Page 43 of Burned Alive to Be His
A low murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.
“For generations,” Vorlag continues, his voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller, of a priest, “we have believed that ahuman mate was all that was required. But the ancient texts, the ones that speak of the First Forging, tell a different story. The human is not just a key. She is a vessel. A partner in creation.”
He looks directly at Judith, his ancient eyes holding hers. “The Hearthkeeper’s fire is a fire of creation. It requires a sacrifice. A union of blood and will. To awaken an egg, it is not enough to be mates. You must become one bloodline.”
He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle over the silent clan.
“You, Xvitar, and you, Judith, will choose one egg from the sacred cavern,” he proclaims. “After your mating ceremony, you will take it to the Altar of the First Flame. There, you will anoint it with your own blood, mixed as one. Your two bloodlines will become the catalyst, the spark that awakens the life within. The hatchling will be of your line, Xvitar. It will be a true dragon, with all the strength and fire of our kind. But it will be born of your union. It will be a child of your love.”
A collective gasp goes through the crowd. A child of their love. The concept is so foreign, so revolutionary, it is almost a blasphemy. We do not speak of love. We speak of strength, of bloodlines, of duty.
But as I look at Judith, at the way the morning light catches in her dark hair, at the fierce, beautiful strength in her eyes, I know that Vorlag speaks the truth. What I feel for her… it is a force of nature, as powerful and undeniable as the fire in the mountain’s heart. It is love.
“But the sacrifice does not end there,” Vorlag continues, his gaze still fixed on Judith. “A dragon egg gestates in the fire of the mountain. But a child born of two worlds requires the nourishment of two worlds. For nine moons, the length of a human gestation, you, Judith, must nourish the egg with your own life force. A single drop of your blood, given to the egg each day, will sustain the life within until it is ready to hatch.”
A wave of shock and horror ripples through me. A drop of blood. Every day. For nine months. It is a slow, draining sacrifice. A constant giving of her own life to create another.
I open my mouth to protest, to refuse, but Judith’s small hand on my arm stops me. I look down. She is not afraid. Her face is the picture of awe, of a profound, humbling reverence. She is not thinking of the sacrifice. She is thinking of the creation.
“It is a great honor,” she says, voice a quiet, clear bell in the silence. She looks at Vorlag, her chin lifted. “I accept.”
And with those two words, she seals her fate. She seals our future. She, the human slave, accepts the sacred duty of becoming the mother of a new generation of dragons.
A roar of approval, of pure, unadulterated joy, erupts from the clan. It is something I have not heard in my entire life. It is a sound of hope reborn.
Vorlag nods, a slow, satisfied smile on his ancient face. “The preparations for the mating ceremony will begin at once. It will be held at sunset, before the entire clan, at the mouth of the sacred cavern.” He looks at me. “Take your mate, Xvitar. Show her the future she has unlocked for us.”
He dismisses the clan, and they disperse, their voices a low, excited buzz. They are no longer a people divided. They are a people united, their focus on the future, on the impossible promise of a new life.
I turn to Judith. The weight of what has just been decreed settles over me, a heavy, terrifying, and exquisitely beautiful thing. A child. Our child. A future.
“You did not have to agree to that,” I say in a rough rasp. “The sacrifice… it is too great.”
“It is not a sacrifice,” she says, her dark eyes shining with a light I have never seen before. “It is a gift. To give life… it is the greatest gift of all.”
I gaze at this creature of impossible strength and even more impossible grace, and I am undone. I reach out and cup her jaw, my thumb stroking her cheek. “You are a constant surprise to me, Judith.”
“I am full of them,” she says, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips.
“Come,” I say, my voice thick with emotions I cannot name. “Let me show you what you have won for us.”
I take her hand, my large, scaled fingers lacing with her small, soft ones, and I lead her toward the newly revealed entrance to the sacred cavern. The air at the entrance is warm, humming with a low, vibrational energy. It is the feeling of a thousand sleeping heartbeats, a thousand dormant souls.
We step through the shimmering, heat-hazed portal, and into another world.
The cavern is immense, a vast, natural cathedral of glittering, crystalline rock. The air is warm and still, and it hums with a palpable, ancient magic. The only light comes from the eggs themselves.
There are hundreds of them. They are nestled in shallow, sandy depressions on the cavern floor, arranged in concentric circles that radiate out from the center. They are larger than any bird’s egg, the size of a human head, and they are a kaleidoscope of colors. Some are the deep, fiery red of a dying sun, others the cool, shimmering blue of a glacier’s heart. Some are the color of molten gold, others the deep, iridescent black of my own scales. And they all glow with a soft, internal light, a gentle, rhythmic pulsing that fills the cavern with a silent, breathtaking symphony of life.
“By the Thirteen…” I whisper, my own voice a breath of awe. I have heard the legends, but to see it… to feel it…
I look at Judith. She is standing in the center of the cavern, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated wonder. Her eyes arewide, her lips are parted, and she is drinking in the sight, the feeling, the magic of it all.
And then, something extraordinary happens.
As she walks deeper into the cavern, the eggs nearest to her begin to glow brighter. Their gentle, rhythmic pulsing quickens, matching the beat of her own heart. A soft, melodic chiming sound, like a thousand tiny crystal bells, fills the air. The eggs are responding to her. They are singing to her. They are welcoming their new mother.
She stops before a large, deep crimson egg that is veined with threads of pure gold. It is pulsing with a light that is brighter, stronger, than any of the others. She reaches out a hesitant hand and gently touches its smooth, warm surface.
