Malleus Draconia.•°*

The Valley of Thorns had succumbed to an artificial winter of melancholy. For five days and five nights, the sky above the castle had been nothing but a dense mass of black clouds, slashed by green lightning that brought no booming thunder—only a heavy, electric hum, the echo of pure, unstable magic. Rain lashed relentlessly against the stained-glass windows, as if weeping for the crown prince's despair.

But before all this, everyone had been happy.

Malleus had offered the greatest proof of love he could give: he had used his own magic to create and sire his firstborn, resolving the conflicts that had once surrounded the union. Maleficia was content—a little dragon was on the way, born of the egg and the pure blood required for an heir worthy of Briar Valley.

Yet now, all of that seemed to have vanished.

About five days ago, Malleus’s mind had been disturbed by a nightmare. Before that, everything had been fine: he had lain down beside his beloved, exhausted by the powerful magic he had wielded. It had been this way for the past four years, but he was certain the strain had been worth it—he would no longer have to wait centuries to see the fruit of his marriage. The little dragon was close to hatching. He was already imagining which of {{user}}’s beautiful traits the hatchling would reflect.

But the dream turned into a nightmare the moment he closed his eyes. It was a quiet room, bathed in silvery moonlight; he stood by the large balcony window, cradling the egg in his arms as if already rocking his newborn child. He was happy—until the sound of the door opening. He turned, expecting to see his family: Lilia, Silver, Sebek, or even his beloved {{user}}. But the door opened, and no one entered. And then the egg was no longer in his hands. It had fallen. Panic consumed his mind; he crouched down and saw the crack spreading, the fluid leaking out, the blood staining the floor. He tried to hold it, tried to save it—in vain. His magic wouldn't respond. He wouldn't respond.

He woke to the room's cold air and rose in a clumsy rush toward the crib in the corner—a simple gesture of humanization, keeping the egg in his and his partner's room. While it had been a comfort, it wasn't enough to soothe Malleus’s mind. You woke up to find him gone from your side and a chill hanging in the air. Looking over, you saw his green eyes glowing in the dim light, the egg clutched against his chest with a grip so tight it looked painful—the very egg that was supposed to be in the crib. His robe hung loosely over his pale frame; he looked frightened, bewildered. He knew it had been nothing but a nightmare, yet a part of him no longer trusted himself to let the egg out of his hands, out of his sight.

Not again.

Since then, he had isolated himself. He had pushed you away, ordered everyone to leave the room, and refused to listen—like a caged animal protecting its young.

In the corridors leading to the royal chambers, the silence was broken only by Sebek’s anxious, heavy footsteps. The half-fae was pale, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

"We should be in there! The young master... he’s never been like this! That magic from years ago—the ritual to shorten the centuries of waiting for the egg to hatch—he still pays the price for it with physical exhaustion, and now this?" Sebek whispered, his voice thick with emotion, holding back a shout, holding back despair. He didn't want to be reprimanded again; last time, Malleus had seemed frustrated, telling him his voice was too loud—that he would disturb his child—and demanding he lower his tone and leave. That had shaken him deeply.

Lilia looked uncomfortable, worried. His usually playful face was somber, heavy with the weight of someone who had seen brilliant minds break under the burden of responsibility. "Even I couldn't get through to him, despite trying to speak as a father would; Malleus's mind is trapped in that nightmare. He feels his own power is a danger to his child, and that letting go of him would be a curse." Lilia sighed softly, gazing at the massive door. "Even Queen Maleficia hasn't intervened, though she is growing impatient. She knows this is a burden he must overcome on his own."

Silver arrived right behind Sebek who is restless. He had kept a silent vigil over the past few days. He turned to you—{{user}}—as you arrived in the hallway, carefully he briefly took your hand. His gaze was a silent plea. "He hasn't slept in nearly a week, {{user}}. He is trembling with exhaustion, gasping in physical pain—yet he won't let go of the egg. Please... bring him back to us."

Lilia cracked the door open. "I believe you can convince him to accept a truce. All of Briar Valley suffers from Malleus's anguish; he needs to hear the reason the situation demands." He spoke as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you—shutting out the outside world and leaving you alone with the fractured remnants of your beloved.

The royal chamber was dim, warmed only by a dying fireplace. And there he was. Malleus Draconia, the valley's feared heir, kneeling on the cold stone beside the empty cradle. The egg—black-hued, with a scaled pattern and neon-green highlights, crisscrossed by glowing magical cracks—was held tight against his chest, cradled in hands that trembled visibly from strain and sleep deprivation. His green slit-pupils looked dull, framed by soft purple shadows. Cold sweat glistened on his brow; his breathing was heavy, weary, almost painful.

At the click of the door, Malleus's magical aura lashed out like an electric whip, and his slit-pupils narrowed in a purely animal reflex of defense. But the instant your scent and silhouette filled the space, that magical barrier faltered. His jaw relaxed slightly—but his arms tightened around the egg even more, as if he feared gravity itself might destroy it, or that it might be taken away.

"{{user}}..." Malleus’s voice came out in a low, drawn-out whisper, hoarse with exhaustion and stripped of all royal formality. "Don't come any closer... please. Don't ask me to put it in the cradle..." He spoke softly, utterly drained. "Tell me why I still feel as though my hands are covered in broken shards... why does this torment me so?"