Page 9 of Klauth (Dragonis Academy, Year 2.5 #3)

Chapter Nine

The days bleed into each other, their passing marked only by the subtle shifts in my mate’s mood and the low hum of her heartbeat echoing through our bond.

Darkness is all I know now—this egg prison that seals me away.

The shell walls press in on me with a constant, clammy pressure, the curved surface cool and unyielding against my scaled skin.

Sometimes I swear I can feel my breath echoing back, like a faint wind trapped in a bottle.

I sense her—Mina—bustling about, attending classes that rouse her mind and spirit.

She carries both of our eggs with her, whispering, telling us about a world we can no longer see.

Apparently, she’s added another mate to her growing nest—a gargoyle this time.

A wise choice. Gargoyles are nearly indestructible, vital protectors.

When she’s ready to lay her clutch, his strength will guard our offspring.

Through the bond, I catch fragments of her day, like disjointed images in a haze.

Pride warms my chest when I learn the academy for war and politics—my father’s dream and mine—still thrives after all this time.

The realization sends a prickle of fierce satisfaction through me.

I imagine the ancient stone walls, the clang of steel in the training grounds, the electric charge of cunning minds strategizing. My vision—our vision—lives on.

I listen to my mate during her art of war class.

Her tone is decisive, each word brimming with confidence as she relays her plan to the gargoyle.

Then a strange noise reverberates through her surroundings, crackling in a way I can’t identify.

My heart lurches at the change in her breathing, but it remains calm.

There’s a brief wave of pleasurable energy, a ripple of confusion—her voice quiet and perplexed.

“That’s a glitch,” she murmurs, and then a soft laugh follows.

She’s solved whatever it was. Relief settles over me like a calming breeze.

Their discussion shifts to the basilisk, and I feel the faint tug of recognition in my chest. It’s distant but unmistakable.

I know the creature well—know what it can do, the danger it poses.

He’s masking himself from her. Perhaps he has his reasons for concealing his true nature; it isn’t my place to reveal him unless the nest is threatened.

When Mina admits her dragoness wants to bring a prey animal into the bond, my thoughts sharpen.

A new potential mate? The idea kindles an unexpected curiosity.

What manner of creature would tempt her so strongly that her dragoness seeks to claim it?

The puzzle intrigues me more than I care to admit.

Eventually, Mina’s mood shifts. She goes silent, tension gripping her as though she’s holding her breath.

I sense a quiet fear, the dread of harming this male who matters to her.

A pang of jealousy flares inside me, but it’s dulled by the confinement of this shell.

If he is valuable to her, I must accept it—for the good of our nest.

The eggs wall feel colder than before, or perhaps I’m imagining it. My senses are trapped, limited to the ebb and flow of Mina’s bond. Still, her steady heartbeat remains my anchor, reminding me I’m not truly alone. I just hope, when I finally emerge, I find her safe and our nest intact.

Mina tells us about the nest she hatched in.

An unknown enemy destroyed it, but she isn’t sad—she’s furious she wasn’t the one to crush it herself.

I sense her malice through our bond, a simmering heat that coils in my chest. Her father deserves no less than being mounted on a pike for her to strike at will.

I shift slightly inside this egg prison, the slick interior walls pressing against me.

The faint glow of our bond is the only warmth I know, pulsing like a heartbeat in the otherwise dark void.

I can feel the moment Mina slips the carrier off her shoulders.

She hands us—my egg and Thauglor’s egg—to another presence.

It’s the gryphon. His energy crackles differently, more airy and vibrant than hers.

Mina’s voice resonates through the bond, cool and commanding. ‘I need you to watch over Klauth and Thauglor. Keep their eggs safe like you would keep me safe.’ She instructs him, then speaks to someone else, telling them to get us far from the battle.

When she shifts, a surge of ancient power ripples along my egg’s shell.

It’s like a tremor in the air, causing the egg walls to hum against me.

My mate is so much more than she seems. The knowledge comforts me, even as her next act—sending us away—pulls me into slumber.

Darkness closes in, muffling my awareness.

Suddenly, a flood of horrifying visions tears through the bond.

I jolt as my senses ignite with my mate’s memories, memories she’s kept buried.

They surge like a raging river, too swift and too cold.

I see flashes of torment—hands that hurt her, voices that belittled her, the terror in her eyes.

Rage thrums in my blood. I want to raze every kingdom in existence so she will never feel worthless again.

Then I witness her death. My breath—or what passes for breath here—catches.

My heart, my core, twists. Her fairy dragon familiar resurrects her, stitching her soul back into her body.

Moments later, she summons us. She holds me up, introducing me to figures I can’t fully see—faces blurred, voices muffled.

She does the same with Thauglor, cradling our eggs protectively.

I sense her warmth, her heartbeat, a steady rhythm of reassurance.

Then she hides us beneath the vast canopy of another dragon’s wings, leathery and alive with heat.

More images crowd my mind. I realize she’s a seer—a veil walker.

Dying only strengthened that gift. Each vision is as vivid as if I’m gazing through her own eyes while she paints them in living color.

One in particular stands out: I watch myself, fully formed, rending her father’s body in my talons.

The satisfaction in my chest is almost tangible, a fierce drumbeat of triumph.

Thauglor and another dragon—her other mate—stand high in the mountains, guarding her nest. And in the distance, a Nightmare, and a gargoyle—one she calls “prey animal”—are bound to her as well.

Sleep tugs at me again, but before I succumb, I reflect on how valuable our mate truly is.

A dragoness with the power to walk the veil, to foresee futures in such startling clarity …

Let these whelps understand her worth. I let the darkness claim me, drifting into the depths of this egg prison.

My last thought is a silent promise to keep her safe—and to relish the moment I finally break free to wreak havoc on those who dared to hurt her.

Mina has been gone most of the day. Though I am confined within this egg prison, I still sense her excitement through our bond whenever she speaks.

The subtle hum of her voice resonates against my shell, making the cramped interior feel a little less oppressive.

She tells us it’s her birthday, and her nest mates are taking her out to celebrate.

I can almost picture her bright eyes and flushed cheeks as she recounts every new sensation and taste—exotic foods, bustling markets, temples filled with incense that cling to her clothing, and, most intriguingly, the healing springs she discovered still exist.

I remember those springs well. The memory of their mineral-rich air and the gentle steam that once curled around my scales drifts through my mind.

After countless battles, I would fly to those waters, my wings aching and singed, and sink into their warmth.

It was solace in a world forever on the brink of war.

Apparently, the one Mina calls Ziggy is a displacer beast. The thought piques my curiosity. His species often commands a measure of respect, and perhaps fear; he would make a fine addition to her nest if she decides he’s worthy.

At last, the basilisk caretaker schedules me an hour with my mate.

I feel a jostle as he lifts the pillow that Iris once used to keep watch over me.

The soft fabric brushes across my shell, muffling the outside world.

Then I sense Mina’s presence. She’s settled herself somewhere—possibly a couch or a bed, if the distant creak of springs is any indication.

She lays down, drawing the pillow with me on it into her lap.

Her hands rest gently on the egg’s surface; even through the barrier, her warmth seeps in, easing some of the tension that coils inside my chest.

A sliver of her thoughts slip through our connection as she drifts into sleep. I taste the sharp tang of fear when she contemplates completing the bond with the nightmare, a creature she considers prey. I pause. Will her dragoness see him as a morsel instead of a mate, despite the fledgling bond?

From my vantage point here in the darkness, I piece together fragments about my mate’s lineage: she’s part green dragon, part iron.

Greens can be unpredictable—vicious, even—driven by primal instincts.

Irons are among the most formidable of the ferrous line, wielding lightning and carrying a sleep-inducing breath.

That potent mix might explain her fear of harming the nightmare.

I’ve glimpsed how rough she is with the young black drake, and how savagely he bites her in return.

The flashes of those encounters are raw, laced with snarls and the coppery scent of spilled blood.

My pulse thrums in sync with hers, yet uncertainty gnaws at me.

This union of powers—hers, mine, and their complicated nest—strikes me as a precarious balancing act.

I wonder, in the quiet hush of this egg, how it will all end.

Will her green side lash out at the nightmare despite the mate bond’s protection?

Or will she find the will to restrain that feral instinct?

I inhale the stale air around me, tasting specks of dust and the faint residue of old magic that keeps me trapped.

My heart drums a steady rhythm, tethered to hers by the bond that grows stronger by the day.

All I can do is wait in this darkness, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, hoping I won’t feel her heartbreak or her rage when the time comes for them to seal their fate.