The Devil's Crimson Brood

The brood gathers tighter around Huarti as his aura settles into them. Their blue scales catch the red haze, then answer it, tinting faintly crimson. The starry light above the nest steadies, like a crown taking shape.

A sharper pulse moves through the nest. One hatchling rises on unsteady feet, head cocked toward the nursery edge, where the old fear once lived. It looks back at Huarti first, asking without words who stands guard now.

The question ripples through the others. Several hatchlings press nearer to Huarti’s long shadow, but the outer ones keep glancing toward the castle edge, already testing the reach of his authority.

At once, the nest quiets. The hatchlings lower themselves again, but not to sleep, to listen. Their little horns angle toward Huarti, and the crimson sheen deepens by a breath, turning their fear into waiting obedience.

Huarti lets his words settle over the nest like a seal. The starlit haze trembles, then calms, as if listening.

One hatchling lowers its head first. Then another, and another, their tiny bodies turning inward toward the choice.

A thin, warm current passes through the brood, and the faint crimson on their scales deepens into a steadier mark, as if accepting a new lesson.

The eggs remain quiet in the soft glow, but the chosen hatchlings sit taller now, waiting on Huarti for the shape of the next command.