Brant’s hand snapped back.
He was turning to flee when a loud crack like the snapping of timber rang in
his ears. He sprinted toward the edge of the crater when the egg burst open
with a blast of energy and force, knocking him to the ground. He watched wide-eyed
as leathery black wings stretched from inside the broken shell, unfurling in
each direction. His heart dropped in his chest. World’s end… It’s a dragon. He
was up in a second, vaulting the fallen tree and racing from the clearing. A
long, terrifying shriek ripped through the air. The sound filled Brant’s ears,
pushing every thought from his mind except one: give up and die. His
legs almost gave out and he stumbled. Clenching his jaw he forced himself
forward, willing his legs to move he dashed through the trees.
Panicked thoughts raced through his mind, a
dragon? How? All of Xorias feared the Dragons. Each was like a catastrophe;
powerful, deadly, and unstoppable. Only a few Great Serpents were known to
exist, but whole armies had little power against even one. Stories of the
destruction and terror caused by the dragons were told around the world, some reaching
as far north as the village of Kressing. Brant remembered a man years ago who
told of Amon, the Dragon of Wrath, and his annihilation of the city of Qalen in
less than a day.
Despite his fear Brant
slowed, realizing he had been mindlessly sprinting and could not keep it
up. It just hatched, he told
himself as he slowed, I’m alright, I’m alright. I just need to get
back and tell everyone. He forced himself to steady his pace and pushed on,
running for an hour in spite of burning legs and the taste of iron in his
mouth.
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