Reincarnated as the Last Dragon Egg-Chapter 29: Child of the Eighth

The forest near Emberwatch had always been calm. Birds sang, trees whispered in the wind, and the rivers flowed as if time itself respected their rhythm.

But today, the air buzzed with unseen energy.

Branches trembled despite no breeze. Stones cracked beneath invisible pressure. And fireflies gathered in swarms — as if drawn to something awakening.

At the forest’s heart, beneath a blackened oak, Isen stood alone.

The symbol on her arm — Darian’s name — glowed faintly.

She didn’t understand it.

But it pulsed like a heartbeat.

And something in her gut whispered: He’s close.

---

Darian stepped through the treeline a few miles away, escorted by Kaela and Neriya. Solin remained back in Emberwatch, monitoring the Cycle readings, which had begun to spike dangerously with each passing hour.

"She’s here," Neriya said, tapping the ground. "The stone itself remembers her steps."

Kaela adjusted the clasp on her flame-cloak. "So does the air."

Darian didn’t respond.

His eyes were locked ahead, glowing faintly. Not with power — with memory.

He didn’t need to see her to feel her.

She was a piece of him.

But not his.

She was herself — and that truth was what made her so dangerous to the Librarian.

And so important to him.

---

Isen heard the footsteps first.

Not heavy.

Purposeful.

She turned slowly — and saw him.

Not in a dream.

Not through flame or symbols.

But real.

He looked older. Tired. But whole.

Their eyes locked.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The air stilled.

Then, softly, she said, "You left me."

Darian didn’t flinch.

"I didn’t know you existed," he said, voice low. "But now that I do... I won’t leave again."

She stepped closer. Her hands trembled. "I’ve been dreaming your memories for weeks. Feeling things that aren’t mine. Seeing worlds I’ve never touched. Is this what you went through?"

Darian nodded. "Yes. When I bore the Cycles, they tried to break me every day."

She swallowed. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because no one else could."

A pause.

Then her voice cracked.

"I don’t want to be you."

He reached out slowly, not touching her — just letting his hand hover above hers.

"I don’t want you to be me either," he said. "I want you to be better."

---

Kaela and Neriya watched from a distance.

"She’s stabilizing," Neriya said. "The Cycles are no longer twisting around her."

Kaela narrowed her eyes. "For now."

---

Suddenly, the sky shifted.

The sun blurred, as if drawn with ink and smeared by careless fingers.

A cold wind rushed through the forest, hissing in a tongue no human should have understood.

But Darian and Isen did.

The Unwritten language.

Darian turned sharply.

"He found us."

---

The Librarian appeared between two trees, as if pulled from the folds of a forgotten page.

He was alone.

But the ground twisted beneath him, reality fraying where he stepped.

"Beautiful," he said, eyes resting on Isen. "The flame of freedom and the ink of destiny... in one fragile frame."

Darian stepped between them. "You won’t touch her."

The Librarian smiled.

"I already have."

He raised a hand.

The ground exploded in black fire — not flame, but narrative fire, burning not what was, but what could have been.

Darian shielded Isen with a wave of his palm.

Creation met Erasure.

The shockwave blasted outward — trees shredded, the air screamed, time itself buckled.

Kaela drew her blade.

Neriya’s shadow expanded, circling the forest like a coiled beast.

The Librarian laughed softly.

"You think power matters in this place? This is my story now."

He stepped forward.

But stopped.

Because Isen had raised her hand.

And the symbols on her arm now burned bright — not with memory, but intention.

"I’m not your character," she whispered. "And I’m done reading your lines."

The light flared.

A glyph exploded from her chest — not Darian’s, not the Librarian’s.

Hers.

A new symbol.

One even the Librarian didn’t recognize.

He staggered back.

"No... it’s too soon..."

Darian turned to her, wide-eyed.

"What did you do?"

"I chose," she said.

---

The sky cracked.

And for the first time in centuries, a new Cycle whispered into the world — unnamed, unshaped, uncontrolled.

But alive.

And Isen stood at its center.

The wind stopped.

Completely.

No rustle of leaves, no whistle between trees — just silence so thick it pressed against the bones.

In that silence stood Isen.

Her chest still glowed faintly from where the symbol had erupted — not in pain, but in clarity. The mark was no longer shifting like the others. It was stable, pulsing with purpose. A new Cycle had awakened — and it was hers.

Darian stared, stunned.

Kaela and Neriya froze, struggling to understand what had just happened.

And the Librarian — for the first time — took a step back.

"You... created a new Cycle," he breathed. "One I did not author."

Isen’s gaze sharpened. "Because I’m not your story."

The Librarian’s eyes burned, ink dripping from his fingers like blood.

"You don’t understand what you’ve done," he snarled. "The world isn’t built for more. The Cycle Weave can barely hold seven. Eight will tear it apart."

Darian finally stepped forward, his voice calm but heavy. "She didn’t force it. She earned it. The Cycle chose her — because it saw what you were doing."

Kaela nodded. "A rewrite built on lies. Control. Chains."

Neriya’s shadow flared, mimicking the shape of wings.

The Librarian’s face twisted. "This is chaos."

Isen looked at her hand — fire wrapped in threads of time, lightning veins flickering beneath stone skin. All six old Cycles — and something new, coiled like a serpent made of stars just beneath the surface.

"No," she said. "This is freedom."

---

In the High Citadel of the Keepers

The ancient guardians of Cycle Lore — long silent — stirred for the first time in a decade.

A ripple passed through their crystal archives, shattering one of the sacred tablets.

"Impossible," one whispered. "A new glyph... recorded without script?"

Another shook their head, wide-eyed. "No bearer. No root. It grew from nothing."

"No," their leader rasped. "It grew from someone."

---

In the Void Between Cycles

Thalen — the creature born from the fractures left behind by Darian — sensed it.

The birth of the Eighth.

He screamed in rage, the cracks across his twisted body glowing brighter.

"I was supposed to be the end," he roared. "Not her!"

His voice echoed into nothing.

But something whispered back.

> "Then unmake her."

---

Back at the Forest Clearing

The Librarian dissolved into shadow, retreating through a rift of torn prose.

"You’ve doomed yourself," he hissed as he faded. "Every Cycle breeds consequence. Yours will not spare you."

Then he was gone.

Isen collapsed to one knee, panting.

Darian caught her, kneeling beside her.

"You did it," he whispered. "You changed everything."

"I don’t even know what I am anymore," she murmured.

He smiled faintly. "You’re the beginning of a new story."

---

That night, Isen dreamed again.

But it was no longer Darian’s memory.

It was hers.

She stood in a field of empty thrones, each one burning with the colors of the old Cycles.

A new throne stood apart from the others — made of stardust, wrapped in song.

And a voice whispered from behind it.

> "Write carefully, Child of the Eighth. For what you create... can no longer be undone."