The Weight of the Egg
The military base hummed with life, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that Solace carried within him. Soldiers moved briskly through the narrow hallways, their boots echoing off concrete floors. The sounds of weapons being cleaned, armor being checked, and radio chatter filled the air. There was an urgency here, a pulse of readiness — as though the base itself braced for something to shatter the thin veneer of calm.
Solace had always known the base was meant to be a sanctuary, a place to regroup. But today, it felt like a pressure cooker, the walls inching closer with every passing moment. It wasn't just the frenetic energy of the soldiers; it was the egg. The dragon egg he had carried from Skyfang Mountain, still warm in his arms, pulsing faintly with an energy that felt too alive. It had been quiet for days, but now... now, it felt different. The moment the Rift had closed behind them, the egg had begun to hum with a subtle, almost imperceptible force. It wasn't just artifact magic anymore. Something inside was stirring.
As the base buzzed around him, Solace stood apart, his eyes fixed on the egg. He had placed it in a small, secure room near the center of the base, away from prying eyes. The room, filled with forgotten military remnants — dusty equipment, unused tools, pieces of battles long past — felt like a tomb. The muffled conversations from the hallway barely registered. Here, it was only him, the silence, and the egg.
The weight of it was heavier than any weapon or armor he had ever carried. In his hands, it was more than an object. It was a part of him, its pulse matching the slow rhythm of his breath. The artifact on his finger — once a dagger, now hidden as a ring — pulsed in time with the egg, as if bound in some ancient, secret harmony. Its coldness no longer discomforted him. The artifact was an extension of his will. But the egg... the egg was something different. Primal. A call that whispered to something buried deep inside him.
He had expected dormancy. But now, instinct told him it was near breaking. It was waiting. And so was he.
The door creaked open. Solace turned as Lieutenant Mara Renn entered, a small box in her hands. Her expression was composed as ever, yet there was a knowing in her eyes that unsettled him.
"Major Solace," she greeted, calm and commanding. The title still felt foreign. He had come far, yet the weight of what he was becoming pressed heavier than rank or name.
She handed him the box — a new katana, forged for someone like him. A soldier on the edge of something far greater and far darker.
"You've earned it," Mara said quietly. "You and the others. I'll leave you to it." She paused at the doorway, weighing her words. "You're now a Rank 5. Close to Rank 6… just like Lyra. You've come a long way."
The words settled heavy in the air. Rank 5. The edge of something perilous. And Lyra... The thought of her twisted something inside his chest — envy, distance, longing. They both stood close to that dangerous line.
Mara left, and the door clicked shut, leaving only silence.
He was alone.
The egg pulsed faintly.
Going back to the egg.
He could feel the change. The subtle tremor running through it. His breath caught — and then it happened. A crack. At first, a tiny fissure along its smooth surface, then a shudder, followed by another. Slowly, the egg began to split, the sound of breaking shell sharp and hollow in the quiet room.
Solace stood motionless, heart pounding against his ribs. The egg continued to crack, fissures widening until a jagged piece fell away. And then, emerging from the fractured shell, came a wing — dark, leathery, immense for its size. A dragon's wing, veined with ancient power.
The creature inside unfurled slowly, scales as black as a starless sky, small but coiled with strength. Its obsidian eyes locked with his, and in that moment, Solace felt something shift deep within him.
A dark, intricate tattoo began to coil around Solace's body. It started at his chest — a symbol of wings, claws, and scales — and spiraled down his arms, around his neck, and across his back, until it enveloped his entire torso. The tattoo was alive, shifting with the power that now flowed through him. It was a dragon, its form twisting and writhing beneath his skin as if it, too, were awakening.
The tattoo pulsed, thrumming with a dark energy that was no longer foreign but intimately his. It was a bond — one forged between him and the dragon that had just hatched. Solace could feel it, an unbreakable connection to the beast, an undeniable link that filled him with strength beyond anything he had ever known.
Then, a voice. Cold. Ancient. Heavy with knowledge.
"I have watched you, Solace," it spoke in his mind, deep and echoing. "Ever since you took part of my spirit into your hands. Ever since you made your choice. You have been... amusing to observe."
He knew the voice. The god from the prison. The one that had chosen him — or cursed him.
"You are more than mortal now," the god continued, with a slow, twisted satisfaction. "A dragon lord. A storm that will break the world. And I will be watching. When the dragon soars, so too will your will."
The dragon hatchling let out a low, rumbling sound — not quite a roar, but something deeper, like the earth itself stirring in its sleep.
The tattoo pulsed again. His veins burned with power.
The god's laughter echoed through his mind, dark and patient. "This is only the beginning. The dragon will give you strength like no other. But with that power comes weight. Consequence. And when your dragon's wings cast their shadow over kingdoms, they will tremble before you."
The dragon spread its wings, small but imposing, its claws scraping softly against the cold floor. It looked up at him — not as something owned, but as something equal.
And Solace knew.
He would never be the same.
To be continued…