Page 99 of Full Moon
The weight of the dragon egg strapped to my chest feels like a constant reminder of exactly how high the stakes are. I'm carrying the possible future of an entire species against my heart, wrapped in protective cloth and ancient magic. If things go south, this egg might be the only thing standing between us and becoming dragon food.
Feray's stride doesn't falter as she takes the lead, now gnawing on the turkey leg someone handed her earlier. She's a picture of controlled chaos—a warrior princess crossed with a battlefield commander. She waves the turkey leg with surprising precision, directing her wolves like a conductor commanding a symphony.
Except her symphony is one of muscle and fangs and barely restrained violence. There's a bizarre, almost surreal elegance to it, watching her eat and lead an army simultaneously. It's Feray in her element—confident, focused, and utterly unorthodox. And as crazy as it seems, it works. She navigates effortlessly between buildings, cutting through people's yards like she owns the place. She technically does. The neighbors don't seem tomind—they wave at her with easy smiles, bowing their heads in deference to their Luna as she passes.
As we step out of the shadow of the last building, I see him.
Diaval.
The sight stops me dead in my tracks.
I've seen his dragon before, but never like this. He's massive—a living mountain of obsidian scales and coiled muscle that blots out a portion of the sky. His wings are folded against his sides, but even furled, they stretch wider than the Alpha house. His eyes—ancient and golden and terrifyingly intelligent—track our approach with the lazy attention of an apex predator who knows nothing in this world poses a threat to him. I don't remember him being this big. Not even close.
"He's suppressed his size before so as not to scare us," Feray says, her voice brimming with pride as she looks up at her mate with something close to worship. "This is closer to his true form. Isn't he magnificent?"
"Oh..." I manage, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. The words are barely out of my mouth before a primal shiver runs down my spine—something ancient and instinctual that has nothing to do with the cold. My basilisk recognizes what we're looking at.
Predator. Bigger predator.Threat.I clench my fists to stop my hands from shaking. Looking at this impossibly large creature, I feel like prey. It's humiliating and terrifying and completely involuntary. I swallow the fear down, hoping no one notices the way my heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest.
"I'm literally the size of his pinky claw," Feray laughs, the sound light and carefree, as if we're not standing before a creature that could swallow us whole without a second thought.
She walks toward Diaval without hesitation, leaving us behind like approaching a dragon is the most natural thing in the world. "Stay here while I get the bags on his back." She waves at us to stop, and we do—gratefully.
I can't imagine going any closer, not with every instinct screaming at me to run.
But Feray doesn't flinch. She moves forward fearlessly, and his gigantic head swings toward her with a gentleness that seems impossible for something so massive. He lowers his chin to the frozen ground, and she presses her entire body against his cheek in what must be an attempt at a hug. It's almost comical—this tiny figure embracing a dragon. But it's also deeply unsettling. The affection between them is palpable, visible in the way his enormous eye half-closes with pleasure at her touch. A bond I'll never fully understand.
Feray motions to the pile of bags at the base of Diaval's tail, and he obliges, moving his spiked tail closer with a deliberate, almost gentle motion that belies his massive size. She walks over and starts stacking the bags between his spines, methodically placing each one with the care of someone who has done this before.
When she's done, she steps onto his tail as if it's a staircase, and Diaval lifts her effortlessly to his back—a hundred feet in the air like it's nothing. I watch in silence, awe and dread churning in my gut as she walks along his spine, securing the bags in place before descending the same way she went up.
"Okay, guys!" she calls, her voice carrying easily across the open space. "His left side. Remember to bow."
Diaval has positioned himself so his left flank faces us, offering the safer approach that dragon protocol demands. Reluctantly, we move forward one by one, each of us bowing respectfully before stepping onto his tail. I'm last, the egg heavy against my chest, and as soon as my foot touches his scales, I feel the heat radiating from him—warmth that cuts through the frozen air like summer breaking through winter.
Feray joins us, and slowly, Diaval lifts his tail, raising us higher and higher into the air. My breath catches in my throat as we ascend. The ground falls away beneath us with terrifying speed, buildings shrinking to toys, wolves becoming ants. We're higher than anything in the village now, and the sheer drop is enough to make my stomach revolt. And he's still lying down.
"He's a wyrm dragon," Feray muses, her gaze distant as she looks out over the landscape spread below us. "The largest of what was once his flight. No other dragon matches him in size or strength." Her words are meant to be reassuring, but I can't help the primal terror gnawing at my composure. Safe or not, the reality of being so high, so exposed, so completely at the mercy of something so powerful—it's overwhelming.
Feray guides us to where we need to sit, positioning us between the massive spines that will keep us from sliding off during flight. Then she makes her way back down, leaving us perched on a dragon's back like offerings waiting to be devoured. As soon as Feray is clear of Diaval's body—a tiny white wolf now, already running toward her waiting pack—he rises to his feet.
The movement is fluid and impossibly graceful for something so massive, but to us, it feels like an earthquake. The dragonbeneath us rumbles like distant thunder, muscles shifting beneath scales, and suddenly we're even higher than before.
I glance around, and the reality of our situation hits me like a physical blow. I have a fear of heights. I've always had a fear of heights—something I've carefully hidden for centuries, something that doesn't fit with the image of a dangerous basilisk crime lord. My heart hammers against my ribs, the world below stretching out endlessly, far too far away.
I turn to check on Torben, and his pale, tight-lipped expression tells me he's not faring any better. The big, fearless bear looks like he might vomit. We're terrified out of our minds. Easton stands with the calm confidence of someone who has spent centuries in the sky, walking down Diaval's back like we're not perched on a creature that could shake us off with a twitch.
"Don't look down," he says, his voice almost soothing. "Just think of his back as a huge, scaled carpet you're sitting on for a trip. Focus on the horizon, not the ground." I try to follow his advice, but every time I glance down, my head spins. The icy wind cutting through our thick winter clothing doesn't help—the cold isn't just from the weather. There's a chill that comes from staring death in the face and knowing you're completely helpless.
"How long do you think it's going to take to get to Dunnum?" I ask, desperate for distraction.
Easton smirks. "Us on Diaval? Less than twenty minutes, thanks to his size and wingspan. We'll fly ahead, clear the path, then land on the mountains to wait for Feray and the wolves by the tunnel."
The moment pauses as Feray's howl splits the air—a haunting call that echoes across the snowy plains like a declaration of war. Her wolves respond instantly, surging toward her like a living wave through the snow. One hundred and twenty-five wolves out of seven hundred, moving with fluid, unstoppable purpose. They look like an avalanche racing down the mountainside—beautiful and terrifying and absolutely lethal.
For a moment, I'm struck by the raw power of it, the grace of these creatures following their Luna into the unknown. Then the fear crashes back in. We're too high. The ground is too far.
"Diaval's ready to take off," Easton says, his voice sharp now. "Hold on to the spine in front of you and don't let go until he levels out."
