Page 12 of Thauglor (Dragonis Academy Year 3.5 #5)

The spinning shards converge on me like hungry predators.

They close in until all I see is their blinding brilliance.

The light burns my retinas and sears into my brain.

A final circle of radiance vanishes with a soft click that sounds like the closing of a tomb.

I’m plunged into total darkness so complete it feels solid.

The restraints melt away, and I can move again—but there’s nowhere to go.

My talons scrape against the smooth interior walls.

The sound is a sickening screech that sets my teeth on edge and makes my scales prickle.

My mind reels with claustrophobic terror.

The walls press in from all sides like a living thing.

The egg’s curved surfaces vibrate with each ragged breath I take.

They mock me in this tight, unforgiving prison that smells of my fear and desperation.

Questions torment me more than the physical confinement.

Will this trap break when the mage dies?

His magic might be tied to his life force, but what if it isn’t?

What if he’s woven the curse into something more permanent, something that will outlast his mortal span?

How long do these figures live? A century if they’re human? Two centuries if they’re something else entirely? And what if they’ve found ways to extend their lives, to ensure the curse outlasts even their extended years? The thought of being trapped for millennia makes my throat close with panic.

Even if the curse breaks when he dies, will I emerge into a world that still remembers my name?

Will my progeny still be alive to greet me, or will I wake to find centuries have passed and everyone I’ve ever loved has turned to dust?

The image of emerging from this shell only to discover myself completely alone in the world cuts through me like a physical wound.

And that condition—a female from rival bloodlines coming for me.

In a world where dragons tear each other apart over territory and old grudges, where bloodlines guard their power jealously and view mixing as contamination, such a union seems as impossible as catching starlight in a net.

The mage chose his words carefully. He didn’t curse me to wait for rescue—he cursed me to wait for something that will never come.

But what if the world changes? What if, centuries from now, the old hatreds fade and dragons learn to look beyond bloodline and territory?

The hope feels fragile as spun glass, but I cling to it, anyway.

Maybe somewhere in the distant future, a female will be born who sees past the ancient rivalries.

Maybe she’ll be curious enough, brave enough, or desperate enough to seek out a cursed egg.

The thought of Klauth haunts me most of all.

Did he escape when I fell? Is he out there now, planning a rescue that will never come?

Or did they bind him too, leaving him trapped in his own nightmare while his grief for Syrax and his lost progeny eats him alive?

The not-knowing might drive me mad before any rescue comes.

Resignation weighs on me like a tombstone pressing down on my chest. There is no escape from this nightmare.

I don’t know how long I will remain sealed away from the world.

My heart thuds dully in the darkness, fear crawling beneath my scales like living insects.

Exhaustion seeps into every fiber of my being.

I close my eyes, though it makes no difference in this absolute darkness.

There’s nothing else to do but wait and worry.

Sleep beckons, luring me from this crushing reality with promises of dreams where I can still fly.

But even in sleep, I know the nightmares will come.

Visions of my progeny being hunted down one by one.

Images of Klauth trapped in his own cursed shell, driven mad by grief and isolation.

Dreams of a world that moves on without me, forgetting that Thauglor the Black ever existed.

Will Korrath remember his father’s teachings when the hunters come for him?

Will Velara’s quick wit save her from whatever fate awaits my bloodline?

And young Drakmor—barely past his first century, still so trusting, so eager to please.

The thought of him facing these figures alone makes my heart crack like stone under pressure.

In the darkness, I drift between consciousness and oblivion.

I cling to the hope that someday the curse will break and I will feel the sky beneath my wings once more.

But with each passing moment, that hope grows dimmer, like a candle flame guttering in an endless wind.

The questions multiply like breeding shadows: How long is “until the world ends”?

What constitutes rival bloodlines in a world where every dragon clan considers the other’s enemies?

And most terrifying of all—what if the mage spoke true, and no such female will ever be born?

The silence presses against my eardrums like deep water.

In this void, every fear becomes magnified, every doubt a screaming certainty.

I’ve doomed not just myself, but potentially everyone who shares my blood.

The weight of that knowledge settles over me like a shroud, heavier than the egg’s confining walls, more binding than any curse.

Yet deep in my core, a spark of defiance refuses to die.

If I must wait centuries, I will wait. If the world must change for my salvation to be possible, then perhaps my imprisonment serves a purpose.

Maybe in the distant future, when the old hatreds have crumbled to dust, when dragons learn to see beyond ancient grudges, a female will indeed come.

She’ll be curious about the legends, brave enough to seek truth, and strong enough to break a curse that was never meant to be broken.

Until then, I have nothing but time and the echo of my breathing in this cursed shell.