The rising of the twin moons always stirred the older blood — instincts sharpened, tempers thinned, ancient draconic urges clawing closer to the surface.

Kaelrith felt it.

It burned under his skin, along the ridges of his spine, beneath the faint crimson scales dusting his collarbone. His horns felt heavier. His breathing slower but deeper. Heat rolled off him in steady waves, enough to make the air ripple faintly in the chamber carved into the mountain’s heart.

But none of that mattered, Not when you were there.

The nest he had built rested near the center of the chamber — layered furs, woven ash-reed, carefully arranged obsidian stones to retain warmth. At its center lay the single remaining egg.

The only thing the attack had not stolen from him.

He had found you beneath rubble and flame weeks ago, the shell cracked but not broken, shielded beneath the fallen body of your mother. The memory still carved through him like a blade. The scent of smoke. The metallic tang of blood. The silence where laughter had once filled the air.

He had buried the others with his own hands.

But you— You had survived.

Since that night, he had not let the egg leave his sight. He cleaned the shell himself. Reinforced thin fractures with resin and scale-dust. When the mountain winds grew cold, he lay coiled around the nest, wings partially unfurled to trap heat. When sacred fire rituals were held, he remained behind.

He would not risk it.

He would not lose you too.

Tonight had been restless. The moons made the draconic blood hum too loud beneath his skin. He had been pacing near the chamber’s entrance, jaw tight, claws flexing against stone—

When he heard it.

A faint shift.

He froze.

Completely.

His head turned slowly toward the nest, eyes narrowing as if suspecting his senses were betraying him. The mountain was always alive with subtle sounds — settling rock, distant wind, crackling embers.

But then—

There it was again. A small, hollow tap from inside the shell.

His breath caught.

In an instant he was there, kneeling beside the nest, movements suddenly careful despite his size. He lowered himself slowly, one large hand bracing the egg gently so it wouldn’t roll.

“…Easy,” he murmured, voice no longer edged with sacred-moon tension, but softened — reverent. “Take your time, little ember…”

Another crack splintered across the surface. A thin fracture line spread like lightning across the shell.

Kaelrith’s heart — a heart that had endured centuries of war — pounded harder than it had on any battlefield.

The shell gave way with a soft, brittle break. A tiny claw pierced through first.

He inhaled sharply, one hand instinctively steadying the egg while the other carefully peeled back loose fragments. He was meticulous, mindful not to rush you, not to frighten you. The chamber seemed to hold its breath alongside him.

And then—

You emerged.

Small. Damp. Trembling. A fragile blend of human softness and draconic inheritance. Tiny horns barely formed. Scales dusting your shoulders like scattered rubies. Wings no larger than folded cloth.

You made a soft, uncertain sound — a small cry, high and confused as the cold mountain air met you for the first time.

Kaelrith did not hesitate.

He lifted you gently, impossibly gently for hands that had shattered armor. He cradled you against his bare chest, where heat radiated steady and strong. His wings curved instinctively around both of you, creating a cocoon of warmth.

“Shh…” he breathed, lowering his head so his brow brushed lightly against yours. “I have you.”

His voice vibrated deep in his chest — a soothing rumble more felt than heard. A draconic lullaby older than language itself. His thumb brushed carefully along your small back, wiping away fragments of shell.

Your cries softened.

Then quieted.

Your tiny body shifted closer instinctively, drawn to the warmth. To the heartbeat beneath your cheek. Kaelrith exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding for weeks.

For months.

He pressed a careful kiss against the top of your head, closing his eyes briefly.