Chapter 179: Desolation And Draconic Dreams

The afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows as Cyrus returned to his paperwork.

Kane had migrated to the leather sofa, the dragon egg cradled against his chest like a precious treasure.

His nine tails formed a protective cocoon around both himself and the obsidian shell.

"Just resting my eyes," Kane mumbled, though his breathing had already deepened.

Cyrus glanced up from his contracts, watching as Kane’s grip on the egg loosened slightly.

The fox’s ears twitched with dreams, and his tails shifted restlessly across the cushions. Within minutes, Kane was fully asleep, soft snores escaping his parted lips.

The office fell into peaceful quiet, broken only by the scratch of Cyrus’s pen and Kane’s rhythmic breathing.

Cyrus worked steadily through acquisition reports and merger documents, occasionally stealing glances at his sleeping fox.

As the shadows lengthened, Cyrus finally set down his pen. Kane had been clutching that egg for hours—it couldn’t be comfortable.

More importantly, the artifact needed proper containment, not Kane’s well-meaning but inexperienced handling.

Cyrus approached the sofa quietly. He slipped one of the smaller throw pillows from behind Kane’s head, then carefully began the delicate task of substitution.

Kane’s grip was surprisingly firm even in sleep, his tails instinctively tightening around the egg.

"Easy," Cyrus whispered, gently working Kane’s fingers loose.

Cyrus managed to slide the pillow into Kane’s arms, watching as the fox’s tails automatically wrapped around the soft substitute.

Kane’s breathing remained steady—he hadn’t stirred.

Cyrus straightened, holding the obsidian egg, and turned toward its containment case.

Just as he was about to place it back in the protective wards, the shell pulsed with deep crimson light.

The world around him dissolved.

Cyrus found himself standing in a vast cavern of black stone, veined with rivers of molten gold.

Ancient draconic symbols glowed along the walls, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The air shimmered with heat and power, thick with the scent of sulfur and starfire.

Father.

The voice resonated not through his ears but directly into his soul—a wordless communication that transcended language. Young, uncertain, but unmistakably dragon.

You carry the Fire of Creation. I feel it burning in your core.

Images flashed through Cyrus’s mind: the egg responding to Kane’s foxfire, drawing warmth and life from the silver flames.

But now it recognized something deeper—the ancient draconic magic that flowed through Cyrus’s veins.

I am ready to wake. Will you help me break free?

Cyrus’s breath caught, his grip tightening on the warm shell.

"I’m not your father," he said aloud, his voice echoing strangely in the mystical cavern. "Your real parents are dead. They’ve been dead for centuries."

The crimson light flickered, dimming with what felt like confusion.

But you carry the old fire. The songs of our kind live in your flame.

"I’m the last," Cyrus continued, each word cutting like glass. "The last dragon on Earth. There is no clan waiting for you, no ancient roosts in the mountains. There’s only me."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with loss.

Then... I am alone?

The words struck like a blade, reopening the wound Cyrus had carried for centuries. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his own isolation reflected in this unborn creature.

"Not alone," he whispered finally. "If you choose to hatch, you’ll have me. And Kane—the fox who’s been warming your shell. But I can’t promise you the world our ancestors knew."

The silver fire... it feels like home.

"Kane," Cyrus confirmed. "He’s... he’s stubborn enough to believe you deserve a chance."

I have been asleep for so long, the voice whispered, carrying the weight of centuries. Dreaming of starlight and flame. The silver fire... it called to me through the darkness. Woke me from the endless sleep.

Cyrus’s jaw tightened, the egg pulsing warmly in his hands.

"Kane’s foxfire," he said quietly.

"But I can’t—I won’t risk him for this. Dragon hatching requires the Fire of Creation, and that flame..." He trailed off, remembering his father’s anguished roars as his mother burned.

You fear the price.

"I know the price," Cyrus corrected sharply. "Every dragon knows what it costs to bring our kind into this world. The fire that creates also destroys."

The crimson light flickered like a dying ember.

The silver one... he would choose to help me, wouldn’t he?

Cyrus glanced back at the sleeping fox, tails still wrapped protectively around the pillow substitute.

"That’s exactly why I can’t let him," Cyrus murmured.

"Kane would throw himself into dragon fire without hesitation if he thought it would save you. He has no concept of self-preservation when it comes to protecting others."

But without the Fire of Creation...

"You remain as you are," Cyrus finished. "Safe. Contained. Alive, but not awakened."

The silence that followed felt like mourning.

I don’t want to hurt the silver one either, the voice whispered, filled with ancient sadness. He has been kind to me. His warmth feels... safe.

The dragon’s innocent concern twisted something in Cyrus’s chest. Even unhatched, this creature possessed the protective instincts of their kind.

Perhaps... perhaps you could return me to our ancestral nest? Where I could sleep again until the time is right?

Cyrus’s grip on the egg tightened, his throat constricting.

"The Spirit Realm has been destroyed for centuries," he said quietly. "The floating mountains, the sacred roosts, the Courts of Fire—all of it is gone. Shattered and lost to the void."

Gone? The mental voice cracked with disbelief. But the songs... I can still hear them in my dreams...

"They are echoes," Cyrus murmured. "Nothing more."

He stared at the obsidian shell, mind racing. How had this egg survived the realm’s destruction?

Dragons were indeed resilient creatures—their magic ran deeper than most spirits understood. Perhaps someone had preserved it, hidden it away before the final collapse.

Cyrus stared down at the egg, feeling the weight of impossible choices.

Then, like lightning striking, a thought blazed through his mind.

Kane’s transformation. The shard essence. The way his fox had awakened into something far more powerful than before—without dying.

"There might be another way."