151

151 The first transmission did not go to the Dawlya. It went to the Queen. Commander Halren stood rigid on the bridge of the flagship as the holoprojection of Queen Brieanika stabilized above the command circle. Her red hair was unbound, her expression calm but her eyes were sharp, measuring everything before a word was spoken. “Report,” she said. Halren inclined his head. “Fallback weapon neutralized. Minimal fleet damage. Dragon ground units are secure. Dawlya primary energy lattice destroyed. Estimated infrastructure collapse across three major city sectors.” He paused, then added, “Civilian casualties undetermined. Power grids offline in several population zones.” Silence stretched across the bridge. Avi stood beside Cain, hands still faintly trembling from the power she’d channeled. The Circle was quiet now watchful, not agitated. Brie’s gaze shifted briefly to Avi. Not reprimand. Not pride. Assessment. “You crippled the weapon,” Brie said evenly. “Not the planet.” “Yes,

152

152 Sereth did not descend in flames. He did not split the sky or shake the mountains when he left his silent orbit above Ashbarrie. He simply… moved. One heartbeat he was a distant pressure in the heavens an ancient presence coiled in watchful restraint. The next, he slipped through the veil of space and reappeared above the Dawlya world, unseen and unfelt by those below. He hovered high in the upper atmosphere, wings folded close, silver scales dimmed to the color of clouds. From there he watched. He watched the weapon fire. He watched the Circle rise in answer. He watched the dragons retaliate not with annihilation, but with precision. And then he watched something he did not understand at all. Mercy. Draynor ships landing in fractured cities. Dragon healers kneeling in rubble. Flame used not to consume but to mend. Sereth had been forged as a weapon. Bound. Conditioned. His power was harvested and directed for centuries by Dawlya hands that feared him as much as they depende

153

153 The war did not end with fanfare. It ended with exhaustion. For three days the Draynor remained on the Dawlya homeworld not as conquerors, not as occupiers but as healers. Dragons stood beside Dawlya menders in shattered streets. Wing Corp medics stabilized crushed ribs and cauterized ruptured veins. The Veilkeepers rotated shifts, guarding defectors, watching for retaliation, and quietly earning the wary stares of a people who had been told for centuries that dragons were monsters. By the time the last triage station closed, something fundamental had shifted between the two races. Not peace. But something softer than war. When the Draynor fleet lifted from the atmosphere, it was not chased. No weapons fired. No curses hurled into the sky. Only silence. And watching. The return to Malta felt strangely muted. No cheering crowds. No triumphant arrival. Just quiet landings and long corridors of official debriefings. Avi spent most of the first day in a secured chamber in the Dra

154

154 The egg cracked at dawn. Cain did not wait for the second fracture. The moment Mikan’s call hit his mind sharp, urgent, threaded with something fierce and bright he was already moving. Avi felt him leave before she saw it. She woke to the absence. The bed beside her was still warm. The air still carried his scent. But the mate-bond stretched thin, then snapped taut across distance as he teleported to the Draynor capital. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the villa suite. The Circle did not stir. For once, it allowed something simple: joy. Tia’s egg had cracked. A new life. Not war. Not prophecy. Not ancient weapons. Just a hatchling fighting its way into the world. Avi smiled faintly and rolled onto her side, letting herself feel that happiness before duty reclaimed her. It didn’t take long. By midmorning the Veilkeepers were packed. Their week of quiet at the villa ended not with alarms but with assignment orders. Wing Corp headquarters awaited. The hang

All Chapters of Dawlya’s Dragon: Chapter 151 - Chapter 154

151

152

153

154