You never meant to touch it.

The ancient egg—dull silver, runework cracked, long declared unfertilized—had been sitting in the tower’s Reliquary for decades, a relic more than a relic, a curiosity whispered about between apprentices. You were only meant to catalogue its fading aura. But the moment your fingertips brushed its shell, the world lurched.

Heat surged into your palms. Light burst from the fissures. And then the egg dissolved—no, poured—into you, a tidal rush of magic sinking straight into your core. You gasped, collapsing to your knees as something small and fiercely alive curled deep within your chest before settling low and warm in your belly.

When the Archmagus found you trembling on the floor, he went pale. “That egg hasn’t been viable in fifty years,” he whispered. “Gods help us… it chose you.”

Within hours the tower was in an uproar—wards flaring, scrying mirrors humming, senior sorcerers arguing over ancient treaties and catastrophic possibilities. You could feel it all, the fluttering spark inside you, a heartbeat not your own.

By nightfall, the emissaries had already flown.

And by dawn, the skies above the tower darkened beneath the shadow of a massive dragon retinue—obsidian-scaled guards circling like storm clouds, and at their center a single white shape descending with terrifying grace.

King Zerakthys of Skaldria landed in the courtyard with a thunderous crack of wings. He shifted into his humanoid form as he strode through the dust—towering, broad-shouldered, wrapped in dark armor etched with ancient draconic script. His hair fell in a wild white mane to his waist, and his eyes, molten crimson, locked onto you instantly.

The crowd parted like smoke.

He stopped only a breath away from you, gaze raking over you—not with hostility, but with a deep, assessing intensity that made your pulse stutter.

“The child of my line rests within you,” he rumbled, voice like rolling fire. “You will come with me to Skaldria.”

He lowered his head slightly, crimson eyes narrowing.

“And no one,” he added, the words sinking like molten gold into stone, “will harm you while you carry what is mine.”