Page 42 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

This child,another voice whispers, and the very air seems to crystallize.This impossible child…they could heal the rift between magic and mankind. Could restore what was broken when the first dragons turned from our ways.

Or destroy everything.This voice burns like frost. They almost sound gleeful.Such power cannot be contained. Cannot be controlled. They will remake this world or end it.

The assembly wars, squabbling. Images flash through my mind like lightning: a child with my dark hair and Arvoren's straight nose and hard-drawn mouth, standing amid a storm of their own making. Cities rising from ruins, dragons and humans living in harmony once more. But also: armies clashing beneath a blood-red sky, the very mountains themselves burning with dragon-fire as ancient powers wage war once again.

"Kaldoria." Arvoren's voice rings with certainty, though his hand trembles in mine. "There was once nothing I loved more.”

Laughter like breaking ice fills the air.You? Love? Look at you. Look at what you have become.

You think you can stop what has been set in motion? This child's destiny was written in the stars long before either of you drew breath.

But which destiny?Another voice, gentler somehow.That remains to be seen. A thousand possible paths, each leading to a different fate. The future is unwritten.

More visions overwhelm us: our child growing up in Millrath, loved and protected but also watched by forces beyond our understanding. Learning to harness their incredible power, to bridge the gap between dragon and human magic. Standing against some nameless darkness that threatens to consume everything. Or perhaps becoming that darkness themselves.

"No."The word tears from my throat. "I’ll go to war for them. I’ll bring you low, should I need to.”

Brave words, little Windwaker. But you cannot fight what is already written. The only question is: will you guide them toward salvation or destruction? Will your love free them to choose their path, or will your fear chain them to fate?

The world shifts, dissolves, reforms. We stand in the Sanctum at Millrath, but the glass walls show only stars wheeling in endless dance. Our reflections ripple like water, showing a thousand possible futures: queen and king, prisoners and rulers, lovers and enemies, parents to a child who could reshape the world.

Choose wisely,the voices whisper as darkness creeps in.

I wake with a gasp to find Arvoren already alert, his arms tight around me. Dawn paints the ruined fortress in shades of pearl and silver, but the dream's chill lingers in our bones. Through our bond, I feel him processing what we saw—the terrible weight of destiny pressing down on our unborn child.

"It was real," he says quietly. "Wasn't it? The gods truly have plans for our child."

"Plans we don't have to accept." I press closer to his warmth, one hand curving protectively over my stomach. Our baby moves within me, their magic pulsing strong and sure. "They're ours, Arvoren. Not the gods', not fate's. Ours to protect. Ours to love."

He's quiet for a long moment, his hand covering mine where it rests over our child. Through our bond, I feel his fierce protectiveness warring with lingering fear. "Together then," he says finally. "Whatever comes, whatever the gods or fate have planned…we face it together. As equals."

I turn in his arms to look at him—really look at him.

"Together," I agree softly, because I know he needs to hear it. Because I love him enough to give him that.

Chapter 20 - Arvoren

Even hours later, the gods' voices still whisper at the edges of my consciousness, their ancient magic lingering like frost on glass. As Calliope sleeps against my chest, her breathing slow and even, memories rise unbidden—fragments of a past that feels like it belonged to someone else entirely.

I have heard more from the gods since I met her than ever before in my life. They have historically been silent to my ears. Or perhaps I was not listening.

Summer in the castle gardens, the air heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. Ulric and I sprawled on sun-warmed stone, barely more than boys, watching stars wheel overhead through gaps in the flowering vines. His hair caught the moonlight like a crown, and when he laughed, it was still his own laugh then—not the knife-edge sound it would become.

“Tell me about the dragons again," he said, eyes bright with genuine wonder. "The first ones, the ones who taught our ancestors to shift.”

I obliged, as I always did back then. Told him the old stories our parents had passed down—tales of creatures vast as mountains, wise as time itself, who saw something worth saving in humanity. Who shared their fire and fury with those they deemed worthy, creating the first shapeshifters.

"Do you think they're still out there?" Ulric's voice held none of the bitterness that would later poison it. "The ancient ones?"

“They definitely could be." I remember how simple certainty felt in those days. "Sleeping in the peaks beyond the northernmost frontier, waiting for…something. Some sign that we're ready for their return."

"We'll find them someday." He sat up, golden hair falling in his eyes. "You and me, brother. We'll fly higher than anyone ever has, discover all the old mysteries. Make our parents proud."

But even then, something darker lurked beneath his dreams of glory. I know that now. Perhaps some part of me always had. I saw it in the way his hands clenched when he spoke of pride, in how his smile never quite reached his eyes when our father praised my progress in training.

The memory shifts, dissolves, reforms into something else entirely. The gods' magic pulls me deeper, forcing me to witness their terrible vision:

Ulric stands in a chamber I don't recognize, its walls covered in runes that pulse with sickly light. Calliope kneels before him, blood frozen black on her skin. One of his hands tangles in her hair, forcing her head back; the other holds a blade of strange dark metal against her throat.