Page 63 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
Vaughn
My head pounds relentlessly, a throbbing echo of the sleep toxin Mina forced into my system.
I can still taste the bitter residue on my tongue, metallic and acrid, coating my mouth like old pennies soaked in vinegar.
It’s been three agonizing days, each minute stretching into hours as the poison slowly works its way out of my bloodstream.
Now, on the eve of the war games, tension cuts through the bright midday air like a sharpened blade against exposed flesh.
Mina has assembled a ragtag team from the students she deems worthy, their nervous energy pulsing around me like a living thing.
She has us gather around our scarred back table in a sunlit room that feels more like a battlefield than a meeting place.
The wood beneath my elbows is worn smooth from years of anxious fingers.
“What do you need us to do, Mina?” I ask, my voice low and rough, scraping past my dry throat.
I shift my weight. The cool stone of my gargoyle form scraping against the chair with a sound like sandpaper on granite as I unfurl my wings—broad, dark, and formidable—shielding the table from the other students.
The leather membrane stretches taut, catching the sunlight that filters through the tall windows.
The harsh daylight casts deep shadows that flicker across the room, echoing the turmoil inside me.
Mina’s eyes, fierce and calculating, lock onto Trever.
I can see her pupils contract in the bright light, revealing the golden flecks in her irises that only appear when she’s focused.
“Trever, you’re a black dragon, correct?
” she asks, her voice carrying a slight rasp that betrays her exhaustion.
Trever nods, his expression grim despite the bright light that exposes every detail of his determined face.
The thin scar along his jaw twitching with tension.
“Position yourself here.” Her finger taps a spot on the map, the sound sharp in the hushed room.
“And remember—do not speak aloud where I am directing you.” His nod is sharp, each detail of his resolve etched in my memory as he commits the orders to memory, the muscles in his neck corded tight.
She turns to Max, her lips moving silently as she mouths “jabberwock,” the word hanging unspoken in the air between them.
Max meets her gaze and nods, a spark of wild mischief lighting his eyes, the irises shifting from brown to amber as his excitement grows.
“Good. Watch Trever’s back. Do your thing, but keep the carnage focused on the enemy,” Mina instructs.
A slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth, revealing the edge of a sharper-than-human canine.
I note, with a mix of curiosity and unease, that I have no idea what species of dragon he truly is.
Whatever he is, it brings a rare light to Mina’s otherwise shadowed expression, the tension around her eyes briefly softening.
Mina then fixes her gaze on Luc, she hesitates.
For a moment, the low hum of conversation seems to pause beneath the booming midday clamor outside the room.
Her eyes widen with sudden excitement as she bounces lightly on her heels.
The leather of her boots creaks with each movement.
“How many of your clan are here?” she demands.
Her voice trembles with urgency amid the warmth of the day, her breath coming quicker.
“Six, my queen,” Luc replies, his smile gentle and respectful.
The scent of cinnamon and cloves following his words as if his dragon nature infuses even his breath.
Mina arches a brow, her glance probing. “Are there at least two more in the war classes?” Luc’s eyes mirror the anxious intensity that flickers in Mina’s, the color shifting like storm clouds, and he confirms, “Yes. Would you like them here?” His fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the tabletop, barely audible but persistent.
“Yes, I would,” she replies, her voice steady now. She hands him a small, creased piece of paper with instructions scribbled on it, the parchment rustling as it passes between them.
Next, Mina turns to Quent. “You’re from my mate’s den, aren’t you?
” she says, tilting her head as I watch the subtle shift in his eyes.
They take on a malevolent green glow that sends a shiver through me even under the midday sun.
The sight of them raising goosebumps along my arms despite the heat.
“Yes, I am,” he purrs, his tone a silky murmur that carries a dangerous edge, like velvet wrapped around a blade.
“Good. I can direct the fight from wherever I am then.” Mina scribbles a note, the scratching of her pen against the paper filling the momentary silence. She slides it into Quent’s hand before he melts away into the crowd, his departure marked only by a faint waft of sulfur.
“And then there was one.” Mina’s smile widens as she nods at Crassus, who bows his head humbly, the sunlight glinting off the silver strands in his dark hair.
“Defense,” she murmurs, barely more than a breath, before distributing envelopes to each of us.
The paper is warm from being kept close to her body.
Mina steps closer and presses a small, worn notebook into my hand, its leather cover soft with age and use.
The pages inside slightly yellowed at the edges.
“In here is every idea I’ve had about what might happen in the war games,” she says, her voice soft yet insistent, her fingertips lingering on mine for a heartbeat too long.
As she leads me out of the cool meeting room, the bright midday light greets us with blinding intensity.
The scent of fresh-cut grass and distant smoke fills the air, mingling with the metallic tang of weapons being forged somewhere nearby.
Outside, Abraxis awaits us near the training yard, his form outlined against the sun-drenched expanse of the field, his silhouette sharp and commanding.
“We’re going for a flight,” he announces as he joins us, the midday heat making the air shimmer with anticipation around his body.
I glance around; the yard is a chaotic blend of clashing bodies and echoing grunts as students spar under the watchful, steady gaze of Balor.
The harsh brightness exposes every twitch of movement and the sweat on their brows, a stark reminder of the stakes.
The sun glints off practice weapons like warning beacons.
“Exactly,” Mina murmurs as we slip far enough from the prying eyes of the yard, her voice barely carrying over the rhythmic clang of metal on metal.
Mina shifts effortlessly into her dragon, her bones crackling and reforming with a sound like breaking branches.
She lays down so we can climb on, her massive body radiating heat like a furnace.
“Come on, I’m here to translate for Mina’s dragon,” Abraxis says with a low chuckle as we climb onto her back, his hands steadying me as I find my footing on her shifting muscles.
I settle against her rough frill, feeling the texture of sun-warmed scales beneath my fingertips, hard yet somehow alive, just as she rises and bounds toward the open sky.
The rush of air is startling, whipping my face and stealing my breath, and the sunlight dazzles as we ascend.
The heat mingling with the tension that radiates from us all like a palpable force.
High above the sunlit world, her dragonic form rumbles like distant thunder.
The vibration traveling through her body and into mine, rattling my bones.
“She says there are three potential outcomes— none with her directly involved in the war games,” Abraxis explains, his tone measured as he listens to another low rumble from her, her chest expanding beneath us with each breath.
“The key is knowing when to attack and when to defend. That notebook in your hand is the key to victory. Memorize the three events and react appropriately.” His voice carries the weight of absolute faith in her visions, unwavering despite the cost.
My gaze lingers on the notebook, its pages rustling in the wind, carrying secrets and grim predictions.
The paper feels almost alive in my grip, warm and insistent.
“Her visions led her to create the book?” I ask, my voice nearly lost in the roar of the wind and the steady pulse of the bright sky.
I still struggle to understand the inner workings of her prophetic insights, the burden she carries.
Mina rumbles, the sound reverberating through her massive ribcage, catching a thermal and gliding gracefully through shafts of sunlight that turn her scales into a kaleidoscope of color.
“Yes. She had three different visions, each with you as the leader of her team.” Abraxis leans over and taps the book gently, his finger tracing the worn binding.
“The dividers split the three events up.” Her rumble deepens, a sound like a distant storm brewing on a hot summer day, resonant and foreboding.
“The middle one will be the most brutal. I hope it never comes to pass.” His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the rushing air.
Abraxis turns his face into the warm wind, closing his eyes as if to commune with the vast, cloudless sky, his skin flushing with the heat and exertion.
I watch him, his body slowly angling as the gentle current ruffles the leather of his folded wings, every muscle taut with a silent grief that radiates from him in waves.
He moves with a grace that mirrors the sinuous flight of Mina’s body.