Liora wasn’t quite as sneaky as she thought.

Sure, she could run circles around the servants, darting down hallways and between patrols with the ease of someone who had grown up learning the rhythms of the clanhall. Her mother’s crystalline constructs flitted along unseen paths, her shadowbeasts clung to cracks and corners, but Vivienne had countless contracts sprawled through the estate—both obvious and hidden. Nothing moved past her eyes.

Her heart ached for her eldest. Vivienne had tried to arrange playmates, friends, companions for Liora, but most children froze at the sight of her—let alone at her daughter, a reflection of herself in smaller, gentler form.

Vivienne usually delighted in fear, savored it like a fine taste that wrapped around her mind and pulled at the soul. But this—this frustration, this irritation—was different. This fear was hurting her daughter, and that was unbearable.

She wished Liora didn’t have to hide to make friends. That she could walk openly, as herself, and be loved for who she was. But the world refused to see her child as anything but a monster. They saw the teeth, the black eyes, the unnatural grace—and they recoiled. They could do nothing else.

Vivienne’s claws itched with the desire to punish, to tear hearts from chests for slighting her daughter. She could endure what they thought of her. Let them tremble at her presence. But Liora was different. Sweet, gentle, kind to a fault. She would soothe and care, offer herself without question, and the world met that with fear.

It left Vivienne feeling powerless.

She shifted from her giant snake form, her scales catching the light as they faded into the familiar contours of her humanoid shape. She uncurling herself from the egg resting in the middle of the room. It didn’t need warmth—but Vivienne liked being near it, the smooth, cold shell a reminder that life was waiting, ready to bloom at any moment.

She moved upward to the third floor, her body gliding along stone and shadow, and stepped through the balcony. With a ripple of scales and fur, she shifted again—this time into her Sunwake lynx form, sleek and luminous, dark and glassy in places where crystal had grown through her fur.

She padded across the roof with deliberate quiet, and there was her daughter: small, cat-like, tail curling nervously around her own paws. Vivienne lowered herself beside her, curling her tail protectively around the smaller body. The warmth of her presence, the weight of her mass, was both shield and comfort.

Her eyes, black and bottomless, settled on Liora, and in their reflection lay a promise: no one would ever hurt her. Not here. Not ever.

“What’s wrong, mijita?” Vivienne’s voice was low, almost a hum, carrying the warmth of her presence across the small distance between them.

“Nothing,” mumbled the little cat, ears twitching, tail curled tight.

Vivienne shifted slightly, letting her massive form settle more comfortably beside her daughter. “You only come up here when you’re upset, sweetheart. You can tell me anything, you know?” Her black eyes glimmered softly, the faint sheen of crystal catching the light like distant stars.

Liora blinked up at her, whiskers trembling just a little. “I know, Mom.”

They fell into silence, sitting together on the cold stone roof, watching the snow-frosted city stretch beyond the walls. Smoke curled from chimneys, glinting in the pale morning light, and the occasional clatter of boots on distant streets carried faintly up to them. The snow lay thick on rooftops and streets, stubborn and stubbornly beautiful, a quilt that would not soften until the height of summer.

Vivienne’s tail twined gently around Liora’s small body, a protective coil that spoke louder than words. For a while, there was nothing else but the hush of wind over stone and the quiet presence of someone who would never let harm touch her.

Even if she couldn’t protect against this sort of harm. Not the sting of betrayal. Not the way a single look could cut deeper than any blade.

“Am I a bad person?” Liora’s voice was so small, it was nearly swallowed by the wind.

“No. Of course not.” Vivienne spoke without hesitation, the certainty in her tone leaving no room for doubt. She bent low, resting her chin briefly atop her daughter’s head. “You are the sweetest, kindest, most lovely person in the world. Anyone who doesn’t see that is blind.”

Liora’s tail flicked, ears low. “Kana looked at me like I was a monster. Kana was my best friend for the last year. My only friend, actually.”

Vivienne only nodded, her face calm. She hadn’t needed to be told; she had been aware of every late-night sneaking, every whispered laugh, every secret walk. Liora believed she was stealthy, and perhaps against the servants she was. But Vivienne’s sight extended through Drakthar in ways her daughter couldn’t yet imagine. She may look like she was eleven, but in truth, she was only six—born with knowledge, yes, but still painfully inexperienced.

In the end, nothing in Drakthar escaped Vivienne’s eyes. She wasn’t always watching, but her summoned children carried her senses wherever they went. All it took was a word, a request, and she would know what they saw, what they heard.

Her gaze drifted toward the city sprawled below them. Drakthar, the fortress-city of the north, now rested in their hands. Rava had been asked to rule in the absence of the old noble families, those who had once sat in judgment here but were dragged away in chains to Aegis. That left only the common folk, leaderless and exposed. Drakthar could not be allowed to falter—not when it was the northern barrier, the wall that held back the encroaching reach of Aegis, just as Serkoth did in the south.

Her love had balked at first. Rava was a warrior, forged in battle, raised with steel in her hands and instinct in her blood. Courtly presence, speeches, and ledgers were not her craft. But she was also a daughter of Serkoth, and with that heritage came at least some stagecraft, some sense of how to wear a mantle heavier than armor.

Still, Rava’s memories had not fully returned. A decade lost to her past left cracks in her foundation. It made her doubt herself. But even so, she had not turned away from the task. She had taken it seriously, as she always did, no matter the strain.

Torin had been sent to Drakthar as well. He kept to himself when he could, shutting himself in his chambers to paint, brushes and canvas becoming his world. He still avoided Vivienne’s gaze at every turn, but he did not shirk responsibility. Strangely, it turned out the man had a gift for the tedium of governance. He carried out bureaucratic work with quiet efficiency, never once complaining.

And so the city held.

Vivienne brushed her claws lightly through Liora’s hair. Yes, the city held. But what use was all their strength if she could not shield her daughter’s heart from breaking?

With Rava’s bond tying her here, Vivienne herself had little talent—or patience—for statecraft. But she could still serve as Rava’s shadow, her unseen watcher. She could be her eyes, her ears. She could be the knife in the dark against threats that paper and decrees could never fend off.

And perhaps, in the quiet between, she could still be a mother.

Then she heard it.

A sound that cut through the muffled hush of snow.

A crack.

Vivienne’s tufted ears swiveled, her whole feline body going still, golden fur bristling in anticipation. For a heartbeat her pseudo-heart faltered, then thumped hard, recognition burning through her. She turned her great head toward Liora, eyes glinting. “Mijita,” she rumbled, voice thrumming with warmth, “I think your sibling is about to hatch.”

Liora’s head whipped toward her, her small cat ears flicking upright, black eyes wide as saucers. “R-really?” she gasped, tail lashing with excitement.

Vivienne gave a low, purring hum. “Shall we go see?”

“Yes!” Liora squealed, hopping from paw to paw.

With a ripple of light, the lynx’s shape folded inward, fur flowing into skin, paws into long, graceful hands. Vivienne rose in her humanoid form, fluid and elegant, and in the same motion bent to scoop her daughter into her arms. Liora giggled as she was swept up, hugging close against her mother’s chest while Vivienne turned toward the balcony and leapt down, each step carrying them swiftly to the room where the egg waited.

They entered the chamber, and the egg was already alive with fractures, inky wisps of shadow curling from every split like smoke pulled by unseen winds. The room pulsed faintly with each crack, a low thrum reverberating through the floor.

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed with focus, her awareness stretching outward in all directions. She sifted through the steady stream of whispers from her children scattered across Drakthar, feeling their movements, their work, their idle chatter. She brushed past dozens of threads until she found the one she wanted.

Ah… she’s on the outer wall.

One of her shadowbeasts peeled itself from a crack in the stone, its body clinging like a silhouette made flesh. It slipped through the air like a smear of smoke until it reached the far end of the city. There, it crawled up the stones of the wall and tapped its jagged claws against Rava’s leg.

“The egg is hatching,” it rasped, voice brittle and broken.

Rava straightened immediately, the cold wind tugging at her fur as her eyes flashed a brighter blue. She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there.”

And she was.

It was almost uncanny how quickly she returned — one moment on the distant wall, the next charging through the doors of the keep, breath steaming, shoulders squared. The doors swung open with a crash, announcing her arrival before her towering frame strode into the chamber.

Liora wriggled out of Vivienne’s grasp at once, shifting into her humanoid form mid-motion, her bare feet pattering across the floor. She bolted into Rava’s path and clung to her leg, squeezing tightly.

“Mama!”

Rava’s stern expression softened at the word. She looked down, placing one broad, clawed hand gently atop her daughter’s head. Liora pressed against her fur like she never wanted to let go.

Behind them, the egg groaned as another deep fracture spread across its shell. The shadows it bled began to gather at its base, as if the whole chamber was holding its breath.

The egg trembled with life, fractures racing across its surface. Each split bled wisps of shadow that curled through the chamber like smoke from an unseen fire. The sound was a chorus of cracks and pops, urgent and alive, until the shell gave way.

With a soft collapse, the egg broke apart, its shards dissolving into mist before they touched the ground.

In their place lay something the world had never known.

A hatchling, small enough that Liora could have scooped it up in her arms, uncurled from the fragments. Its scales were black as obsidian, yet flecked through with glimmers of deep blue, as though starlight had been caught beneath its hide. Tiny wings stretched and shuddered, their edges translucent, like panes of crystal veined with light.

Then its eyes opened.

They glowed with the same saturated blue as Rava’s — steady, bright, alive. The sight made Rava’s breath hitch, though she didn’t move, didn’t posture as though to guard. She simply knelt, lowering herself to meet the gaze of her child.

The hatchling wobbled forward on unsteady limbs, tripping over its too-long tail, and pressed its snout into Rava’s palm. Rava’s clawed hand trembled as she cupped its head, rough thumb brushing the glittering scales.

Vivienne sank to her knees beside her mate, her black eyes shimmering with prismatic light. She touched the newborn’s wing with a careful finger, reverent. “Sweetheart,” she breathed, voice breaking into a thousand harmonies at once. “Look.”

Liora crept closer, her true eyes opened wide, full of wonder. “It has Mama’s eyes,” she whispered. Her voice trembled, caught between joy and disbelief. “It looks like us.”

The hatchling gave a soft, broken hum, not a roar, not yet — just a note, fragile but resonant, that filled the chamber with warmth. It leaned against Liora then, as though it had already chosen her as sibling, wings sagging around them both.

For a long moment, the three of them simply stared, hearts full, the weight of history unnoticed. There was no Sovereignty, no Aegis, no cold city walls. Only a family gathered around a miracle, the first dragon the world had ever seen.

“They’re a dragon,” Vivienne breathed, the word leaving her lips as though it had been waiting centuries to be spoken.

Rava’s brow furrowed as she glanced at her mate. “A dragon? What’s that?”

Vivienne chuckled softly, eyes never leaving the hatchling. “A creature of folklore from my old world. Giants, scaled and winged, who breathed fire hot enough to melt mountains. They filled stories of greed, ruin, and power. But…” she reached out, brushing the hatchling’s wing with the gentlest touch, “…I don’t know if any of that applies to this one.”

The newborn sneezed, a puff of blue-black mist curling into the air. Its tiny claws scrabbled against the stone as it shuffled closer.

“What’s their name?” Liora whispered, leaning in, her many eyes wide with wonder.

The little dragon placed one paw on Rava’s outstretched hand, then another, clambering up with ungainly determination. Its claws scraped harmlessly against her paw pads, struggling for purchase until it finally settled, curling into her palm like it belonged there.

Rava’s breath hitched, a tremor running through her chest. Her bright eyes locked on the fledgling’s — eyes that mirrored her own, glowing the same saturated blue. The sight stole the words from her throat.

“What about Ashe?” Vivienne suggested softly, voice low and melodic. “It’s a gender-neutral name from my world… doesn’t it suit them?”

Blue flecks shimmered across its black scales, catching the light like tiny stars. Its molten-blue eyes blinked slowly, taking in the two towering figures before it.

Rava stared at it as if it were a living puzzle, unsure how to respond. Her chest rose and fell with measured breaths, tail twitching slightly behind her.

Rave brought the whelp up to her chest, and the little dragon leaned in. Rava’s posture remained stiff as stone, but a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her shoulders, betraying the awe swelling in her heart.

Vivienne leaned closer, black eyes catching every shimmer of the dragon’s scales. “See?” she whispered. “They trust you already.”

The hatchling let out a soft trill, curling into Rava’s arms. Blue flecks glimmered like distant stars across its dark scales, and its tiny tail wrapped briefly around Rava’s wrist. For a long moment, the three of them simply breathed together — the first dragon of Nymoria cradled against its parents, fragile, new, and perfect.

“I like Ashe!” Liora exclaimed, bouncing lightly on her paws, her many eyes sparkling with delight. “It’s perfect! It suits them so much!”

Rava’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but a rare, tentative smile curved her lips. “As do I,” she said, her voice rough around the edges, almost embarrassed at how easily the name settled in her chest.

Vivienne let out a soft, melodic chuckle, the sound rolling like low bells across the chamber. She leaned forward, brushing a dark strand of hair from Liora’s face with a fingertip. “Then Ashe it is,” she said warmly, voice full of quiet certainty, like naming the hatchling had already woven it into their family forever.

The little dragon, perched awkwardly in Rava’s arms, let out a tiny trill as if echoing the approval, its blue-flecked scales shimmering in the soft light. Liora giggled, reaching forward to stroke its snout, while Vivienne and Rava exchanged a glance, both of them feeling the weight and wonder of this first, tiny miracle.

For a moment, the room held only laughter, soft hums, and the delicate trills of a newborn dragon, and the rest of the world — the snowed-over city, the looming walls, even the memories of all the horrors outside — fell away.