The Dragon Warlord's Bride
The magic wasn’t hurting her—it was forging her.
The room held its breath.
And then—
She pushed.
A scream ripped from her lungs, not from weakness, but fury. It was followed by a wet, tearing sound—visceral and horrifying—as her body gave way under the force of the dragonborn trying to pass through mortal flesh. The scent of blood, thick and iron-sweet, overtook the chamber. Fire spiraled from the rune circle beneath her, licking the ceiling as her cry echoed through the stone.
And the child came in a blaze of gold and blood, too large, too sharp, born of pain and magic and unrelenting will.
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