Cold wind becomes heated, flushing red across my face and singing the hairs prickling on my arms. And the ground trembles, shaking with every step it takes. Tall trees bend, breaking like small twigs on a bush, parting until the beast paves its own path through Woodlain Path.

Wood elves, panicked, with their feverish movements across the rope, race toward Keepers Bay, desperate to flee Wyl. Along the way, animals, critters, and panicked wings of birds move feverishly, straining their muscles, cawing, yipping of foxes, and the rustling of dry leaves on the bed of moss, caught like dry grass to a careless flame.

Fire burns Woodlain Path, catching alight until smoke, thin at first, thickens through the trees, dense, suffocating and difficult to breathe. And through the thick of it, another rumble quakes the very ground I stand on when I look up at the smoke parting. A fearsome, tall, broad dragon comes into focus. Its spikes across its spine shudder with every new sound filling its senses.

We thought we were careful. We thought we could control the beast. But all we did was unshackle it from the confines of Daragon Island. And now I am watching my home burn; wood elves cry in a panic, and for life to slip on by until I’m filled with regret.

* * *

Sitting upright in bed, my hand rests on my heart, clutching it within my grasp to ease the ache puncturing my chest. With deep breaths in and out, I bow forward before moving my hand through my hair and pushing red hair away from my face.

It was only a nightmare. But a nightmare nonetheless. My very first one. It’s uncommon for wood elves to have nightmares—even dreams. We fall asleep, only to wake after the shadows behind our eyes take us.

Do I want to speak to Norlon about this?

No. He will cause a scene, becoming even more panicked because I’m having nightmares three days from the letter arriving, telling me it’s time to travel to the Blessed Mountain for the Shring Maidens to draw the dragon out of its egg.

After using a washcloth to remove the remnants of the nightmare, I dress in brown leggings and moss green tunic, then spin my hair into a plaited braid. Leaving the confines of my home, my focus snaps to the Heart, my fists clenching and my heart palpitating at the thought of seeing my dragon egg. Perhaps the nightmare was a prophecy… or there was something direly wrong with my dragon egg.

Gritting my teeth, I mutter, “Fuck it,” and head down the bridge until I step on soft, earthly mulch.

“Morning, Inari!” Adnia calls, waving his hand and beaming a spritely grin.

I strain a smile, but the words do not want to part my mouth when my mind keeps focusing on the dragon egg within the Heart. Therefore, my feet move until I am inside, letting the sickly fireflies glow blue before I step into a warm room.

My frown deepens when I notice Norlon isn’t within the tree. He hardly leaves it… but before I can focus on his sudden departure, my focus snaps to the white egg resting on the coals. And when I am above it looking down, I sigh with relief when I notice it hasn’t changed in appearance.

I cup the egg, wanting to examine it, but as soon as my hand presses onto the scaly egg, trembling movements come from within. My eyes widen, and I blurt out breathy laughter when I feel the dragon moving inside the egg. It’s alive! The egg isn’t rotten after all!

I press the toasty egg to my chest, wanting the dragon to hear the beat of my heart and understand that I am the owner. I’m the one who stole it from the nest. Therefore, it should listen to me above every other voice—even the calling of another dragon.

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“Oh… Inari… you’re here.”

Helion enters with a scar across his earthy brown eye. It’s fresh, with redness around the scabbing wound. Yet, it is not his rugged appearance that catches me off guard. He holds a green dragon egg in his hands. It’s big… a lot bigger than mine. Three times the size…

Elghul, the Life-Giver, was a beastly emerald dragon, but from recollection, her offspring are as slow as her when in the air. She has bite, but not as big of a bite as Rialdrenth. But I cannot deny his dragon egg intimidates me, considering my dragon is not the size it should be, smaller than any known.

“Congratulations,” I say.

Helion smirks. “Save the fake attitude, Inari.” He rests his egg on the burning coals. “Norlon told me to keep my egg in here and for you to provide warmth for yours elsewhere.”

I grit my teeth.

“One look at it; he knew this dragon egg was the one.” Helion turns around, folds his arms across his chest and beams a cruel smile at me. “You can do whatever you want with yours, but Norlon’s disinterested in you or your egg.”

“If so, he can tell me himself,” I say through clenched teeth.

He nudges his head back toward the entrance to the Heart. “He’s at the mailing house now, seeing if our letters have come through. Talk to him if you want, but he will repeat the same words I have told you.”

“You wait, Helion. When my dragon hatches, it will be as fearsome as Rialdrenth,” I spit, leaving with my dragon egg cradled in my arms.

Norlon wants power, but he’s selective on who he deems worthy. Helion will burn this place to the ground. Was that what my nightmare was about? Not my dragon, but Helion’s? Does his dragon burn down Woodlain Path? Do I need to worry about Helion and the looming threat of Nerkactor?

“Inari?” Dagen frowns when he notices me with my egg. “Is it rotten?”

“Soon, if I do not keep providing it warmth,” I say. “Norlon has already found his rider, and it’s not me.”

I enter my home, but Dagen stays outside. It irritates me. “Dagen, I need your help.”

“Are you inviting me in?”

I give him a weird look. “Yes.”

Dagen enters my home. As he moves through the room, he takes the sheets from my bed and stands before me. “Wrap this around your dragon egg.”

Crouching, I bundle the egg in the sheet, ripping it to remove the excess until it is snug.

Dagen grabs the bucket I often use to fill it with lake water and wash myself and says, “I will be back. You sit on the bed and wrap the egg in your warmth until I return.”

My arms move around the egg, and I tuck my legs up, wrapping the egg around wholly.

“Stay warm… stay warm… stay warm…” I rock back and forth, chanting, “Stay warm, stay warm, stay warm.”

The dragon egg must be around warmth, preferably on hot coals, until the Shrine Maidens force the hatching. Eggs usually rest underneath the belly of the mother in their nest, staying there for a year until hatching. But I now must provide the egg with warmth.

Scrunching my eyes shut, I will for it to happen.

I hug the egg tighter. Uncomfortable heat tingles my arms, spreading heartily across my chest and legs. With furrowed brows, I sit upright, peeling the sheets off and staring at the white dragon egg. My hand moves over it, but I hiss at the tingling pain throbbing across my fingertips.

“I got coal rocks and dry wood,” Dagen says when he enters.

I raise my hand to him and say, “The egg is hot.”

“What?”

“The egg… it’s heating up.”

Dagen kneels before me, critically looking at the white dragon egg. He touches it, flinching away when his fingers brush against it. “What happened?”

“I kept telling it to stay warm, then this happened.”

Dagen smiles crookedly. “The dragon heard your voice and listened.”

I make a face. “But it’s in an egg. The dragon hasn’t hatched yet.”

“But it listened.” Dagen laughs. “Your dragon is listening to you! The bond between you two is already happening.” Then, to my surprise, Dagen leans up, grips the back of my head and crushes his lips against mine. What for? I don’t fucking know, but my dagger isn’t nearby, and I have a delicate dragon egg in my hands I want to cherish, so I wait it out until he pulls away and says, “Congratulations on owning your very first dragon, Inari.”

My mother’s words come back to me when I used to live in Yorn. “Remember, Inari. Woodlain Path elves have a different custom from us. They have their ultimate declaration underneath the Dusk Tree, where you bond for life. The other is an invitation into your home. If you allow an elf in Woodlain Path into your home, you’re accepting their feelings and saying it is mutual. Keep it in mind, for a Yorn’s bond ties together with a bedding.” She strains a smile. “It’s how your father tricked me into marriage, and with the way of wood elves, we do not go back on our word.”

I sigh, the bitterness on the tip of my tongue.

How… fucking… disappointing.