“Can I see it?” Norlon licks his lips.

I eye the fire burning bright nearby and say, “After I place it on heat. The egg is restless.”

Standing over the cauldron filled with burning coals, I take the egg from the pack and carefully hold it. Norlon’s eyes widen, jaw-dropping at the white, scaly egg. However, he notices the crack when I rest it on the coals, and it rolls the slightest.

“Rotten,” he says with disdain, lip curling. “You brought home a small, rotten egg.”

“It’s not that small compared to the others…”

He points to the egg, the light and sheer happiness from a moment ago long gone, when he growls, “Not only is the egg half the size of any egg we have seen but there is a crack.”

I glower at my father. “Well, how is it my fault when you told me there would be twelve of them in the nest? There were only two!”

“Then where is the other one?”

I fold my arms across my chest. “A high elf grabbed it before I could, leaving me with this one.”

Norlon drags his fingers through his hair and paces back and forth in front of the cauldron. “Amralatha has three dragon riders now… maybe more if there were only two out of twelve.”

“Or, instead of trying to contain Rialdranth, the Kirninon decided to steal her remaining eggs, leaving the last two because they were not worthy enough.”

He exhales deeply. “They have, from the rumours and waddling tongues, thirty-seven unhatched dragon eggs. However, some may rot by the time they hatch. Fortunately for us, the maidens in the mountains have agreed to force their hatching before dragon eggs actually hatch.”

My frown deepens when I gaze at the white egg. “We’re speeding through this but also risking a lot more. One of the dragons Umitain has cannot fly. Its wings melted into the body, rendering it flightless.”

Norlon snaps a look at me, piercing eyes glowering. “Indeed. And that egg was perfect. Ours has a crack!”

“Mine,” I say through pressed lips. “My dragon egg has a crack.”

He brushes away my words briskly. “Yes, yes. I understand the laws with dragon eggs. It is technically yours by word of mouth, but the dragon is our protector—meaning, you, Inari, must listen to my orders and pass them on to the dragon.”

I glare at the white egg, fist clenching.

Vile, hate-filled words want to spool out of my mouth, but the repercussions of Norlon stealing the egg and throwing it into Ocean Tili force me to bite my tongue. He already hates that my egg has a crack. If he has any more doubt and deems it rotten, I know he will remove it and tell someone—like Dagen—to get another egg.

I want this dragon.

“Do you understand, Inari?” he says, voice firmer and asserts dominance.

Rolling my eyes away from my egg, I curl my tongue around my teeth, giving myself time to regain control of my hate. “Always, Father.”

“Good.” He points to the egg. “We will keep it here, safe and protected, until the letter from the maidens reaches our doorstep.” Agelines wrinkle his face when his frown deepens. “Now leave my sight and prepare. Even though Dragon Riders mainly aim to overcome Nerkactor, some may fight dirty to weaken another country along the way… I want that to be you.”

My eyes narrow, and my fists clench.

“Kill that high elf who stole the egg from Rialdranth’s nest.” His hand waves around airily. “Any other you meet along the way who has a hold of her eggs, too. There is a reason as to why the Kirninon desire her. Her fire burns through stone, and her fierce battle cry can tremble mountaintops until avalanches collapse and volcanoes erupt. Her offspring will be no less than what she already offers.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She did when I stole her egg. The way she sounded. Grief burned out of her mouth, and the pain she held in it caused my heart to ache. We stole her children—ripped them away from her, and now she’s alone… unable to lay another egg for at least another hundred years. We left her alone with memories of care and protection she could not uphold.

There are some similarities there… so I push it down before being reminded of my time at Yorn before the fire, slaughter, and empty cradle in the middle of the night.

“Is that all?” I eye the exit.

“Yes.”

“Then I will be back to care for the egg tomorrow for it to recognise me as its owner.”

Leaving the egg alone with him causes my joints to stiffen, and awkward, jerky movements prickle my skin. When I am outside, I exhale the ragged, irritable breath I held and decide to head home to wash and clean myself.

Six months with short grooming tendencies and quick washes before the dragons entered the lake, making it difficult for me to wash properly. My dark red hair is a matted mess, dirt burrows underneath the crevices of my fingernails and toes, and the stench of death emanates from me after rolling in the pit with thousands of rotten bones.

My home is not far from the Heart. As much as I dislike the notion, Norlon wants me within eyesight if, for some unfathomable reason, he leaves the Hyperion tree. Up the bridge on the right, first home on the lower branches, I push the beads aside and enter a small one-bedroom hut.

A home that has never felt like home to me. There is no longing. I missed Wyl, but did I really miss it, or the sense of longing because it’s the only place I can call home?

Taking out fresh clothes, I grab the bucket in the closet and approach the nearby lake. Young children, flowers in their hairs, unbraided, catch pretty butterflies flittering around the bed of wildflowers on soft moss.

There is life here if I look hard enough. Laughter fills the air, and the Woodlain elves all have a purpose, spirited attitudes, and caring, nurturing personalities. They give, reminding me of halflings in a way. They are chirpy little creatures who live in tiny rabbit hole tunnels underneath small, sloped hills.

Father says Yorn Shire is where the bad reputation in Wyl comes from. Takes me back to Vidian, and when he asked me where I lived in Wyl. He must have hoped I did not come from there. Little do high elves know that it is not a place that makes it corrupt and evil; it’s whoever lives within it… or whoever leaves the place.

I make a face. Norlon will know all about that.

Ornear Lake stretches far, resting at the shores of Woodlain Path and Yorn Shire. Fish swim freely and without fright, for we do not eat meat, no matter the kind. Therefore, colourful fish with spotted orange, brown, red and yellow come close, kissing the children’s legs dipped in water.

Crouching, I scoop a bucket full of water.

The only form of bright sunlight comes from the lake. Trees swarm around, wrapping it on all sides like a tall barrier, but within, it’s utterly breathtaking. Soft lapping waves trickle to the edge, shattering like diamonds when the sunlight glides across the moving water.

If the egg is not rotten, where would it go? There is no room here in Woodlain Path. Although… it also depends on the size. Rialdranth would have ripped trees from their roots, breaking a peaceful place with destruction.

Peaceandre City… maybe even Yolten Village. Somewhere where the dragon has breathing room and nearby heat and sunlight.

“Hey!”

I flinch when a rock flies by my face.

As I rise, my eyes narrow at Helion, another pebble in his hand. “To think a half-ling elf had the guts to take the mission Norlon placed me on in the last moment, and he let you. Where’s the egg?”

This is… disappointing. Seeing a wood elf act like a human’s jealousy is criminally disappointing. Where did his peaceful nature go? For I see nothing but a hint of malice on his freckled face and dark brown eyes.

“Safe,” I say, walking past him.

Helion spits on the ground where I walk. “I’m off early tomorrow morning. Daragon Isle. I will claim an egg; you wait.”

“Good,” I say, shrugging off his bitter nature. “We need more dragons to protect Wyl.”

“Elf mutt,” he spits.

My brow twitches.

“When our dragons hatch, I will get mine to devour yours. There should only be one Dragon Rider in Wyl. And that’s me.”

I sigh. “First, you must find a dragon egg or else this conversation to be had between us is as meaningless and disappointing as the words coming out of your bitter mouth. Did your parents not teach you to bite your tongue unless you can back up what you claim?”

“Inari,” he seethes.

I walk up the slope. “Best prepare now, or your journey will end before it begins.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you do not fuck off now, the next time you wake, there will be no more tongue for you to waddle nonsense to others.”

“Is that a threat?”

Turning back to face him, I smile cruelly. “I’m Yorn, remember? We do not make idle threats.”