Hatchmere is a magical realm where dragon eggs call to those who desire to have their companionship. A dragon's bond is eternal and strong. Watch as our community of dragons grows with every additional member. First step - declare the egg you find, and talk out details and desires for your dragon with our onboarding team. We can help you craft your dragon as it grows, and you get to personally influence the story in how you found your egg, what it looks like, and what unique bond you feel you have with it - if any. You egg hatches when you reach level 2 - and an image of your hatched dragon can be produced for you if you don't have access to your own AI or art tools. We encourage you to have an image with each additional level up as well, showing the stages of growth and power of your dragon. NOTE: Any art provided may be used in promotional material as this group is open to the public to view. All art posted in this group is posted with a right to remix it or place it on merchandise for you or others in the group to sell. Make sure the art you use you have permission to use. Since affiliation perks are open for those who share with their friends, all art you post must have a commercial use license - or be open source. Please do not arbitrarily grow your dragon - it must be earned through contributions. You may however tell tales of what you wish might be from the storytelling stage :)

...The dancer froze mid-twirl; I froze mid-step. For a heartbeat we all stared at one another... Then the cloaked traveler blinked, looked from Sunny’s smoking snout to my frozen, half-crouched form in the bushes… and burst out laughing. It wasn’t mocking or sharp — it was bright and genuine, the kind of laugh that chased the tension straight out of the clearing. She pressed a hand to her chest, tail flicking behind her as she caught her breath. “Well,” she said, grinning wide enough to show sharp little fangs, “not the strangest percussion this one has danced to — but certainly the cutest.” Sunny chirped, proud despite himself, and hid halfway behind my leg. I raised my hands slowly. “In our defense,” I said, “he sneezes when he’s excited. And you were… very exciting.” Her ears perked. “Ah! Then this one accepts full responsibility.” She gave a playful bow. “This humble entertainer is at your service.” Her bright blue eyes sparkled as they met mine. “And may this one know who you are?” “Jack,” I said, relaxing at last and stepping into the clearing. “And the menace is Sunny.” Sunny puffed a harmless curl of smoke in greeting. The cat crouched to his level, utterly unafraid. “A fire-breather with manners,” she murmured approvingly. “You travel in excellent company, Jack.” She gestured to her pack. “Come. You startled my song, but you have improved my morning. Sit. Eat.” I hesitated, patting my own near-empty ration bag. “I won’t say no… but fair warning — town is the only thing between us and starvation.” Her whiskers twitched. “Then fate is efficient today.” We shared dried fruit, flatbread, and something spiced and unfamiliar that made Sunny sneeze again — thankfully without flames this time. The dancer listened as I spoke of the mountain pass, the long road, and the village below. “This one travels that way as well,” she said, tail curling lazily. “But not with haste. Paths are more interesting when they twist.” I smiled. “We’re a bit more… straight-line thinkers.”

Morning crept over the mountains in pale gold ribbons, and I woke to the soft crackle of cooling embers and the faint rustle of wings. Sunny sat just outside the tent, alert and proud, as if he’d been standing guard all night. I crawled out, made sure the fire was properly dead, and packed my gear with the practiced motions of someone counting the last of his supplies. The ration bag was nearly empty. “Looks like it’s town or nothing, buddy,” I told him, earning a hopeful chirp and a small puff of smoke. We had barely made it a short distance down the mountain when music drifted through the trees—soft at first, then clearer. Curious and hungry, I followed the sound until we peeked through the brush to find a cloaked traveler alone in a forest clearing, her pack set aside as she danced freely in the chill air. She spun, clapped, and sang to the rhythm of her own memory: “Fire cracks in the black of night, dancing, cackling, burning bright…” Sunny’s eyes widened, mesmerized—and then, at the worst possible moment, he sneezed. A tiny fireball popped from his mouth with a surprised squeak. The dancer froze mid-twirl; I froze mid-step. For a heartbeat we all stared at one another...TO BE CONTINUED!

The pulsing teal light of the egg filled Runi’s study, casting long, flickering shadows of gnarled thorns against his bookshelves. The object was no longer a mere astral construct; it had weight, temperature, and a presence that seemed to subtly warp the air around it. Runi knew he had crossed a boundary few even dared to theorize. To manifest an object from the astral plane—the realm of pure thought—into the physical world of matter required more than just willpower; it required a perfect "anchoring." Runi spent the following weeks submerged in ancient manuscripts and digital archives, seeking the mechanics of his own miracle. He discovered a concept known as "Vibrational Synchronization." Most travelers return from the astral realm empty-handed because their physical bodies cannot resonate with the high-frequency energy of the Deep Astral. Runi’s success, he hypothesized, was due to three specific factors: - The Thorny Cage: The gnarled wood encasing the egg acted as a biological bridge—something living that could exist in both conceptual and physical states. - The Silver Cord Anchor: Runi had used his own life-tether as a high-tensile winch, essentially "suturing" the egg's essence into his own physical aura during the descent. - The Intent of the Egg: The dragon egg was not a passive object; it wanted to be real. It had used Runi as a conduit to pull itself into existence. Over the next month Runi began "The Great Preparation." He moved the egg to a reinforced chamber, not to keep the dragon in, but to keep the sheer pressure of its birth from shattering the rest of his home. He surrounded the teal oval with null-conductors and resonance dampeners to stabilize the local reality. He knew the day was coming. The teal veins in the egg were beginning to pulse with a rhythm that matched his own heartbeat perfectly. The thorny wood was beginning to glow with a faint, golden sap. He was ready to go to any length. Whether it required traveling back into the Deep Astral to find a specific catalyst or sacrificing his own magical reserves to fuel the birth, Runi would not let this miracle fail. He was no longer just a practitioner; he was a guardian of a new kind of life.

The smell of burning cedar anchored Runi’s physical body to the meditation mat in his small attic room. But Runi himself—his consciousness, wrapped in a shimmering sheath of astral light—was light-years away. He floated in the Drift, the currents of the astral plane swirling around him like nebulae of indigo and spun gold. Today’s practice was weaving. It was delicate work, taking the raw, chaotic energy of the realm and knitting it into stable constructs. Runi extended his translucent hands. With a mental twist, he pulled a thread of cerulean light from the ether. He began to braid it with a strand of sunset-orange, intending to create a simple lantern of focused intention. Focus. Stabilize. Manifest. The weave was tight. It hummed with potential. Then, a rogue current hit it. It wasn't a gentle breeze; it was a heavy, thrumming undertow that dragged at his astral form. His half-finished lantern unraveled in a shower of sparks. Annoyance flared, but curiosity quickly overtook it. This current felt different—ancient, dense, and inexplicably magnetic. It tasted like ozone and old iron. Against the better judgment of his teachers, who always warned against leaving the charted shallows of the Drift, Runi followed the pull. He descended. The vibrant colors of the upper realm faded into varying shades of deep violet and charcoal gray. Here, thoughts didn't manifest instantly; the space felt thick, resistant, like moving through spiritual molasses. This was the Deep Astral, where forgotten dreams and primordial concepts sank to rest. The current led him to what looked like a floating island made of obsidian jagged spires jutting into the velvet darkness. In the center of the island was a crater, glowing with a faint, rhythmic pulse. Runi drifted closer, his silver cord—the lifeline connecting him to his body—stretched taut behind him. In the center of the crater, nestled in a bed of crystallized starlight, it sat. It was roughly the size of a human head, a coalesced knot of immense magical pressure. It appeared as a large, teal-blue oval, glowing with a soft, internal light. Its surface was webbed with intricate, darker teal veins, like leaves. Encrusting the entire object was a gnarled, thorny wooden frame, its brown, organic branches curling around and embracing the luminous core like protective roots.