novelraw Chapter 2
Chapter 2
[Dragon's Heritage transfer complete.]
[Draconic language acquired.]
[Draconic lore integrated.]
Time lost all meaning. When Aiden returned to awareness, it was with an ancient clarity.
He was calm. He understood. His body had finished developing. It was time to hatch.
He opened his jaws and amniotic fluid rushed in, a rich, sweet nectar. After drinking his fill, Aiden tilted his head back, fixing his gaze on the crimson shell above.
He thrust a four-taloned claw forward and struck the inner wall.
CRACK!
The sound of shattering stone echoed in the confined space. A large hole appeared overhead, and shards of shell rained down. Aiden didn’t flinch, letting them patter against his snout. His red, slitted pupils narrowed.
His Heritage had told him that hatching was an arduous struggle. Yet he had shattered his prison with a single, casual strike.
Am I that strong?
There was no one to answer. He dismissed the thought. He would get his answers from his siblings. Draconic tradition was clear: the first act of any new clutch was a brutal contest for hierarchy. The strong ate; the weak starved.
He lashed out again, claws tearing at the opening. When the hole was large enough, he planted his forelimbs on the jagged rim and hauled himself out, his powerful hind legs finding purchase on solid ground.
Free.
Aiden scanned his new home: a cave hollowed from a sheer cliff face, a secure location. But as his gaze swept the cavern, a cold reality set in. There was no sign of his mother.
This was bad. A wyrmling’s life without a mother was a crucible. His growing body demanded a constant, voracious intake of food. Hunting for himself as a hatchling, on a continent where herbivores were scarce and predators reigned, was a death sentence.
This wasn't just a tough start; it was a trial designed for failure.
Aiden’s head swiveled for one last, desperate scan. Nothing. His human emotions warred with a primal, draconic acceptance.
He was an orphan.
His gaze fell upon the rest of the clutch: four other eggs. Two blue, one black, one white. It was impossible for a single female to lay eggs of three different colors. His Heritage offered only one explanation.
These eggs were stolen.
The culprit had to be a Stone-Talon Dragon, a species cursed with overwhelming maternal instincts but an inability to bear their own young.
They were infamous for raiding nests. But a Stone-Talon was a metallic dragon, no match for the fury of a chromatic. The kidnapper must have been discovered and forced to flee, abandoning her stolen clutch.
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A pang of savage hunger pulled him from his thoughts. Aiden turned back to his own broken egg. He dipped his head into the shell, lapping up more of the sweet fluid before taking a bite of the shell itself. It crackled like brittle stone, with a satisfying mineral tang.
He began his first meal.
…
His crimson tongue scraped the last shell fragments from the dusty floor. He had devoured the entire thing.
It wasn't enough.
His gaze drifted to the four remaining eggs. They don't share my blood, a dark thought whispered. Hunger was a demanding master.
Aiden crawled silently toward the clutch. He stopped, lowering his head and pressing an ear against each shell.
One blue egg and the white one held the faint, steady rhythm of a heartbeat. The other two—one blue, one black—were silent. Dead.
He carefully separated the living from the dead, pushing the two silent eggs away with his snout.
Just as he finished, a new sound cut through the silence.
Crack! Crack!
Two faint but distinct sounds. Aiden, who had just crouched over one of the dead eggs, froze. He whipped his head around. A hairline fracture had appeared on both the blue and the white egg, pulsing gently as the wyrmlings within pushed.
They're hatching.
A curious thrill ran through him. Aiden settled back on his haunches, his long tail twitching almost imperceptibly at the tip. He watched, fascinated.
After a few more heaves, the top of the blue egg shattered, and a blue-scaled head emerged.
A moment later, a pristine white head broke through the other shell.
Aiden assessed them. Their scales shimmered with a wet luster, and the horns on their heads were little more than smooth bumps. Their oversized heads gave them a clumsy, rounded appearance. A flicker of his old human self found them… almost charming.
Do I look like that?
He glanced down at the gleaming scales on his belly. They shone with the same luster. The answer was obvious. For all his future might, he was, for now, undeniably cute.
The two hatchlings blinked, their eyes locking onto each other before swiveling in unison to the red wyrmling sitting a dozen feet away.
They took in his size—already a full head and shoulders larger than them—and primal fear gripped them. They quickly looked away, a shared sense of crisis dawning between them. They ducked their heads and began struggling furiously to free themselves.
Like Aiden, they understood their situation instantly. A clutch of mixed colors meant they were a stolen brood.
They managed to wriggle their forelimbs free, then began the arduous process of squeezing their bodies out. Half-emerged, they collapsed onto the rims of their shells, panting. But their cold, slitted eyes never left Aiden.
He sat, observing. Their caution didn't bother him.
Their struggle did. Was it really that difficult? Hatching had been as easy as breathing for him.
The thought came, cold and clinical: could they be Drakes? Lesser kin?
The idea was tantalizing. Dragons did not consider Drakes kin. If they were Drakes, they were not siblings. They were meat.
Aiden’s jaws parted slightly, his tongue flicking out. The egg had been delicious, but the portion had been meager.
He would wait. Let the little ones finish their struggle.
After regaining some strength, the two resumed their frantic efforts. Finally, with a last heave, their wings and legs popped free, and they tumbled to the ground.
The moment they were free, they stood, unsteady but resolute. They were true dragons. Aiden could see it in their posture, in the power coiled in their small frames.
“I am a Blue. My name, given by my Heritage, is Azure,” a high-pitched, feminine voice announced in pure Draconic.
“I am a White. My name, given by my Heritage, is Bianca,” another voice followed.
Aiden felt a pang of genuine disappointment. Not Drakes. Two perfectly good meals, gone.
Having introduced themselves, the two wyrmlings immediately began devouring their own eggshells, eating as if they feared the food would be stolen. Which, Aiden mused, it might have been.
Their frantic gobbling made his own stomach ache with renewed hunger. He walked over to the dead blue egg and settled his body over it. He raised a claw and brought it down. CRACK.
The shell offered no resistance. He plunged his claw inside, churning the contents until he felt something solid.
He pulled it out, lifting a malformed, fleshy mass. The dead embryo. Disgusted, he tossed the ugly thing aside.
He dipped his head into the shell and drank. The fluid was shockingly cold and sweet, like sweetened snowmelt with a hint of frozen mountain berries. The shell was crisp, with the same cool, sweet taste.
As Aiden ate with measured, efficient bites, the other two continued to wolf down their shells in a panic-fueled frenzy.