Page 85 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
“Let’s go home,” I turn to look at Balor, my voice thick with emotions I refuse to name. His eyes—green with slitted pupils—search mine, understanding without words. He nods once, a sharp gesture of agreement.
He takes the lead, and I hold his hand, following behind him.
His grip is firm and reassuring, anchoring me to the present when my mind wants to drift into painful pasts and uncertain futures.
We make it to the sitting room, and the Matriarch is ecstatic, holding the three basilisk hatchlings against her ancient, scaled body.
Her joy is a knife twisting in my gut. I want to burn her to ash for making my sister feel bad, for valuing blood purity over the miracle of new life in any form.
The urge to unleash my lightning is so strong I can taste smoke at the back of my throat, feel heat building behind my sternum.
I don’t say a word as Balor leads me out through the labyrinth, the stone walls seeming to close in with each step.
The air gets fresher as we approach the exit, the heavy mineral scent of the pit giving way to cooler, cleaner air from outside.
Once we hit fresh air, the night sky vast and star-filled above us, I drop to my knees and scream at the top of my lungs.
The sound tears from my throat, raw and primal, echoing across the mountainside like the cry of a wounded animal.
The scales along my back and shoulders ripple as I let all the pain out.
The sensation is like thousands of tiny needles pushing through my skin, each scale emerging with a pinprick of pain that builds to a symphony of agony.
I can feel the dragons in the bond tense, their consciousness pressing against mine as they feel the pain I’m releasing.
Through our connection, I share with them all that I saw and heard and felt.
The images flow from me like a torrent—my sister’s disappointment, the Matriarch’s joy at the “purity” of the basilisk hatchlings.
The gulf between my idealized version of what I thought reuniting with my sister would be like versus the harsh reality of what happened.
My head hangs low, hair falling forward to curtain my face as I try to quell the storm raging in my chest. The cool night air burns my lungs with each ragged breath.
Balor’s hand rests on my shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding.
All the fight drains out of me at that simple contact, leaving me empty and exhausted.
Slowly I turn to look up at him, the movement requiring more effort than it should.
His eyes search my face, taking in the tear tracks on my cheeks, the blood on my lip where I bit it, the scales that haven’t fully receded at my temples.
He nods, understanding without words. “Yeah, my people suck. They’re backwards and broken and far worse than the dragons ever could be.
” His honesty is refreshing, a balm to my wounded spirit.
He helps me to stand, his firm hands lifting me as if I weigh nothing, then hugs me to him.
His body is solid against mine, a wall between me and the world’s cruelties.
“Both species have issues if we’re being honest.” I kiss his cheek, then back away. The night air fills the space between us, chilling the warmth where our bodies touched. “Let’s go home.” My voice sounds stronger now, more resolved.
I walk far enough away that when I shift.
The transformation begins as a burning in my core, spreading outward like wildfire beneath my skin.
My dragoness surges to the surface, bones cracking and reforming, skin giving way to scales that catch the moonlight like hammered metal.
Every fiber of my being wants to torch the pit, to reduce it to smoldering ruins.
Fire builds in my chest, hot and insistent, begging for release.
I stare at the mountain entrance, breathing heavily as Balor climbs onto my back.
His weight is familiar and comforting, settling just behind my shoulder blade.
I feel the pull from my three dragon mates through our bond—concern, love, and quiet strength flowing to me across miles.
Their presence in my mind is like a lighthouse guiding me home, and I cannot ignore it.
As soon as Balor is seated securely, I launch into the air.
My wings unfurl with a sound like sails catching wind, powerful muscles propelling us skyward.
The earth falls away beneath us; the pit becoming smaller with each powerful wingbeat.
The night air is chilly against my scales, the stars above us like diamonds scattered across black velvet.
I take flight towards home, towards my mates, towards whatever future we can carve out in this world that seems determined to keep us apart.
The mountains shrink below us, becoming just another dark shape against the horizon.
With each mile that passes beneath my wings, the pain in my chest lessens, replaced by determination.
I may have lost my sister again today, but I still have a family—one I’ve built rather than been born to. And sometimes, that’s enough.