The sky above Lake Geneva tore open like silk.
Dr. Morrison looked up from her monitoring equipment as the medical facility's windows rattled in their frames. Outside, three massive shapes descended through clouds that had gone the color of old silver.
"That's not Kaelen," Damon said, his voice tight with wolf instincts screaming danger.
Seraphina gripped the bed rails as another contraction hit, but her attention was fixed on the approaching forms. Each dragon was distinct—Kaelen's familiar copper scales catching afternoon light, but flanked by creatures that dwarfed even his impressive size.
"Tiamat," she gasped, recognizing the ice-blue dragon whose very presence seemed to frost the windows. "And the third..."
"Bahamut." Eleanor's voice came from the doorway, where she leaned heavily on her walking stick. "The Deep King. I haven't seen him surface in three centuries."
