The young dragon mother hesitated, looking around nervously, but Lyra's warm, inviting smile disarmed her fear. She stepped forward, holding her shivering son in her arms. The boy had pale, sickly slate scales, his tiny chest coughing up weak puffs of cold black smoke. 'He was born during the volcanic winter, Donna Lyra,' the mother whispered tearfully. 'His inner fire is too weak to ignite.' Lyra knelt before the child,…
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