Page 31

The halls of the Academy had gone still, with that particular hush falling after curfew when even the book sprites dimmed their glow. Laughter had faded to soft murmurs behind closed doors, the crackle of hearths muffled beneath thick stone walls, and everyone had retired for the night.

Everyone but me.

I slipped through the quiet halls like I belonged to the silence, my boots barely brushing the worn floors.

The Academy didn’t question me anymore when I walked its hidden paths.

It knew where I was going because it was the one leading me there.

The old wooden paneling just beyond the west stairwell shifted open at my touch. No lock. No key. Just recognition.

The tunnel beyond was cool and dry, lit only by the faint glimmer of light that was buried in the walls, like veins. I descended slowly, with a steady breath, heart tight with something that wasn’t quite dread, but wasn’t peace either.

The key fluttered toward me instantly, and I used it to unlock the hidden wing.

The dragon den always felt like stepping into another world.

Not just a secret place but a sacred one.

The space opened wide, smooth stone gleaming in the soft bioluminescence of moss and enchantment. The air was warmer here. Heavier. And alive.

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

They knew I was here.

The baby dragon, sleek and golden-colored, with translucent tips and cautious eyes, lifted its head as I stepped inside. It didn’t approach, but it watched me with quiet acknowledgment before settling again beside one of the boulders carved with ancient markings.

And then I saw her.

The mother.

Curled tightly around the egg.

She hadn’t moved much since I was last here, and yet something had changed. Her wings were tucked close, her breath deep and slow, and her body hummed with that low, steady rumble only another living being could understand.

She’s waiting.

I crossed to a quiet spot near the edge of the den and sank to the floor, legs folded beneath me. The warmth soaked into my bones slowly, like an embrace that didn’t ask anything in return.

I didn’t speak for a long time.

I didn’t need to.

There was something reverent about the stillness in this space. As if the world beyond couldn’t intrude, not while something so pure was unfolding here. A dragon was waiting for her child to be born. Guarding her with every breath.

And suddenly, I knew.

I had the answer I’d been turning inside out.

I pressed a hand to my chest, and the truth settled in so fully it felt like it had always been there.

I couldn’t bring Celeste to Stonewick.

Not yet.

Not while shadows still circled. Not while the shimmer whispered through the halls, and Gideon, whatever he was becoming, still had a foothold near the edge of the Wards.

No matter how much I wanted her close.

No matter how much I missed her laughter in the kitchen, her oversized mugs of tea left everywhere, her ability to turn a two-sentence text into a full therapy session.

She was safer away from here.

That egg, small, round, and faintly glowing beneath the mother’s watchful wings, would hatch soon. I knew that. But not before its time.

The mother dragon wasn’t rushing it.

She wasn’t pushing the shell open early.

She was waiting.

Protecting.

Because that’s what love was in its truest form.

It wasn’t about proximity or control, but protection.

And the willingness to stay distant if that’s what safety demanded.

Tears slipped quietly down my cheeks, but I didn’t wipe them away. They didn’t sting. They weren’t filled with regret.

Just... understanding.

I let the ache exist and let it stretch alongside the love.

And in that warmth, I whispered, “Thank you.”

The mother dragon didn’t move, but something shifted in the den.

A deeper quiet surfaced amid a pulse of calm.

I stayed a while longer, letting the warmth lull the edges of my exhaustion as my heartbeat slowed, until the ache dulled into something almost peaceful.

Then I stood.

My legs were stiff, my body tired, but my mind, for the first time in days, was clear.

I walked toward the exit, brushing my fingers along the edge of the stone wall.

But before I left, I turned back once more to look at the egg.

Still nestled.

Still whole.

Still safe.

And I whispered, “I understand.”

By the time I left the dragon den, the halls of the Academy had folded entirely into stillness. No murmurs from awake students, no drifting book sprites or whispers of candlelight spells.

My legs ached, and my mind hummed with the kind of tired that seeps into the bones.

I padded back to my room with slow steps, each one a little softer as the warmth of the den faded into the cool quiet of the corridor. When I reached my door, I twisted the old brass knob and stepped inside.

The space greeted me like an old friend, and the armchair near the window was draped in my favorite wool shawl. The faint scent of spiced tea from an abandoned tea mug lingered in the air like a forgotten lullaby.

Layer by layer, I peeled off my jacket, my boots, and my clothes, letting them drop in a trail toward the bathroom.

The shower I stepped into was hot as steam curled up around me, turning the room into a cocoon. I let the water run over my shoulders, down my spine, across the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying all day.

Every conversation, every worry, every half-formed plan dissolved under the pressure of the water.

I braced my hands on the tiled wall and let myself breathe.

I couldn’t bring Celeste here.

Not yet.

But someday… maybe.

When the curse was gone. When the Wards stopped humming like warning bells. When I could say with certainty that this town wouldn’t take more from me than I was willing to give.

Someday.

I turned off the tap, wrapped myself in a soft towel, and wandered into the bedroom with hair dripping and limbs loose.

I collapsed onto the bed with a groan and didn't even bother pulling the blankets up. The mattress welcomed me with the kind of relief only a long, quiet day can earn.

I didn’t expect to fall asleep.

And I didn’t.

My mind was still moving slowly like leaves drifting in a lazy stream with thoughts of Celeste, Skye, and the mother dragon wrapped around her egg.

I was just starting to drift toward sleep when…

Knock knock.

A gentle, two-beat rhythm.

Not urgent.

But very deliberate.

I blinked and rolled toward the sound, then cleared my throat. “Come in.”

The door creaked open just wide enough to reveal a familiar face peering through.

Twobble wore his nightcap at a rakish angle, holding a very dignified, very sulking bulldog under one arm.

“I’m not staying,” Twobble announced, like he was delivering bad news to a dignitary. “I was heading to my quarters when this one found me and insisted I correct an egregious oversight.”

My dad gave a huff that was somehow both weary and wounded.

I blinked. “Oversight?”

“He wasn’t invited in,” Twobble said pointedly. “To your bed. For the nightly snuggle session.”

I sat up and smiled, towel still clutched around my shoulders. “Oh, Dad.”

He squirmed free from Twobble’s arms, dropped to the floor with a grunt, and immediately padded over to the side of the bed with the air of someone who had suffered greatly and expected compensation.

“You were missed,” I said, patting the blanket beside me.

He snorted and climbed up in one disgruntled, floppy motion. Within seconds, he was burrowed beside me, his warm, wrinkled body already radiating comfort and dog loyalty.

Twobble smirked from the doorway. “You two make a disgustingly cozy pair.”

“We work with what we’ve got.”

He nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Sleep well, Maeve.”

“Thank you for bringing him.”

“He wouldn’t stop staring at me,” Twobble muttered. “It was unsettling.”

I laughed softly, then watched as he disappeared into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality.

My dad let out a pleased grunt, stretched out across half the mattress, and promptly began to snore.

I shifted under the covers, pulling them over both of us. The warmth seeped into my skin immediately.

My eyes drifted to the dimly glowing sconces and then to the ceiling, where faint traces of starlight shimmered through the enchanted skylight above.

The Academy had never really stopped surprising me.

Neither had life.

And now, with my dad pressed warm against my side and the echoes of Twobble’s grumbling still in the air, I let the weight of the day finally settle.

The truth was, I hadn’t figured it out yet.

How to balance who I used to be with who I was becoming.

How to be a mother and a headmistress. A witch and a woman who still wanted late-night calls from her best friend and shared mugs of tea with her daughter.

But maybe I didn’t need to have it all sorted right now.

Maybe the magic wasn’t in the mastery, but in the merging .

One moment at a time.

One Ward at a time.

One biscuit-bribed goblin and one huffy bulldog at a time.

I smiled to myself, reached over to scratch behind my dad’s ears, and let the steady sound of his snoring lull me into the edge of sleep.

Somehow , I thought, some way… I’ll figure out how to merge my worlds.

And for the first time in a long time, that thought didn’t scare me.

It gave me hope.