The three companions were nearing the final slopes of Mount Azrak.

  The air had grown thinner, drier, and sharp-edged rocks replaced the moss and roots below.

  Garlan hovered a few meters above ground, scanning the ridges and crevices of the mountain.

  Every twenty steps, Marenna knelt, placing her palms on the stone, channeling energy into the fractures—searching for echoes, warmth, a breath of life.

  And Tharion… walked. One hoof after the other. Grumbling.

  — “Should I carry you both while I’m at it?” he muttered between breaths.

  They reached a plateau overlooking a steep drop. The view was breathtaking—

  But not what they were looking for.

  Then Marenna froze.

  She brushed her fingers along a crack in the rock, then raised her head toward a hollow in the cliffside.

  — “There. Something’s breathing. Slow… but steady.”

  Garlan flew to the opening. He hovered at the edge, peeked inside, then returned.

  — “It’s a nest. I saw three young ones. Two strong. One… still.”

  Tharion nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon, as if searching for a solution he didn’t want to find.

  — “They’re not really hatchlings anymore,” he murmured.

  — “Too wild. Too dangerous. If they remember our scent, they’ll come back for us.”

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  Garlan looked down.

  He hadn’t seen monsters in that nest. Just creatures. Just life.

  — “There’s no other way?”

  Marenna stepped toward the entrance and slipped inside.

  Seconds passed.

  She returned, holding a pale egg in her arms—its shell veined with deep blue.

  Tharion inhaled slowly.

  — “We keep the egg. And deal with the rest. Quick. Clean.”

  Marenna went back into the nest—this time more hesitantly.

  Two of the young wyverns were curled up against the remains of an ox carcass, their dark scales barely rising with each breath.

  The third—smaller—opened one eye. Not fully. A half-lidded, dull green gaze.

  It didn’t growl. Didn’t move.

  Just a breath. A whimper. Almost… pleading.

  She crouched, a few feet away.

  Paralyzed.

  A voice inside her shouted, “Save it.”

  Another whispered, “It’s a monster.”

  She reached out.

  Slightly.

  The creature closed its eye.

  As if relieved.

  — “Marenna?” Garlan called softly from the entrance.

  She pulled her hand back, trembling.

  Stood up.

  And walked out without a word.

  They said nothing more.

  The wind howled louder at the summit.

  Later, they descended from the nest.

  Their steps were heavy.

  The silence heavier still.

  Garlan didn’t ask.

  Marenna didn’t speak.

  Tharion didn’t comment.

  What was done—

  was done without glory. Without rage.

  Just necessity.

  Cold. Unfair. Inevitable.

  Halfway down, Tharion finally broke the silence.

  — “We did what we had to do. To protect the village. And we tried diplomacy, at first.

  You shouldn’t blame yourselves.”

  Garlan glanced at him, eyes still wet.

  — “Then tell me why I’m crying, if that’s true.”

  Tharion cleared his throat. He knew where Garlan came from. But opted for a softer detour.

  — “Because you’re a softie… with a thing for lizards.”

  — “Hilarious.”

  They reached the body of the mother wyvern.

  Massive. Imposing. Still steaming in places.

  Tharion scratched his head, uncertain.

  — “I’m strong… but I’ve got no idea how to move a beast this size. I can carry the head. The body, though…”

  Garlan furrowed his brow, then turned to Marenna.

  — “You think you could move it? Wrap it in vines—roll it down the path?”