Keir messages next, his words appearing with urgent speed:Solaris’s egg is vibrating harder than usual. Almost violent. Never seen it like this.
“Tell him to get it outside immediately,” Thauglor orders, his voice carrying the authority of a Great Wyrm. “Solaris may hatch sensing Raven in danger or detecting that she’s been drugged through their mate bond. Cursed eggs respond to their mate’s distress.”
Thauglor’s eyes go distant again, that vacant look returning as the connection re-establishes. He looks around slowly, then down as if seeing through Raven’s eyes as she flies. Then he looks straight ahead at something only he can perceive. “Raven’s heading to her lair. I see darkness below, the mountains in the distance. She needs rest. She’s exhausted.”
He double-blinks hard, the connection apparently breaking, and starts heading toward the door with determined purpose when the phone buzzes again with a new message.
Keir’s text appears, and the words make my heart stop:Solaris is free and flying toward no-man's-land. I took him to the edge of Blackhaven territory, like Thauglor said. He hatched, shifted, and took off before I could stop him. He has a head start on any of us.
I stare at the message, processing what it means. Solaris—ancient, powerful, protective—is racing to reach Raven first.
All we can do now is wait and pray that Tiamat protects both Raven and Corvus until help arrives.
But knowing Solaris just hatched after two years of waiting, knowing he’s flying toward his mate with centuries of pent-up devotion and protective fury, I almost pity anyone who tries to stop Raven from reaching safety.
The Western Continent has just made an enemy of an ancient orange dragon, and they don’t even know it yet.
Hours later…
We race to the edge of Blackhaven territory, moving as fast as physically possible through the darkening landscape. I remain airborne as my phoenix—a living comet of flame streaking across the sky—to act like a lighthouse to guide her home. The wind rushes past my burning form, and I scan the horizon desperately for any sign of her.
A weak roar I recognize as Raven’s echoes across the mountains, and my heart clenches at how faint it sounds—nothing like her usual powerful call. Shortly after, a thunderous roar shakes thevery air around us with a raw power that makes my flames flicker. A third roar follows—Corvus is flying under his own power now, and he sounds stronger than Raven does, which terrifies me.
Keir and Hemlocke race around the perimeter of the landing field far below, lighting torches one by one so Raven has a safe, visible place to land in the darkness. The flames create a ring of light against the night.
They breach the mountain pass, and I see Raven’s massive form wavering in the air like a ship in a storm. Her flight pattern is erratic, unstable. Her head suddenly drops forward, unconsciousness clearly taking her, and the next thing I know, an enormous orange dragon appears out of nowhere—larger than even Raven—and folds himself protectively around her falling form.
They crash-land together in the field with devastating force. Dirt and rocks go flying everywhere like shrapnel as a deep crater is carved into the earth from the impact. The sound is deafening—like thunder and an earthquake combined. He skids for several hundred feet, his body wrapped around hers like armor, leaving deep furrows in the ground before eventually sliding to a stop.
I can only assume that’s Solaris based on his coloring and the way he has himself folded protectively around Raven, shielding her from the worst of the impact.
“Don’t try to approach—he’s unbonded!” Klauth yells urgently as he physically holds the assembled family back, keeping everyone at a safe distance and giving Solaris a wide berth. His voice carries a warning and authority.
“You think black dragons are possessive and territorial? Orange dragons make us look pleasant and easygoing by comparison,” Thauglor says grimly as he moves forward slowly with his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. “Old friend, I’d like to see my daughter. I mean no harm.”
We all wait, holding our collective breath to see what Solaris may do. The tension is thick enough to cut.
Corvus shifts back to human form and immediately bends over, retching violently. He finally empties his stomach contents onto the grass in painful heaves. “I don’t know how she stayed awake,” he gasps between ragged breaths, sweat beading on his pale face.
I move alongside him immediately to get him to lean against a nearby boulder for support, steadying him with careful hands. “What do you mean? What happened during the flight?”
“I didn’t eat as much as Raven did at dinner. I passed out behind her horns for a while—just completely unconscious.” His voice is hoarse and weak. “Whatever Amadeus gave us was incredibly strong. Military-grade sedative, probably.” Keir appears and offers Corvus a water bottle, which he accepts with shaking hands.
Looking up toward the crater, I watch Solaris slowly lift his massive wing with deliberate care. There, curled up beneath the protective membrane, is Raven’s dragoness. She has her legs and tail pulled up tight and tucked inside her own wings. Her curved horns rest outside of her wings while the main bone ridge covers her eyes and face completely. She lays curled small between Solaris’s powerful legs and beneath his wings, fully protected from the world.
Her dragoness is about two-thirds his size and looks incredibly small and vulnerable while she sleeps—nothing like the terrifying predator I know she is.
“She used to sleep exactly like that when she was a hatchling,” Thauglor says softly, and his smile doesn’t reach his sapphire eyes. The memory clearly pains him. “Will you permit her phoenix mate to come and heal her, and you as well if you need it?” he asks Solaris with formal courtesy.
We wait for the response, and I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Solaris lifts his enormous head high and turns to look directly at me with ancient amber eyes that have seen centuries pass. Then he looks down at Raven sleeping beneath him. I nod once in acknowledgment and start walking forward slowly, making no sudden movements.
When I get close enough, I can see where my feather has been incorporated into her body—the orange and gold plumage forms the edging on several of Raven’s neck scales, growing there like it was always meant to be part of her. Solaris touches those specific scales with his nose gently, then looks back at me with what might be approval or gratitude.
“Yeah, I gifted her that feather,” I confirm quietly. “It probably protected her enough to get her this far home—kept the toxins from stopping her heart.” Slowly, I reach out and rest my hand on her wing near the claw at the peak, feeling the warmth of her scales beneath my palm. I extend my phoenix senses as far as they can go, pushing my awareness into her body, trying to feel if Raven is truly alright or if there’s hidden damage.
From what I can feel, it’s just profound exhaustion now—the bone-deep weariness that comes from pushing your body past every limit. Whatever the toxin was, it’s long gone, burned away by her metabolism and my feather’s influence. “She’s just exhausted. I don’t sense any toxin left in her system or poison remaining.”
