Chapter Text
Shiro opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. He was sitting on a dirt floor slumped against a cold stone wall, hard and rough against his back. The room was dark, the outlines of the walls dimly lit by a single barred window set so high it nearly touched the ceiling. The air smelled of damp earth, blood, and worse. Somewhere close by, Shiro could hear a quiet shuffling noise, followed by a muffled cough. Though he wanted nothing more than to forget, to close his eyes again and return to the oblivion of sleep, Shiro remembered where he was. A Galra prison.
Now that he was awake, there was really only one distraction; pacing the narrow confines of his cell. Groaning, Shiro forced his stiff muscles to move. He made to push himself to his feet, only to stumble in shock as his right arm failed to support him. With rising alarm, he realized he could no longer feel any sensations from his hand. He looked down and gasped.
His arm was gone.
In a panic, Shiro grasped at the empty space where his arm should be, sure this must be some hallucination. His left hand closed over the stump and he cried out. That sharp surge of pain was undeniably real.
With that pain came a flash of memory; A strange chimeric monster, with four reptilian legs, wicked spines covering its back, and a sharp snapping beak. Shiro had faced that beast with nothing but one of its own discarded spines as a weapon. He felt a shudder go through him as he remembered the creature clamping its beak around his arm, lifting him violently off the ground. He’d managed to summon enough strength to stab it in the eye, sending it crashing back down to earth, but the creature still had not loosened its hold on him. Trapped, Shiro had beaten helplessly against the creature’s head with his fist until he blacked out.
Perhaps the creature had never let go, and the guards had to cut him loose from its beak, or his arm had been so mangled there was no use in trying to save it. The details hardly mattered. His days as a soldier were over.
Shiro gave a bitter laugh, sinking back against the wall of his cell. As if it wasn’t already over.
Unbidden, Shiro’s eyes slid to the ring on his remaining hand, the only thing the Galra had not taken from him. It was a plain steel band, practical for a soldier used to frequent combat, and of little monetary value. It stood only as a promise. A promise Shiro could no longer keep.
The thought of Adam filled Shiro with an aching sorrow so intense he could hardly bear it. You begged me not to go, but I had to. We had to try.
When the Coalition discovered the Galra Empire was in possession of another dragon egg, they had been desperate to act before the egg could hatch for Zarkon’s army. Shiro saw now it was this desperation that proved to be their undoing. The Galra were ready for them. Not a single one of his men had escaped the ambush. Shiro didn’t even know how many might be left alive, forced to work in a labor camp, or thrown into an arena as he was, fighting deformed monsters for the entertainment of their enemies.
Shiro knew it was useless to fight. He was going to die here. Today, tomorrow, a week from now. There was no escape. Yet it was not in Shiro to give up. Every dark creature he killed in the arena was one less his comrades would have to face. His sword arm may be gone, but his left arm was still strong. He still had both his legs. He would do his part until his very last breath.
Footsteps echoed down the passageway. Shiro did not look up. Only when the door to his cell creaked open did Shiro spare a glance for the approaching soldiers.
There were three, all unmistakably Galra. Shiro glared at them out of the corner of his eye, making no move to stand or speak.
“Get up!” one said roughly. “It’s back to the pit for you.”
Using the wall as leverage, Shiro pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled forward, his legs still a bit unsteady, and allowed the guards to lead him out into the passage. Shiro knew from experience if he were to attack them now, he would not get far before more barred his way. He needed to conserve his energy for what was coming. The torches lining the walls seemed impossibly bright, sending shoots of pain through his head. He stiffened as another guard, impatient with his slow pace, gripped him firmly by the arm and began to drag him forward.
As they walked, Shiro focused on preparing himself for the fight ahead. He would not be given a weapon until he was already in the arena, if he would be given one at all. Shiro would have to be quick, searching the pit for anything he could use to his advantage, all while learning what his opponent was capable of.
The incline of the floor steepened, telling Shiro they were nearing the tunnel that led to the pit. He took a deep slow breath. This could very well be his last battle. He was going to make it memorable.
I may not know what I’m facing, but every creature has a weakness.
There it was, the entrance to the tunnel. Shiro entered into the dark passage, followed closely by the guards. The Galra holding his arm had not loosened his grip. Soon Shiro could see two small slivers of light up ahead, marking the gate that would open out into the arena. They came to a stop. All around him, Shiro could hear the steady rumble of the waiting spectators. After a few more moments of tension, the gears of the gate began to move, and the tunnel was flooded with light. Shiro felt the hand on his arm tighten. Then he was shoved unceremoniously into the blinding light of the pit.
Blinking furiously, he shielded his eyes with his arm, trying to gather his wits before he was set upon by whatever foul creature was being released into the other end of the pit. The roar of the crowd was strangely absent, as if everyone was holding their breath.
A long slow scraping sound came from somewhere to the left. Shiro turned his head, falling into a defensive crouch. He had only seconds to move before a huge pair of jaws struck forward. They snapped shut where he had just been standing as Shiro threw himself to the side, stumbling painfully to the ground. Now the crowd had found its voice, jeering at him from high above the pit. The sound washed over him, overwhelmingly loud. Shiro fought to recover, looking up to get his first full look at the creature he was up against.
The sight sucked the breath from his lungs.
The dragon was enormous. It towered over him, nearly as tall as the walls of the pit. The scales of its hide were jet black, as were the spikes that rose from its head and down its back, ending in a particularly large set of spines at the end of its tail. Each talon sported a set of wickedly sharp stone-gray claws. It bared its fangs in a snarl, pale violet eyes piercing straight through Shiro. Those eyes shone with an intensity he had never seen before. Strong, ancient, unfathomable. In the face of such a gaze, Shiro felt tiny and insignificant, no more than an insect in the dirt. He felt a wave of anger and violence from those eyes, the force of the dragon’s consciousness pinning him to the spot.
This was Zarkon’s dragon. Which meant Emperor Zarkon was here somewhere, watching.
Shiro had no time to search the stands. He had to deal with the dragon. A glow was beginning to build between the dragon’s teeth, and Shiro spurred himself into action. He pushed himself up, gravel digging into the palm of his hand, and ran. He felt the blast of heat from the dragon’s flames, narrowly avoiding a blow from its tail, which sent a shower of stones into the air as it struck the ground. Shiro covered his head with his arm as he continued to run. He dove around a boulder to avoid another jet of flame, fighting hard to catch his breath.
He could not keep this up for long. The dragon was so large there was barely any room for him to maneuver. If he had something to buy him time, something he could use to defend himself. He cast his eyes about the pit, but there was nothing. Only gravel and rock. Shiro began to realize what he should have known immediately; he was not meant to stand a chance against Zarkon’s dragon. The crowd wasn’t here to watch a man fight a monster. They were here to watch a dragon play with its food.
The rock shuddered behind him. Shiro hastily whirled around and backed away as the dragon wrenched the rock out of the earth with a swipe of its foreleg, sending it skidding across the gravel to crash into the wall of the pit. As it turned to face him again, he bent down and picked up a sizeable stone, winding back to throw it. There was a cascade of laughter from the stands. Fully aware of the futility of his actions, Shiro locked eyes with his foe. I’ll have to hit it right in the eye.
His aim was true, but the dragon whipped its head down at the last second, causing the stone to bounce off one of its horns and into the stands. In answer, the dragon sent another blast of fire.
This time the edge of the flames caught the hem of Shiro’s tunic, forcing him to roll to the ground to put them out. Agony flared in the raw stub of his right arm. With a monumental effort, he rolled back onto his feet, picking up another stone as he did so. He hurled it blindly at the dragon. The stone glanced harmlessly off its dark scales. Undeterred, Shiro bent to pick up a third stone.
A strong voice resonated from the stands, cold and commanding. “Enough of this.”
Before Shiro could attempt another throw, a sudden force hit him full in the back. He cried out and fell to his knees as intense pain lanced through his whole body. It felt as if his every nerve were on fire. When it finally abated, Shiro found himself lying curled on the ground. Dazed, he tried to move, groaning with the effort. He felt so weak. His legs didn’t seem to want to move, and his arm did not have the strength to lift him up. Closing his eyes, he sank back down into the gravel, helpless.
The ground shuddered with the footsteps of the dragon. Any moment now, it was going to crush him, or its fire would rain down upon him, and then it would eat him. The dragon was looking right at him. He could tell. The pressure of its awareness was bearing down on him like a weight. Any moment now, it would be over. Shiro hoped it would be quick.
Not for the first time, he thought of the people he had left behind, the people he would never see again. Iverson, Allura, Coran, Keith…
Adam.
I’m so sorry...
And then he thought of the egg. We were so close...
Shiro hoped bitterly the egg would never hatch for the Galra, that it would not be doomed to life in a pit feeding off prisoners and slaves. The egg could not be allowed to remain in Zarkon’s hands. Would the Coalition make another attempt to rescue it? Perhaps after losing so many men, they would just give up and content themselves with the eggs they had already managed to save.
He felt the dragon’s breath ruffle his hair. It was less than an arms length away from him. Yet its presence felt different somehow. Shiro forced himself to open his eyes, turning his head to look up into the menacing face of the dragon. What he saw had him transfixed. Its pale violet eyes still bore down on him just as strongly, but they no longer radiated hatred. There was a deep intelligence in those eyes, and an urgency. Shiro was suddenly given a strong mental image of an egg. Bright as an ember, its smooth surface was a vibrant red marbled with black. Shiro was in no doubt this was the red dragon egg he was tasked to find. They were exactly the same, down to the last detail.
A shadow fell over Shiro as the dragon raised its wings, bringing them down with a mighty woosh of air. Shiro hardly felt it. A current seemed to be passing between himself and the dragon. The image of the egg was so strong now it seemed to be burned behind his eyes.
The red dragon egg. It - no, she - knows about the egg.
A single word formed in his mind, in a voice that was not his.
Help.
Shiro flinched as the dragon suddenly dove forward and scooped him up in her jaws. He kept his eyes shut tight, expecting to be crushed between her teeth. Her wings began to beat the air more strongly now. The wind whirled around them both, drowning out the shouts and screams of the crowd.
“What are you doing? Kill him!”
The voice was booming, yet it sounded so distant in the rushing of the air. Soon there was no sound at all but the wind in his ears. It whipped past him so forcefully Shiro found it hard to breathe. And then he understood.
They were flying.
Shiro forced his eyes open and gasped as he saw the tiny circle of the pit far below them. All around the pit sprawled the buildings and tents of the Galra compound. His eyes watering in the chill wind, Shiro tried to see if they were being followed. They were well out of range of any arrows, but Shiro had a feeling the wyverns would be deployed before long.
It was very uncomfortable being held in the dragon’s jaws. Between her breath and the wind whipping past, Shiro did not know whether to feel hot or cold. Her teeth and barbed tongue pricked his skin through his threadbare clothes. He wondered how much longer he would have to endure this before she decided to release him.
He had no doubt where they were going. The black dragon was headed straight for the egg. Her egg. Shiro could not have described to anyone how he knew this. He just knew.
The black dragon flew faster than he could have imagined possible. They quickly left the compound behind and were soon descending over the foothills toward the shrine in the mountains. Before he knew it, the black dragon was alighting on the roof of the building. Digging her claws into the timbers, she began to tear it apart with her talons, raking aside the debris and scattering it around the yard below the building. Attendants raced out of the structure, fleeing in terror down the mountain path. The dragon was unconcerned by them. When she had made a sizeable hole in the roof, she snaked her head into the room and deposited Shiro on the floor.
Shiro lay there for a moment, dazed, exhausted, and still in quite a bit of pain. Eventually he managed to push himself to a sitting position and observe the room.
The chamber was almost the same as it was when Shiro’s company had first found it. A door was set in every wall, two doors opposite each other painted a bright fiery red. One of these bright doors led to the entrance room, and the other to what Shiro assumed was another sacred chamber room, or perhaps storage. There were several small cabinets along the walls, the same vivid red. Here and there on the floor were broken tiles and timbers from the torn roof. The middle of the room was raised in three tiers of polished wood, miraculously clean of debris. In the very center of this lay the egg, undisturbed upon its cushion.
Shiro glanced nervously at the doors. When he’d last arrived in this room, three of those doors had burst open, surrounding his company with fifty Galra soldiers. No such ambush was awaiting him this time.
Getting laboriously to his feet, Shiro looked around for something to carry the egg. Eventually he found a satchel that looked the right size, as well as a length of ornamental cloth to wrap it in for safety. The dragon was watching him placidly from above. She seemed to have decided he was trustworthy for now, but Shiro did not want to test her goodwill by mishandling her young. His hand was shaking as he folded the cloth around the egg, nudging it into the satchel as best he could with one arm.
A chorus of piercing shrieks rent the air, and Shiro ducked reflexively. The wyverns were here.
The dragon reared her head, answering with a roar that seemed to rattle the earth itself. She unleashed a torrent of fire into the sky. Another shriek and a crash told Shiro one of the wyverns had been killed. The others circled the dragon, while their riders shot arrows and hurled spears at her. Most merely glanced off her scales, but several tore through her wing membranes. She snarled, releasing another burst of violet flames.
Shiro pressed against the wall, shielding the egg with his body as stray projectiles rained down through the opening in the roof. The building shuddered as the dragon took to the air, drawing the wyverns away. Shiro was left kneeling amid the wreckage of the old temple, the egg clutched tightly to his chest. He waited in silence, listening for any sign of the dragon returning.
It slowly began to dawn on Shiro that he might actually get out of this alive. He felt a rush of hope that almost brought tears to his eyes. Getting back up to his feet, Shiro hung the satchel over his shoulder and began to search the room more thoroughly for anything that could be of use. There was not much in the chamber itself, but when he went out into the entrance room he found rope, a small knife, and best of all, a cabinet stocked with food and water.
Shiro took as much of the food as he could carry, situating himself where he could clearly see anyone entering the room with plenty of time to react. The bread was stale and tasteless, but he did not care. He could not remember when he’d last eaten.
The minutes turned to hours as Shiro waited, alone with the egg. It felt warm against his side even through the cloth. He smiled to himself, comforted by the feeling. Then he heard the faint sound of wingbeats in the air. Shiro got up and made his way to the entrance, peering out onto the deserted yard in front of the temple. Those wingbeats could be from the black dragon, or a troop of wyverns. He was not about to risk coming out into the open until he knew for sure.
A low roar sounded through the air. Despite the harshness of the sound, Shiro breathed a sigh of relief. That was no wyvern call. The black dragon was returning.
Outside the sky had begun to darken. The first stars of evening could be seen winking against a blanket of pink and blue. Overhead, the shadowy dragon grew larger as she approached, like a herald of the coming night. She descended slowly, landing with surprising grace in front of the building. Shiro was surprised to see she was almost unscathed from her fight. Rivulets of blood oozed from the tears in her wings, but she did not seem bothered by these small wounds.
As Shiro descended the steps to meet her, she fixed him in her piercing gaze and settled herself down onto the ground, flat on her belly with her head held low. At first Shiro was baffled by this, then he understood.
She wanted him to ride her.
Despite everything he had just gone through, Shiro still felt some trepidation at the idea of riding home on the back of a dragon. Zarkon’s dragon.
The black dragon snorted impatiently, making Shiro jump. He looked into her keen violet eyes and realized he was being foolish. How else would I get back with the egg? The nearest Coalition stronghold is weeks away on foot. I’d never make it.
Shiro pushed aside his doubts and approached the dragon. Since he only had one hand to grip with, he bound the egg to his chest as tightly as he could, leaving no chance it would fall while they were in the air. Even with her lying down, the top of the dragon’s back was still outside of easy reach. She seemed to understand this, and extended her wing to help him climb up.
Her scales were smooth and hard to grip, but eventually Shiro made it to the top of her back. He perched there nervously, deciding the safest place to sit, hoping the dragon would not take off before he was ready. This was going to be nothing like flying a loftwing, or even a gryphon. Eventually he settled into a small depression in front of her muscular shoulders. As soon as he did this, the dragon stood up to her full height and unfurled her wings. Startled, Shiro felt himself slip and grasped the spike in front of him for support. The dragon twisted her neck to fix him with a reproachful look.
Despite himself, Shiro laughed in the face of her gaze. “Go easy on me, alright? I’ve had a very bad week.”
The dragon seemed to accept this. She gave a single slow blink and turned to face forward once again. Shiro made sure to hold on tight as the dragon approached the edge of the mountain path and leapt from the edge. They fell several yards before the dragon lifted upward with a massive downstroke of her powerful wings.
As they sped off into the coming night, Shiro gripped the spine in front of him with grim tenacity. They were going to make it.
He was going home.
- - - - -
High in the mountains to the north, at the very edge of Avindron, stood the Castle of Lions. It lay enfolded within the rocks and trees of the mountain, the moss and ivy that choked the walls hiding the full majesty of the castle beneath. Only the outer gate and five circular towers were visible from the outside. The rest was sheltered inside the mountain. It was as remote a location as could be hoped for, the perfect place to hide an army.
Princess Allura walked out into the shadowy courtyard, her cloak wrapped snugly to fend off the predawn chill. Most of the castle was still asleep. The only activity came from the guards upon the wall and a group of trainee knights performing drills in the nearby practice yard. Otherwise, the morning was quiet and still.
Though she was shrouded in a cloak, several of the guards on the wall recognized Allura. They acknowledged her with a silent salute, but did not otherwise intrude upon her solitude. For that Allura was grateful. She had come here to think.
Her dreams had been troubled for many weeks. Images of a shadow from the south. There could be no doubt what that meant. Zarkon must be on the move again.
Despite all her years of planning, Allura knew she was not ready to face him again. The bloody years after the destruction of Altea had taught her that. Zarkon’s army was vast, growing every day, and even without that, there was his dragon. In the face of their wrath, all Allura could do was flee to the furthest reaches of the kingdom. That was when she found the castle. She and the other refugees had made their new home there, and for a long while they had been safe.
But Allura had not come to this place to hide herself forever. She knew Zarkon would not rest until all of Avindron was under his dominion. Even then he would not stop. The Coalition would have to fight back. The only hope they had was with the eggs Allura and her allies had gathered in the two hundred years since Altea’s fall.
The blue egg, carried to them in the satchel of a strange traveler; the golden egg, protected by Hira, an Altean smith and the Coalition’s current weaponsmaster; and the green egg, the egg which Allura herself had managed to save from the Night of Fire. So far none of these eggs had accepted a rider. Countless generals, soldiers, diplomats, and magicians were brought before them, and all had been rejected. The Coalition was growing ever more desperate to find a candidate one of the eggs would accept. If they wanted to stand a chance against the Galra, they needed to rebuild the Paladins.
If the red egg hatches first, if Zarkon gains another dragon, no army of ours can prevail.
Allura looked down to the mosaic at her feet. When she had found this place, it was in a state of disrepair, covered in moss and creeping vines, with few signs of those who once lived there. The only relics of that time were a handful of faded murals and this vast circular mosaic. It was an intricate piece made of polished stone, depicting the head of a white lion. Particular care had been taken with the eyes. They were made of some sort of crystalline material that reflected the light in a way that made them appear to glow. When she found herself looking into those eyes, Allura felt as if they were alive, as if they were trying to tell her something.
The sound of a horn, startlingly loud, shocked Allura out of her reverie. She was immediately on guard. The soldiers along the wall were moving rapidly, talking amongst each other and pointing out toward the horizon. Fighting a rising anxiety, Allura tugged her hood more securely over her silver-white hair, and turned to return to the safety of the keep. She had only ever heard that horn once before, and it had been to signal the approach of wyvern scouts. If the scouts had returned, no one should linger outside, least of all her.
Allura had no sooner closed the door when she heard rapid footsteps behind her.
“Allura!”
She whirled around. “Lance?”
Lance skidded to a halt in front of her. He must have run a long way, for he was out of breath. Allura smiled, about to make a joke, then she saw his face. She had never seen her brother look so terrified.
“He’s coming,” Lance gasped.
“What?” she asked sharply. “Who is coming?”
“Zarkon.”
Allura pulled back in shock. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “The black dragon has been sighted over Gamelon, and they’ve sent a message to the queen. He’s heading straight here.”
How could this happen? Managing to compose herself, Allura squared her shoulders. “How long do we have?”
Lance tossed his hands. “An hour, less, I don’t know.”
“Then we had best use our time wisely.”
Less than half an hour later, Allura stood on the battlements looking out toward the horizon. The dark form of the black dragon was visible now, growing larger by the minute. Allura gripped her spear so tightly it trembled in her grip. She could not take her eyes from the shadowy form of the dragon, the memory of her nightmares fresh in her mind. Is this what I should have foreseen?
Allura felt a hand on hers. She turned to see Lance beside her. His mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes were soft.
No words were needed between them. Allura relaxed her grip slightly, and Lance let her go. It seemed cruel that after so long apart, Allura had found her lost brother only to be torn away from him now, but she would not have traded these last few years together for anything. Lance and Coran were all that was left of her family. If they had to die, they would make their last stand together. With that thought in her mind, Allura turned to face her most trusted friend. Coran’s face was very pale as he watched the dragon approach. He had always been here to help her, protect her, lift her from her pain, and Allura knew he would not shrink away now.
At the center of the battlements, Allura watched Queen Zelda step forward. The young queen had insisted on leading her army personally despite dissent from the Council. Clad in armor, with her long dark blonde hair held back from her face, she held a white bow at her side. That white bow was the reason she was here on the wall. The arrows fired from that bow contained a sacred light said to be powerful enough to vanquish dark creatures. No one knew whether it would work against a dragon, but Zelda would not be dissuaded from trying.
Zelda gazed out along the horizon, the hand that shaded her eyes held steady. “My scout approaches,” she said. “Now we shall see what we are up against.”
The scout was pushing his loftwing as hard as it could fly. Allura prepared herself for what he might say, knowing it would likely make little difference. The loftwing touched down heavily upon the battlements, wings drooping limply at his sides. His rider dismounted and knelt before Queen Zelda.
“Your highness,” he said breathlessly, “It’s Captain Shirogane. Captain Shirogane is riding the black dragon.”
Shocked whispers rose from the contingent of soldiers, silencing at once as Zelda raised her hand. “Are you sure about this?” she asked the scout.
“Yes, your highness,” he assured. “And that’s not all. He has the red egg.”
This time the murmuring of the guards would not be stifled. Allura listened to the whispers, feeling a bit dazed by the shock of the news. Surely this is impossible, she thought. How could Captain Shirogane escape the Galra on Zarkon’s own dragon?
While Zelda’s scout continued his report, Allura returned her eyes to the sky, her Altean sight able to see much further than any human. The black dragon had drawn startlingly close in the time it had taken the scout to land. From this distance, Allura could make out the details of her scales, the keen glint of her violet eyes. Allura felt a strange rush of emotion flow through her, rooting her to the spot.
“I see him!” Lance said beside her.
“It is him! It’s Captain Shiro!” exclaimed Coran.
The atmosphere changed immediately. People cheered, some waving up at Shiro as the dragon drew ever closer. Others were laughing or crying, giddy with relief. The scout was right. The dragon was not here to bring death upon them all. She was here bringing them their greatest hope in two centuries.
The air was alive with excitement. Allura felt it as much as the rest of them, but she was not looking at Shiro. She had locked eyes with the black dragon. It was as if a current was eddying between them, a current of memory so strong neither could break away. All the fear in Allura’s heart vanished. She knew this dragon. Allura had known her since she was a child, before the world had been torn apart, before Zarkon had broken the Paladins and began his conquest of the free kingdoms. This was not the dragon that razed Allura’s homeland. This was not the dragon that tore through cities with an unshakeable wrath. This was the dragon of the life Allura had lost, bonded partner to her father’s old friend.
Obscala.
A small tremor shook the earth as the dragon landed on the gravel path outside the castle. Standing at her full height, the black dragon was nearly as tall as the outer wall. The wooden gates groaned open as several of Queen Zelda’s guard came out to meet them. At their approach, the dragon laid down upon the ground, slowly lowering her head onto the path, and closed her eyes for a moment. Released from her gaze, Allura staggered slightly.
Lance put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Allura, putting her hand over his. She smiled. “It’s nothing.”
Several knights had edged forward to help Shiro dismount from the dragon, still eyeing her a bit nervously. For the first time, Allura looked at Shiro. He was in terrible shape. His face was pale and drawn, with dark shadows under his eyes. A large cut across the bridge of his nose stood out in sharp relief. His white hair, grey with dirt, hung long and disheveled. Worst of all, Allura saw the bandaged stump of his right arm. He had clearly suffered much. Yet all that suffering had not broken him. The fire in his eyes still burned strong.
Two knights came on either side of Shiro to help him walk. Allura followed Queen Zelda’s retinue from the wall to meet him in the courtyard. Shiro came to stand before his queen and bowed his head. “I have returned with the egg, your highness,” he said, his voice rough with disuse.
Queen Zelda smiled. “So you have.”
With the help of his fellow knights, Shiro removed the satchel tied to his chest and pulled the egg from its wrappings. Everyone held their breath as the red egg was lifted up. It shone like fire in the sunlight. Allura’s heart swelled at the sight. This egg represented the hope of all the free people of Avindron.
It was time for the Paladins to rise again.