Morning broke with a strange hush over Blackridge, as though the entire camp was holding its breath. Riku walked between the trenches and half-erected walls, boots pressing blood-red ash into stone. The forge's glow was steady, rhythmic—like a pulse. But around him, the ambient air felt lighter. Something was coming.
He met Kael at the forge entrance. "Did the Emberkin envoy arrive?" he asked.
Kael nodded. "They're at the livestock pit. Drakes have shown interest in their fire-singers' drums."
Riku's steps carried him there, the morning sun refracting through the distant mist. At the edge of the pen, lit from within by low coals, stood three Emberkin warriors: tall, lithe creatures cloaked in ember-glazed robes, their skin darker than soot and streaked with ash-white tribal markings.
They stood before two slender coops containing drake eggs—granite-grey with faint luminescent veins. Around the nests, six young drake chicks chirped quietly, preened by one Draganoid guard. The Emberkin emissary knelt, eyes reflecting the eggs.
"You saved them," one whispered—a caressing compliment. "In our lands, drake eggs that survive the Flamescourge are sacred."
Riku watched. The Emberkin weren't asking for alliance; they were offering knowledge—how to tame drake fire, train it to protect, not consume.
He cleared his throat softly. "Drake eggs survive here because of heat. We have fire-root nourishment and thermal vents. We can't tame them yet. But we can cultivate understanding."
The Emberkin nodded. Their elder—their leader—gestured to a small pouch. Inside were four ember dust vials, each glowing with residual drake-heat.
"Teach us your wall's warmth. In exchange, train me in drake care. Let us plant bond, not blade." The leader's voice was gravel-smooth, each word deliberate.
Riku weighed the offer. He noticed Kael's eyes flick between the eggs and Emberkin's pouch. The promise of new defensive options was tempting—but sharing drake knowledge posed risk: drakes could turn, and egg stock was limited.
He made his decision.
"Demonstrate your method first," Riku said. "We observe. We don't commit yet."
He turned and led them inside the coop's annealed shelter. Inside, the Emberkin placed a warm ember-dust tincture on one chick's scales. The chick's flicker of flame warmed its back. It chirped, unafraid.
Heathing the ritual, Riku nodded. "I'll build proper pens and test your tincture tomorrow."
They bowed. Their touching ritual was quiet—but Riku felt the centuries of ember-born culture pressing in and forging understanding.
As the Emberkin departed, Riku stepped into the coop alone. He crouched beside the second egg. Ash drifted through the cracks in the shelter, warm like breath.
He closed his eyes. Whispered: Protect. And left.
That evening, after patrol, he returned to the stash vault. He opened the crate holding spare eggs and found it heavier.
Inside were not five, but eight drake eggs.
He froze.
No one else had entered.
The forge hall was locked. The camp was under night watch. No one could've replaced them.
He counted again.
[Tamed Asset Folded – Drake Eggs | Original: 5 | Multiplier: x1.6 | Final: 8]
He recorded it in his private ledger. Hedged in a new section: Tamed Beast Assets.
Five to eight. Breathing numbers that confirmed it.
He closed the crate and strode outside, heart pounding. The Forge's glow warmed his back like promise. He walked to the wall, traced grains of heat-bent stone—his creation, his responsibility.
He looked south across the smoldering basin. The Emberkin sentinels would return. He'd learned something today. He'd seen what they valued. And he had something they needed.
Riku turned back toward the camp. His elite fighters were practicing drills beneath the leveled field, protectively spread around the forge.
—Tharn stood at attention, his tail curled in readiness.
—Kael was torching the metal frames of the new pens.
—Sira's patrols circled, her gaze constant.
He didn't speak. He didn't gesture. He just watched them.
In this moment, at the tail end of the arc before the second Blood Moon, they were more than survivors. They were creators. Defenders. Innovators.
Tomorrow, he'd meet the Emberkin again. He'd build the pens.
He'd take their pact.
And he'd teach himself—what it truly meant to shape fire-born beasts without losing control.
For in AshEdge's world, power wasn't just built. It was grown. And tonight, amidst the ember-borne hush, he felt the pulse of something stronger than hope.
He walked back inside. A fire-lit banner on the wall—the captured enemy's spear flag—hung in quiet solidarity.
And the eggs nestled in their crate would need beds soon.
Because soon, they'd hatch.
And the world would not know what to do next.