Page 53 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

Abraxis

The minute the courier delivered the missives, I knew it was over.

Mina’s vision is coming to pass. The parchment in my hands feels rough, its edges crinkling as I clutch it too tightly.

The ink pot on the desk trembles as I slam it down, the faint tang of metal and parchment mixing with the salt air drifting through the cracked window.

I sit down and begin writing her several letters—one for each day I’ll be gone.

My pen scratches against the paper, the sound grating against the heavy silence in the room.

There’s also the letter I leave with Ziggy in case I die in battle.

The weight of the words feels like a stone pressing on my chest. I detail everything I’ve set aside for her in case of my passing—the land, the accounts, the stipend from the kingdom she’s entitled to as my mate.

Every line feels colder than the last, as if the ink itself knows this might be goodbye.

“Are you sure this needs to be done?” Ziggy’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and uncertain, as he watches me pen the hardest letter of my life .

“I made arrangements the last time we were called away, and I was injured.” My voice is hoarse, my throat raw from holding back emotions that threaten to choke me.

My eyes fall to the letter as I fold it, tucking one of my scales inside as proof of her claim.

It shimmers faintly in the candlelight, a midnight onyx that catches the eye—strong, unbreakable.

At least, it should be. “If I can’t be here to take care of her in life, I’ll make sure she’s taken care of after my death. ”

Smirking, I glance up at Ziggy, the expression brittle on my face. “Besides, she’s chosen to mate my best friends. I know you idiots will do your best to take care of her.”

The chair scrapes against the floor as I push away from the table, the sound harsh in the heavy air. The letter I hope Ziggy never has to give Mina feels like a lead weight in my palm as I hand it to him.

“You better fucking survive this,” Ziggy mutters, shaking his head. His fingers tighten around the envelope, and for the first time, his cocky demeanor falters. “Her in a rage is not something I ever want to witness.”

A shiver runs down his spine as his gaze shifts to Callan, who holds a similar letter in his hand.

“Seriously? You two are a pair of morose motherfuckers.” The grumble in his voice doesn’t quite mask the edge of worry.

Begrudgingly, he snatches the letter from Callan, tucking both envelopes into his jacket.

“Between our two stipends, Mina will never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life,” Callan says, his voice steady, but his eye is distant. He stares at the missive I hand back to him, running a thumb along its edge.

“Can we stop being so negative? She didn’t say either of you die.” Ziggy’s voice holds a note of exasperation, but the tightness in his jaw betrays his unease .

I don’t answer. Instead, I move to the window, the salty breeze brushing against my skin.

My eyes trace the jagged coastline, the waves crashing against the rocks below.

In the distance, I see Mina and Balor moving along the shore, their forms sharp against the dusky horizon.

The sound of the ocean roars in my ears as Balor shifts back, the air shimmering faintly as his scaled form morphs into his human one.

They walk hand in hand, the last stretch to the conservatory.

At least I know Balor would turn the world to stone to protect her. Ziggy would take her to the ends of the earth to escape whatever was chasing them. My breath fogs the window as I exhale slowly, my thoughts turning dark. The big unknown is the two cursed eggs sitting in Mina’s room.

Almost an hour later, with tears streaking both Mina’s face and mine, we finally leave.

The bitter tang of salt still lingers on my lips, and my chest feels tight, as if the weight of what’s coming is physically pressing down on me.

It’s times like this I hate the decree forcing all male dragons into service until their mates lay their first clutch.

The thought churns in my stomach, sour and unrelenting.

I won’t force that on Mina just to spare myself.

I glance up, my gaze locking on the Waxing Crescent moon hanging low in the sky.

The Dragon Star glimmers faintly near it, the same positioning Mina captured so vividly in her painting.

The cool night air seems sharper now, each breath carrying the metallic hint of inevitability.

Within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, everything will be set into motion—if her vision was completely accurate .

“I’ll fly us out like last time, Callan,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended, as if the night itself demands silence.

I glance over my shoulder at my oldest friend, his form rigid, his eye fixed on the imposing silhouette of the Malivore building.

Its shadow stretches across the flight field like a hungry maw.

In the bay window above, I catch sight of Mina standing motionless, framed by the glass.

The faint, golden light from inside spills over her, accentuating the tension in her shoulders and the fragile determination in her posture.

The bond between us hums faintly in my mind, and I send her a gentle caress, a reassurance.

Her response is immediate—warm, steady, but tinged with worry.

For the first time in my existence, fear snakes through me like a cold, relentless tide.

My father’s words echo in my mind: Fear is the little death. It shuts down logic, leaves you running on primal reactions instead of reason. But even his wisdom doesn’t ease the icy grip around my heart.

I look back one last time. Vaughn and Balor stand on either side of Mina, holding her close, their hulking forms protective but grim.

Leander and Ziggy hover nearby, their expressions shadowed, unreadable.

I inhale deeply; the wind shifting to carry the faintest trace of Mina’s scent—spice and warmth, grounding and fleeting all at once.

Then the wind changes again, and so do I.

The shift is violent, seamless—a ripple of power rushing through me like a tidal wave.

My drake erupts into existence, obsidian scales shimmering as they seem to devour the surrounding light.

My talons dig into the earth, the cool, damp soil squelching beneath them.

I flex each claw, feeling the ground yield to my strength as I ground myself in this moment, forcing my thoughts to steady.

I lower my horned head toward Callan. He shifts into his gryphon form, his feathers gleaming golden under the moonlight, and with a powerful leap, he lands on my back .

The weight of him is familiar, reassuring. He lays down, his wings folding tightly against his sides, ready for the long journey ahead. The wind bites against my scales as I spread my wings wide, each membrane catching the faint moonlight.

It’s an eight-hour flight to the outpost where we’re expected.

Eight hours feels like an eternity—a distance too vast if Mina needs me.

The fear churns again, whispering insidious doubts, but I push them aside.

My wings beat powerfully against the night air as we take off, the ground falling away beneath us.

I can only hope I’m overreacting—that the shadows of my imagination won’t manifest into the horrors I fear.

But the weight in my chest tells me otherwise.

The sun crests the jagged horizon, casting a pale, golden glow over the last mountain range before the outpost. The crisp morning air carries a metallic tang, sharp and cold against my nostrils.

But the sight ahead freezes my blood—a storm of wings, claws, and fire.

Wyverns and green dragons swarm in a chaotic, merciless assault on the outpost below.

A growl builds deep in my chest, rattling my ribcage before erupting into a thunderous roar.

The sound echoes through the valley, as a challenge and a warning.

Callan leaps from my back, his gryphon wings beating furiously as he flies towards the outpost. He’s small, fast, and agile, but no match for the scale and ferocity of the wyverns.

I draw a deep breath, the familiar burn pooling in my chest before I unleash a torrent of flame.

The fire roars past my teeth, molten and deadly, a gift from my red dragon mother.

My other breath weapon lies dormant for now, but this one is enough to rip a hole in their formation.

The outpost dragons seize the opportunity, launching into the air with a deafening chorus of roars.

Above, the sky turns into a battlefield of wings and blood.

Ash and acid sting my nose, mixing with the scent of charred scales and burned flesh.

The clash of talons and screams of pain creates a cacophony that reverberates in my skull.

A sharp, searing pain flares as a splash of acid grazes my flank, the wound hissing and bubbling.

It’s shallow, but it stings like hell, and the anger fuels me forward.

In the distance, a smaller flight of greens and wyverns peels off from the main attack, heading toward possibly Malivore.

‘Shit.’ My wings fold tight, and I dive for the outpost. The wind howls past my ears as the ground rushes up to meet me.

I shift mid-air, the transformation ripping through my body in a rush of searing heat and bone-cracking pain.

When my boots hit the dirt, I’m already sprinting.

The command center door crashes open under my shoulder, the sound of wood splintering bouncing off the walls. Heads snap up, startled faces turning to me as my chest heaves.

Callan doesn’t need my words; he reads the urgency in my eyes. “I’m heading back,” he announces, his voice steady as he grabs his gear.

“You’ll never make it. It’s a two-day flight for a gryphon,” Lark interjects, stepping forward from the map-covered table.

The air inside the room smells of sweat, fear, and tension.

“I can spare Darvan for eight hours. He’ll get you halfway.

That’s the best I can do—we need you here, Abraxis.

” Lark’s gaze lingers on me, his hesitation clear.

He knows what’s at stake. He has a young mate, too.

Callan nods, resolute. “I’ll take it. I’ll get to her as fast as I can. I’ll see if Ziggy can get her to your parents. ”

Feeling foolish, I pull my phone from my pocket, the smooth surface cool against my fingertips. I tap at the screen—no signal. “Anyone have service?” One by one, the others check their phones, shaking their heads.

“The towers must be down,” Lark says, his tone grim as he tosses his phone back on the table. His jaw tightens, and I catch the briefest flash of fear in his eyes. “Let’s end this quickly. Some of us left our nests undefended,” he growls.

My gut twists. Unlike his mate, mine is deadly, a force of nature that will raze the continent to find me if she senses anything amiss. “Come on, Callan,” I mutter, turning on my heel. “I’ll get you to Darvan.”

The descent to the flight field is quick, the gravel crunching under my boots. The acrid smell of smoke from the battle above clings to the air. When we reach the landing area. Darvan, an earth-dragon, is already shifted, his massive form blending seamlessly with the rocky terrain.

“I’ll get there as fast as I can,” Callan says, pulling me into a quick embrace before shifting back into his gryphon form. His feathers ripple in the morning light as he scrambles onto Darvan’s back.

“Head toward the Malivore Conservatory,” I instruct Darvan. “At the halfway point, or just beyond, roar to signal Callan to leap off.”

Darvan rumbles his agreement, his scales grinding together as he shifts his weight.

“I owe you,” I murmur, patting his flank.

Darvan takes off, his powerful wings stirring up dust and grit. My eyes follow them, tracking their ascent—until a dark streak moves against the horizon. My pulse spikes as I recognize the sleek, angular shape of a wyvern lurking in the shadow of the cliffs .

“Damn it.”

Without thinking, I shift again, my body twisting and reshaping into my dragon form as I give chase.

The adrenaline pumps through my veins, every muscle coiled and ready for the long, grueling night ahead.

My thoughts split between tracking Callan’s progress and the unbreakable bond tethering me to Mina.

She’s waiting for me, and if anything threatens her, there will be hell to pay.