The hatchling emerged in silence.
No fire. No screams. No trembling earth. Only the soft hum of energy dispersing into the chamber's stonework—like breath held for centuries finally released. The shell cracked along silvery veins, and a thin mist rose from the fissures as warmth filled the air.
Inside, a figure stirred.
It was not a beast.
Nor a monster.
Nor the spawn of Rohzivaan.
It was a child. A girl no older than five winters, though no human blood coursed through her veins. Her skin shimmered like starlight in water, hair cascading in threads of midnight, and her eyes—her eyes were neither void nor flame.
They were both.
A priestess of the Aeturnum Flame, one of the few remaining members of the ancient order, knelt beside her in awe. "Blessed stars," she whispered. "She… she bears both."
The child tilted her head. She did not speak but blinked slowly, as if the world around her was something newly imagined.
