"What in blazes is this monstrosity?" Logan Thirk glowered at the massive grey-white object cradled in his companion's arms, making no effort to mask his foul mood. His prized beard, a casualty of the skirmish with a thieving scamp, had been shorn off in patches. Despite their recent, divine-favored triumph, he had every reason to broadcast his displeasure to the world.

"Clearly, dwarf, it's an egg," Scott, the young human paladin, cheerfully retorted, his face sporting a dumbstruck, blood-drained grin. He sat sprawled on the ground, legs akimbo, cradling the absurdly large, speckled grey egg against a backdrop of icy boulders, his blood-stained visage trailing from forehead to neck. His cast-aside armor lay in tatters, yet he beamed like a child who had just found a nest of eggs, his bare backside to the wind.

"And, dwarf," he added, his smile unfazed, "as I've told you many times, mind your language. We have a child present."

"A child?" Nyar, the forever youthful-looking thief, spat disdainfully. His recently reattached arm lacked the strength to protest with its usual fervor.

In the background, Kalebryn, the slender half-elf priest, wrapped his white robes tighter and retreated further into silence.

"If this is what I think it is, and considering we just slew its mother," the dwarf turned to ensure the ice thorn dragon lay dead where they had left it, "what are we to do with it? Fry up an omelette?"

"No, Logan, you can't eat it. Elen told me to hold it tight, so hold it tight I shall," Scott declared with a seriousness that tightened his grip.

The dwarf snorted, "Elen didn't ask you to hatch it, did he?"

Puzzled, the paladin glanced at the egg, loosening his hold slightly, "I don't hatch eggs. But... did it just move?"

All eyes fell upon the colossal egg.

Now nestled atop Scott's belly, it appeared unremarkable, its rough surface more akin to stone, which tempted the dwarf to crack an entirely inappropriate joke. But before he could utter a word, the egg shifted again, nearly tumbling off the young knight's stomach.

Scott steadied the egg, eyes widening in astonishment. Nyar wondered if it was an illusion—Scott's complexion was turning a shade of blue, reminiscent of the time he was blasted by the dragon's icy breath.

"Uh..." Scott shivered, "It feels... rather chilly?"

In an instant, agonizing pain exploded from his abdomen, engulfing his body. Convulsing, the paladin felt the egg crack ever so slightly within his spasmodic grip.

"Drop it, Scott! Drop it!"

He heard Nyar's screams, felt hands wresting the egg from his own, and Logan's bellowing roar pounding like a hammer against his skull. The priest's hands rested on his forehead, familiar waves of solace flowing, but they did little to stem the bone-chilling cold that sapped all warmth towards the egg, now seemingly fused to his flesh.

"Elen! Lydia! We're losing Scott!" Nyar's voice, edged with tears, seemed to come from another world. As darkness engulfed him, Scott grimly realized he was being bested by an egg.

Scott Thirk, slain by an egg.

His friends would undoubtedly inscribe that on his tombstone.

...

Scott did not perish.

When he awoke, sunlight blazed, rendering his mind a blank slate. Had it not been for Logan's gruff, furry face intruding upon his vision, he might have believed himself in the halls of his goddess, Nea.

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"Oh look, daddy's awake," Logan chortled with malicious glee, "Your little one's been wailing."

Deafening cries echoed through the room, and Scott, who never knew Nyar could wail so, soon realized the "little one" wasn't Nyar at all.

It was the genuine wailing of an infant.

"Scott."

Lydia Bell approached, with Nyar Meyer bouncing excitedly behind her, his nose practically glowing with anticipation.

"Maybe you should name him," Lydia suggested, thrusting the screaming bundle into his arms like a hot potato, while Nyar chattered about names no one took seriously.

Scott looked down, stupefied, at the infant in his arms—a human baby, wrinkled and flushed, heartbreakingly ugly save for the gold-flecked, unblinking azure eyes that gazed at him.

The crying ceased. The infant, eyes swollen, gifted Scott with a tear-stained, snotty, drooly grin—still tragically ugly, yet filled with an inexplicable, wholehearted trust that pierced Scott's heart, rendering him helplessly tender.

Such a smile could easily conquer the world.

"What is this? ...Who?" The young paladin clutched the infant tighter, his gaze still stunned, now tinged with a dawning fear. Logan believed he knew the answer but allowed no time for acknowledgment.

"That's the egg you hatched," Logan said soberly, then erupted into laughter.

Amidst the dwarf's booming laughter and the infant's renewed cries, Scott contemplated another bout of death.

...

"I had no idea this would happen," apologized Elen Carvo, the eldest human warrior, later that day. It was Elen who discovered the egg deep within the dragon's lair, thinking it lifeless—dragon eggs without their mothers never hatch. He handed it to Scott to keep it from the impulsive dwarf or the curious thief, not to almost claim the paladin's life. He would have smashed it to pieces had he known.

Why a human child hatched, not a fanged, icy-breathed dragonet, was beyond anyone's understanding, including Logan's, who, despite his years, had never heard of such a phenomenon. Even after Lydia and Kalebryn exhausted their magical remedies, the best outcome was giggles instead of wails.

"I've read ancient elven texts suggesting adult dragons can change form, though they rarely deign to do so. But a newborn? Unheard of," Lydia mused, while Kalebryn sat silently brooding before asking coldly what they intended to do with it.

No one answered, understanding the weight of the question.

The priest continued, "Regardless, it's an ice thorn dragon. We killed its mother; there's no reason to keep it."

"...You're suggesting we kill an infant?" Lydia was incredulous, "I can't believe you're a priest."

"And that's a dragon," Kalebryn sneered, "Who's heard of a benign dragon? Who knows when it might revert to its monstrous form?"

Logan spat in contempt, "I don't kill babies."

"If it had been a dragon that emerged, I bet you'd crush its skull without a second thought," Kalebryn retorted with a cold smile.

Logan grunted, unable to deny the truth, which soured his mood all over again—especially against the half-elf, whom Elen seemed to have unearthed from some forsaken crypt.

"Are you really discussing whether to kill Scott's child in front of him!" Nyar protested loudly, "Right in front of Scott!"

Scott rolled his eyes in bed, too weary to argue 'it's not my child.'

He lay aching, resigned to cradling the—whatever it was—because only in his arms would it quiet down, its cries driving everyone to flee. Despite their bravery and skills, none could withstand such an assault.

"This has never happened before; no one can say what will become of him. We have no right to just... right?" Nyar looked to Carvo for support, knowing the group would follow him as they always did.

Elen Carvo was silent before solemnly locking eyes with Scott, "I hate to say it, but Scott Thirk, it seems only you can decide. This little one, who nearly cost you your life to survive... what will you do with him?"

Scott looked down. The infant, now asleep in his arms, snored softly, bubbles of drool at his mouth, his tiny face ruddy and oblivious to the world's malice.

What else could he do?

"I've decided..."

Scott looked up, his somber expression making even Lydia clench her hands with worry.

"Friends, meet Iskontia Elen Thirk," the young and impoverished heir of the Thirk family beamed, dispelling any shadows, "my... uh, brother!"

Nyar cheered and leapt to the bed, planting a kiss on the infant's cheek. Awoken, little Thirk announced his human arrival with a loud cry.

"Isty-whatever... forget it! I'll call him Isty!" declared the diminutive thief.

"Nyar! You can't swear in front of an infant!" Scott admonished.

"Oh, come on! He doesn't understand a thing!"

"How do you know? He's a dragon!..."

The fire flickered in the hearth, the scene so heartwarmingly beautiful it could bring tears to the eyes. The half-elf priest, however, retreated further into his hooded shadow.

He glanced at Elen, whose face bore a slight smile, yet his wrinkles betrayed his concern.

This likely wouldn't end well—they all knew it. Yet they chose to cheer for a feigned kindness, ignoring the harsh reality.