Her daughter has wings in human form.
Just like her mother.
They rise from the baby’s small back—strong obsidian-covered flight bones and fingers, the structure already developed despite her newborn status. The leather stretched between those bone fingers fades from black at the edges to a vibrant orange near the center. Sunset orange. Ember orange. The color of her father’s scales.
The breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
“I thought you said a female with wings is a rare occurrence.” I look over at Thauglor, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Raven’s father stands beside Klauth, his sapphire eyes fixed on his daughter and granddaughter with an expression I can’t quite read. He looks over at the Dragon King, some silent communication passing between the two ancient beings, then turns back to me.
“Maybe this is part of the change that dragon kind needs.” He shrugs his massive shoulders, but I catch the tremor in his voice. The wonder he’s trying to hide. “Perhaps the old ways are evolving.”
He looks at Raven and the hatchling, and for a moment, I see past the terrifying legend to the father beneath. The grandfather. A male watching his bloodline transform into something unprecedented.
I watch Raven carefully place her daughter into Solaris’s arms, guiding his massive hands to support the baby’s head and back. The baby fusses for a moment at the transfer, then settles against her father’s chest with a soft coo. Raven leans against Solaris’s shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, exhaustion finally catching up with her.
Through our bond, all I feel is peace.
Whatever taking him as a mate did for her, it was well worth it. The turmoil that usually churns beneath Raven’s surface—the conflict between the warrior she was raised to be and the path she wants to forge—is quiet now. Still. She’s found something that centers her in a way nothing else has.
I walk closer, drawn by the sight of those small wings peeking over the edge of the blanket. The peaks of the baby's wings are strong, the bones already defined, the leather catching the light with a subtle sheen. She’s going to be magnificent when she’s grown.
“What are you going to name her?”
Raven smiles—that soft, secret smile she reserves for moments of genuine happiness—then rises on her tiptoes and whispers something in Solaris’s ear. His amber eyes light up, and a smile breaks across his face.
“‘Tis a fitting name for the wee one.” He presses his lips to his daughter’s forehead, lingering there for a moment, breathing her in. Then he turns to face the family gathered on the field, his voice carrying strong and clear despite the emotion thickening his brogue. “We are naming the wee one Nova.”
Nova. A star. An explosion of light. The beginning of something new.
“Nova MacLeod, third in line for the throne.” Raven’s smile broadens as she looks down at Ruby, who has waddled closer to investigate the commotion. The little red and green hatchling tilts her head curiously at the announcement. “You, my little love, are fourth.”
Raven smiles the broadest smile I’ve seen in a while—weeks, maybe months. The expression transforms her face, softening the sharp edges of the warrior into something younger. Happier. More like the girl she might have been if the world hadn’t demanded she become a weapon.
Solaris hesitantly hands Nova back to Raven, his reluctance visible in the way his fingers linger on the blanket, the way his eyes follow the baby as she transfers from his arms to her mother’s. Raven takes her daughter and walks over to her fathers and mother, the gathered ancients parting to let her through.
“I totally get it now.”
Tears roll down Raven’s cheeks, cutting fresh paths over the dried tracks from before. I cross the distance between us and slip my arm around her, pulling her against my side. She fits perfectly there, her head tucking beneath my chin, her wings rustling softly against my arm.
“The waiting, the first time you can scent the hatchling.” Her voice is soft, thick with wonder. “The first time they look in your eyes. Nothing and no one else matters but them.”
She kisses her daughter on the crown of her head, her lips lingering against that soft dark hair. Nova makes a small sound of contentment, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.
Gently, Raven rests her daughter in Thauglor’s arms. Her father accepts his granddaughter with a reverence that borders on worship; his massive hands cradling her as if she’s made of spun glass. Raven tucks herself under my arm and holds onto me, her fingers gripping my shirt.
“You did good, little momma.” I kiss her temple, inhaling the scent of her—sea salt and jasmine and something warmer now, something that smells like milk and newborn skin. Relief floods through me, loosening the tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. Everything worked out. She’s safe. They’re both safe.
“Our first grandbaby.” Mina says, her voice warm with joy as she looks back at her six new hatchlings, who are tumbling over each other in the grass a few yards away. She turns back to Nova, reaching out to stroke one tiny cheek. “You have so many aunts and uncles who will love you.”
Thauglor passes Nova to Klauth, the transfer smooth and practiced despite both males being ancient dragons more accustomed to destroying things than cradling them. Klauth smiles looking down at her, his ancient eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Did you notice her one eye is half blue and half amber?” He looks up, catching Solaris’s attention.
Solaris hears that and comes over immediately, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He leans in to look with us, his amber eyes widening as he examines his daughter’s face.
It’s true. Nova’s right eye is solid amber, like her father’s, but her left eye is split down the middle—half sapphire blue like Raven’s, half amber like Solaris’s. A perfect blend. A visible reminder of both bloodlines meeting in one small form.
