Lightning cracked across the sky, briefly illuminating the silent hall, and a boom of thunder shook the entire island. It was odd to have such a violent storm so early in the summer. A good omen to some. Signs of great evil to others. But to the dragonkin, it was a day of grief and despair. The words of the dragon Soleil still rung in an echo between the ears of those who heard him.

The egg is empty. There is nothing to hatch.

It was always hard for a dragonkin mother to hear that she had spent the better part of two years growing, laying, and incubating a dud egg. It was unfortunately common, especially for young female kin after their first heat. That was why the elders suggested waiting for the second or third heats before attempting for a child, despite the dwindling numbers of yearly hatchlings

But that was advice that some mated pairs did not have the luxury of taking. When females took humans as mates, they often only had one chance to have a child with them. There was no guarantee that their chosen human would be around in thirty years for their next chance.

Ainsley had been a particular case from the beginning. Early to hatch, early to lose her magic, early to shift again, and went into her heat far too young. Her whole life had been plagued with one health problem after another. She had been too weak to remain unbound, like her father, mother, and all her siblings. So, she pledged her allegiance to Soleil even before her awakening.

It had broken her heart when Soleil told her she was likely barren. That she was simply too frail to give life to another. And everyone told her that trying for a child in her first heat would be a risk. Yet, she had not listened. She was devoted to her human mate, a powerful man to the mortals of the island, she was determined to give him an heir.

His advisors had cautioned him on taking a wife from the dragon clans, particularly one known to be so weak. While the dragonkin could not provide any political benefit to his position, a strong wife would have warned off his enemies. His mind should have been focused on finding a suitable woman to bear him a strong heir and several backups to continue his bloodline.

Kalidas had not listened either, for he had fallen head over heels for the youngest daughter of the Western Sky. He had seven younger brothers to continue his family name, and the ones that were old enough were already courting suitable human women all over the island. He did not need a child. He needed her. More than the air he breathed, he needed her.

Aside from the storm beyond the walls, the halls of the palace were silent. Several days ago, it had been filled with kin and human alike, all eager to welcome the new life into the world. Now, only seven adults and two children remained. Of the adults, two were dragonkin, tall and almost ethereal next to their small human mates. The final two were human advisors to Kalidas, and neither wanted to say what they were all thinking. That this whole situation was predicted and could have been prevented.

Young love. Romantic as it may be in songs and poetry, only ever ended in disaster.

The two children in the corner were restless, even with a dragonkin nurse attempting to keep them entertained and distracted. Even the serpent, who was too young to have taken his human form yet, could sense the tension in the air. He coiled and uncoiled around the nurse and the other child's ankles. He chirped anxiously up at them while avoiding being touched.

The girl, looking to be the equivalent of a seven-year-old human, was getting tired. Physically and emotionally, though she didn't quite have the words or insight to recognize it. When the nurse was looking away, she stood up and ran over to her father and tugged on his robe. "Papa?"

Warm brown eyes turned downwards. A strained smile stretched across his face, and suddenly he scooped her up and tossed her in the air. The tension broke with her squeal of delight, and the serpent ran over to his father to paw for the same attention. "How's my little girl?" her father's laugh boomed through the otherwise silent hall, sounding, perhaps a little too forced. "I know you're getting bored, sweetie, but you're being so good for daddy and mommy right now!"

A human woman slipped an arm around the male's waist and used the other to brush back the little girl's hair. "Why don't you take Dáithí to the kitchens and find something to eat, Sophie," she said in a sweet, patient tone. "The adults just need a little more time."

Sophie looked behind her parents at the big doors where they told her Ainsley and Kalidas would come out with their baby. A new baby! Hopefully one less annoying that the sand serpent constantly demanding her attention. "Mama, is the baby going to look like auntie Ainsley?"

She loved the color of her aunt's scales. She was a bright, azure blue with a lighter, almost white under glow to her magic that matched the crackle of lightning outside. She hoped the new hatchling would be the same color. Her dad said that, statistically, yfeerie mated with other yfeerie when they got older. Sophie didn't know what 'statistically' meant, but if her choices came down to the dull, sandy brown of Dáithí's serpent or the bright blue of the unhatched wyvern, she would take the wyvern every time. She was already dreaming of their own future hatchlings. Would they be wyverns or lyndwerms?

So lost in the daydreams of a child, she hadn't noticed the strained look her parents gave each other, and the almost glare the three of them got from the human advisors. They carried her aside, put her back down on her feet, and crouched in front of her. "Sophie," her father hesitated. "Sweetie, there isn't-"

The doors at the end of the hall suddenly burst opened and everyone looked around. For a brief second, as another crack of lightning caused the man's face to be shadowed, they all wondered if Soleil had returned. Those glowing golden eyes were so distinctive, they could only belong to one.

But then the stranger strode in with an urgency that Soleil had never shown. Blood drained from their faces, and heartrates rose alarmingly. It wasn't the great dragon, Soleil. It was much, much worse. None had ever seen that kin before, but they all recognized him.

He was as large as Soleil, his skin was the same dark bronze, and they knew that if he looked closer, his eyes wouldn't have the slight mix of other colors around the slit irises. The differences were as shocking as the similarities. His hair was black, as black as the darkest night, instead of spun gold, and there was no sign of prideful arrogance in his face. He didn't need to be arrogant. He had no desire to ensure that everyone knew who and what he was.

Yet, everyone did.

He was no dragon, yet a dragon in his own rights. Instead of drawing gazes and longing looks of respect and awe, everyone shrunk away and avoided meeting his ire. All except Sophie, who was simply too young to know better. Having only ever seen her dragon up close once, the curiosity and ignorance of a child had her watching his every move.

While it could be argued that his face was set in a neutral expression, his eyes were hard and full of a ferocity that scared her. He emanated raw power, but it was so strange. Nothing she had ever felt before in her short life. The closer he drew, the more aware she was of the silence. No one dared even link around this dragonkin. Who was he?

The doors to the nesting cave opened without his order, and the stranger shifted just as he crossed the threshold. Sophie caught a glimpse of black scales and golden power before they closed again and remembered what the elders told her.

Of all the colors that the dragonkin could take, true black was the rarest. There was only one black dragon. There were only a handful of black dragonkin, including the mate of one of the dragons. Black was a sign of great and terrible power. And the most famous of the black dragonkin was... she knew who the stranger was now.

Erebus of the Western Sky did not hear the doors close behind him. He'd barely noticed the small gathering of human and dragonkin in the hall. His focus was on one thing, and one thing only. He'd felt it days ago and flew halfway across the world to ease the pain of his youngest daughter. Soleil's so-called elites had timidly passed on the warning as he crossed into the Sun Dragon's domain but had so little regard for the arrogant prick, he had not bothered to accept the link.

If Soleil had a problem with him being there, he could try dragging him off the island himself. Erebus would never refuse a challenge like that.

Ainsley would be at the back of the cave. She was so like her mother in these ways, and her mother always made her nest against a wall so she could defend her hatchlings against the most vicious of creature.

Knowing she would be jumpy and defensive, Erebus started a low clicking at the back of his throat to alert her and Kalidas of his arrival. A low trilling came a moment later, confirming what he could smell on the air. Fear. Grief. The pain that could only be understood by those who have lost a child. Erebus knew that pain well. Too well. Even he and his mate, with all their power, were not immune to the frequency of dud eggs.

As expected, he found his daughter and her chosen mate at the back of the cave carved deep into the mountain. Her already diminutive form looked even smaller in her misery. She was curled in the center of the nest, wrapped around an egg he could not see, with Kalidas gently stroking the scales of her snout. She was wilting, barely glowing, and every time she exhaled, her sides shuddered with sobs.

Too small. Too weak.

They had told him this over and over again. And over and over again, Erebus had ignored them all. He could feel the inner strength of his daughter, as he had felt with all his hatchlings. Their words had infected her mind, made her believe that she was so weak that she had to accept a binding from Soleil. Though it was not his place to tell her what to do with that part of her life, he had encouraged her to bond to Lysander over the golden bastard. But she felt a bond with Soleil that she couldn't explain, every time he saw her, Erebus took care to tell her that she was strong and how damn proud of her he was. Things his own father would never say to him.

And that still has not changed. Human males who took female kin as wives or mates were often mocked for submitting themselves to the 'lesser' sex. Ainsley had been mocked for not being deserving of the strength of another kin. That a human was the best she could do. But she loved that human with her whole heart and held her head high. That was enough for Erebus and the rest of the family. She was happy to let Kalidas take the lead but followed him with the strength and support only she could give.

She deserved better than being one of Soleil's toys. She deserved better than the scorn from her fellow bound. She deserved better.

Erebus lowered his head to Kalidas first and nuzzled his arm, careful not to harm the frail human. He could hear his mortal heart racing, but his smile was genuine, and the man lifted a hand to touch the scales of his father-by-marriage. Then he shifted to Ainsley and lay his head next to hers, so they were eye to eye.

He said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew his daughter better than anyone, young as she was, and despite spending more of her life under Soleil's "care" than his.

A moment later, she opened her eyes, and the purest blue he'd ever seen in a kin illuminated the scales around her face. They were bloodshot and dry, and as he watched her third eyelid flutter rapidly to keep her tears from falling.

After another moment, she closed her eyes again and pressed her face under his jaw. "I failed, papa," she whimpered through the link. "I'm a disgrace."

Erebus started the low clicking again, to sooth her rapid sobs. When he answered, he made sure to link Kalidas as well, as it was not right to exclude him from matters that involved his family. Despite being as gentle as he could, the human still flinched at the sudden intrusion into his mind. "These things happen, my sweet child," he said gently, reinforcing his words with more clicking and moved to wrap his massive body around the couple. "You are not a failure."

"Ainsley," Kalidas whispered, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "You don't believe that do you?"

Her whole body trembled, scales rattling, and the light of her power dimmed even further. "I gave you false hope! I gave you a dead egg!" she wailed. No longer able to keep up, tears overflowed and slid down her face. "All I have ever done is fail. I only had to do one thing for you, and I couldn't even do that!"

"Oh, gods above, no!" Kalidas insisted, pressing his forehead against her and willing her to feel the love he had for her in his heart. "Ainsley, the only thing I have ever and will ever ask from you is your love. I know it is selfish for a mortal to ask that of someone as beautiful and strong as you, but it is all I want!"

Erebus's chest rumbled in approval, and his own heart swelled. Kalidas had the heart of a dragonkin, if not the body or the magic. There were dragons who did not have the capacity to love like Kalidas did. He would have made an excellent father. One that Erebus would have been proud to watch raise his-

He stopped mid-thought and tilted his head. Kalidas continued to whisper sweet words, and Ainsley continued to cry. Beneath that, however... was something else. Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe a rat had gotten into the nesting cave, realized it was full of dragons, and was scrabbling to escape again.

No... there it was again. The very faintest of heartbeats. A slow, weak, but steady thumping coming from the center of the nest, followed by a feeble scratching.

Raising his head, Erebus gently nudged Ainsley's wings out of the way, and looked down at the egg. No light came from the undersized, robin-blue orb. Yet, there it was once again. Was he the only one who could hear it? Kalidas, of course, wouldn't have heard anything, but Ainsley? She was the child's mother. She should have been able to hear it.

"It's dead, papa," her voice cut sharply through his mind, filled with her own self-loathing. "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Erebus opened his massive jaws and breathed hellfire into the nest. Kalidas nearly flew out of the nest, before realizing that the golden flames were not hot. In a moment, the three of them were surrounded by a magic that no one truly understood, even those who commanded it.

Hellfire was a force to be reckoned with. It had the power to kill all and any living creature, including the essence of demons. It could burn hot for years without adding any fuel or spreading beyond what the user willed it to. And under the will of the user, it could avoid burning any one or thing. It was so often thought of a weapon of greatest destruction. A threat that the dragons used to keep the elves from getting too bold.

Erebus had spent his considerable lifetime learning its secrets, and even he knew there was still more to learn. Hellfire was more than a weapon. It was the closest thing to a miracle this world has ever or would ever see. It could mend, as well as break. Heal as well as kill. He did not know if this would do anything. If this would save his grandchild. But he would never forgive himself if he did not try.

To his delight, the tiny flutter of a heartbeat grew stronger. Ainsley heard it too, as she raised her head and stared, wide-eyed, down at the egg the dragons themselves had called a dud. It couldn't be...

Lightning sparked suddenly, wild and strong. It danced off the protective scales of the grown kin, but Kalidas jerked back and hissed in pain. "Ainsley," he gasped. "Was that-"

"That wasn't me!" she trilled with joy.

Kalidas slid closer to his wife and her father, taking shelter from the lightning now coming in flashes of incandescent blue among the golden flames. Then something even stranger happened. The hellfire itself turned the same bright blue and was suddenly sucked into the rattling egg like a sponge.

"Papa, what's happening?" Ainsley asked, fearfully.

Erebus had no answer, for he did not know. But the hatchling in that egg was growing stronger by the second. This hatchling was not ready to give up. They weren't ready to die.

The egg suddenly turned from pale blue to pitch black and started to rock. A fervent scratching came from within. A single crack appeared, and not even a second later, the entire thing exploded in a pulse of magical lightning far strong than what should have belonged to a fresh yfeerie hatchling.

Erebus let the hellfire sputter out and stared down at the tiny, quaking form of his grandson. He looked almost exactly as Ainsley had when she hatched. Impossibly small and delicate, with paper-thin wings clutched close to his shivering body. The only difference being that this hatchling's scales were as black as his own.

"Oh, my gods," Kalidas gasped, stepping closer to his wife to get a better view of their son.

"He's beautiful!" Ainsley trilled again and lowered her snout to nuzzle the hatchling.

Slowly, his eyes opened to reveal the same azure color of his mother's eyes and the cat-like vertical pupils of the dragonkin. At the same time, a pale blue light began to glow at the edges of his scales. His talons lashed out, and little wings extended and beat against the ground, trying to get himself into a standing position. But wyvern hatchlings were top-heavy, and he toppled forward again.

Erebus chortled, Ainsley continued trilling, the happy sound echoing around the cave. Kalidas beamed and reached out to catch the hatchling under his belly and hold him up. The hatchling started chirping in response to his mother's song and nuzzled his head into his father's hand. "What shall we name him, my love?" Kalidas asked excitedly.

Ainsley looked tearfully at her father. "Papa, you saved his life. What do you think?"

Erebus's chest expanded in pride. It was an honor for parents to ask the opinions of others in the naming of their hatchling. Rumbling with inexplicable happiness, he lowered his head to a few inches away from the infant. After a moment of careful pondering, the brave little thing stretched out his neck and touched his snout to his grandfather's.

"Your son will grow to be a great man," Erebus told the new parents, closing his eyes and listening to the nearly silent song of the hatchling's magic. "Greater than any human on this island. Greater than any dragon could ever dream. He should carry a name he can grow into. A name that he can carry with pride and come to surpass. One, when spoken, will quiet even the loudest of the discontent."

Ainsley looked down at her mate, and he smiled back up at her, nodding. "Papa," she spoke softly. "Would you allow us the honor of naming him Erebus?"

"Erebus, son of Ainsley and Kalidas," Erebus tested the name and liked it immediately. "Lord of the Nolan Cliffs of Atlantis and heir of the Western Sky. It is a good name for a summer storm."

The hatchling Erebus, sensing the joy and pride of the family that surrounded him, raised his head to the ceiling of the cave, and trilled, singing the first song of many in what was undoubtedly a bright future.

~