“No,” he uttered through clenched teeth. He hugged the egg between the blanket, protecting himself from the intense heat that emanated from it in waves. “No,” he hissed again.
Asher refused to accept the way of the Rider. He had wasted too many years in the service of an order. Orders came with rules and punishments. Never again would he be slave to one. There was but one life that he believed in, whether it came with coin or not.
“I… am… a… ranger!” he growled.
Claws raked the inside of his head, straining every muscle in his body. The dragon was scouring through images and sounds from his life, passing judgement on The Ranger. At the same time, the hatchling was imparting more memories from her mother. Every one flash-burned the parts of his mind where Malliath still dwelled.
The black dragon’s experiences and thoughts remained like an echo, but his torment faded to nothingness. In the place of such horrors, Asher lived through the eyes of his hatchling’s mother, a dragon who had led a very different life. She had fought the Red Worms of The Glimmer Lands, rooted out pirates on The Old Rift, hunted ridged-back whales in The Dawning Isles, and tracked Andaren horned-eagles through The Spine of Erador. Hers was a noble and ancient line of revered dragons and Riders.
Thessaleia! The mother’s name was suddenly seared into his mind as if he had always known it.
Asher’s knuckles paled as he squeezed the blanket. He was being hollowed out and filled back up again. All the while, the egg was giving off more and more heat. The outer shell of scales was entirely gone now, leaving a silky-smooth egg of copper in its stead. To touch it with his bare skin, however, was to burn himself.
The ranger dared to look down, but just the sight of it struck him with more visions of Thessaleia’s past. Gone was the chamber in which he sat, replaced by sights that only a dragon could enjoy. He witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms in the blink of an eye. He saw armoured dragons fall from the sky, their hides pierced by giant spears. He felt the hum of magic from a massive congregation gliding over The High Plains of Erador, east of Lake Kundrun.
It was all so glorious and violent at the same time.
Flying over The Silver Trees of Akmar, an eclipsing shadow covered Asher’s body. Cutting low in front of him, a colossal dragon dived down to glide over the tops of the trees. Trapped as a passenger behind Thessaleia’s eyes, Asher watched as he followed the hulking dragon down to a clearing that could take the two of them. On the ground, the pair brought their heads together in what dragons considered an affectionate manner.
Taking in the male dragon and his scales of dull gold, a name came to Asher that he hadn’t heard since The War for the Realm. Before him now was revered Garganafan. A distant memory of his own recalled Gideon referring to the dragon as the king of their kind, his life given to trap Valanis in the Amber Spell over a thousand years past.
Garganafan was the father.
Asher took that as an explanation for the hatchling’s regal propensity, even if they themselves didn’t know exactly why yet.
The memory ejected the ranger, sending him back to his personal hell inside The Dragon Keep. His head was pounding as if an orcish war drummer was beating his skull. His muscles were wound so tight they felt close to tearing through his skin. Through it all, his heart thundered in time with the hatchling’s.
Asher.
His own name resounded inside his mind, threatening to rob him of consciousness. The voice that said his name, however, was sweet to his ears and somehow familiar, as if he had known that voice all his life.
After a wave of nausea passed, he listened to his instincts and quickly rolled the egg off the blanket, before throwing it away. Had he waited a few extra seconds to do so, the whole blanket would have gone up in flames, threatening the integrity of the chamber. Instead, the stone floor took the brunt of the heat being expelled. Soon after, smoke began to envelop the egg as the floor was charred black. Small flames broke through the egg, licking at the air.
At last, Asher’s muscles were able to relax, allowing some of his focus to return. He wiped the hair from his face and stared at the egg, but he couldn’t see through the fire and smoke. Taking a much-needed breath, he lurched forward on his hands and knees and cautiously approached the egg. His mind was beginning to settle now, having weathered the storm. Clear thoughts rang true and he knew not to reach out - dragons were fireproof, not their Riders.
Somewhere between shaking with excitement and trembling with raw nerves, the ranger waited for something, anything. There was no voice in his head, and no memories or impressions to be glimpsed. Yet he wasn’t alone.
Confirming that, a noise came from within the smoke. Asher held his breath, listening for it again. It was between the hiss of a snake and the low squawk of a bird. It was her voice. With glassy eyes, the ranger wafted what he could of the smoke and saw that the floor was so badly damaged by the heat that it had left a well in the stone. Inhaling a deep breath, he blew through the remaining smoke just as two small wings fanned out, batting most of it away.
The sight of her left Asher in a silent daze.
She was beauty and strength given form. Her scales were a deep bronze with flecks of gold and silver throughout. Two horns curved over her head and sloped up into sharp points. Small claws
