At the hatchling fire circle, Ignivar blew a puff of smoke. A flame erupted—brighter and warmer than every dragon's.
The other hatchlings blinked. Their own flames flickered small. Ignivar's tail curled up proudly.
A cold wind slid through the ember-lit forest. The ground shivered. The hatchlings huddled close, their flames shrinking to tiny dots.
A cold shadow crept across the volcano slopes. Ignivar stepped forward, his chest puffing out, and blew his biggest flame.
The shadow hissed and recoiled. Then it surged forward again, bigger and darker.
Ignivar closed his eyes, breathed in every warm memory, and let out the brightest, warmest flame Dragon World had ever seen.
The shadow gasped—a sound like cracking ice—and shattered into a thousand shimmering pieces. The other hatchlings cheered.
Ignivar's flame settled into a steady, gentle glow that wrapped around his friends like a blanket. The volcano behind him rumbled a happy sound.