Cyrus stumbled through broken foliage, each step a battle against gravity and exhaustion.
His wings half-shifted involuntarily, heavy leather dragging across moss and stone with wet, scraping sounds that echoed his ragged breathing.
Kane's body felt too light in his arms.
The weight of his fox shouldn't feel this hollow, emptied of the fierce spirit that had challenged dragons and defied impossible odds.
Cyrus's boot caught on a root. He staggered, nearly dropping to his knees before crimson energy flared automatically, keeping him upright through sheer stubborn will.
Every step sent fresh agony shooting through cracked ribs and torn muscles.
He didn't stop.
The villa's glass doors loomed ahead, reflecting a monstrous sight—a bloodied dragon carrying a dying fox through paradise turned graveyard.
Cyrus kicked the door open with enough force to shatter the frame.
The obsidian egg case sat exactly where he'd left it on the glass table, pulsing with urgent light.
