The First Fire of the Fallen Sun

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.

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