The roar shook the mountain.
Deep. Powerful. Ancient.
Zephyr's head snapped up, instincts flaring violently.
Danger.
All four hatchlings scrambled closer together instinctively, tiny wings flaring, claws scraping against crystal as fear surged through their newborn bodies.
Something enormous was approaching.
Something powerful.
For a brief, terrifying second, they thought the barrier had failed.
Then—
Their inherited memories stirred.
Not danger.
Not threat.
Familiar.
Safe.
Recognition replaced panic as understanding flooded their minds.
Our parents, Saphira chirped through their mental link, her thoughts glowing with pure excitement.
The word felt strange.
Parents.
None of them had ever had any.
Abandoned the day they were born… shuffled through an orphanage… then hospital rooms.
Of all the siblings, Saphira had been the only one who held onto hope. Even when the others stopped believing, she had secretly imagined someone choosing them. Wanting them.
That hope had finally died under sterile hospital lights.
But now—
It was alive again.
Outwardly, Saphira's tail wagged uncontrollably, her delicate wings fluttering as she bounced in place.
The others felt the same thrill of anticipation.
They just didn't show it as openly.
A massive shadow passed over the cavern entrance.
Then another.
When the two dragons descended into the nest chamber, the already enormous cave suddenly felt small.
Anthea landed first.
Her silver-and-white scales gleamed like moonlight as her claws touched down within the nest. Though she folded her wings carefully, her presence alone radiated immense power. Her face was fierce — a queen's expression.
But her eyes…
Her eyes were soft.
Filled with something warm and overwhelming.
Behind her, Nocturne landed several feet away, his black scales absorbing the light, red edging along his wings glowing faintly like restrained flame. He remained slightly back — observant, controlled.
Just as excited.
But cautious.
Mother dragons were fiercely protective.
Fiercely.
If Anthea sensed even the slightest carelessness, she would not hesitate to attack — even her mate.
Nocturne knew this well.
Anthea curled her massive body around the nest, her tail wrapping protectively as she lowered her enormous head toward them.
The hatchlings looked impossibly small beneath her shadow.
Carefully, gently, she sniffed each of them in turn.
Zephyr first.
A soft rumble of approval vibrated through her chest.
Onyxia next.
Then Valkyre.
Then Saphira.
After scenting each one thoroughly, she nudged them with delicate precision — massive snout barely brushing their tiny forms in affectionate nuzzles.
Hello, little ones, she murmured.
Her voice did not form words in the air. It came out as deep growls and soft rumbles.
But somehow—
They understood perfectly.
Saphira chirped back happily, wings flapping in delight as she leaned into her mother's snout.
Zephyr tried to roar.
It came out as an embarrassingly tiny squeak.
Valkyre bristled in mild offense at the pathetic sound.
Onyxia merely blinked, committing everything to memory.
None of them could speak.
They had tried earlier — pushing air through unfamiliar throats — but their bodies were too young. Their jaws too small. Their tongues too uncoordinated.
Even in Drakan, the native language of dragons — which all dragon hatchlings were born understanding — speech was impossible until at least two years of age.
Their stomachs growled.
Loudly.
One by one, they began making distressed, high-pitched sounds — tiny growls and chirps that carried a clear message.
Hungry.
Very hungry.
Anthea's eyes widened with immediate alarm.
"Oh, my poor babies," she cooed, her voice rumbling through the chamber as she turned sharply toward her mate.
"Nox. Hunt."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Nocturne opened his mouth as if to protest — he hadn't even properly scented them yet. Hadn't examined their scales. Hadn't fully taken in the miracle before him.
But he knew better.
Anthea in mother-mode was not to be argued with.
Besides, one glance at the shattered eggshells told him enough.
The hatchlings had likely emerged hours ago.
They would indeed be starving.
With a low rumble of reluctant obedience, Nocturne spread his massive wings.
"I will return quickly," he said, voice echoing against crystal and stone.
His red-edged wings snapped downward, and with a powerful leap, he launched himself from the summit cavern.
As he ascended into the sky, he carried more than the intent to hunt.
He carried news.
News that would shake dragon territory to its core.
The royal clutch had hatched.
Four heirs.
Four miracles.
Back in the nest, Anthea tightened her protective curl around her babies, her enormous body forming an impenetrable barrier of scale and muscle.
The hatchlings instinctively pressed closer.
Warm.
Safe.
Protected.
For the first time in either of their lives—
They belonged to someone who would fight the world for them.
And this time…
The world would not dare bully them again.