Page 9

The banquet hall buzzed with warm laughter and the clatter of forks, but I slipped away through a narrow side corridor.

Not because I didn’t want to be there. I truly did, but because some things inside me needed stillness. Needed shadow and hush and something older than celebration.

So I followed the winding path past the library, past the tapestry that always shifted if you stared too long, and into the hush of the wing’s forgotten hall. The air cooled here, carrying the scent of moss and old stone and something sharp underneath.

I didn’t need to think about where I was going. My feet knew the way.

The hidden door greeted me like an old friend as the key fluttered my way with its iridescent wings.

Now, I slipped it into the lock without hesitation.

The door sighed open with a low exhale of warm air, tinged with smoke and ash and something undeniably alive.

I stepped inside, the stone giving way to soft earth beneath my boots. The ceiling arched high above like the inside of a cavern. Bioluminescent moss clung to the walls, glowing faintly in blues and greens, and the soft trickle of water echoed from somewhere unseen.

But it was the heat that greeted me first, and the presence.

Dragons.

A low hum curled around me as I entered, vibrating in the bones of my chest, like the den itself was waking with recognition.

And then I saw them.

The dragons.

Curled along the edges of the den like coils of ancient smoke and stone, their massive bodies resting in pools of gold-flecked shadow. Colorful wings tucked close, tails looped like lazy question marks, horns and spines glinting in the glow.

Most were asleep, or at least pretending to be.

But one wasn’t.

The young one.

She stood halfway across the den, scales the color of stardust in moonlight, her wings tucked tight against her sides. Her bright eyes met mine as soon as I stepped in.

I paused.

She didn’t.

She moved toward me slowly, cautious but curious, her claws silent against the earth.

We’d done this dance before. Ever since I’d first come to the dragon wing, we shared something I couldn’t name.

At first, she wouldn’t come near me. Wouldn’t look at me.

Now?

She stood just feet away, tilting her head like she was trying to figure me out. Or waiting for me to say something.

So I did.

“Hey,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “You’re up late.”

A huff of warm air brushed against me. It was her version of a sigh.

I smiled. “Me too.”

She blinked, slow and steady.

I moved to the center of the den, past the arch carved with runes I still hadn’t deciphered, and stood near the nesting circle.

And there, just where I knew it would be, was the egg.

The shell had turned a shade of pale lavender with a gold flecked sheen, but keeping the precious egg safe was a beautifully fierce mother dragon.

She curled around it with half-lidded eyes but very much aware of my presence. She didn’t move as I stepped closer, though one massive wing adjusted just slightly, shielding the egg, but not from me.

I dropped to a crouch, heart thudding.

The egg had changed.

I could see it from here. Two long cracks had appeared along the shell’s top, with one spidering down the side, like a bolt of lightning.

“It’s almost time,” I breathed.

The young dragon edged closer, her glowing gaze flicking from me to the egg, then back again.

“You’re going to have a little sibling,” I murmured to her. “Hope you’re ready to share.”

She gave the smallest chuff, and if I didn’t know better, I wanted to scratch her chin.

I laughed quietly. “I didn’t think so.”

The mother dragon watched me as her massive eyes, ancient and unreadable, scanned over my body.

And still, I spoke.

“I wanted to check in. It’s… It’s been a big day.”

The dragons said nothing, but I kept talking anyway.

“We’ve got students now. Dozens of them. All souls who’ve been through too much and still showed up, hoping this place would be worth it. Twobble was the first student. If you ever meet him, he has a heart of gold.”

A low rumble echoed from the back of the den as one of the older dragons shifted in his sleep, or maybe he just agreed.

“And teachers,” I added. “Real ones. Some expected, some… not.”

I looked back at the young one beside me, who had now sat, tail coiled neatly around her feet like a particularly large and elegant cat.

“I’m not sure how I got here,” I admitted. “But I know I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

I turned back to the egg, kneeling now, the warmth of it pulsing faintly in the air.

“The Academy’s awake,” I said. “It’s not just alive, it’s calling. And people are answering. All kinds of people. The kind who’ve been cast out. The ones who’ve been told they’re too much or too little or too late. ”

The mother dragon blinked slowly.

“And they need magic again,” I whispered. “Not the kind in spells or scrolls, but the kind that reminds them they’re not broken. That they matter. ”

I reached out, stopping just short of the egg’s cracked surface.

“I’m trying to build that place. For them. For me. For… you.”

The den didn’t respond.

Not in words.

But the young dragon leaned in, brushing her warm snout gently against my shoulder.

Just once.

And the mother, impossibly large and impossibly still, curled her wing tighter around the egg and shifted just enough that the light of the den flickered across her scales like a smile.

I swallowed hard as a lump caught in my throat.

“I swear,” I said. “I’ll protect this place. All of it. And all of you.”

I didn’t expect an answer.

But I think I got one anyway.

The hum of the den deepened, slow and rhythmic.

And the egg gave the tiniest click.

Like a heartbeat.