Page 4 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)

Abraxis

Gauntlet day one…

I stand on the edge of the training grounds, feeling the chill of the early morning air bite at the back of my neck.

The academy grounds stretch before us in a patchwork of gravel paths, dense clusters of trees, and the looming wooden structure of the gauntlet.

Overhead, the sky hangs low with thick, gray clouds, threatening rain—or maybe just more tension.

My pulse thrums in my ears at the sight of the war games arena being set up.

Year three is when the war games begin. I see plenty of students milling about in the main part of campus, their chatter a jittery undercurrent against the distant clash of practice weapons.

Shadowcarve has only one third year—Mina.

On the one hand, she has no other moving parts to worry about, just herself.

But on the other, she’s alone—no defensive line at her back, no backup in case things go sideways.

The fourth years—last year’s third years—total nine, and that was before this morning’s gauntlet. It’s the main campus gauntlet, not as vicious as ours, but still enough to make my stomach twist uneasily .

Mina sits on a low stone wall beneath the drooping boughs of a gnarled old tree, the same spot she’s claimed the last two years for watching and waiting.

The bark above her is twisted, rough with age, and I can almost smell the damp moss clinging to the branches.

Klauth stands at her right side, arms crossed over his chest, muscles tense as if ready to pounce.

Balor is on her left, gaze sweeping the crowd in silent vigilance.

Ziggy perches high in the tree, his silhouette barely visible through the leaves, always watching with that uncanny stillness of his.

Callan and Leander are off helping with the main gauntlet, leaving me here with Mina.

After last night’s shopping experience, Klauth is sporting a modernized look—pressed trousers, a crisp shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders, and a dark, stylish jacket.

He looks like he’s stepped straight out of one of those high-fashion magazines Cora is fond of.

Standing next to him makes me feel like the ugly duckling.

I resist the urge to straighten my jacket, swallowing the small knot of self-consciousness.

A member of the senior staff approaches, footsteps crunching on the gravel before he halts in front of Mina. The wind carries a faint hint of cologne—sharp and citrusy.

“Willamina Havock?” he asks. The use of my surname jolts me, and I see Klauth’s red-flecked gaze flick toward the staff member.

“Yes?” Mina’s voice is cool as she steps forward, the gravel shifting softly under her feet.

“General,” he says, bowing to me. There’s a wary glance cast at Klauth, and I sense the tension in the air, like a cord stretched too tight.

“Your number,” he says, offering Mina a small card in a white envelope. His hand trembles slightly. There’s a reverence in his posture that I haven’t witnessed in nearly a decade of teaching here—certainly not toward any dragoness .

Mina’s eyes flick down to the envelope, but Balor takes it in her stead. “She doesn’t like being handed things by beings outside her nest,” Balor states, his voice ice-cold. The staff member stiffens, then quickly turns and leaves, boots scuffing away on the gravel.

Klauth lifts one thick eyebrow at me, and I can feel the silent question prickling between us.

“She chose to use my surname instead of her father’s after what he did to her,” I explain quietly, shifting my weight as a breeze stirs the leaves overhead.

My mind drifts for a moment to the nightmares Mina shared—dark corridors, betrayal, pain.

Mina steps aside with Balor. He’s already opened the envelope, and I catch a glimpse of the card’s black lettering. She nods, expression guarded.

“She showed us those memories,” Klauth murmurs. He stares at the ground, the flesh between his eyebrows pinching. “I’d like to offer her my surname as well—if that’s acceptable to you.” His tone is deep, resonant, carrying the weight of the beast that dwells inside him.

I meet those amber eyes flecked with crimson, the vertical slits narrowing ever so slightly.

That ancient predator lurks just beneath his calm facade.

“Of course,” I say. “As the great wyrm of our nest, you have every right to offer or request that she use your surname.” I bow and lower my gaze, the gesture automatic.

If it came down to dragon versus dragon, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

When I lift my head, I see Klauth striding toward Mina.

She tips her face up, slightly puzzled, and listens intently as he speaks in a low voice.

I catch fragments of her expression—surprise, then a small, thoughtful smile.

She says something about ‘considering it’ and returns his bow.

Klauth steps back, reclaiming his place beneath the tree, the damp grass brushing the hem of his trousers .

Another number is called over the loudspeakers, the metallic buzz reverberating across the courtyard.

Mina pulls up her hood and slides down her black face mask, concealing the lethal elegance of her features.

She thrusts both hands down, and with a soft rasp, her silver talons extend.

My breath hitches at the change that comes over her—it’s like watching a predator uncoil.

She strides toward the gauntlet, each footfall so silent it’s unnerving, especially on gravel.

The hush is as deadly as it is impressive.

The wooden stairs leading up to the gauntlet creak for everyone else, but for her, there’s not a single groan.

She moves like a wraith—one foot in front of the other, body balanced and poised.

Shadowblade … That’s what they call her. She’s trained her entire life for this lethal grace. The hair on my arms stands on end as I recall whispered rumors about her past. Ziggy and Balor mutter to Klauth about what she was made to be, how she was honed into this weapon.

And me? I stand here, my heart thudding heavily against my ribs, tension twisting in my stomach like a coiled spring.

I have to worry about Mina facing the gauntlet—there’s a real chance she might push too far.

And then there’s the ancient wyrm at our side, a war machine in human skin, who might snap if he thinks Mina’s in danger.

The idea of Klauth laying waste to the gauntlet with a single shift flickers across my mind like a dark omen.

A faint rustle draws my attention back to Mina.

She pauses at the top of the stairs; the wind teasing the edges of her hood.

Then she disappears into the shadows of the gauntlet.

My pulse pounds, and the world narrows to the pounding of blood in my ears.

Whatever happens next, I need to be ready—to protect her, to keep Klauth in check, to ensure we don’t reduce this entire academy to smoldering wreckage.

I grit my teeth and scan the courtyard under the afternoon sun.

The stone walls radiate lingering warmth, and my boots scuff against the cracked tiles, sending small puffs of dust into the air.

A clammy breeze drifts past, carrying the faint metallic tang of gears grinding somewhere within the gauntlet’s guts.

I can practically taste the tension—bitter as old copper on my tongue.

From what Ziggy tells us—after phasing in and out of the gauntlet several times, spying on our mate—it’s worse than last year. More moving parts, more poisons, more living threats lurking in the corridors. The mere thought of Mina in that pit of death sets my muscles quivering with protective fury.

Klauth stands nearby, leaning against the sun-baked wall with uncanny stillness.

He’s a vision of composure, his eyelids lowered as if meditating, while I watch a few of his red scales ripple up and down the corded muscles of his neck.

The late-day light catches each crimson ridge, revealing the raw power just beneath his skin.

“Abraxis, who is your guest?” Lysander’s voice comes from my right, as soft and sly as a serpent’s hiss.

Just the sound of the headmaster’s words makes Klauth tense, lifting his head from the wall to glare Lysander down.

My ears pick up the faint scrape of Klauth’s talons on the stone, his tension palpable.

Ziggy suddenly drops down from a nearby tree with an almost inaudible thud, leaves rustling above him. He’s sporting a double egg carrier—odd, considering Thauglor’s egg is back in Mina’s poison garden. Lysander briefly glances at Ziggy before turning his scrutiny on Klauth.

That ancient aura I felt from Klauth earlier is now masked, though I sense it churning beneath his calm, like distant thunder before a storm. “Oh, friend of the family on my mother’s side,” I say, a pinprick of tension needling my temples.

“Ragnar…” Klauth rumbles as he steps forward, looming over Lysander by a full head. The air feels charged with the faint pulse of that ancient power, and my adrenaline spikes. His presence is suffocating, laced with a smoldering intensity that raises the fine hairs on my arms.

“Lysander, headmaster of the academy,” the man says stiffly, stepping away but never breaking eye contact with Klauth’s towering form. He keeps his hands close, clearly wary. “Where is your young mate, Abraxis?”

I pivot so I can keep an eye on both Lysander and the gauntlet.

Bolts and hinges glint beneath the sunlight, and wisps of steam or smoke seep from hidden vents.

“She’s about eighty percent through,” I say, nodding toward a series of colored indicators climbing the gauntlet’s side.

My gaze follows the pulsing lights as they near the last obstacle.

“I wonder if she will pass this year’s like the last two years?” Lysander’s voice takes on a venomous edge toward the end, sending a chill crawling across my skin. I don’t miss the slight sneer tugging at his lips.

“What did you do?” My hand shoots out to seize his collar, the fabric rasping under my fingertips. I slam him against a nearby pillar with a dull crack, the sound echoing across the courtyard. He dangles in my grip, feet scrabbling in the empty air.

“There are watch spiders at the end of the gauntlet,” he says, maddeningly calm. “I’m allowed one live threat inside, and I chose them this year.” He smirks, flicking his gaze to the monstrous contraption behind me. “She’s almost there, going by the lights.”

Fury boils in my chest, hotter than a dragon’s flame.

I flick my eyes to Ziggy, who’s clutching a thick, worn rulebook with trembling hands.

Pages rustle as he finds the relevant section.

“It’s all in accordance with the rules,” he manages, voice unsteady.

“One live threat in the gauntlet, limited to six entities of that species.”

A snarl tears from my throat as I drop Lysander. He coughs and stumbles, nearly losing his footing on the sunbaked tiles, but my attention is on the gauntlet’s mechanical roars and hissing vents.

“You better pray Tiamat and Bahamut favor my mate,” I growl.

The oppressive afternoon heat bakes my shoulders, and my anger simmers just beneath my skin.

“Because if she dies…” My laugh is a razor’s edge.

“Neither you nor this academy will survive the terrors I will unleash. Fire will rain from the sky and reduce everything here to glass. Nightmares will stalk anyone who dared lift a talon against my mate.”

I lean in close, the pungent stench of Lysander’s fear wafting toward me—sharp, sour, and impossible to miss.

I let a thin curl of acid breath escape, spraying a few sizzling drops onto his tie.

It melts away, leaving a hideous burn mark.

Lysander pales and scrambles off, footsteps pounding across the courtyard.

A large hand falls on my shoulder, and I whirl to find Klauth wearing a malicious grin, rows of razor-sharp teeth bared.

The heat radiating from him is like a furnace, and I catch the acrid smell of scorching embers on the breeze.

Sunlight sparkles off his red scales, as though an inner fire glows beneath them.

“Good job,” he snarls, voice underlaid with his dragon’s growl.

“I want his head on a pike next to her father’s. ”

The very air around Klauth shimmers with the threat of his dragon form taking over. My pulse hammers in my veins, the tension so thick it’s suffocating. I can only hope Mina finishes the gauntlet soon—otherwise, we’ll be dealing with a great wyrm’s wrath.

Again.