The Birth of the End of the World3 min read
“Tch! A white egg! Take it away!”
“Yes, your majesty!” Gemmeg ran toward to carry out the Queen’s order, only to have his helmet fall off, quite to the Queen’s annoyance.
“IMMEDIATELY!” She roared.
Scared half out of his wits, and possibly the other half as well, Gemmeg scampered over, picked up the egg, and ran out of the chamber, leaving his helmet lying on the ground. The Queen kicked it away.
“That dimwit will be the death of me,” the Queen growled. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”
Gemmeg nestled the egg tightly in his arms. Take it away, the Queen had said. But, to where? Dragon eggs, especially in the Queen’s province where they were worth fortunes in black markets, were quite dangerous to be carrying around. Better to get rid of it.
Gemmeg made up his mind. Toss it in the fire, the people said when they wanted something (or someone, he shuddered violently; his friend Mateo had suffered such a fiery fate) gone. He would take it to the forges, where metal rang against hot steel all day long. Maybe he could even pick out a good helmet in the process, as he ruefully realized he had left it back in the Queen’s chamber. Setting off at a trot, he headed toward the forges.
The door creaked. Turning around, Quatervois saw the Queen entering the room. He turned back and fiddled with his devices once again, hoping the Queen wouldn’t interact with him in any way, shape, or form. He was unfortunate.
“Quatervois,” the Queen said. “Fetch me the black dragon egg now.”
“Your majesty, I beg your pardon, but it, or rather he, is not ready to hatch! It might end up stunted, or even worse, dead!”
“Fear not, Quatervois. I know of a way to prevent that. Just bring it here.”
“Y-Yes, your majesty!”
After a short while, Quatervois walked back into the room, balancing the egg on top of all the equipment he had deemed necessary for the hatching.
“Careful with that, imbecile!” The Queen snapped.
“Yes, your majesty!” Quatervois half-yelped, half-whimpered.
“And put those away, I do not need them! All I need… is this.” The queen clasped onto a red ruby around her neck. Quatervois gasped in shock.
“Your majesty, is that a… Spellfire?”
The fire Gemmeg stopped in front of was startlingly red. Almost… spell-like. It was quite unnatural, and, Gemmeg thought with a twisted smirk, perfect for getting rid of a dragon’s egg. He tossed the pearlescent egg in and watched it get engulfed by the flames. Little did he know, that was all the egg needed. It began to rock.
“Your majesty, be careful!” Quatervois squealed. The Queen’s hand stopped half an inch from the molten Spellfire. The egg seemed to shudder, knowing it’s birth was so near, yet stopped once again.
“Quatervois, just get on with it, or I will have your head on a pike after this whole ordeal,” the Queen snapped.
“Yes, your majesty!” Quatervois answered, eyes still riveted, unmoving on the egg.
As if by magic, the egg began to rock. Click-clack, click-clack.
“NOW, your majesty! The Spellfire!” The Queen tipped the Spellfire over, and the blood red liquid spread over the egg, melting through the shell, and ebbing into the egg in a sinister claw shape. The embryo inside seemed to scream, not in pain, but in excitement.
“Scree?” a black head poked out of the egg, and as if on cue, the forges exploded with blood red fire.
Both dragons were born.
Both born under Spellfyre
Both with powers galore
Two polar opposites
None two would differ more
One in fyre, one in claws
Both unbidden by the laws
Upon the fyre, two beasts were born
Both were born
To destroy the world