The Stars Align (1/3)

Writers: Estelle, Iluva
Date Posted: 31st October 2026

Characters: Agyta, V'karel
Description: The Weyr prepares for a Hatching in the wake of a winter storm
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 6, day 25 of Turn 13
Notes: Notes: snow 16°F - there was a blizzard yesterday, so there's snow up to your eyeballs. The hatching takes place just before midday, with a Hatching Brunch prepared by the lower caverns, and festivities are a full-day affair.

After yesterday’s violent squall, the snow today was as soft as breath.

Few in Dragonsfall batted an eye when the storm was forecast. It was typical of the season. Steel winds off the mountains and heavy snow were as much a feature of their altitude and geography as the sun was of summer, and the ancient Weyr was well prepared. Shovels leaned just inside entrances; the curtains between inner weyrs and ledges were fastened shut, and extra klah went above the hearths. Wingleaders suspended drills until a break came (it never did), and naturally the Weyr made the best of it. Poker, drinking, gossip, arguments. Blankets and dragonhide, a lover or a good book. The children took over the creche and lower caverns in a mad storm of their own.

Then the weather turned. Snow hurled sideways, the force of it knocking greens and smaller blues off their flight paths and even giving a few browns trouble. The accumulation was fast and heavy, and the land quickly lost all its detail, all its shape, until only dragons truly knew where they were. Ice, hard and glistening, crept down the edges of the waterfall like the Weyr had suddenly grown teeth. Flurries snaked through gaps in the curtains and under doors, down the backs of necks and in against dragonhide, building a thick, muted realm that swallowed the day.

Agyta was glad of the temporary weyr off the hatching cavern, even if the confinement only sharpened the stir-craziness between her and her lifemate. Walking the Sands, admiring the speckled shells cradling new life, she listened to the wind bashing against the cliffs like the breath of some giant abominable creature straight from an old auntie’s tale.

Outside, a ten minute trip took forty in waist-deep drifts, and most were quickly content to make do with what was at hand. Only the poor watchdragon was a permanent fixture, huddled against the cliff face, their head and neck caked whenever someone foolish or determined enough crossed in or out of the skies.

Overnight, the winds gusting over the triple cliffs finally lost their fervor, tapering away like smoke.

By morning, the Weyr could breathe again. Snow still fell in fat, fluffy flakes, further blanketing the white world. A calm, muted, sleepy world-- until the first dragon came bounding out into that pale expanse, cracking the frozen land with a joyous, eardrum-shattering bugle. Settled comfortably behind thick cottony clouds, the sun barely cast a shadow. Few were eager to be up aside from the usual offenders, but the shoveling was far more manageable, needing done only every few hours.

As the low trickle of humming started just after breakfast, the fresh snow seemed to swallow it entirely. Few recognized what was building beneath that thick layer of insulation until its downy top layer quaked, until every wall held the unmistakable vibrato of dragons. Then, almost all at once, it grew deafening.

The next generation of dragons would hatch today.

In the lower caverns, it caused a bit of a panic. The tithe was late after the squall, and the kitchens had to get creative in their feast preparations. Dragonpairs hurried _between_, ferrying guests and dignitaries back to the ‘bowl, and soon hundreds were trodding toward the hatching cavern, packing down the snow and carving a maze of paths all the way to the maw of the Sands.

Inside, untouched by the storm, the cavern was as sweltering as ever.

Thirty-nine eggs lay twitching and rocking in their sandy cradle. Valbath hadn’t left the cavern for long this last week, and her mood had worsened into its own fierce storm, something dark and implacable that even Novath’s presence could only allay for so long. It was her first clutch at Dragonsfall and, as it happened, the largest clutch she’d ever had. Her protectiveness would not be swayed by the weather or occasion. She was, apparently, reluctant to let anyone in at all, watching the way thick overcoats were hastily shed high up in the galleries, grumbling at the eager candidates pooling at the edge of the Sands.

**You’ve done a wonderful job, darling.** Agyta brushed her mind soothingly. **Your children will do the rest.** The gold continued to regard the figures in white, coming closer now, and she stood statue-still as they took their places. Still, they only came in so far. She swiveled her great head from side to side, wanting them to feel her judgment. Then at last, slowly, reluctantly, Valbath heaved herself up, moved further back toward the hulking form of Novath, and settled with a loud harrumph, eyes blazing like two orange suns.

On the small platform where the riders of the dam and clutchsire sat, Agyta was in straight-backed repose. Her dress was a thin cascade of blue and gold embroidery, unusual for the season, but a light sheen had found her brow anyway, and despite the meticulous application of products, her carefully set hair was frizzing in the humidity. She straightened the hem of her dress, not out of idleness, but preparation.

Down amongst the candidates, she immediately picked out the unruly mop of curls that was her son. He looked more grown up there, not letting himself get pushed to the back by the older boys. Privately, she hoped he and the other young ones still had a few more clutches to go before leaving childhood permanently behind. The odds weren’t exactly there for a twelve-turn-old, though it had been known to happen even now in a Pass. She thought she could see a hint of nervousness beneath Magyron’s cool exterior.

Her gaze swept to the female candidates and found a dark-haired trio with even greater ease. Her daughters -- not quiet, not calm -- were met with a long series of rolled eyes from the other girls. Two of them were embroiled in what was hopefully a mild argument, while the third just bounced excitedly on her toes, oblivious. They quickly settled as the weyrlingmaster called them to order, and Agyta’s gaze hardened briefly, as if to ensure they stayed that way.

Soon the humming and heat of the cavern reached a deafening crescendo; she touched the hand of the man beside her, her fingers light and surprisingly cool. “They look ready.” The approval was for the vibrant glitter of Valbath and Novath dominating the far wall, though the same could have been said for everyone in attendance. “Are you?”

V'karel turned swiftly from searching the crowd of spectators to face her, his eyes brightening with the reassurance of her touch. "Novath certainly is." The bronze's immense satisfaction was impossible to ignore, his pride resonating through their bond like a heady dose of strong spirits as he basked in being the center of attention. His burnished hide glittered in the warm lights of the cavern, and he held his head high with great dignity, surveying the gathering candidates as he considered whether any of those puny little white-robed creatures could possibly be worthy of one of his...and _Valbath's_ eggs.

**Yes, her eggs, and you'd best remember that.** V'karel gave his dragon a subtle mental nudge to pay attention to his mate. If Novath was at all put out by the reminder he didn't show it, but he did turn his glowing gaze to Valbath and inclined his head in admiration. How splendid her clutch was, with all the dragons of the Weyr humming for them; how strong and handsome her hatchlings would be, and if any of those Candidates forgot it they'd have him to answer to.

The bronzerider smiled at the flow of compliments, half-sensed in the back of his mind. "As for me, I don't know if I ever am ready for moments like this." It wasn't the first clutch Novath had sired, but it was by far the largest, the others having been with more junior queens, and that had been a while ago, before their injury. Sometimes when his dragon had been sleeping he'd wondered whether Novath had truly recovered his full strength, if he'd ever fly a gold again. Now, with this fine clutch before him, he knew he should never have doubted his lifemate.

"Still, it's all up to them now, isn't it?" He nodded towards the eggs, and the young people now fanning out across the Sands. "Nothing we can do but wish them well...oh!" His voice leapt up an octave as a loud crack cut through the dragons' hum and the babble of eager voices. A hush fell. "It's starting! Look, I think it’s that one," he added, voice dropping to a more respectful whisper. One of the eggs appeared to be rocking more violently than the others.

Last updated on the November 2nd 2026

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

The Stars Align (1/3)