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.

Wren froze. The order said to deliver the egg sealed and whole. A hatched egg would be worthless to them. He sat on a flat rock, cradled the egg in his coat, and let it crack. He wanted to see what came out before he decided anything.

Before the shell finished cracking, hoofbeats sounded on the road below. The queen's riders had followed him. Wren looked down at the half-hatched egg in his hands and knew he had only seconds to decide.

Wren stood tall and held the cracking egg up for the riders to see. He shouted that the egg was hatching, and that no one would chain this dragon. The lead rider hesitated, then lowered her bow. She too was tired of the queen's cruelty.