Page 82 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)

I help Mina past the opening, my boots crunching on loose pebbles.

The temperature drops immediately, the cool subterranean air raising goosebumps on the exposed skin of my neck.

I see her eyes glow golden in the darkness as she stares down the tunnel, adjusting to the dim light faster than any human could.

“It smells dangerous,” she whispers, her voice echoing softly against the stone walls.

She tilts her head again, breathing in deeply, her nostrils flaring.

“There’s a couple hundred basilisks down there.

” Her voice is steady as she assesses what we’re about to walk into, but I can hear the slight acceleration of her heartbeat.

“That’s correct. There are two dozen different pits with smaller pits attached to them.

” I pause for a moment, trying to explain how our group’s work.

My fingers trace idle patterns on the back of her hand as I search for the right words.

“So there’s a dominant female in a pit. Her daughters create pits off their mother’s main living space.

Sons are driven off to find their own female.

” I bite my bottom lip, the slight pain focusing my thoughts as I watch to see if my explanation makes sense to her.

“So it’s similar to a flight. A dominant female assumes the largest nest, then others branch off of hers. Kind of like having Cora in the lower level.” She tilts her head, looking at me with those intelligent eyes that miss nothing.

“Exactly like that.” I pull Mina against my side, feeling the warmth of her body through our leather armor.

The scent of her—honey, lavender, and something uniquely dragonic—mixes with the earthy smell of the cavern as we step into the main chamber where all the pits connect.

Mina pauses, taking it all in. I watch as she scans the interior, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of hundreds of holes in the walls at varying heights.

The cavern itself is massive, the ceiling disappearing into the darkness above us.

Distant sounds of movement and hushed conversations echo throughout the space, creating an eerie symphony of basilisk life.

“In strength order,” I motion to the holes, my voice low and respectful in this sacred space. “We keep the youngest or weakest of our kind up high.” The logic is brutal but effective—the stronger you are, the closer to the ground your pit is.

Mina stares at the wall again, her gaze calculating. “Where’s yours?” Her eyes transform into dragonic slits as she looks at me, the golden irises glowing brighter.

“Second from the bottom. There’s only one pit below mine.

” Pride colors my voice despite my attempt at humility.

I walk Mina over to what would be my space.

There're dozens of offerings in the entryway—gleaming gems, polished bones, and other treasures carefully arranged on stone pedestals.

The items catch the dim light of the phosphorescent fungi that grows along the walls, creating a subtle display of wealth and desire .

Mina looks at me puzzled, her head tilting in that endearing way that betrays her curiosity. “Offerings from single females trying to get me to choose them.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, especially with Mina beside me.

Mina’s eyes take on a dangerous edge, the gold darkening to amber before her talons extend with a soft snick sound.

She climbs into the opening, the movement fluid and predatory.

I watch as the scales rise and cover her throat, emerald with silver edges that catch the light as she pulls off her hood.

The scrape of scale on stone sounds like nails on a chalkboard, sending shivers down my spine.

Mina is marking my space as hers, claiming territory in the most primitive and undeniable way.

She leaps down with graceful precision, landing beside me without a sound.

Immediately, she rubs the scales on her throat against my armor, scent marking me.

The rasp of her scales against my leather creates a friction that generates both sound and heat.

It’s interesting to see Mina possessive of me—I kind of like it.

The display makes something primal and possessive unfurl in my chest, a pleased rumble escaping my throat.

When she’s done, she puts her hair back up in her hood and just stares at me, her eyes challenging me to object. I can smell her scent now mixed with mine—a declaration to any basilisk with a functioning nose that I am claimed.

“We need to climb up to your sister’s pit.” I point to the one halfway up the wall, and Mina nods and motions for me to lead the way. The damp stone glistens in the dim light, making the climb look more treacherous than it actually is.

Instead of shifting, I climb up the wall slow and steady until I reach the pit entrance.

My fingers find natural handholds in the rock, muscles straining pleasantly with each upward pull.

The sound of Mina’s talons sinking into the stone as she climbs makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge—a primal response to a predator at my back, even if that predator is my mate.

“Amara, Zeb, I brought Mina with me,” I call into the pit, my voice reverberating against the stone walls. The air here smells different—like a mixture of basilisk and dragon, with underlying notes of nesting materials and fresh water.

“I’ll be right there,” Zeb calls back, his voice carrying the slight hiss common to our kind.

Soon he approaches the opening and stares down at Mina, his pupils constricting into thin lines as he takes a step back.

Fear radiates from him in waves, his scent souring with it.

“She’s okay, she’s my mate,” I offer, seeing the fear in his eyes.

His scales rise defensively along his neck, a subconscious reaction to perceived danger.

“Okay,” he says, the word clipped and uncertain. He offers me his hand and pulls me up into the entrance per tradition, his grip stronger than necessary. “I’ll let you gather your female. Meet me in the sitting room.” Zeb turns and leaves quickly, the sound of his footsteps fading down the tunnel.

I pull Mina up and in, and I watch her sniffing the air, her nostrils flaring slightly. “There’s more than my sister and her mate here.” Mina draws in a deep breath, and I watch as her dragonic slits recede, returning to more human-looking eyes.

“His family is here, as well as the matriarch.” I reach down and take Mina’s hand, feeling the tension in her fingers as I lead her down the tunnel.

The walls here are smoother, polished by generations of basilisks moving through the narrow passage.

Small glowing crystals embedded in the ceiling provide gentle illumination, casting our shadows in strange, elongated forms against the walls.

I stop us at the entry to the sitting area, the sound of multiple conversations growing louder .

“Only family is allowed here, Balor. You know the rules.” The matriarch says as she stands, her ancient body moving with surprising grace.

Her scales have lost their luster with age, turning from vibrant obsidian to a muted gray black, but her eyes remain sharp and calculating.

The air in the room shifts, growing heavier with her authority.

“Mina is Amara’s half-sister and was requested to be here to represent her side of her family.

” I pull Mina flush to my side, feeling the coiling tension in her body.

Her muscles are tight, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

The scent of her changes subtly, taking on a metallic edge that warns of danger.

“Her sister is a green dragon. They are not welcome here.” The matriarch says with a hiss, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. The other basilisks in the room shift uncomfortably, their bodies rustling against stone and fabric.

“Good thing I’m not a green dragon.” Mina’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade as she takes off her hood, letting her green and silver hair fall to her waist in a cascade that catches the light from the crystal lamps.

The twin silver horns on her head that stretch back over a foot should have been enough proof of her heritage.

She shifts her hands, allowing her silver talons to emerge as well as the mostly silver scales with an iridescent green sheen to them.

The transformation is beautiful and terrifying all at once—skin giving way to armored plates that gleam with metallic brilliance.

The matriarch backs up two steps as Mina’s presence fills the sitting room.

The air is growing heavy with power. “Our mother was a titanium and iron dragon. My sire was indeed a green dragon. If you dare to feel my scales, you know I am my mother’s daughter.

” Mina hisses back at the matriarch, the sound more serpentine than human.

I take the handle of my knife and hit Mina’s scales.

The metallic sound of metal hitting metal rings out, echoing in the chamber like a bell.

Her scales are as hard as an iron dragon’s, the proof undeniable to all present.

The impact sends vibrations up my arm, and I suppress a wince at the unexpected intensity.

The other basilisks talk among themselves in hushed whispers, their voices creating a susurration like dry leaves in the wind.

Amara emerges from a side tunnel, her movement fluid and graceful.

Unlike the others, her scales bear a similar metallic quality to Mina’s, though hers lean more toward bronze than silver.

She dives into Mina’s arms with enough force to make Mina step back to maintain balance.

The change in Mina is immediate—her scales recede as she snuggles her sister, the hard edges of her defenses softening in an instant. The scent of her emotions shifts from defensive to joyful, the air around her warming with it.