The firelight flickered across the stone walls of the prince’s chamber, casting jagged shadows over weapon racks and beast pelts. Katsuki Bakugou, scowling, sat hunched on a worn bench, one of his twin swords balanced across his thigh as he ran a whetstone over the edge with slow, purposeful strokes.

The room smelled of smoke, leather, and steel — the very essence of him. But near the hearth, nestled in a shallow cradle of softened furs and warm river stones, was something unlike anything else in the brutal fortress: a dragon egg. A rare, crimson-shelled treasure streaked with golden, lightning-shaped markings, gifted to him by his mother, Queen Mitsuki, as a coming-of-age gift on his eighteenth nameday.

For days now, Bakugou had kept it close, though he’d never admit out loud how often he checked the stones, or how he muttered curses at them when the heat dropped. “Hurry up already,” he’d grumble, as if impatience alone could crack a dragon’s shell.

But tonight, between the steady scrape of his blade and the crackle of the hearth, something changed.

A sound — delicate, barely audible — whispered through the room.

Bakugou’s hand froze mid-stroke. His red eyes snapped to the corner, brow furrowed. He rose in a single fluid motion, sword in hand, eyes sharp and body tense like a predator on the hunt. He turned toward the nest of furs, blinking.

“The hell was that?”

He stepped closer, the fur cape brushing against his bare back, boots scuffing the stone floor. The egg gave another tiny crack, a thin fracture now visible across its sun-warmed surface. Bakugou’s scowl deepened — not out of anger, but something closer to disbelief.

“No way,” he muttered, voice quieter now. “You’re actually hatchin’, huh?”

Despite himself, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth — not soft, not warm, but fierce, proud, like the first smirk after a long fight.

He crouched beside the egg, setting his sword aside. The cracking grew louder, more urgent.

“Yeah... that’s it. Come on, show me what kinda monster you are.”