The front door was ajar, and Milo clambered inside, searching for the egg. Distant chanting filled the brisk night air beyond his workshop, a warning that the mages knew of the dragon’s existence and craved its power.
His dim magic illuminated amethyst debris scattered across his small workbench.
Milo stared hard at the table, his eyes no longer seeing.
The egg had hatched—but where was the dragon?
Panic surged through his veins like dragon fire. Were the voices leaving or approaching? That power…did they already consume the infant?
He shoved the table aside, seeking any trace of a hiding dragon, or even scorch marks.
But he found none.
A baby roar cut through the chanting, and thin streams of flames fluttered across the dark horizon.
The dragon still lived!
The chanting changed—louder, stronger. The mages had found their target.
But Milo was too far away to help.
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