The telepathic chorus from the adults was indulgent, bordering on sentimental. They loved the young ones fiercely.
Jax watched the scene, then turned to me. “He’s going to want to do that every day now.”
I nodded. “Let him. He’s got more family here than he ever did back home.”
The word left an ach in my chest. What if Flint wanted to stay? I mean, I’d let him, of course. These were his people. This was where he belonged.
We stayed on the terrace, watching the dragons mingle and settle into smaller groups. The tension that had hovered over the castle for days seemed, for once, to have dissipated, at least for now. Conversations turned to the color of the clouds, the taste of the air, the best hunting grounds for the next migration.
Flint joined us, still in dragon form, but already sloughing off the adrenaline. He clambered onto my back, curled up behind my head, and said,“Mama, I want to stay in the sky forever.”
“Maybe you can,” I said, trying not to sound sad.
A few hours later, after the feast and the sky-dance and the endless orbit of conversations, the castle itself felt like a safe house at the end of the world. We wound our way through interior halls lined with glowing runes. Jax and I kept to the edges as the other dragons peeled off to their quarters or vanished through the outer doors, perhaps to sleep, perhaps towatch the stars alone. The corridors grew narrower, less showy, until finally we reached a set of chambers.
Once inside, the air changed. It was warmer, quieter. The walls glowed softly from the inside, and the floor, piled with blankets and skins, carried the scent of something faintly sweet, maybe the local version of lavender. Flint tripped twice on the entry rug, then caught himself and yawned so wide his jaw clicked.
Jax shifted first, scales receding, bones and skin rearranging. He exhaled, blinked, then stretched his arms overhead, every muscle broadcasting relief. “Always forget how much it aches to be that heavy,” he muttered, running a hand through hair that was already falling back into perfect place.
I followed, letting the dragon shape bleed away. Human skin felt strange now, thin, exposed, easily bruised, but it also felt more like me than the steel plating and hot blood of dragon form. The moment I finished, I sagged onto the nearest pile of furs and let the tension leech out of my shoulders.
Flint didn’t shift immediately. He lay on his back, dragon-body awkwardly sprawled, tail curled around his legs like a security blanket. His eyes drooped, but every so often he would twitch, the residual adrenaline from the day keeping him this side of awake.
“Come here, kiddo,” I said, patting the furs beside me.
He wriggled upright and made the shift to his little boy form. He was a little taller than when he first shifted, his hair even more unruly, and his face smeared with what looked like streaks of coal dust and sticky gold honey. His eyes, usually sharp and bright, were clouded with exhaustion. He stumbled over, half-collapsed onto the nest, and mumbled, “I could fly forever, Mama. Even more than I want pizza.”
Jax, who had already started stripping down to his shorts, caught the line and laughed. “That’s how you know it’s real love,” he said, voice low and teasing. “When it outranks food.”
Flint glared at him, but only for a second before the weight of the day pulled his eyelids shut again.
I scooped him up, one arm under his knees and the other cradling his back. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in,” I said, carrying him to the room next door, where a smaller nest of furs waited on a raised platform.
He groaned. “I’m not tired,” he said, which would have been more convincing if he hadn’t let his head flop onto my shoulder.
I set him down, pulled the covers over him, and brushed the hair out of his face. “You have to sleep. Otherwise you’ll miss the morning formation. Shimmer and Pebble won’t wait for you.”
At the mention of their names, Flint tried to sit up, but the effort was clearly Herculean. “If they do it without me, they’ll mess up the turns. I’m the only one who can turn left fast.”
I smiled. “They know. You’re the expert.”
Flint considered this, nodded, and let his head sink into the pillow. “Okay, but you have to wake me before everyone else. I want to practice before the grownups watch.”
“I promise,” I said, smoothing the furs around him. “You’ll be the first one in the air.”
He was asleep before I finished the sentence, breath coming soft and slow, chest rising in the steady rhythm of dreams. Fora minute, I just watched him, the light from the runes casting soft shadows over his face. I wondered what he dreamed about, whether it was the feeling of flight, or about going back home. I was pretty sure he hadn’t given the home he’d shared with me, Jax, and the rest of our family a second thought.
Jax came to the door, leaned against the frame, and watched with me. “He’s getting more comfortable here,” he said, the words so quiet I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to answer.
I did anyway. “He fits in, for the first time. He has friends who don’t think he’s weird. He can talk in his real voice.”
Jax nodded, then looked at me. “You okay with it?”
I thought about it, the joy, the risk, the possibility that he might one day choose this world over the one I’d tried so hard to give him. The ache in my chest was sharper than I expected, but also edged with relief. “Yeah. I think I am. Even though I can’t even articulate how much I’d miss him if he chooses to stay.”
Jax wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. We stood together at the edge of the room, watching over Flint.
He kissed my temple. “You’re a good mom. Even if your kid is technically a dragon.”
