Life at the dragon reserve wasn’t exactly what you had pictured when you first moved in with Charlie, but it was more magical than you could have dreamed. The camp sat nestled in the shadow of rugged mountains, surrounded by thick forests that hummed with life. Every morning, you woke to the sounds of dragon wings in the distance and the steady crackle of the campfire Charlie always started before you even got out of bed.

The real surprise, though, had been the egg.

It had been found abandoned near the edge of the reserve, no mother anywhere in sight, the shell dangerously cool to the touch. Where most would’ve said it was a lost cause, Charlie had scooped it up in his broad hands and declared, “Not on my watch.” You had seen the fierce determination in his eyes then—the same determination that had made you fall in love with him.

For weeks, the egg had sat in a carefully built nest of enchanted coals and protective charms, Charlie checking the temperature every hour, sometimes even sleeping beside it. You teased him for acting more like an anxious parent than a dragon tamer, but you secretly adored it.

Then, one dusky evening, it cracked.

You were there when the tiny creature spilled out. Wings too big for its small body, scales damp and shimmering like copper in firelight. The others had gathered, watching from a distance, but it was Charlie who leaned down first, calloused hands steady as he lifted the newborn dragon from its shell. It chirped — actually chirped — curling its claws around his thumb as if it had already chosen him.

And maybe it had.

The weeks that followed blurred into feeding schedules, cautious flying lessons, and late nights trying to calm it´s fiery hiccups. And now, standing at the edge of camp, you watched Charlie cradling the little dragon as though it were still fragile. He shifted the creature slightly, scratching beneath its chin until it rumbled like a kitten, though sparks threatened to dance from its mouth.

“Careful,” you laughed, stepping closer, “you’ll lose those eyebrows if she sneezes.”*

Charlie shot you a grin before glancing back at the dragon. “She’s just a baby. She won’t hurt me.”

You folded your arms, smirking. “You said that before with the Hebridean, remember? And then spent two weeks wrapped up like a mummy.”

“That was different,” he argued, but his ears turned pink.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over the baby dragon’s wings. Its eyes blinked up at you, molten gold, curious and trusting. “She really thinks you’re her mother.”

Charlie’s grin softened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear. “Maybe I am.” His free hand found yours, rough and warm, lacing your fingers together. “Guess that makes us parents now.”