The crimson egg sat on a stone table in what used to be Fort Despair's storage room.
Rider stared at it for the hundredth time that day, as if looking harder might somehow make it hatch through sheer willpower.
It wouldn't.
Three days of studying the Valyrian texts with Maester Colwyn—who'd arrived five days ago, sent by King Aldric—had made one thing clear: dragon eggs were stubborn bastards.
> "The ritual requires three components," Colwyn explained, pointing at the ancient manuscript. "Fire, blood, and will. The dragonlord must bond with the unborn dragon through all three simultaneously."
"What kind of fire?" Rider asked.
"Dragon fire, ideally. But that's... problematic when you're trying to hatch your first dragon."
Chicken and egg problem. Literally.
The Valyrian text detailed how ancient dragonlords would cut their palms, drip blood onto heated stones, whisper in Valyrian, and meditate for three days and nights until their will merged with the unborn dragon's consciousness.
Romantic. Medieval.
Completely fucking useless without dragon fire.
---
Day 1 of the Ritual
Rider locked himself in a chamber with the egg, a bowl of water heated over charcoal fire, and a really bad decision.
Blood sacrifice. How perfectly medieval. How stupidly fantasy-novel of me.
He cut his palm—deep enough to bleed properly, shallow enough not to faint. The blood sizzled on the stones. Hours passed. His hand throbbed. The egg did nothing.
By the end of day one, Rider had lost a decent amount of blood and gained massive respect for the ancient dragonlords. They'd either been insane—or he was doing something wrong.
Probably both.
---
Days 2–5: The Failed Ritual
He continued anyway.
Every day, Rider repeated the ritual. Cut his palm. Heated the water. Whispered memorized Valyrian words.
By day three, he was weak. A twelve-year-old body didn't have much blood to spare.
When Maester Colwyn saw him on day four, he exploded.
> "Your Grace, you're going to kill yourself!"
"The ritual requires sacrifice."
"The ritual requires dragon fire, which you don't have!"
Colwyn bandaged the cuts with herbal salve, muttering curses.
> "You're risking infection, not awakening dragons. Without real fire, Your Grace, this is suicide."
"Then help me find another way," Rider said, voice trembling but firm.
Colwyn sighed. "We need dragon fire. Which doesn't exist. Which is why no one's hatched one in four hundred years."
By day ten, word spread: the new governor is trying to hatch a dragon egg—and failing spectacularly.
The soldiers stopped taking him seriously. Civilians whispered instead of working. Even Kane's expression shifted from hopeful to pitying.
By day twelve, the jokes began.
> "Heard the prince's hatching a dragon."
"Yeah? What kind?"
"Invisible."
Laughter. Mockery.
Rider heard every word. Pretended not to care. Failed.
---
Day 13: The Breaking Point
He sat before the unhatched egg, the weight of two hundred people's disappointment pressing down on him.
Everyone's laughing. They think I'm a child pretending to be a dragonlord.
The thought spiraled until something inside him snapped.
Stop. Think. Problem-solve.
Arjun's voice. The modern mind resurfaced.
The ritual needs dragon fire. Fire is heat. Heat is heat. Doesn't matter where it comes from.
An idea sparked.
> "Where's Garros?"
---
The Science Solution
Rider found Garros repairing a wall.
> "We need to talk. Privately."
Back in the storage room, Rider paced. "The ritual fails because it's missing fire. But maybe we don't need magic—just heat."
> "Heat?" Garros frowned.
"Yes. The vault where this egg was stored had geothermal warmth. We've got hot springs five miles east. If we can redirect that heat here—"
He grabbed charcoal and started sketching.
> "Stone channels. Flow control. A chamber to maintain temperature. The egg stays warm until it hatches."
Garros stared at him. "You want to build a heating system."
> "Not want to. Need to."
Garros chuckled dryly. "If this fails, people will say you wasted what little hope we had."
> "They're already laughing," Rider said. "Might as well earn it."
Garros grinned. "Alright, kid. Let's build a dragon incubator."
---
Days 15–20: The Construction
While the world laughed, Fort Despair worked.
Soldiers and civilians carved channels, hauled stone, and redirected the springs. It was brutal, exhausting work—but people started to change.
They saw their twelve-year-old governor, sleeves rolled up, hands bleeding, solving problems like an engineer possessed.
By day twenty, the system was ready. Hot water flowed through the channels, maintaining steady warmth.
> "It's ready," Rider said.
---
The Hatching
He placed the crimson egg into the stone nest. The chamber filled with a low hum.
> "Open the water channels."
The heat rose—slow, precise. Rider kept vigil through the night, adjusting valves, whispering under his breath.
This might actually work.
Days passed. Cracks formed. Scratching sounds echoed.
And then, on the seventh day—
The shell split. A tiny snout emerged. Golden eyes blinked open.
A dragon crawled free, scales shimmering crimson. It looked at Rider.
Something wordless passed between them. Recognition. Connection.
It climbed into his lap and curled up, purring softly.
Rider laughed—a sound of disbelief and triumph.