A thought crosses my mind.
“Raven, why don’t you hand me your father’s phone.” I hold out my hand, and she passes it to me with a curious tilt of her head. “Then you scoot the egg to the edge of the nest and take a picture with your father.”
Thauglor’s eyes light up like a child given an unexpected gift. He looks hopefully at his daughter, that ancient, fearsome face transformed by something as simple as the possibility of a photograph.
Raven giggles—actually giggles—and scoots her egg carefully to the edge of the nest. Thauglor leans over the rim, positioning himself beside her, and they both raise their wings high. The black membranes spread wide, catching the bioluminescent light, creating a dramatic backdrop of shadow and scale. They extend their talons, sharp and gleaming, a display of power and pride.
They look at me for the picture. Their sapphire eyes glow with an inner fire, identical in shade and intensity. But it’s not the power that strikes me. It’s not the danger or the ancient bloodline or the legendary status.
It’s their smiles. And their matching dimples. She is her father’s daughter, right down to the small indentations that appear intheir cheeks when they grin. The same dimples. The same fire. The same fierce, protective love that burns brighter than any flame. Raven’s black wings spread wide behind her, echoing her father’s stance side by side.
I snap several pictures, making sure to capture every angle, every expression. The fierce pose. The softer moment when Thauglor glances at his daughter with undisguised adoration. The way Raven leans into her father’s side, comfortable and safe.
I hand the phone back to Thauglor, and he scrolls through the images with visible delight.
“You’ve made my day.” He kisses Raven’s temple, lingering for just a moment, then turns to face the rest of us. He shakes each of our hands—Corvus, then Keir, then Hemlocke, then Solaris, then me. His grip is firm, warm, and grateful. “Take care of my girls.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing into the tunnels that lead out of Blackhaven. The family group chat explodes into chaos almost immediately. My phone buzzes relentlessly against my thigh, notification after notification flooding the screen. I pull it out and watch the messages scroll past faster than I can read them.
Klauth remarks on how an elder drake is never allowed near its progeny’s eggs—the significance of what just happened apparently not lost on the family historian. Ziggy mentions Raven being Thauglor’s mini-me, complete with a string of emojis I don’t entirely understand. Mina sends heart after heart after heart. Her siblings—Lily, Thorne, Azalea, Bella—devolve into excited key smashing.
The chat goes on for an hour.
During that time, the rest of us take turns taking pictures with Raven and the egg. Corvus kneels beside the nest, his silver eyes soft, his war drake’s mask nowhere to be found. Keir blinks in and out of existence, appearing in different positions for each shot, his stormy gray eyes bright with joy. Hemlocke stands tall and proud, his dark eyes gleaming. Solaris poses with all the dignity of an ancient dragon, though I catch the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. And I—I shift back to my phoenix form for one picture, spreading my bronze and gold wings wide over my mate and our egg.
I send those images to the chat, and the chaos intensifies.
Raven announces it’s a girl. But she won’t say who the father is. The questions flood in immediately. Demands. Pleas. Bribes. But Raven just smiles that soft, secretive smile and refuses to answer.
I have a feeling this is going to be a secret she carries all the way to the end.
And honestly? I’m okay with that.
Because it doesn’t matter whose blood runs through that shell. She’s ours. All of ours. And we will love her—fiercely, completely, eternally—regardless of biology.
That’s what family means.
