“I have to be.” Dad kisses the crown of my head, his lips warm against my hair, then releases me to move toward Mom. He settles beside her on the bench, pulling her against his side the way I pulled her against my wing earlier. “It’s not like males are allowed on the island unless they are bonded or the rare omega male.”
His tone is light, but I catch the tension beneath it—the protective instinct warring with the knowledge that he cannot follow where we’re going.
“I came to check on the kids and see if they needed anything.” His gaze sweeps over the sleeping pile of hatchlings, and I see something soften in his ancient face. “It amazes me that our granddaughter is so large compared to the other hatchlings. She dwarfs your brothers, and they’re older than she is.”
“Nova’s size shocked me too.” I move to stand near the sleeping children, watching their peaceful faces, the gentle rise, and fallof their breathing. “Is it because of me being a wyrm and Solaris is a great wyrm? Mom was a wyrm when I was born, but I don’t think I was Nova’s size.”
I try thinking back to my clutch, to the memories of my earliest days that exist more as impressions than clear images.
“The difference is bloodline.” Dad says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like he’s explaining why the sky is blue. “Your mom’s father was barely a wyrm dragon when she was born. You are born of two great wyrm fathers and a wyrm mother. So when you and Solaris had Nova, her father was a great wyrm and her mother a wyrm with a strong great wyrm bloodline.”
Power compounding on power. Strength breeding strength. No wonder our enemies want us eliminated—each generation of our line grows more formidable than the last.
Nova stirs in her sleep, her small body wiggling free from the pile of her aunts and uncles. She blinks awake, her eyes—the same sapphire blue as mine, as my father’s—focusing on Thauglor with immediate recognition. A chirp escapes her throat, and then she’s pulling herself across the grass toward him, her movements still uncoordinated but determined.
She reaches his legs and rubs her face against his calf, purring up a storm that I can hear from several feet away. The sound vibrates through the air, pure contentment, pure love.
I pull out a blanket from beside the bench—I’ve learned to always have one ready—and Nova takes the cue. She shifts in a shimmer of scales and light, her hatchling form folding inward until a small girl crouches on the grass, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, large obsidian, and orange wingsfluttering at her back. I wrap the soft wool around her naked body, and my father bends to scoop her up in one fluid motion.
She spreads her little wings immediately, stretching them toward his shoulders, trying to do what I do when I hold her. With me, her wings can almost reach around my shoulders, a miniature embrace within an embrace. With Dad, the bone at the leading edge of each wing barely makes contact with his massive frame.
But she tries anyway, her face scrunched with concentration.
I watch tears gather in my father’s eyes—the terror of the continent, the ancient wyrm who has burned armies and toppled kingdoms, undone by a toddler’s attempt at a hug. He closes his own wings around her, creating a cocoon of dark membrane and warmth, and she sighs against his chest, perfectly content.
Mom bumps her shoulder against mine, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “You know you’ve lost her, right?”
“It’s okay.” I lean into my mother’s side, watching the scene before us. My father, who once made the world tremble, swaying gently with my daughter in his arms, humming something tuneless and soft. “There’s no one else outside of my nest that she would be safer with. Well, maybe my other two dads. While I’m gone, she’ll be guarded by ancient terrors who would burn continents for her.”
I hug my mother, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her heart. “He’s such a girl dad, it’s not even funny.”
Mom laughs softly, but her arms tighten around me, and I feel the shift in her mood before she speaks. “But in all seriousness, Raven...” Her voice drops, pitched for my ears alone. “We don’tknow what we’re flying into. We don’t know if Giselle is working with Magnus or not, and that’s the problem.”
The words land like stones in still water, sending ripples through the warm moment.
She’s right. Giselle could be an ally. She could be neutral. Or she could be part of the conspiracy that wants my bloodline erased from existence, and we’d be flying directly into her territory, into her power, surrounded by her forces with no backup and no escape.
“We bring Xero and Iris with us.” I keep my voice steady, letting the plan unfold. Mom needs to know what Xero can do—the edge we’ll be carrying that no one else knows about. “Xero can move two people a short distance—about a hundred feet. So we can vanish if needed, put some distance between us and any threat before they can react.”
“She can do that?” Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise breaking through her careful composure.
“Yeah,” I allow myself a small smile. “We’ve been working on it slowly, finding out the maximum size of something she can move. Her main priority is Nova, always. Nova, she can transport from my nest to here in a blink—especially fast if Nova is in her human form. She’s lighter that way. The more weight, the shorter the distance.”
I watch Mom’s eyes move from me to my father still holding Nova, then back again. I can see her calculating, recalculating, adjusting the odds in her head.
“Where’s Xero now?”
No sooner does Mom ask than the shadows beside the bench ripple and solidify. Xero appears on the stone seat, her black fur absorbing the golden light, her blood-red feline eyes fixed on my father holding my daughter.
“Xero is always here. Watching the Nova, always.” Her voice purrs directly into our minds, bypassing ears entirely—a sensation like warm velvet brushing against my thoughts. Those crimson eyes never waver from Nova’s small form. “The Nova is safe. Xero makes sure.”
A shadow that moves when my daughter moves. A guardian who never sleeps, never wavers, never looks away.
Mom studies Xero for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Tomorrow we plot the path to the Eastern Isles that we want to take. We’ll do some practice runs and work on maneuvers to harness both of our weapons to work best together.”
Her tone has shifted, the mother receding, the general emerging. This is Mina the Conqueror speaking now, the dragoness who united a continent through fire and will.
“We’ll need backup plans for our backup plans,” she continues, her gaze sweeping from Xero to the sleeping hatchlings to my father and Nova. “And we tell no one outside this immediate circle the true nature of our mission. Not until we know more.”
I nod, feeling the weight of it settle onto my shoulders. The laughter of moments ago feels distant now, belonging to a simpler version of reality that may never have existed.
Here goes everything.
