Chapter 2: The 10th Birthday!
The morning of Antony's tenth birthday dawned golden.
He woke to the smell of something sweet—a rarity in their cottage, sugar was an expensive luxury. His mother was at the hearth, stirring a pot of honeyed porridge, and she turned when she heard him stir with a smile so bright it made the kitchen feel warmer.
"Happy birthday, my love!"
His father appeared behind her, already dressed in his best tunic—the one he saved for harvest festivals and weddings. He crossed the room in three strides and scooped Antony into a hug that lifted him clean off the floor.
"Ten years old! Can you believe it, Mara? Our boy, Antony Keaney, is ten today!"
"Put him down, you fool, he needs to eat—" But she was laughing, and Antony was laughing, and for a few perfect moments the cottage was full of nothing but joy.
Breakfast was the best meal Antony could remember in a long time.
His mother had saved honey for weeks. His father had traded an extra day's work for a small pouch of dried sweet fruits. They ate together at the small wooden table, and every time Antony looked up, one of them was watching him with that look—the one that said you are everything.
"Today's the day," his father said, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "Today everything changes."
"Don't put pressure on him," his mother chided gently. But she was smiling. "Whatever happens, Tony, we're proud of you. You know that?"
Antony nodded. He did know. They'd told him every day of his life.
But today felt different.
Today, he would finally bond a beast. Today, he would finally receive his Rune. Today, he would step onto a path that might lead somewhere neither of his parents had ever been able to go.
His father's Rune—the faded grey Draft-Horse beast rune on his forearm—had been earned at a later thirteen, hauling grain beside his own father. It was a good beast and a good rune. Even if it took work to awaken even after the bonding ceremony. An honest Rune. It had fed their family for generations, since grandpa had the same beast and rune.
His mother's Fire-Newt, small and red-orange on her wrist, kept their hearth warm and their home lit. It wasn't much. But it was enough.
Enough for them.
But for Antony? They wanted more. He saw it in their eyes every time they looked at him. More. Better. A life without worn boots and empty pockets.
"We should go," his mother said finally, though she didn't move. None of them wanted this moment to end.
His father stood. Held out his hand.
"Then let's go make history."
The walk to the Hatchery was the longest Antony had ever taken.
Not because the distance was far—they'd walked farther to reach the market. But because every step felt heavy with possibility. The sun was warm on his face. The road was dusty beneath his feet. And his parents talked the whole way, their voices bright with hope.
"I heard the Verrentis Academy takes children with strong beasts and strong runes," his father said. "Free tuition, even. Can you imagine? Our Tony at the Academy?"
"One step at a time," his mother laughed. "Let him get the beast to bond with to get his rune first."
"Of course, of course... but imagine! He could be a Keeper someday. Fighting Demons. A Keaney Keeper!"
"Eamon... stop putting such high expectations onto him!" Mara chastised.
"I'm just saying! It's possible. Look at him. He's clever. He's strong. He's—"
"He's blushing," his mother said, grinning at Antony's reddening cheeks.
Antony ducked his head, but he was smiling too. He'd dreamed of the Academy. Of flying. Of a Rune that burned bright and a beast that would carry him higher than the clouds like the legendary dragon riders.
Today, that dream started.
The Hatchery rose before them like something from a story.
White stone. Spires that pierced the sky. Stained glass windows that caught the morning light and threw it across the ground in colours Antony had only ever seen in flowers.
...and the people.
Carriages lined the road leading up to the gates—real carriages, pulled by bonded-beasts and their bonded, that snorted steam or frost. Families in silks and pressed linens walked the paved path, their children's laughter ringing like bells.
Antony's family walked too.
His father's polished boots. His mother's best dress, mended at the sleeves but clean. Antony's grey tunic, simple but neat, the one they'd saved months to buy.
They belonged here. Today, they belonged here.
"Look at that one," his mother whispered, pointing at a massive carriage pulled by a creature that was half horse, half something else—scales along its neck, eyes that glowed faintly green. "What is that?"
"Forest Drake crossbreed," his father murmured, impressed despite himself. "Must be expensive to maintain."
"Do you think—" Antony started.
"I think you'll have your own beast soon," his father said firmly. "And it'll be perfect. Whatever it is."
Antony smiled.
The inside of the Hatchery stole his breath.
Marble columns. A ceiling that soared so high it disappeared into shadow. Stained glass windows depicting the seven elemental dragons of every colour, locked in eternal flight. And the light—golden, warm, pouring down like a blessing.
That's when he saw them, the eggs.
They lined the central aisle in crystal cradles, each one a work of art. Sun-orange eggs veined with gold. Frost-blue eggs that left ice on their holders. Deep green eggs that seemed to breathe. One egg was the colour of midnight, flecked with silver, and when Antony looked at it, he felt something stir in his chest.
Soon, he thought. Soon I'll have one.
His mother squeezed his hand. "Beautiful, aren't they?"
"Some of those bloodlines go back centuries," his father added, his voice hushed with awe. "The noble families breed them carefully. Maximize the Rune potential. They say a Highborn Rune can cover your whole arm."
Antony looked at his father's small round rune, a faded grey mark. Then back at the golden light bathing the rainbow of eggs.
He didn't need his whole arm. He just wanted something. Anything. A chance.
A family passed them—a mother in blue silk, a father with a rune that shimmered gold along his jaw, a boy Antony's age with neatly combed black hair. The boy glanced at Antony. At his simple tunic. At his mother's mended sleeves.
He smiled.
Not a cruel smile. Just a smile. A child's smile, open and curious, "Happy birthday!" The boy cheered, for all the children here today were also 10 today or within the last 2 days, too.
Antony smiled back, "Happy birthday to you too!"
"Come on," the boy's mother called gently. "Your egg is waiting."
The boy waved as he left. Antony waved back.
"Friendly," his mother observed.
"Rich," his father added, but not bitterly. Just a fact.
They found their place among the other families—the ones who weren't rich, weren't noble, weren't anything special. Although, this was a special day so everyone was smiling. Everyone was hopeful. Today was the day their children's lives would change.
The ceremony today, to obtain each child's beast eggs began, was not Antony's ceremony. His would follow tomorrow. He watched and learned eager to see what the other children got... he would have his egg later!
They stopped out of respect. Watching as today's hatching and bonding ceremony began.
The ceremony began.
An Overseer in dark robes called names from a massive book, his voice warm with ceremony. One by one, children stepped forward. One by one, they approached the crystal cradles.
A girl in blue silk presented her egg onto the pedestal in the center and pressed her palm to a sun-orange egg. It cracked like sunrise, and a Wyrmling emerged—sleek, copper-scaled, already breathing smoke. The crowd cheered. The girl's Rune blazed to life down half of her forearm, bright as forge-fire, and she lifted her new companion with tears streaming down her face.
Her mother was crying too. Her father swept her into a hug.
A wyrmling wasn't a dragon, but to have a wyrmling hatch as a beast was uncommon. Her status in the upper rank was secured for life.
Antony's mother looked down at him, feeling her son's anticipation, squeezed his hand. "Soon, love."
The next boy approached a deep green egg. The shell fell away to reveal a baby sloth lizard beast, its scales shimmering like living emeralds, with sharp claw but lazy eyes. His Rune spread across his knuckles in living green, and he laughed—laughed with pure joy—as the little sloth lizard climbed onto his shoulder.
"Oh, what a shame for the poor boy." His mother cooed, sloth lizards were considered weak. "What the World Sees: A creature so slow it appears dead. Moss grows on its back. It takes minutes to blink. Professors use it as an example of failed evolution—a beast that couldn't keep up with the world."
Little Tony just couldn't understand, "Why is it mocked? It looks so cool!"
His mother sighed, but it was his father who explained to him in a low voice, "In a world where speed and strength equals survival, the Sloth Lizard is the slowest thing alive. It loses races to snails. It's a joke."
Another child. An ice pup. The air turned cold. The Rune was ice-blue, beautiful, spreading up his dark arm like frost on a windowpane.
Another. Another. Another.
Each time, the crowd cheered. Each time, families celebrated. Each time, Antony felt his heart lift higher.
These were his people now. Bonded children, every one. Soon he'd be among them.
The boy who'd smiled at him earlier stepped forward. He approached the midnight egg flecked with silver, and when he touched it, the egg sang—a low, humming note that vibrated in Antony's chest. The shell cracked, and inside was something dark and gleaming, with eyes like stars.
The crowd gasped.
"Nightmare Stallion! It's the tiny foal version of a Nightmare Stallion," someone whispered. "I haven't seen one in decades."
The boy's Rune appeared on his cheek and neck—silver, intricate, beautiful. He turned and found Antony in the crowd. Grinned. Held up his new companion, who dissolved into a dark mist into his rune.
Antony grinned back and clapped until his hands hurt.
The crystal cradles were emptied.
One by one, the noble children claimed their eggs. One by one, they left with their families to celebrate. The great hall slowly transformed from a place of possibility to a place of echoes.
The Overseer closed his book.
Then he looked up, moving over to their small group of less wealthy families, and his eyes found the families at the back—the ones in mended clothes and polished boots, the ones who hadn't moved toward the cradles.
"Dredge Basin candidates," he announced, without judgement and completely professional . "Please follow me."