Every step past the living room feels like the building itself is going to reach out and eat me alive. The air grows heavier, thicker, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. Raven seems outwardly unfazed, walking with her head high, but then I notice the scales along her neck are raised up defensively—a tell I’ve learned means she’s on edge.
She looks over at me and furrows her brow with concern. “I’m sorry, this must be terrifying for you.” She extends one of her wings to wrap around my shoulders, and instantly the oppressive pressure lessens significantly.
“Your mom’s space feels like it wants to eat me,” I admit, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding onto her as we walk deeper into the nest. My heart is pounding hard enough that I’m sure she can feel it.
“That’s normal. It’s because the entire space is covered heavily in her scent—marking this as her territory. It’s the bigger predator thing at play,” Raven explains with a casual shrug, like we’re discussing the weather rather than me potentially being attacked by an ancient dragon.
“Is it bothering you?” I ask softly, studying her face.
“It’s making me angry,” she admits with brutal honesty. “It doesn’t scare me—I’m the bigger predator now. What scares me is the possibility of Mom snapping at me or you, and me shifting instinctively and killing her to protect you.”
Raven stops walking and turns to look at me directly. Her eyes have shifted to her dragon’s burning sapphire with that inner fire I’ve come to know intimately. “Don’t go near the eggs, and don’t go near Mom. Stay with the other males. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I say immediately, seeing the genuine fear in her expression.
She stops just outside a doorway that feels like it’s radiating the end of the world—the pressure so intense it makes my teeth ache. “This is the same egg chamber I was born in,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes before stepping inside. Whatever else she was about to say dies on her lips.
When we enter the chamber, I can see Mina in her full dragon form, taking up a third of the enormous space. She’s magnificent and terrifying—silver and emerald scales gleaming in the soft light, creating an almost jewel-like effect as they catch the illumination. Her form is protectively curled around something precious. Raven leaves me standing by Leander near the entrance before walking further into the chamber with measured steps.
“I’m here, Mom, like you wanted,” Raven announces, stopping a respectful distance away. She folds her wings tight to her back, making herself appear smaller and less threatening.
Mina’s massive head turns slowly to regard her daughter, and I hold my breath. Then she stands up, revealing what she was protecting. In front of where Mina was laying are five enormous eggs—each easily three feet tall, their shells gleaming with an iridescent quality.
“We couldn’t tell who the fathers were this time. It’s a dominant dragoness thing,” Ziggy explains quietly as he shakes my hand in greeting. “I’ll go stand by Raven. Worst-case scenario, I’ll get her to you so you can blink out of here.” Ziggy walks over to join Raven, positioning himself between her and Mina as an additional buffer.
“I thought the ancients could tell parentage by scent?” I ask Leander, confused by this development.
“For whatever reason, this clutch is different,” Klauth says as he approaches, his crimson-flecked amber eyes studying the eggs with fascination. “Mina thinks Raven may tell us who’s going to be a dad this time—something about her wyrm gifts.”
Mina shifts back to human form with visible effort, clearly exhausted from laying. Klauth motions for me to follow him closer to where the eggs rest in their carefully arranged nest.
All the eggs are a mysterious gray-black color, and Raven smiles looking at them with obvious wonder and love. “Three sisters, two brothers,” she announces, passing her hand over the tops of the eggs without touching them.
“Leander, this one’s yours.” She places a yellow Post-it note with an L on it on the first egg.
She smiles warmly and places a pink Post-it with a B on the next egg. “Balor, this one is yours.”
She moves to the center egg—the nest egg, traditionally the strongest—and rests her hand directly on its warm shell. Her eyes glow faintly with an inner light. “I’m wrong—three girls, three boys. This one is twins.”
She writes a T on a yellow Post-it and smiles at Thauglor with pride. “Of course you’d have twins, Dad.”
She moves to the next egg, and her smile turns mischievous. “Tiamat, please gift this one a temperament like mine. We don’t need another Allister in this family.” Raven writes a K on the pink Post-it note, places it carefully on the egg, and winks at Klauth, who laughs at her audacity.
Raven steps away from the eggs and walks over to Callan, who’s been standing quietly in the corner. She takes his hand and brings him over toward the remaining egg. “You are the best Daddy bird a girl could ask for,” she says, tearing up as she looks into Callan’s single golden eye—the other lost long ago in battle. “You get to experience having a blood daughter of your own this time.”
They embrace each other, both crying openly. Raven takes Callan into her wings and holds him as they weep together—tears of joy and love and years of accumulated emotion. I remember the stories Raven has told me about Callan carrying the daughters around on his gryphon’s back when they were small, how he would sleep with them when they didn’t feel good, bring them snacks and dolls from his trips to different outposts.
“Besides Thauglor, Callan is her favorite,” Ziggy says softly beside me, watching the scene with wet eyes.
When Raven opens her wings and releases Callan, she looks like a beautiful raccoon with her eyeliner and mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks. She leads Callan over to his egg with gentle hands and places the pink Post-it with the C on top.
“If you’re wondering, I sat this clutch out,” Ziggy explains quietly. “I have two daughters already—Belladonna and Azalea. The chimeras in the nest don’t count as multiple children because they primarily look like the main genetic donor.”
He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Gargoyles have a hard time having children, so...” He leaves that hanging, and I don’t bother asking about Abraxis. With dragons, the strongest genetic donors usually father the children. Apparently, Mina didn’t go to Abraxis first this time.
I lean back against the cool stone wall in probably the scariest place I’ve ever been in my entire life. But I get to watch my mate in the multi-species nest she grew up in—see the love and complexity and beauty of what we have to look forward to one day.
The love is clear as day between everyone here—the way they touch each other, support each other, celebrate together. This is what I want for the family Raven is building with us. This complicated, messy, beautiful multi-species nest.
This is endgame.
This is everything.
