Again.
Probably not the last time either, given the smog that’s bearing down on the Sabersythe hatching grounds, making it impossible to venture farther than the huts on the outskirts. Leaving nothing for any of us to do other than sit around, obsessing over nests that will largely go unused.
For most, shaping a nest in Gondragh is our final act. Something I accepted long ago.
Mostly.
I slop more magma on, molding it with a piece of curved metal. Once I’m happy, I splash it with water from my skein.
The fresh layer sizzles and spits, releasing more sulfuric smog that hasme lifting my wrap over my mouth and nose, tucking it in my hood while I wait for the runes to clear the air.
Leaning back, I visualize the egg sitting within—
Too deep.
Fuck.
I scoop another glob in, smooth it, splash it with water. Lean back to reassess. Inkah’s nest was made of snow and ice, so this is new to me.
Don’t wanna mess it up.
Another scoop, and I tip the skein, emptying my final dregs before realizing how dry my mouth is.
Better get more water.
I pull off my other glove, gather my things, and tuck them under a large shroud, pocketing the silver scale I’ve been shaping into a blade. I toss my other shroud over the nest and move deeper down the tunnel I also spoke into existence the dae I got here.
Nobody trusts each other in these parts, given it’s almost impossible to obtain a coveted Sabersythe egg. Bonding with such a fierce, powerful creature is one of the world’s greatest honors, but not everyone ishonorable.
Thieves lurk in dark corners, meaning most folk stick to themselves. Burrow down until they find an underground magma river to build a nest beside.
It’s a good thing I like the quiet.
Reaching my tunnel’s end, I pause before the camouflage sheet I hung at the opening and listen for footsteps. Hearing only the distant grumble and groan of the nearby volcanoes, I push past and move up the jagged stone stairway, pausing every now and then to shake the dangling firelice jars nailed against the walls.
I’m almost at the surface when the hammer of heavy boots on stone has me stilling, dagger poised.
My breaths turn slow and steady as I wait.
It doesn’t take long until a fae comes into view—large and broad, descending the stairs two at a time. Brown material covers half his face, leaving only a peek of ebony skin, thick brows, and bright-blue eyes that are wide and bloodshot.
Upon noticing me, his shoulders fold forward.
“Thank the Creators,” he blasts, and I notice the cloak bundled in his arms. He sweeps the material back from a large golden egg with perfect symmetrical scales.
My heart flips. Again when the egg jolts, like it’s trying to jump from his arms.
The male rips aside his face covering, revealing the blue beads knotted throughout his long beard. Though he glances at the blade in my hand, he doesn’t posture. Nor does he pull his own weapon.
I tuck mine away.
“The southwestern hut was destroyed. I barely escaped.” His egg jolts again. “It started rocking just as I breached the entrance.”
And he doesn’t have a nest prepared …
I wave for him to follow me deeper down the stairs, past the camouflage sheet and through my tunnel. When I rip the shroud away to reveal my nest, the stranger falls to his knees.
“Thank you,” he weeps, over and over, easing his egg into the bowl. Almost a perfect fit, I think. From what I’ve seen of diagrams anyway.
