Page 48

The second my boots hit the cobblestones outside Luna’s yarn shop, I felt it.

A gentle warmth, low and sudden, spreading across my skin like the touch of a sunbeam, but not from the air or light.

From my butterfly mark.

It pulsed just beneath my waistband near my hip, a subtle flutter at first, then warmer, as if something inside me was stirring awake.

I froze.

Keegan, who had been talking to Skye about the best bakery in Stonewick, looked back and noticed the stillness in my face.

“What is it?” he asked, tone shifting.

I touched the spot just above my hip. “The mark.”

Celeste glanced over with a grin, oblivious to the alarm sparking along my hip.

“Oh, is this one of those mom emergencies where you better grab a green juice moments?”

“No,” I said too quickly. “It’s nothing, just, maybe a little warm out here.”

“Your mom’s in perimenopause,” Skye told her, and I glared at her as Keegan pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Thanks, I’m fine.”

I scanned the street, eyes sharp, searching for anything out of place. No shadows where they shouldn’t be. No figures in cloaks. No shimmer in the air that might signal a breach or a threat.

But the mark continued to warm, but it wasn’t in warning, more like an invitation.

Keegan stepped beside me, his gaze following mine. “It’s pulling you.”

“Toward the Butterfly Ward,” I whispered. “I can feel it.”

“That’s not a good sign.”

“I know.”

But I didn’t feel danger. Not exactly. It was more like the Academy was calling me home. Or trying to. Urgently.

And yet, Celeste was here. Skye, waddling blissfully down the lane beside her, humming about lemon scones. I couldn’t just vanish into the mist and leave them in the middle of a town they didn’t even know was magical.

I turned in a slow circle, heart pounding.

And that’s when I saw her.

Nova.

Walking across the square with her arms full of papers and a tote bag that looked like it could hold a small dragon. Her hair was pinned up in its usual slightly chaotic twist, and she was talking animatedly to someone who had already peeled off toward the apothecary.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Come with me,” I told the others, cutting across the square.

Keegan followed instantly. Celeste and Skye, curious but amused, trailed behind with soft chuckles about Mom on a mission .

“Nova!” I called out, lifting my hand.

She turned at once, her posture shifting as she caught sight of me. And then she saw my face.

Her brows pinched. “What happened?”

I stopped in front of her, dropping my voice. “My mark is warm. The Butterfly Ward is calling me.”

Nova didn’t miss a beat. She scanned the town square, then looked at Celeste, and back at me.

“You can’t take them with you.”

“I know.”

“You can’t leave them unguarded either.”

“Exactly.”

Nova’s gaze softened, the wheels clearly turning.

Then she straightened. “I can take them.”

“Thank you.”

She looked to Celeste and Skye, giving them the same easy, disarming smile she’d given dozens of students in their first moments at the Academy. The kind that made you feel seen. Safe.

“I’ve been meaning to bring someone with me to try out the new lavender-coconut pastries,” she said brightly. “And the bookstore just got a fresh shipment of puzzles.”

Skye perked up immediately. “Puzzles and pastries? I’m in. And by the way.” She tapped her belly. “You were right.”

Nova smiled and nodded. “So, I’d heard. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Celeste looked skeptical. “Wait. You’re a friend of my mom’s?”

“The best kind,” Nova said without missing a beat. “The kind with snacks.”

Celeste laughed. “I love this place.”

I leaned in close to Nova. “Just keep them away from anything that glows. Or hums. Or rearranges itself when you’re not looking.”

“Got it,” she said. “I’ll keep them in the safe corners of town. And keep her curious streak distracted.” She nodded at Celeste.

I turned to my daughter, heart clenching.

“I need to run back to the cottage for something,” I lied. “I won’t be long.”

Celeste tilted her head. “Want us to come?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Go enjoy the morning. I’ll meet you at Nova’s later.”

She narrowed her eyes, that same suspicious glint I’d seen since she was six and caught me sneaking ice cream before dinner.

But she let it go.

For now.

I kissed her temple. Hugged Skye a little too tightly.

Then I turned to Keegan.

“I can’t ignore the call,” I said.

“I know.”

“Will you come with me?”

He nodded once. “Always.”

Nova gathered the girls with such easy charm that by the time Keegan and I ducked behind the bookshop and disappeared into the woods, I could still hear Celeste’s laughter drifting on the breeze.

But the warmth in my mark was no longer just a flicker.

It was a beckoning flame.

And something was waiting on the other side.

The second I stepped onto the Academy grounds, the air changed.

It was more than the usual tug of enchantment or the way the wind always seemed to carry whispers here. This was something deeper, older. A hum in the soles of my boots. A pulse in the stone walkways. Like the building itself was exhaling, or waiting .

The mark on my hip had gone from warm to glowing-hot, but not in pain. It was an invitation wrapped in reverence. And now, I knew exactly where I needed to go.

The dragon den.

“Keegan, it’s fine.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I just do. It’s…personal, and I’d tell you if I could but…”

A hint of a smile surfaced on his mouth, and he nodded. “I’ll be waiting in my classroom if you need me.”

“Thank you.” I squeezed his arm and nearly kissed him.

I moved faster, passing empty classrooms where book sprites fluttered and hallways that blinked with shifting murals. The closer I got to the farthest wing, the more alive everything became—subtle and vibrant, like every wall was quietly watching.

The ancient wooden door that led into the dragon wing appeared just before I turned the last corner. The key fluttered into my hand before I realized I’d summoned it.

I pressed it to the rune-carved lock and whispered, “I’m here.”

The door clicked open with a low sigh and a rush of warm, fragrant air, like cinnamon, moss, and wood smoke mingling with something wild and ancient. I stepped through, and the world shifted.

The den was bathed in golden light, flickering from the crystals embedded in the ceiling and walls like a thousand little hearths.

The mossy floor was springy underfoot, and steam curled gently from the small hot spring at the edge.

Vines with silver-tipped leaves draped from the rafters, swaying slightly as I passed.

And in the center, nestled in a bed of ferns and velvet cloth, was the egg.

The one with the shimmering, dusky lavender shell.

The one we’d all been waiting on.

Cracks danced across its surface now, glowing faintly with a soft, amber light. A low, musical hum vibrated through the space, evoking the sound of ancient magic, of something sacred awakening.

The mother dragon, a sleek creature with eyes like polished opal, watched me as I approached, her long tail curled protectively around the nest. She didn’t speak—none of the dragons did—but her eyes held understanding. Permission.

You’re meant to see this.

I knelt beside the nest, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from the egg. My breath caught.

With a soft pop, a sliver of shell fell away, landing gently in the moss. Then another. And another.

The humming grew louder, resonating in my chest. The magic in the room stirred. Crystals blinked to life in different colors, mirroring the heartbeat of the creature arriving.

A small snout pushed through the crack. Pale gold, wet and delicate.

Then a talon. Then wings, crumpled and iridescent.

And finally, with a shudder that echoed through the floor, the hatchling broke free.

She was no bigger than a pug, her scales shimmering between soft bronze and rose-gold, her eyes large and filled with a strange, ageless knowing. She blinked up at me, then let out the tiniest squeak, more like a hiccup than a roar, and collapsed into the warmth of her mother’s side.

The den pulsed.

A wave of pure magic rolled outward from the nest, soft as mist, strong as thunder beneath skin. I felt it wrap around me like a vow. It flowed into the walls, down the halls, into the roots of the Academy itself. Into Stonewick. Into the land.

This was the kind of magic that didn’t just enchant.

It restored.

I pressed a hand to my heart, tears stinging my eyes.

“I will protect you,” I whispered. “All of you. The old magic. The sacred. The truths that haven't yet been told. And the ones still being born.”

I thought of Celeste.

Of her laughter in the yarn shop.

Of her instinct, the one that whispered of dreams and futures.

I thought of Skye and her baby, of the vulnerability in the world outside the Academy’s walls, of how close danger had crept without our noticing.

I thought of Gideon.

Of shadows.

And I made a silent promise.

They will not touch this place. Not while I breathe.

The hatchling stirred, lifting her head to look at me with eyes that shimmered like mirrors.

And I knew, deep in my bones, that I wasn’t just meant to teach or guide or rebuild.

I was meant to guard.

To stand between light and whatever sought to undo it.

The air in the den shifted again, not with movement but meaning.

I stood still, surrounded by breath that shimmered faintly in the warmth. The hatchling had returned to her mother’s side, her eyes slowly closing, her golden body rising and falling with each shallow breath. Yet the silence wasn’t silence at all.

It pressed against me. Not in weight, but presence.

The older dragons had moved without sound, their scaled bodies stirring in slow arcs. One blinked with deliberate patience, another exhaled through flared nostrils that released a spiral of pale vapor. No one approached. No one turned away. They observed. They recognized.

And something passed between us.