Page 48 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
Today we land at the edge of what was once the nest I was raised in. The charred remnants of stone and wood reek of ash, even after all these months. The sight of it sends a coil of unease twisting through my stomach. My dragoness shifts uncomfortably within me, both drawn to the remnants of our past and repelled by the idea of claiming this place again. The thought of spending my yearly here in just a few months makes my stomach churn, bile threatening to rise.
My guys sense my unease, their quiet glances heavy with unspoken understanding. They give me space, their presence a reassuringweight even in their silence. The oppressive stillness is mercifully broken when Cerce and Vox arrive. The subtle crunch of their footsteps on the uneven ground is a relief, dispelling the tension that had settled like a fog over us.
Ziggy phases Cerce and me up to my intended nest site and leaves us there. The scent of damp stone is sharper here, mingling with the faint metallic tang of my apprehension. Abraxis has the eggs down below, and now the task of preparing the nest begins.
“What do we do first? I mean, in theory, it should be instinct, right?” I arch a brow, my voice echoing faintly off of the mountains as I glance at Cerce. My fingers trail along the rough surface of the rock, cool and unyielding beneath my touch.
“It’s actually a learned behavior.” Cerce’s voice is warm, grounding. She smiles softly and pulls me into a hug, her scent—wild and smoky—wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. “Let’s dig your nest.” She presses a kiss to my forehead before stepping back, her movements fluid and deliberate.
Her transformation is mesmerizing; the air shimmers with heat as her body grows, her crimson and bronze scales catching the dim light and gleaming like freshly spilled blood. Obsidian flecks glint along the edges of her scales, sharp and dangerous, hinting at the black dragon bloodline that runs through her veins. The heat radiating from her form warms my skin, chasing away the chill of the mountain peaks.
Cerce moves into position, and with a deep inhale, unleashes her breath weapon. Flames roar from her maw, the intense heat making the air ripple and filling the space with the acrid smell of scorched stone. She digs her talons into the heated surface, the sound of claws raking against rock is sharp and grating. Chunks of stone break free. With a powerful sweep of her tail, she sends the chunks tumblingover the edge to the ground far below. Fire, dig, push—the rhythm is hypnotic, primal, and oddly soothing. The methodical destruction feels like a reclamation, a way of asserting control over this broken place.
I take a deep breath, the scent of molten rock and Cerce’s dragon fire filling my lungs. My dragoness stirs, watching intently, learning. This is more than just digging a nest—it’s preparing a place where one day my eggs, my legacy, will rest. It’s survival. It’s instinct. And I’ll make it my own.
Cerce works tirelessly for hours, the scrape, and clatter of stone shifting under her talons echoing across the mountainside. Her breaths come ragged and sharp, mingling with the earthy scent of disturbed rock and dry dust. When it’s my turn, she shifts back into her human form, the shimmer of her transformation leaving a faint ripple in the air.
I stretch, rolling my shoulders and arching my back, feeling the tautness of my human muscles before reaching deep within myself. My dragoness stirs eagerly, a ripple of heat spreading through me as she surges forward. My body stretches and reshapes, bones cracking and skin giving way to emerald and iron scales. Sunlight dances across them, highlighting their metallic sheen. The frill along my spine flexes, catching the light as I raise and lower it, testing its full range.
The air grows thick with the sharp tang of ozone, electric, and biting, as my head tilts down. My maw opens wide, and the charged energy builds, crackling against my tongue. A deafening roar of lightning explodes outward, striking the rocks with blinding brilliance. The acrid scent of singed stone fills the air, and a low rumble echoes as fragments rain down like a crumbling mountain.
My breath weapon lashes multiple points of the rocky surface with relentless precision. The ground trembles beneath me. Cerce stumbles back, pressing herself against the mountainside, her eyes wide as she watches. The stone before me is scorched and shattered, jagged pieces glinting like shattered glass in the sunlight.
I lower my head and rake my talons through the pulverized area, the gritty, powdery remains sliding effortlessly beneath my talons. A low rumble vibrates in my chest as I survey the destruction, tilting my horned head to study the intricate web of cracks where my lightning breath struck. Each fissure holds the promise of even more obliteration.
Cerce approaches cautiously, the crunch of loose rubble underfoot announcing her presence. “Your breath weapon works a lot better than mine. I can only assume it’ll be better than both males’ as well,” she says, her voice tinged with admiration.
I snort, sending a faint puff of smoke into the air, and resume digging, my talons effortlessly scooping out the fragmented stone. The gritty dust coats my tongue, and the occasional metallic tang of dislodged ore makes me long for water. The hours pass in a rhythm of destruction and excavation, my muscles flexing under the weight of my labor.
When I pull my horned head from the hole, the sharp scent of crushed stone still lingers in the air. Abraxis and Vox have joined us, their forms casting long shadows across the excavation site. I scoop out another pile of pulverized stone, the sound of its tumbling descent a steady percussion beneath my efforts.
“Mina, that’s amazing. You’re literally destroying the stone before you even need to use your talons,” Abraxis says, pride warming his tone. His words send a ripple of satisfaction through me.
“Maybe the digging might go faster if Mina uses her breath weapon, and we take turns digging?” Cerce offers, her gaze flicking between Abraxis and Vox.
Abraxis nods thoughtfully. “That would probably be the most effective use of time. The only thing is we’ll have to take breaks for Mina to get a drink and feed. I don’t know if she gets as tired as I do when I use my breath weapon for too long.”
I turn my horned head toward him, the glow of my eyes catching his. A slow, deliberate nod confirms his suggestion. My chest rumbles faintly, a sound of agreement and satisfaction, as I ready myself to unleash my lightning once more.
I unleash my breath weapon about a dozen more times, the scorching heat licking at the edges of the crater I’ve carved into the ground. The acrid tang of burnt earth fills my nostrils, mingling with the faint ozone taste that always lingers after I use my breath weapon. The faint sizzle of cooling rocks hisses around me, a sound almost soothing in its repetition.
Satisfied, I shift back to my human form. The transition leaving a fleeting ache in my bones as my dragoness reluctantly recedes. Gently, I pick up the egg carrier from where Abraxis had set it atop my discarded jacket. The weight of it against my chest as I strap it back under my shirt feels grounding, reassuring, a connection I can’t bear to break.
From the edge of the crater, I watch Abraxis and his father work in tandem. Abraxis’s dragon form is a dark blur of motion, his talons moving deftly as he clears out rubble in the hole I created. Vox’sdragon sweeps the scattered stone shards aside with practiced ease, the sound of grinding rock sending a shiver through me.
For almost thirty minutes, I remain rooted there, the faint vibration of their labor thrumming beneath my boots, until Ziggy’s voice cuts through my focus.
“We found the egg chamber—or what’s left of it.” His tone is tight, and the flicker of unease in his green eyes makes my stomach twist.
I exhale sharply, nodding. “Cerce, let Abraxis know I went with Ziggy to see what they found.”
Strapping the egg carrier more securely to my chest, the familiar warmth of the eggs pressed against my stomach eases some of the tension coiling in my gut. “Let’s go,” I say, reaching out for Ziggy’s gloved hand. His fingers curl around mine, cool through the fabric, and a split-second later, the world shifts.
The sensation of phasing is disorienting as always—a bone-deep pull followed by a weightless rush. When my feet touch solid ground again, I’m hit with a wave of damp, stale air. The egg chamber. Or what’s left of it.
It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim, oppressive darkness of the buried egg chamber. The air is heavy with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay, and the faintest whisper of something acrid lingers, like the ghost of something long dead. The faint crunch of my boots against loose gravel echoes in the stillness, each step a reminder of how isolated we are down here.
Most of the chamber looks usable at first glance. The smooth, timeworn walls glisten faintly with moisture, but thankfully, it hasn’t been used for eggs since I hatched twenty-one years ago. Still, unease prickles at my senses, like the chamber itself remembers itspurpose and resents my intrusion. Last year I slept in it but it feels like forever ago. I walk slowly around the interior, my fingertips brushing against the cold stone as I try to gauge if it will be safe enough.
