Chapter 7 - Blood of the Roost
The hermit, who introduced herself as Maren, rushed with Rowan back to the hidden sea-cove where Sylva lay stranded. The great dragon growled weakly from the back of her throat as the stranger approached, but Maren knelt in the salt water and pressed her forehead against Sylva's trembling snout, speaking in an ancient tongue composed of clicks and low thrums. Sylva’s golden eye softened in recognition.
""She remembers the covenant,"" Maren whispered urgently, laying the dying hatchling across Sylva's chest. ""Young Rowan, give me your hand. The bond between keeper and beast is not born of words. It is forged in the fire of life."" She drew a small obsidian blade, nicking Rowan’s palm before he could flinch. She pressed his bleeding hand directly against the luminous, pulsing gland at the base of Sylva's throat—the dragon's core.
A jolt of pure white heat surged through Rowan’s veins. He felt the terrifying vastness of Sylva’s consciousness—her ancient memories of cloud-kingdoms, her grief over lost clutches, and her unconditional, fierce maternal love for Rowan himself. As his blood seeped into her scales, a brilliant shockwave of sapphire light exploded from their touch. The violet poison was purged from Lumi’s body in a hiss of white steam, and Sylva let out a thundering roar of renewed vitality. But the brilliant beam of light tore through the storm clouds, piercing the night sky like a radiant beacon.
