---
The furnace room felt larger now, though nothing had moved except the three of them. Embers glowed low. Morning light crept through cracks in the stone ceiling and brushed tiny motes of ash into soft gold.
Zephyr sat cross-legged on the warm bricks, cradling the newborn dragonling. Fenna sat close, her cloak drawn tight around her knees. For a full minute they said nothing, afraid that words might break the small miracle curled between them.
The dragonling was black as midnight, speckled like a clear sky, it slept against Zephyr's chest. Its wings, no bigger than a sparrow's, rose and fell with each gentle breath. Every few seconds a soft hum rumbled in its throat, as if it dreamed of far-off clouds and bright stars.
Fenna looked up. "Does he… have a name?"
