Chapter 232: Morning Mirages

Sunlight poured through gauze curtains, warm and golden across silk sheets.

Kane’s eyes opened.

The villa stretched quiet and pristine around him—white walls, polished marble, and that stunning ocean view framed by floor-to-ceiling windows.

His body felt weightless. Comfortable. No throb behind his temples, no pulse of synthetic poison burning through his veins.

Just... normal.

The air smelled of jasmine and salt, carried on a breeze that stirred the curtains in gentle waves.

Kane sat up slowly, testing the movement.

Nothing hurt. No dizziness, no off-center sensation like walking on tilting decks.

His gaze drifted to the nightstand. 7:07 AM glowed in soft blue digits.

He frowned, reaching for his phone—except the nightstand sat empty. No device charging, no scattered belongings from last night’s return from the market.

Strange.

But the thought drifted away like morning mist, too ephemeral to grasp.

Maybe the compound burned itself out, or perhaps Cyrus found a cure while Kane slept.

The explanation settled over him like warm water, soothing and pleasant.

He should probably care more. Question why paradise felt this flawless. But the urgency wouldn’t come.

Kane stretched, nine silver tails fanning across the mattress.

"Cyrus?" His voice echoed through the villa.

Silence answered.

Gone again.

Kane’s brow furrowed—brief confusion before it smoothed away, replaced by vague acceptance.

Cyrus was probably taking another business call or arranging breakfast. Reasonable explanations that required no investigation.

Kane swung his legs over the bed’s edge, ready to search for Cyrus.

Then his gaze landed on the obsidian case across the room.

Open.

His pulse spiked.

Kane crossed the space in three strides, his tails bristling. The case sat on the glass table where Cyrus always kept it, lid thrown back on its hinges.

Inside—fragments. Jagged pieces of obsidian shell scattered across black velvet lining.

Empty.

"No." Kane’s hands trembled as he reached toward the shards. "No, no, no—"

The egg. Their egg. The baby dragon has disappeared.

Gone.

Someone took him. Stole him while Kane slept, useless and oblivious.

Elias. Had to be Elias. The wolf found them, breached the villa, and—

Kane spun toward the closet, yanking the doors open. His hands shook as he grabbed the first clothes within reach—white linen pants and a loose button-down shirt.

He dressed in frantic movements, buttons misaligned, fabric twisted.

The beach. The market. Somewhere on this island, someone had their son.

Kane bolted for the villa’s entrance, bare feet slapping marble.

"Cyrus!"

Kane’s hand hit the door handle just as it swung inward.

Cyrus stood in the doorway, arms laden with a woven basket overflowing with tropical fruits. Raw steaks wrapped in butcher paper balanced precariously on top.

"You’re awake." Cyrus’s brows lifted. "I thought you’d sleep another hour at least."

Kane grabbed Cyrus’s shirt with both hands, bunching the fabric in his fists.

"The egg." His voice cracked. "Someone took the egg—the case is open, there’s nothing but—"

"Kane." Cyrus set the basket down carefully, crimson eyes tracking Kane’s panic. "Breathe."

"Don’t tell me to breathe!" Kane’s tails lashed behind him. "Our son is gone, Cyrus, someone broke in and—"

Cyrus laughed.

He actually laughed, low and warm, as if Kane had said something absurd.

Kane froze. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"The egg isn’t missing." Cyrus’s mouth curved into something almost tender. "He hatched."

"He... what?"

A soft chirp answered.

Kane’s gaze dropped to Cyrus’s shoulder just as tiny claws dug into the fabric. A small head emerged from behind Cyrus’s neck—silver scales catching sunlight, eyes the color of molten amber blinking sleepily.

The baby dragon yawned, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth no bigger than rice grains.

Kane’s breath stopped.

"You..." He stepped closer, hand rising halfway before dropping. "When did he...?"

"About two hours ago." Cyrus tilted his head slightly, letting the hatchling settle more comfortably against his collarbone. "You were sleeping. I would rather not wake you."

"You didn’t want to—" Kane’s voice pitched higher. "Cyrus, he hatched and you didn’t think that maybe I’d want to be there for that?"

The dragon chirped again, stretching wings no bigger than Kane’s palm. Translucent membranes caught the light, with veins visible beneath delicate scales.

"You needed rest." Cyrus picked up the basket again, one-handed.

"Besides, he’ll do plenty of other things you can witness. First flight, first words, first time setting something on fire."

The hatchling’s tail wrapped around Cyrus’s wrist like a bracelet.

"I brought breakfast." Cyrus nodded toward the basket. "Fruits for you. Raw meat for him. Apparently, he’s already particular about temperature."

Kane’s laugh bubbled up, bright and unrestrained. "Of course he’s picky about temperature. Takes after you completely."

"He looks more like you than me." Cyrus shifted the basket higher on his hip, studying the hatchling. "Silver scales. Amber eyes. I was obsidian through and through."

Kane tilted his head, examining their son with fresh perspective.

The silver did catch light like his foxfire, and those eyes—molten gold flecked with copper, just like his own.

"He has the best of both parents, then." Kane extended his hand slowly, palm up, fingers steady despite the tremor of anticipation beneath his skin.

The hatchling’s head swiveled, tracking the movement with sharp intelligence that didn’t match his infant size.

Then he jumped—tiny claws latching onto Kane’s palm with surprising strength. Wings flared for balance, no bigger than autumn leaves.

Kane froze. The weight barely registered, maybe equivalent to a large apple.

Delicate bones shifted beneath scales as the dragon settled into his grip, tail curling around Kane’s wrist in perfect mimicry of how he’d held Cyrus moments before.

"I didn’t expect..." Kane breathed the words, afraid too much volume might startle him. "He’s so small."

It resembled more of a lizard than the massive creatures described in ancient texts. No humanoid features, no immediate sign of the terrifying apex predator he could become.

Just a baby. Fragile and new.

"Did you look like this when you were younger?" Kane glanced up, unable to suppress his grin. "Please tell me you have baby pictures hidden somewhere."

"No." Cyrus’s response came too quick, too firm.

Kane laughed again. "You were adorable, weren’t you?"

"I was a dignified hatchling."

The dragon chirped, nuzzling Kane’s thumb with a snout barely longer than his fingernail.

Kane’s chest compressed with something vast and overwhelming. "He’s precious."

"He’ll be a menace within days." But Cyrus’s expression softened, crimson eyes tracking every movement.

They moved through the villa, Kane cradling their son while Cyrus carried provisions.

The balcony stretched before them—white stone, gossamer curtains billowing in salt-sweet wind.