Page 6 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy #2)

Mina

Gauntlet day two sprawls between Shadowcarve and Ranathor Keep, a brutal stretch that runs the length of Shadowcarve’s walls, towering as high as the spire itself.

Just like last year, the exit is perched at the top, a cruel reminder of how far we have to go.

And, as always, there are only three ways down—fly, rappel, or claw your way down the sheer face.

Out of the thirty first-years attempting Shadowcarve this year—the largest class in nearly three decades—only thirteen have survived so far, making it past the brutal eighty percent mark.

They’ll be allowed to stay, assuming they heal.

I’m the only surviving second-year, so I have the privilege of deciding when I run.

Exhaustion clings to me like a second skin, so I’m taking the guys’ advice: I’m going last.

The third-years started with fifteen. Now, ten remain.

A third of their class gone—it’s not the worst loss the academy has seen.

The fourth-years are running now, and it looks like they’ll come out of this with the largest surviving class yet.

Eighteen began the trial. Nine have run, and they’ve only lost one so far. A miracle, really.

“Mina?” Abraxis’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He lowers himself beside me on the stone bench, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. I have both eggs with me, nestled in the double carrier I crafted, and everyone else is giving me a ridiculous amount of space. Not that I blame them.

“Yes, love?” I lean into him as his lips find mine in a soft kiss. He smells like leather and earth, the scent grounding me.

“Why are the eggs here?” He gestures toward the carrier, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and concern.

I smirk, arching a brow. “Why do males have balls?”

He blinks at me, clearly unprepared for the direction this is about to take. “They’re really in a horrible place if you think about it,” I add, shrugging casually, as though this is the most obvious conclusion in the world.

Abraxis settles in, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, this I have to hear.”

Ziggy plops down on my other side, clearly drawn by the absurdity of the topic. I glance around and realize half the group is eavesdropping now. Fine. Let them.

“Well,” I begin, mimicking a side-to-side motion with my hand, “they dangle. Constantly. It’s not like they make a bra for them or anything.

No support at all. And if you sit on them, squash them, or hit them…

” I pause for dramatic effect. “You’re down.

Out. Completely defenseless until the pain and nausea pass. ”

Abraxis snorts, shaking his head. Ziggy is watching me with a mix of horror and fascination.

“Aerodynamically, the female body is constructed better,” I continue, arching a brow at the growing crowd.

“All of our important bits are tucked safely inside. Our breasts”—I cup mine for emphasis, hearing someone choke on a laugh behind me—“can be strapped down. A good sports bra, a wide ace wrap, whatever it takes. I do both when I compete. Keeps them out of the way.”

More than one male averts their gaze as I look up, daring anyone to argue. “That’s why everyone was so shocked when I wore a gown. Boobs are annoying. They get in the way of archery, sword fighting, climbing. I mean, the list goes on.”

Abraxis leans back, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “Leave it to you to turn gauntlet day into a debate on anatomy,” he says, wrapping an arm around me.

“What can I say? It’s all about priorities,” I reply, flashing him a grin.

As the last fourth-year crosses the line, I finish stretching and hand the egg carrier off to Abraxis.

The weight of Klauth’s and Thauglor’s eggs leaves my arms, but the responsibility lingers, heavy as ever.

My gaze drifts to Balor, who stands on the platform like last year.

His presence is as commanding as ever, but this time, something feels different.

“I really feel like I’m having a déjà vu moment,” I say, smiling up at him. For a fleeting moment, his eyes shift—pupils narrowing into slits—and I feel the predatory energy ripple through the air.

“Yeah, except this time I care if you make it out or not,” he says, his voice sharp yet low, charged with something he’s not saying outright.

He reaches out toward me, and I freeze, watching him.

His hand pauses midair, and he pulls back, inhaling deeply to steady himself.

“Rinse and repeat,” he mutters, his tone laced with resignation.

I nod. The gauntlet is the same as last year—poisons, living targets, moving floors, and horrors I’ve barely managed to forget. “See you soon,” I say softly, offering him a small, tight smile before stepping forward into the darkness.

The moment I cross the threshold, visions flash before my eyes—fragments of possibilities, warnings from the tethered threads of fate.

The decision is instinctual. My talons extend, scraping against the wooden walls as I climb swiftly, using the beams above to bypass the traps and obstacles.

The ground below is a massacre. Blood sprays in crimson arcs, and dangling intestines glint faintly in the sparse light, strung up on a rod like grotesque decorations.

I leap across a gap, landing silently on the other side.

There, the tunnel to the second floor looms ahead, dark and uninviting.

This will be the only place my feet touch the ground.

Kneeling, I glance around the area, my senses sharpening.

No bloodstains, no shredded uniforms, no signs of previous victims. It’s clean—too clean.

My skin prickles with unease, but there’s no other way forward.

The stairwell yawns before me, cold and black, like the maw of some slumbering beast. A chill runs down my spine as I place a cautious foot on the first step, my mind racing with what could be waiting for me above. Whatever it is, it’s better than what’s behind me. I have to keep moving.

I place my foot on the outer edge of the stairs, every movement deliberate, trying to blend into the shadows. Each step creaks faintly under my weight, but the noises above cover most of it. I pause, listening. Something shifts on the second floor .

There it is again—just ahead. I exhale softly and leap, using my arms and legs to press against the walls. My body is taut as I climb the rest of the way, silent, scaling the staircase like a predator stalking its prey. From this higher vantage point, the room comes into view.

Half a dozen kobolds roam the space, their tiny armored forms darting in and out of the shadows.

They’re humanoid dragons, standing only two feet tall.

Spear tips and sword edges glint in the dim light.

Lesser dragon kin, I remind myself, though the distinction does little to settle the unease curling in my gut.

They chatter in yip yak, their native tongue—a language of sharp, high-pitched syllables that scratches at my ears.

A few words translate into dragonic, ones I barely recognize, but most remain incomprehensible.

They sense me. Or rather, they sense her—the dragoness in me. It makes their movements erratic, nervous. The tension hangs thick in the air.

I don’t give them time to act. I leap into the room, talons outstretched, lightning crackling along the curve of my horns. My claws rip through the first two kobolds before they can even turn, their bodies falling in a lifeless heap. But then the swarm comes.

Two dozen, at least, maybe more. They pour from the shadows, scrambling over each other in a frenzy.

The room is a storm of steel, scales, and snarls.

My talons slash in a wide arc, and the heads of two kobolds thud onto the wooden floor.

I freeze, their ichor slick on my claws.

The others do too, their eyes wide, reflecting the faint blue glow of my lightning.

A deep, guttural roar tears from my throat, echoing through the room.

It’s enough. They hesitate, then retreat, backing away into the shadows, their courage drained.

The last of them flees, leaving me alone in the silence. My chest rises and falls, the metallic scent of kobold blood thick in the air. My scales itch, a deep discomfort crawling under my skin. Killing dragon kin—even lesser ones—feels wrong, but they didn’t share my hesitation.

I shake it off and scan the room again, eyes sharp for any lingering threat. Nothing stirs. My claws click softly against each other as I cross to the next section. The following room feels almost anticlimactic after the chaos—empty, quiet, too mundane.

I don’t trust it.

The next room feels too plain. It’s almost unnerving.

My eyes sweep the space, landing on a dark stain—a blood smear on one of the floor planks.

There’s nothing nearby that could have caused it, no struggle, no weapon, nothing.

I lean into the doorway, craning my neck to take a better look.

The walls catch my attention next, the faint outlines of recessed panels barely visible in the dim light.

It’s a trap. My gut twists.

Stepping back, I head to the room behind me where the kobolds swarmed earlier. One of their mangled bodies lies crumpled against the wall. Grimacing, I grab it by the arm and haul it back. With a grunt, I toss the limp form into the room, aiming for the bloodstain.

A whisper of sound, then a sharp hiss—four arrows slice through the air from all directions, meeting in a deadly crossfire. The kobold’s body jerks midair, pierced through before it even touches the ground.

I watch from the doorway, the tension humming in my muscles as I study the room. The trap doesn’t need footsteps to trigger. That’s... inconvenient.

There has to be a pattern, a way through without ending up like that kobold.

Returning to the other room, I drag three more of the bodies back with me.

This time, I crouch low, rolling one of the bodies across the floor like a bowling ball.

Two arrows streak down from above, embedding themselves with a sickening thunk.

Progress.

Grabbing another body, I throw it toward the far side of the room, aiming close to the floor where the hatch lies in wait. A single arrow fires close to my target. My lips curl into a grim smile.

I make an educated guess. No time to overthink.

Grabbing the last two bodies, I fling them into the room with all the force I can muster, then leap for the wall.

My talons dig into the wood as I scale it, muscles straining, until I reach the ceiling.

From here, I can see them—crossbows, perfectly aimed, ready to shred anything that moves below.

My talons anchor me to a wooden beam, and I dangle upside down, suspended.

Inch by inch, I worm my way across the room, thighs burning as I clamp the beam between my knees.

The rough wood scrapes at my skin through the leathers, but I keep moving.

The hatch is close now, just a little farther.

I reach out and punch upward, hard. The hatch bursts open, and the cool night air rushes in, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat inside.

I haul myself through the opening, muscles screaming in protest, and roll onto the roof of the gauntlet. For a moment, I lie there, gasping for breath, staring up at the stars scattered across the dark sky. My lungs fill with clean air, and I finally sit up, pulling myself to my feet.

Walking to the edge of the roof, I look down at everyone below, their faces a mix of awe and disbelief.

Two-time, back-to-back gauntlet winner, two years running.

My lips curl into a bitter smile. If I didn’t hate my father so much right now, I know he’d be proud of this.

Proud of me. The thought twists in my chest like a blade.

Instead of pride, all I feel is the cold emptiness of spite.

The upside, I have three mates that love me and I know they are proud as fuck of me right now.

Before I can figure out how I’m getting down, Callan’s gryphon lands beside me, its golden eye bright with recognition. Relief floods through me, and I step closer, wrapping my arms around its muscular neck. The soft, whistling sound it makes when it’s happy soothes something raw inside me.

“You have no idea how glad I am you came to get me,” I murmur into the gryphon’s feathers, breathing in its wild, earthy scent. “I’m exhausted.”

Callan’s gryphon lowers itself to the ground, making it easier for me to climb onto its back.

I move slowly, my muscles sore and heavy from the gauntlet.

Between getting bitten yesterday and surviving today’s endless trial, I could really use a nap.

As I settle in, the gryphon rocks gently, rising to its feet before striding to the edge of the gauntlet platform.

Then it leaps, wings spreading wide, catching the thermals effortlessly.

The wind rushes past, cool against my skin, and for a moment, I feel weightless.

We glide smoothly to the ground, touching down on the soft soil below. The moment we land, Abraxis is there, his hands on me, checking me over for injuries. His stormy eyes scan every inch of me, sharp and relentless.

“I’m fine,” I say, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “I promise, not even a splinter.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but I take the egg carrier from him anyway, cradling it close. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Vaughn’s faint smile, and I give him a quick wave .

“Callan and I have to stay behind as senior staff,” Abraxis says, his fingers brushing against my cheek. There’s a softness in his touch that makes my heart ache. “Can Vaughn take you home?”

He leans in and kisses me gently, the warmth of his lips laced with worry. I know what this is really about—he’s afraid the bond between Vaughn and me will fray the way mine and Callan’s once did.

“Of course,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his again before turning to Callan.

I kiss him too, lingering for a moment. “See you soon,” I say softly, glancing at Balor as he approaches.

His eyes lock on mine, and for the briefest second, I swear I see jealousy flicker there.

It’s gone as quickly as it came, leaving me questioning if it was ever there at all.

Shaking my head, I let Vaughn’s gargoyle scoop me up, his muscular arms cradling me as we take to the sky. I lean my head against Vaughn’s shoulder, my eyes drifting shut. The wind hums around us, but exhaustion pulls me under.

A quick nap sounds like heaven.