In the Shadow of What If's

The Heart of the Hollow

"Or too few," Thomas added, half teasing, half wary.

"Stop it," Walburga snapped. "Look. There's magic woven into the pedestal. Look at the filigree—it's meant to preserve the egg until... until something."

"Until what?" Hal asked, voice hushed.

Walburga shook her head. "I don't know."

Thomas stepped closer, his hand twitching at his side. Drawn.

"Don't touch it," Hal said quickly. "Seriously. It might be sacred."

"I'm just looking."

He didn't realize how close he was.

Didn't realize his hand had lifted.

Didn't realize his fingers brushed the shell.

Until it moved.

A sudden warmth surged through his palm, up his arm, into his chest like a heartbeat in reverse. The egg shimmered. The stasis runes flickered. Then—

Crack.

A single hairline fracture split down the side.

Thomas jerked his hand back.

"I didn't mean to!"

"What did you do?" Walburga hissed, eyes wide.

"I just touched it!"

"Why would you touch the ancient magic egg?" Hal shouted.

"I didn't know it would break!"

The crack deepened. The golden veins glowed. Then, the shell split with a whisper like silk tearing.

From within the egg, something moved.

It was small at first. Slender. Coiled. Scaled like polished stone and black as shadow with eyes like molten gold. Its body glistened, wet from birth, as it slithered forward and slowly lifted its head.

Its tongue flicked out.

Thomas stepped back instinctively—

But the creature followed.

Not menacingly.

Almost... affectionately.

It coiled upward, slithering smoothly onto the edge of the pedestal, then onto Thomas's foot, then up his leg with elegant, curious grace.

"Thomas," Hal breathed, not moving. "It's climbing you."

"I know."

"It's not biting you."

"I know."

"It's wrapping around your shoulders."

"I know."

The small serpent settled against the crook of his neck, its golden eyes fixed unblinking on Walburga and Hal. It made no sound. Just curled, content and warm.

Thomas didn't speak.

Didn't breathe.

And then—whisper-soft—it hissed.

Not in threat.

But in something else.

Something ancient.

Walburga's eyes had gone wide, her voice a low murmur.

"That's not just a snake."

"No," Thomas whispered. "It's not."