emojis I don’t entirely understand.
Mina sends heart after heart after heart.
Her siblings—Lily, Thorne, Azalea, Bella—devolve into excited key smashing.
The chat goes on for an hour.
During that time, the rest of us take turns taking pictures with Raven and the egg.
Corvus kneels beside the nest, his silver eyes soft, his war drake’s mask nowhere to be found.
Keir blinks in and out of existence, appearing in different positions for each shot, his stormy gray eyes bright with joy.
Hemlocke stands tall and proud, his dark eyes gleaming.
Solaris poses with all the dignity of an ancient dragon, though I catch the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.
And I—I shift back to my phoenix form for one picture, spreading my bronze and gold wings wide over my mate and our egg.
I send those images to the chat, and the chaos intensifies.
Raven announces it’s a girl. But she won’t say who the father is. The questions flood in immediately. Demands. Pleas. Bribes. But Raven just smiles that soft, secretive smile and refuses to answer.
I have a feeling this is going to be a secret she carries all the way to the end.
And honestly? I’m okay with that.
Because it doesn’t matter whose blood runs through that shell. She’s ours. All of ours. And we will love her—fiercely, completely, eternally—regardless of biology.
That’s what family means.