Dodging a fireball, I tug my bag closer and duck behind a hay bail. Sweat gushes down my forehead, my back, and my heart hammers, running a separate marathon in my chest.

A bone-shattering roar shakes the earth, and my legs buckle, crumbling beneath me like chalk. Pain jolts my spine as I hit the ground, white spots flashing around my vision.

Blinking and with shaking hands, I open my bag. Nestled securely between mounts of vibrant moss sits the blue, iridescent dragon egg.

Perfectly smooth, yet perfectly dangerous and about to get me possibly perfectly killed.

Another roar shudders the stone city, and I leap to my feet, biting through the sharp stab of discomfort in my side.

Mayhem owns the streets. People scramble, screaming in every direction. Limbs jump into shops and spring down alleyways, their pounding feet churning up noise as well as clouds of bitter, choking dust.

Clutching the bag, I sprint down the street. Someone bumps into me, nocking the bag—I shove them away with my elbow.

Static crackles through the air, and I duck. Heat singes the back of my head as a blazing ball shoots overhead, crashing, exploding into a house. Brick splinters, spraying down on those below, cutting skin deep. More screams erupt, more bodies push.

A child trips. Blood gushes from her leg, and I grab her, yanking her to her feet by the scruff of her shirt. Without a word, she runs off, barreling into the arms of a crying woman.

Picking up the pace again, I turn left, the road shifting from cobbled stones to mud as I cut through a dark alley. My breath reverberates from the enclosed walls, and only a slither of sky pokes through the break between rooftops.

A roar rumbles, and I freeze. My head snaps, searching behind, my eyes wide, surely popping from my skull.

Moments pass, my heart thumps, and I wipe my slick palms on my skirts.

I check the egg; then, after waiting a few more seconds, I scurry further, taking another left at the end of the ally.

Commotion from the street quietens as I hurry across a small, overgrown meadow. The long grass tickles my legs and softens my footfalls, cushioning the ache in my side. The bag thumps against my hip, and I wipe my sleeve across my forehead.

A shadow blocks the sun. Large, pointed wings consume the meadow, and my breath catches.

Wind tickles my skin, ruffling my clothes as the dragon swoops. Sharp talons graze the soft of my back, and something warm trickles down, but this time I know, it’s not sweat.

My throat burns as a scream tears from my mouth, and I curse myself—why do I always get myself into these messes?