The firelight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced like tiny spirits across the floor. Kaelen wiped his hands on his apron and turned to fetch the egg from its hiding place, expecting the familiar weight and warmth cradled in the rag.

It wasn’t there.

Panic prickled at his chest. He dropped to his knees, peering under the table, behind the crates, inside the box—it had vanished.

“Draven!” he called, voice sharp with panic. “Where’s my egg? Did you take it?”

Draven leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his face tight and tired. “I didn’t take it, Kael. Honestly… it’s for the best.”

“For the best?!” Kaelen’s voice cracked, disbelief and frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get it! It’s important! It’s mine!”

Draven’s eyes softened slightly, but his tone remained steady, almost exasperated. “Kaelen… Mom’s back now. She’s here. That’s what matters. Why do you need that stupid egg?”

Kaelen froze, feeling the ground shift beneath his chest. He didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or… relieved? His little hands curled into fists, but they felt empty. The egg had been a secret, a project, a responsibility that only he could understand. And now—gone.

He sank back against the wall, unsure of what to feel, his chest tight and hollow. Draven’s words echoed in his head, and for a moment, the egg and all its strange warmth, its secret life, faded into a confusing blur of disappointment and guilt.

Then his mother’s voice called from the hallway. Soft. Patient. Pulling him from his thoughts.

“Kaelen, Draven, come help me here,” Eira said, her hands resting gently on her belly. “We need to get the herbs ready for tonight.”

Kaelen’s panic ebbed, replaced by the familiar, all-consuming excitement that had been building in him for weeks. He shook his head once, blinking hard, trying to push the egg from his mind. For now, there were more pressing matters—his mother needed him, and soon, the baby would be here.

He followed her into the kitchen, dragging Draven along with him. The egg, forgotten in the back of his mind, was replaced by anticipation, chatter, and the bubbling joy of preparing for something miraculous.

The strange, glowing secret would have to wait. For now, there was only the new life growing closer every day.

—-

Kaelen should have been at the long house with the other children, listening to Elder Bran drone on about the valley’s history, but his mind wasn’t on dusty stories or names of men long dead. His mind was on the egg. His egg.

He had torn apart his corner of the loft, rifling through straw and bedding, peering behind the old chest where he once hid it, even prying at loose floorboards with his fingernails. Desperation burned in his chest.

“Where are you?” he whispered, voice trembling, as though coaxing a frightened chick from its nest. “Come on… it’s me. Please…”

The silence pressed down on him, heavy and smothering. That’s when he heard it—raised voices drifting up from below. His parents.

Heart hammering, Kaelen crawled under his bed to hide, his breath shallow, terrified of being caught skipping his lessons. His cheek pressed against the cold floorboards. And there—behind a loose plank, nestled like it had been waiting for him all along—he saw it. The egg.

It pulsed faintly in the shadows, a strange glow blooming against his fingertips when he reached out and cradled it close. His relief caught in his throat, though, as the voices downstairs grew sharper.

“You will tell me who the father is,” Harlan’s voice thundered, heavy with drink and rage.

A pause, then his mother’s voice—steady, lilting with a dangerous sort of calm. “The child in my belly is yours, Harlan. Isn’t that what the elders themselves said?”

There was a scuffle. A thud. A sharp gasp of pain from Eira. Kaelen’s body went rigid, every muscle taut with dread.

“Don’t you play games with me, woman!” Harlan roared. The sound of fists meeting flesh followed, punctuated by Eira’s cries.

“I took you when no man would touch you!” Harlan bellowed. “I gave your children a home! I built this house with my own bare hands, and this is how you repay me? You should just die—you and the abomination in your wicked womb!”

Kaelen pressed the egg to his chest, shaking, his tears spilling freely. And then—he felt it. The egg warmed in his hands, heat pulsing through him like a heartbeat. Brighter and brighter it glowed, bathing the dark space under the bed in light.

His mother screamed—a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before, raw and breaking. At the same moment, the shell splintered beneath his fingers. A thin crack split the egg, light searing through.

Downstairs, a crash. His father’s curses faltered, shifting from fury to panic. “Look what you made me do, you idiot woman!” But there was fear in his voice now, not anger. The sound of the door slamming, boots pounding away, then silence.