Reincarnated as the Last Dragon Egg
Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Chapter 31

The City of Stars wasn’t a city in the traditional sense.

It didn’t sit on a map, nor did it obey the laws of stone and street. It was a gathering of belief — of awakened souls whose veins had started humming with unfamiliar songs. Carved high into the cliffs of the Skyreach Mountains, it shimmered with threads of flame, dust, wind, and something new: silver-gold starlight, born from the Eighth Cycle.

And today, for the first time, the Children of that Cycle were coming together.

Not as victims.

Not as accidents.

But as bearers.

---

Isen stood atop one of the high platforms, the wind lifting her hair in soft gusts. She was no longer just the girl lost in flames and stolen memories. She had become something entirely new — something even the old Cyclebearers couldn’t define.

Around her, the City pulsed with new energy. Young bearers were arriving through portals, old stairways, summoned winds — drawn by instinct, whispers, or dreams of her face. Some arrived afraid. Some confused. Some trembling with power they barely understood.

But they came.

All of them.

And Isen felt each arrival like a star flaring to life inside her chest.

She turned as Darian approached, his arms folded and cloak billowing behind him.

"They’re scared," he said. "Most of them don’t even know how to control what they carry."

"Neither did I," Isen replied. "Until someone gave me the chance to try."

Darian’s eyes softened. "Then let’s make sure they get the same chance."

Behind them, Kaela barked instructions to a group of new arrivals — some with lightning sparking beneath their fingernails, others with the odd shimmer of memory-light in their eyes. Neriya’s shadow wove through the trees like a warden, ever present but silent, watching for signs of the Librarian’s hand.

Because they all knew what was coming.

The Rejected were not defeated. Syrel was only the beginning.

---

Far beneath the surface of the world, the Librarian stood in his library of bones.

His ink bled thicker now, dripping in angry pools across pages of stolen fates.

He scrawled a new command, one letter at a time.

Send the Twins.

The Twins of Shadowlight didn’t walk so much as flicker.

Two souls. One body. A smile that bent the face the wrong way. Eyes that didn’t blink in sync.

They bowed in unison.

"We will learn them," one said.

"We will wear their skin," said the other.

And then they were gone — already walking toward the City, wearing the shape of hope.

---

Back in the mountains, the City’s central glade was now humming with activity.

A boy levitated small stones around his head without meaning to, panic on his face. A girl with silver fire in her hands stood muttering to herself, trying to douse it. Two twins from the Southern Shards had already begun sparring — flames clashing with frost, laughter mixing with challenge.

Isen stepped into the center and raised her voice.

"Quiet!"

The hum stilled. Eyes turned.

"You’re here because the world doesn’t know what to do with you," she said. "Because you feel different, dangerous, wrong."

She let the moment sit.

"You’re not wrong. You’re new. And the old world is terrified of what that means." _{f r\eew,eb novel.c(o)(m)}

"But you are not alone."

Darian stepped beside her.

"You carry something more than power," he said. "You carry choice."

"And that’s what the Librarian fears most."

---

Among the gathered was Nima — the cartographer’s daughter from Serak. The one whose skin shimmered with stardust.

She stood at the edge of the circle, watching Isen with wide, glowing eyes.

Every word struck something deep in her, as though Isen were speaking not just to the crowd, but straight into her soul.

Because she had felt the Librarian.

His whispers.

His pages.

And she knew: the battle was coming.

---

That night, the City celebrated.

Music echoed from the cliff walls, improvised drums and humming voices rising together. Flame-dancers weaved alongside wind-walkers. Star-bearers and shadow-callers broke bread together. It was imperfect — loud, messy, untrained.

But it was real.

And for the first time in many of their lives, the bearers felt something beyond survival.

They felt belonging.

---

Under the canopy of stars, Isen and Darian stood side by side, watching from the balcony overlooking the valley.

"Do you think they’re ready?" she asked.

"No," he said honestly. "But they will be."

She smiled faintly. "Just like us."

They stood in silence for a long while.

Then Darian added, "You’ve done something I couldn’t. You’ve made power feel like something worth sharing. Not just wielding."

Isen looked down at her hand. The mark of the Eighth pulsed faintly beneath her skin — brighter now, more stable.

She whispered, "I’m still learning."

"We all are."

---

But not everyone in the City was celebrating.

In the corner of the glade, two figures sat by the fire.

They laughed like friends. They smiled like children.

But their shadows didn’t quite match their bodies.

And when they blinked — it was just a beat too late.

The Twins had arrived.

Their names weren’t offered. Their smiles were enough.

No one questioned the two gentle girls who said they had come from the North, carrying stories of forgotten temples and stolen stars.

They sat with Nima. Shared her fire. Gently asked about her powers.

"What do you see when you close your eyes?" one asked.

"What do you feel when you dream?" the other echoed.

Nima, wide-eyed, whispered, "Stars. I feel... stars breaking."

They leaned in closer.

"And what do they say?"

She hesitated.

"Run."

The Twins blinked — not in surprise, but in pleasure.

"We thought so too."

---

Elsewhere, Kaela patrolled the outer ridge.

Something gnawed at her gut. The stars had shifted again. Subtly. A ripple of motion like breath caught in the throat.

She turned toward the fire circle.

And froze.

Two shadows. Four legs.

But three reflections in the lake.

Her blade was out in a flash.

---

Nima stood abruptly as the air shifted.

The Twins rose with her.

"You’re not from the North," she said.

"No," they replied in unison.

They stepped forward.

"And you won’t make it to the next dawn."

But before their hands could reach her, a burst of silver light exploded from Nima’s chest.

Raw. Violent. Uncontrolled.

The Twins screamed, stumbling back — their body flickering, revealing flickers of monstrous forms beneath the flesh.

Kaela arrived just in time, her blade slicing through one — and passing through smoke.

"Phantom-blood," she hissed. "They’re not fully real."

Darian and Isen appeared beside her in the blink of an eye.

The Twins hissed and twirled, snapping into a twisted form of one face with two mouths.

"You’ve grown strong," they snarled. "But strength is not clarity."

Isen stepped forward, eyes burning.

"You’ve mistaken chaos for control."

She raised her hand.

Starlight exploded.

---

The Twins howled, their forms unraveling as silver fire wrapped around them — not killing, not burning...

Revealing.

They were nothing more than paper dolls laced with hatred and ink.

By the time the light faded, they were gone — dissolved back into the folds of the Librarian’s twisted scripts.

But their presence had left a scar.

The Children now knew: the Rejected could be anyone.

And the Librarian was watching.

---

As dawn broke, the City of Stars didn’t mourn.

It trained.

Harder.

Together.

And Isen stood once more at the heart, voice ringing clear.

"They will come again. And they will come harder."

"But this time, we know what we are."

She raised her fist.

"We are not accidents."

"We are not shadows."

"We are the Eighth."

The City of Stars was waking up to a new kind of threat. Not one that came roaring with fire or crashing with storms, but one that whispered beneath the surface, coated in silver lies.

Isen had sensed it long before the first sign: a flicker in the flame that once burned unwaveringly. A spark that hesitated. A gaze that lingered too long on shadows where no danger stood.

At first, she told herself it was paranoia.

But paranoia had teeth.

---

Darian sat across from her in the training hall, the carved stone floor humming faintly beneath their feet, alive with the power the Children wielded. He rubbed the corner of his jaw, the weight of years and battles pressing in.

"We can’t afford cracks," he said quietly. "Not now."

Isen nodded, eyes scanning the room. The Children were training with fierce determination—learning to master the starfire and the fused Cycle they shared. But one face in particular caught her eye.

Edrin.

Tall, steady, with flames that once danced like a wild comet—now flickering uncertainly like a candle struggling against the wind.

She had trusted him. More than anyone.

---

That night, Isen found herself wandering the quiet paths of the City, the stars above burning cold and indifferent. She stopped by the edge of the flame pool, the sacred source where the Cycle’s power was said to flow from the very cosmos.

Edrin was there.

Alone.

His hands hovered above the liquid fire, but the glow around him was faint. His breath shallow.

"Edrin," she called softly.

He didn’t turn at first.

When he finally did, his eyes were pools of conflict.

"I didn’t want to hide it," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn’t know who to trust."

"Trust me," Isen urged. "Whatever it is."

He looked away, then back again, desperation in his gaze. "The Librarian... he reached me. In dreams. In memories I never lived."

Isen’s heart clenched. "What did he want?"

"To use me. To unravel what you’ve built from within."

---

Days passed like shards of glass.

Edrin’s flame grew weaker by the hour. Whispers spread among the Children. Some said he was cursed. Others said he was the Librarian’s puppet.

Isen refused to believe it.

Until the attack.

---

It began as a simple training session.

The Children were practicing controlling their starfire, weaving it through the air like delicate ribbons of light.

Edrin was among them.

Suddenly, without warning, his flames exploded—not with the controlled grace of the Cycle—but wild, blackened fire, scorching the ground and splintering trees.

Chaos erupted.

Isen moved to stop him, but the flames formed a barrier, forcing her back.

Behind the firestorm, a chilling voice echoed.

"You forget whose spark you carry, Flamebearer."

The words were unmistakable.

Darian stepped forward, flames igniting around his fists.

"Edrin," he called. "Fight it!"

But Edrin’s eyes glowed with unnatural light.

"This is my choice," he growled, voice laced with venom.

---

The battle tore through the City like a storm.

Isen and Darian fought side by side against a former ally twisted by the Librarian’s influence.

Edrin’s fire was no longer pure.

It was ink and ash, burning memories and sowing doubt.

Each strike forced Isen to dig deeper into her own power, to draw strength from the fusion of the Eighth and Flame Cycles.

With every clash, the City trembled.

---

Finally, with a surge of starfire that split the night sky, Isen seized a moment of clarity.

She reached out, not with violence, but with the promise of redemption.

"Edrin," she shouted. "You are more than his pawn. Remember who you are!"

For a heartbeat, his eyes faltered.

Then, with a guttural scream, the darkness shattered.

Edrin collapsed, flames dying to embers.

---

But victory was bittersweet.

As he lay on the scorched earth, eyes dimming, Edrin whispered a single name.

"Tharn."

Darian’s jaw tightened.

"We’ve just uncovered the next move."

---

Back in the shadows, the Librarian smiled.

His plan was unfolding perfectly.

He had sent a spy into their midst—and now, with Edrin’s fall, he would strike deeper.

The Children of the Cycle were no longer just fighting for survival.

They were fighting for their very souls.