- fantasy◐ Teen
Saltwing
The culling-pens stink of salt and rust. In the smallest pool, a sea-dragon hatchling shivers behind the bars, no bigger than Nerai herself. Its wings are dull gray, and one fin is notched from birth. The breed-masters have chalked a white cross on its side: runt, unfit, to be drowned at dawn. Nerai grips the cold bars. She has until sunrise.
5 writers - fantasy◐ Teen
The Last Clutch of Emberfall
Nobody asked Wren if he wanted the job. The soldiers just pushed the kingdom's last dragon egg into his arms and told him to walk. The queen's order sat folded in his pocket: deliver it to the Cinder Tower, sealed and whole. So down the mountain road he went, the cold egg against his chest. Then, near a sharp bend in the trail, the shell started to warm. It shook in his hands. With a soft, wet snap, a crack split across it.
5 writers - fantasy◐ Teen
The Cartomancer's Last Hand
Under the old stone bridge, Mireille reads deaths for spare coppers, and her cards never lie. Tonight the river fog smells like iron. When she deals her own hand, the Drowned Queen stares up at her, the card that means your hour is near. Then the painted woman lifts her chin and steps right off the card. Wet hair, cold eyes, a real woman now. 'You dealt me,' she says. 'So sit. We play until dawn. Win, and you live.'
5 writers