Chapter 3: The Dredge Basin
"Dredge Basin candidates," he announced, without judgement and completely professional . "Please follow me."
Antony's father lifted him onto his shoulders. "This is it, Tony! Ready?"
"Ready!"
His mother laughed, walking beside them, her hand resting on his knee. "Don't drop him."
"I've never dropped him."
"There's a first time for everything."
They followed the Overseer through the great hall, past the empty crystal cradles, past the stained glass windows, past the last of the noble families who glanced at them with something between pity and indifference.
Through a small arched doorway. Down a narrow corridor. The marble gave way to simple stone. The light grew dimmer.
And then they emerged into a different world.
The Dredge Basin was not the great hall.
It was a wide, circular chamber with a high ceiling and a single window that let in a column of dusty light. The floor was worn stone, smooth from generations of feet. And in the centre, sunk into the ground, was the Basin itself.
A shallow trench, lined with rough stone, filled with water that came from somewhere unseen. It wasn't dirty, exactly—but it wasn't clear. It was the colour of old silver, reflecting the grey light from above.
And floating in that water, resting on the bottom, piled against the edges, were the eggs.
Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
They were nothing like the crystal cradles.
Some were cracked—hairline fractures running across their surfaces like broken promises. Some were discoloured—pale where they should have been vibrant, grey where they should have been gold, green, red or blue. Some were so covered in silt and age that they looked less like eggs and more like river stones.
...but they were eggs. Every one of them held possibility of being something more than what was expected to come out of this chamber.
Other families were already there with another overseer.
A girl with red hair and dirt on her face clung to her mother's hand, staring at the Basin with wide eyes. A boy with a stick for a crutch leaned on his father, practically vibrating with excitement. A family with five children, the youngest no more than six, huddled together near the edge.
Everyone was quiet. Not sad—just... waiting. Hoping.
An attendant greeted them—a young woman with a River-Spirit beast following her and a large rune curling around her ankle, visible below her simple dress. Her smile was warm, genuine.
"Welcome to the Basin, I'm Wendy it's current keeper," she smiled sweetly. "First time?" Wendy noticed Antony's excited look.
"Our first," Antony's mother confirmed, lifting Antony down from his father's shoulders.
"Then let's make it special." The attendant knelt to Antony's level. "Here's how it works. You'll go into the water—it's shallow, only comes to your knees—and you'll touch the eggs. When you find the right one, you'll know. It might feel warm. Or tingly. Or just right. Every bond is different, if an egg calls out to you - its for a reason and the bond will be stronger."
Antony nodded seriously, for a 10 year old. "What if I pick the wrong one?"
The attendant's smile softened. "There's no wrong one. Just the one meant for you." Although all of the families seemed to shuffle uncomfortably at her soft words. Soft and comforting lies.
Behind them, the other families were listening. The girl with dirt on her face nodded to herself, like she was memorizing the words. The boy with the crutch squeezed his father's hand.
"Parents first," the attendant by the side said gently. "Just to register your children and then latter egg for bonding ceremonies. Then it's the children's turn to choose their eggs."
Antony's father stepped forward.
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the faded grey Rune on his forearm. A Draft-Horse. Simple. Honest. The mark of a man who worked with his hands and asked for nothing more.
He closed his eyes. The Rune glowed—softly, warmly, like sun-warmed earth—and a shape materialized beside him.
The Draft-Horse was gentle-eyed giant and broad-backed, its own matching mark visible on its flank. It nuzzled Antony's father's shoulder, and he laughed, scratching behind its ear.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Good girl."
The attendant smiled, making a note. "Draft-Horse. Beautiful. How long have you been bonded?"
"Thirty-two years this spring."
"Congratulations." Her smile was genuine. "That's a lifetime of friendship."
Antony's mother stepped forward. Her Rune was noticeably smaller—a Fire-Newt, red-orange and warm, curling around her wrist. She touched it, and the newt appeared on her shoulder.
It blinked sleepily, then spotted Antony and perked up, skittering down his mother's arm to sit on her palm. It tilted its head at him, curious.
"Hello, little one," Antony whispered.
The newt sneezed. A tiny wisp of smoke rose from its nostrils. Then it scrambled back to his mother's shoulder and went to sleep.
The attendant laughed softly. "Fire-Newt. Adorable. They make the best hearth-companions."
Antony's mother beamed. "She keeps our home warm."
"Then she's doing exactly what she's meant to do."
The attendant turned to Antony, her eyes warm. "Ready?"
Antony took a deep breath. Nodded.
His father knelt beside him. "Whatever happens, Tony, we're proud of you. You know that?"
"I know."
His mother kissed his forehead. "We'll be right here. Watching. Cheering. No matter what."
Antony stepped toward the Basin.
The water was cool against his calves. Not cold—just cool, like stream water in early summer. It felt clean. Fresh. Like it had been waiting for him. He wondered if this feeling had something to do with the attendant and Keeper's River-Spirit.
He waded in slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the grey light.
The eggs surrounded him.
Some floated near the surface, bobbing gently. Others rested on the bottom, half-buried in silt. They came in every shade of almost—almost blue, almost green, almost gold. But the colours were faded, washed out, like memories of what they might have been.
Antony reached down and touched the first one.
Smooth. Cool. Nothing.
He placed it back gently and moved on.
The second was rough, textured like bark. Nothing.
The third. Fourth. Fifth.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Behind him, he heard gasps and cheers. Other children were finding their bonds. He didn't look back. He kept moving.
The water grew a little deeper as he went—not much, just enough to notice. The eggs here were older. You could tell by the silt, the way it clung to them at this part like a second skin. Some were so coated in sediment they looked like stones that had rolled downstream for a hundred years.
Antony touched them anyway.
A pale green egg, barely visible beneath its coating. Nothing.
A cracked brown egg, split wide enough to see darkness inside. Nothing.
A grey egg, the colour of wet slate, cold as the water around it. Nothing.
He kept going.
The far end of the Basin was the deepest part, he was up to his thighs now, and the quietest part of the Basin too. Fewer children came this far. The eggs here were the oldest, the most forgotten. They sat in the shadows like secrets.
Antony reached down.
His fingers brushed against something that felt different.
Not warm. Not tingly. Not anything the attendant had described.
Just... present.
Like the difference between an empty room and a room where someone is sitting very still, holding their breath, waiting for you to notice them.
He closed his hand around it.
The egg was the size of both his hands cupped together. Heavy. Dense. Its surface was rough, coated in so much silt and something darker—like ash, or soot—that he couldn't tell what colour it had once been.
It wasn't pale green. It wasn't faded blue. It wasn't even grey, exactly. It was the colour of something that had been left in a dead fire too long. The colour of coal. The colour of nothing.
Possibly, the least colourful egg in the entire Basin.
Antony held it up.
"Father!" he called. "Mother! This one!"
His parents rushed to the edge of the Basin, their faces bright with hope. His father squinted at the egg.
"What is it?" his mother asked.
Antony looked at the egg in his hands. It was ugly. It was dull. It looked like something you'd throw away without a second thought.
But it felt right.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But it's the one. I can feel it."
His father hesitated. Just for a moment. He looked at the egg—really looked at it. Saw what everyone else would see. A rock. A dead thing. A mistake.
Then he looked at Antony's face. At the certainty there. At the hope.
He grinned.
"Then that's your egg, son. You will know it better than we will."
The attendant had followed them to the far end of the Basin. She looked at the egg in Antony's hands, and for a moment her professional smile flickered.
"That's... an unusual choice," she said carefully. "That egg has been here a long time. Longer than most. Are you sure?"
Antony hugged the egg to his chest. It was cold. Heavy. Perfect.
"I'm sure."
She studied him for a long moment. Then her smile returned—warmer this time, more genuine.
"Then congratulations, Antony Keaney. You've found your creature you will bond with."
She made a note on her parchment. "Egg designation: unknown. But that's the exciting part, isn't it? Not knowing what you'll get?"
Antony's mother was crying—happy tears, the kind she cried at festivals and weddings. His father swept them both into a hug, egg and all.
"Our boy," he kept saying. "Our boy has his egg."
The other families noticed. The girl with dirt on her face waved, clutching her own egg—a small brown one, plain but hers. The boy with the crutch held his up proudly—a pale green egg, barely coloured, but his. A family with twins compared their finds—one grey-blue, one grey-green, both unremarkable to anyone but them.
No one laughed. No one pointed. No one called it a rock because every egg in the Basin was a hope. Every child who held one was a dream.
As eggs were recorded, families began to leave. Including their own little trio.
They walked home as the sun began to set.
Antony carried the egg the whole way, refusing to let anyone else touch it. His parents walked on either side, their arms around each other, their faces glowing with pride but also uncertainty as they spied the egg.
"It's not much to look at," his father admitted.
"It's perfect," Antony said.
His mother laughed. "He's right. It's his. That's what matters."
"What do you think it'll be?" his father asked.
Antony considered the question. The egg was cold in his arms. Heavy. Still.
"I don't know, maybe something with an earth affinity? Like a pebble tortoise or... maybe even a stone drake!" he said finally. "But whatever it is, it's mine."
His father ruffled his hair. "That's the spirit, I can't wait to see your stone drake." Eamon laughed a little with some pride at his son's hope. Sometimes kids knew what would hatch, it was part of the bond process. Maybe Antony did have a stone drake after all.
The cottage welcomed them home.
His mother lit the hearth with her Fire-Newt. His father stoked the fire. Antony placed the egg on the kitchen table, where it sat in the warm glow like a promise.
His mother started cooking a celebration dinner—simple, but special. His father brought out a small bottle of something he'd been saving. They talked and laughed and dreamed out loud about what the future might hold.
"Maybe it's really a stone drake," Antony said, just to see them smile.
"Maybe it is!" his father agreed. "A dragon... er, drake from the Dredge Basin. Wouldn't that be something?"
"The first one ever," his mother added the first part in a low voice but still hopeful and encouraging. "Our Tony, making history. Even if it is a pebble tortoise, that would be cute and adorable. Those are also known to be pretty strong as well - you can help your father!"
Antony laughed. He knew it probably wasn't a dragon. He knew it was probably something small, something simple, something like his parents' beasts... like a pebble tortoise but he was getting carried away in the hope of possibility.
But it was his.
He looked at the egg. Grey. Dull. The least colourful egg in the whole Basin...
And for just a moment—one single, flickering moment—he could have sworn he saw something glow beneath the soot.
Something waiting.
He would find out in two days!