Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters-Chapter 120: The First Hundred of a Thousand — Part 3.

At last, they reached the summit.

Raspy and Sloppy collapsed onto the stone platform the moment their feet left the final stair. They bent over, gasping for air, their chests heaving so violently it looked as if they might explode. Every exhale was a long, ragged whistle that cut through the thin, icy air.

They sounded less like future Dragonborn and more like two very old, very defeated men.

"Wheeze—"

Raspy rasped, clutching his chest.

"Who... builds... this many stairs...?!"

Sloppy flopped onto the freezing ground, limbs splayed, eyes wide with disbelief.

"If I... have to climb... one more inch... I’m choosing to be a worm instead of a dragon."

Behind them, the wind whistled through the braids of Knots. He stepped onto the plateau with grace, his breathing were silent. Not a bead of sweat marred his forehead; his ceremonial silks were barely even wrinkled. He stood there, a pale sentinel in the moonlight, looking as though he’d just finished a casual stroll through the royal gardens.

WHACK!

A massive, soot stained palm slammed into Knots’ upper back with the force of a falling boulder. The sound echoed across the summit, nearly knocking the wind out of him and shattering his stoic mask.

"GAH—!"

Knots stumbled forward, clutching his chest as he glared back at Big Arms who were panting, her own muscles steaming in the cold, but she looked at him with narrowed, piercing eyes.

"Stop it! Stop looking like a damn statue! You arYou’ve been like this since dinner. Something’s eating at you—I can see it in that ’I’m too smart for feelings’ look in your eyes. Spit it out!"

Knots straightened his robes, his annoyance cooling into a heavy, almost tangible silence. His hands dropped to his sides, and he stared ahead. The plateau was shrouded in dense fog, the horizon dissolving into nothingness, a vast emptiness that made the world feel like it had ended at the edge of this mountain.

"I was thinking about... my mother."

The words fell like stones. Even the Reckless Duo, hunched over and gasping moments ago, froze mid-breath, their dramatic wheezing vanishing into the wind.

"I... I don’t even remember her face anymore... The very last thing I remember is the warmth of her hug, right before she handed me over to the servants. I know it was intentional... but standing here... about to lose myself to the Rite... I realize I don’t even know the face of the person who gave me life. It... it feels wrong not to have said goodbye."

The wind carried his words outward, mixing with the fog, and for a moment, the summit felt impossibly vast, impossibly lonely. Big Arms’ usual fire and humor faded; even the reckless laughter of the younger siblings seemed distant. Knots stood, a lone figure against the swirling mist, the weight of his unspoken grief pressing down like the mountain itself.

Then, abruptly, Big Arms threw back her head and let out a booming, barking laugh that rattled her broad shoulders.

"A hug? You’re lucky! The last thing I remember of my mother was the day I stopped breastfeeding! She checked my teeth, looked at the King, and basically said, ’He’s your problem now!’"

The two Raspys burst into uncontrollable, hysterical laughter, the tension of the mountain air shattering instantly. Even Knots’ stern composure cracked, a laugh escaping him despite himself.

One of the Reckless wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing.

"The last thing you remember was... your mama’s nippl*s!"

The other Reckless doubled over, cackling, and soon Knots joined in, the sound awkward at first but growing freer. Big Arms laughed along with them, her deep voice echoing over the plateau.

"Don’t be so gloomy, Knots! Once we’re Dragonborn, we’ll be the pride of the Kingdom! The King won’t be able to hide us anymore. We’ll march straight back to our own homes, kick down the doors, and spend all the time we want with our mothers. They’ll probably be too busy bragging about their ’Dragon Sons’ to even notice we missed a few birthdays!"

Their laughter and chatter echoed across the cold mountaintop until it was abruptly shattered.

A voice spoke from within the thick, swirling fog. It was deep, commanding, and yet strangely familiar to all of them. The sound carried effortlessly, echoing off the stone and the wind, seizing their attention.

"My... children."

The fog seemed to part at his words, as if obeying him. In its wake, a tall, imposing figure stepped forward. In an instant, hundreds of White Blooded offspring, gathered silently on the slopes, dropped to their knees. Their heads bowed, voices trembling yet full of reverence.

"FATHER! OUR KING!"

King Drakovitch’s gaze swept over them, steady and piercing. His voice rolled across the summit like thunder.

"My first batch... the thousands I have sown... are finally here. Full and ripe. You have grown swiftly... one age per day and now you have reached the age of puberty. Fourteen years. The age Tiamat herself demands for the Rite."

A hush fell over the assembly, their hearts beating in anticipation.

Then, from the darkness of the abyss behind the King, eyes began to open. Giant, slit pupiled eyes of every color—acid green, molten gold, abyssal black, and searing white.

Oone by one, the eleven massive heads of Tiamat slithered out of the fog. Each neck was a highway of shimmering, armored scales, each head crowned with horns and eyes that glowed like molten fire. Their growls rolled through the air, vibrating the very hearts of the offspring.

The heads circled Drakovitch, moving in a slow, terrifying ballet. Their tongues flicked in and out, tasting the wind, savoring the scent of their future Dragonborn.

Drakovitch’s grip tightened on the ceremonial sword, its black blade still buried deep in the stone at his feet. His voice cut through the cold air like sharpened steel.

"Rise, my children. Rise and look upon the glory that awaits you."

Every White Blooded offspring obeyed instantly, lifting their heads. Their eyes widened as they took in the full majesty of the eleven colossal dragon heads dancing around their King, the true embodiment of Tiamat’s power. The wind howled, the fog swirled, and the mountaintop itself seemed to hold its breath.

Tonight, they would witness their destiny.