As I gathered the little dragon into my arms, its scales shimmered with shifting blues and violets, like moonlight rippling across deep water. It let out a soft chirr of satisfaction—and then suddenly jerked its head back with a tiny, startled hiccup. Before I could react, a spark flared from its snout, no bigger than a firefly, drifting upward before bursting into a tiny halo of golden light. The dragon blinked in confusion, then sneezed again, releasing another flicker that danced through the air like a wayward ember. I laughed despite myself, holding it a little farther from my shirt. “Easy, little star,” I murmured. The hatchling looked up at me sheepishly, as if even it wasn’t sure what had just happened, and pressed its warm forehead into my chest. Power thrummed faintly beneath its skin—ancient, wild—yet wrapped in the innocence of a creature still discovering its own breath.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air still shimmered with heat from the broken shell, tiny sparks fading into the damp air of the ruins. Then the hatchling tilted its head, studying me with eyes like glowing embers beneath deep sapphire scales. A soft trill escaped its throat—half curious, half content—and it stumbled forward on unsteady claws. I knelt instinctively, holding out my hand, and it pressed its snout into my palm, warm and smooth as polished stone. The hum I’d felt before returned, but now it pulsed between us, shared and steady. When it blinked up at me, I could feel the thought—not in words, but in knowing: you found me. I laughed softly, brushing away the last bits of shell from its wings. “Then I guess that makes us family,” I said. The little dragon chirped in reply and curled against my side, already claiming its place.

The morning after the hatching, I woke to the sound of giggles — soft, bubbling sounds like laughter carried on waves. I blinked against the sunrise, only to see a shimmer of silver-green darting through the shallows. My dragon, the Dreamtide Sentinel, was no longer a glowing mystery in the sand — but a tiny, wide-eyed wyrmling full of curiosity and clumsy wonder. He was trying to chase the reflections of sunlight on the water. Each time a sparkle caught his eye, he lunged with tiny claws, wings flapping wildly, sending up sprays of saltwater that soaked us both. I couldn’t help laughing. His scales glittered in shades of seafoam and coral, and when he sneezed — a bubble popped from his nose! I decided to name him Lyric — because his every movement seemed to hum with melody, as if the sea itself were composing through him. Lyric tilted his head when he heard his name, then tripped over his own tail trying to bow. The splash that followed drenched my harp case, but somehow, I didn’t mind. As the sun rose higher, Lyric curled beside me, his glowing eyes growing heavy with sleep. I realized then that dreams didn’t just birth dragons — sometimes, they became them.

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I was rifling through my desk and I found a small wooden dragon puzzle. I noticed that there were some fun shapes in the pieces - call out three that you see using gifs below!