Meeting My Baby Dragon (of the Fallen Sun)

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.

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