There comes a day in every young dragon’s life when he must leave his Lair and carve his own path. However, for one dragon, that day came all too soon—before he’d even hatched, even spread his wings, or even caught a glimpse of the empty, gold-barren Lair in which he’d been laid.

Footsteps echoed through the cavernous depths, bouncing off the ancient, dwarf-carved stone walls, filling the space where great mounds of gold had once been. In the tales spun by bards and bastards alike, in taverns the realm over, dragons’ Lairs were as bountiful as they were treacherous—as filled with gold as they were with the clever machinations of the dragon to which it belonged.

This Lair, however, was nothing like the legends—in more ways than one. No gold lined its cold corridors. No fire warmed the stone. No dragon sprawled through it—not for a few years now.

So what precisely could four warriors—gruff and mean-faced and armed to the teeth—be seeking in this Lair?

As it happened, they were asking themselves that very question.

“Alls I’m saying is…” one of them said, meekly glancing about, as if a dragon was about to pop up right next to him, “there’re better ways to earn five hundred gold pieces. Gods only know what lurks in this place…”

Another warrior guffawed, his chest puffed out and chin up, lending his lanky form a sense of bravado. “Relax, Archie. Dragons have been gone for longer than you’ve been alive. What’s it been, two, three years now? They’re gone.” He gave the burly Archie a flat look. “They ain’t gonna pop up behind you now.” He tapped the hilt of his blade sheathed at his hip. “And if one does…”

Despite the lanky man’s words, however, his confidence was just for show—just a mask. The darkness, staved off only by the warriors’ two torches, hid his fear for him: his hands trembled subtly, and his face was as pale as death.

“Pfft,” a woman said, her voice light and delicate, like those little bells strung on cats’ necks. “If one does, what exactly do you think you’re going to do, Flakken? You’d be roasted before you could even draw your blade.”

The lanky Flakken frowned and leaned closer. “And you think you’d do better, eh, Holly? You think you’d slice it up and—”

“No,” the woman said sharply, shrugging. “But at least I’m not deluding myself about it.”

Flakken opened his mouth to speak, torchlight dancing on his face and accentuating its annoyed wrinkles.

But before he could speak his retort, another voice rang out—the voice of their leader, Garth. Garth spun, moving more rapidly than his weathered, aging form suggested he could. “Hush. We’re close.” He turned back to the way ahead, holding his torch up. “I can feel it. It’s near.”

“What do you mean you can feel it?” Archie quirked a brow. “You a Wizard now, Garth?”

Holly stepped forward, her brow furrowing. “I… can feel it too.” She glanced around. “It’s like the air is…”

“Warm.” Garth grunted, nodding. “The warmth of a hearth on a winter’s night. The warmth of a bowl of meaty stew. The warmth of a lover in your bed.” He nodded, and Flakken and Archie followed as they slowly felt it too.

And it didn’t take long for them to see the source of the strange warmth.

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An egg.

In a pile of rubble, barely distinguishable from the stones themselves, a perfect sphere lay. Its stony surface shimmered in the light as they approached, drawing a lingering gaze from each of the warriors.

Before long, they found themselves compelled toward it. Their feet moved of their own will, and none of the warriors felt themselves walking forward. The warmth became a thick haze—a welcoming cloud enveloping them, body and soul.

Until Garth shook his head free of it.

“Stop,” the weathered warrior grunted.

The three others snapped out of the egg’s trance, shaking their heads.

Archie snorted. “I… can’t believe it,” he murmured. “There really is a dragon’s egg in this place…”

“What, you think High Wizard Alzareth would send us chasing our tails?” Flakken snorted. “And with a generous down-payment on our fee, at that.”

Archie shrugged. “It’s just…” He pursed his lips, his gaze still on the egg. “I can’t believe it. A dragon’s egg. A real dragon’s egg. This’ll be the first dragon in the realm for years.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Garth said. “It’s just an egg.” He approached the egg cautiously, peering down at it with an appraising eye. He extended a hand and tapped the egg’s surface, a soft tut-tut sounding from its hard exterior. As he stood back up, he huffed. “A petrified egg, at that. It’s stone, through and through. The sun would sooner hatch than this egg.” He chewed his lip. “It’s pretty, but that’s all it is—a decoration.”

“Five hundred gold pieces for a decoration?” Holly squinted, slowly approaching the egg.

Flakken shrugged. “It’s High Wizard Alzareth. Who knows what’s going on in the old bastard’s head?”

Archie gestured at the egg. “Whether it can hatch or not, it’s still draconic—and powerful.” He glanced at his comrades. “We all felt its power. Alzareth’s probably trying to tap into that.”

Garth nodded, sighing. “It’s desperate, but I don’t blame him. Just three years ago, he was the most powerful living mage. Now, without a dragon to channel from, he’s just a mere mortal.”

Flakken snorted. “A mere mortal with a vault full of gold and jewels.”

“And we’ll be taking our slice of it,” Garth said, smiling. “Once we get this egg back to the capital, as instructed.”

The three other warriors nodded, slight smiles curling on Flakken’s and Archie’s lips. The warrior Holly, however, didn’t smile; in fact, she barely nodded. Her attention was entirely focused on—consumed by—the spherical, gray egg.

Among the stones, it seemed to radiate an aura. The aura wasn’t the same as the warmth that’d radiated around them all. This aura felt as though it latched on Holly exclusively, embracing her and yanking her closer, step by step.

So when Garth told her to grab the egg, she didn’t hear him. All she heard was the gentle crackle of a fireplace in midwinter, the sound of a steadily bubbling pot of a hearty supper.

And the sound of an egg breaking.

“Ahem,” Garth repeated, planting a hand on her shoulder. “Holly? You alright?”

Holly shuddered, closing her eyes and opening them rapidly. “Y-Yeah, I just…” She trailed off, staring at the egg.

I heard it crack, she thought. I know I did. Was she… hearing things? She hadn’t actually heard a hearth or a bubbling pot—but the egg cracking felt real. It felt as real as anything she’d ever heard—more real even than the steady thump-thump of her heart pounding in her chest.

Garth nodded toward the egg. “Grab it and let’s get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps…”

Holly nodded. She edged ever closer, removing her rucksack from her back and idly unbuckling it. She reached out for the egg, her fingers tingling as she neared it. With each inch closer she got, the sensation intensified, until her entire arm hummed with the egg’s magical influence.

And when the tip of her fingers touched it, its magic rippled through her—and through the egg. The stony sphere shuddered.

Crack.