"What in the nine hells is going on?!" A hatchling dragon scrambled across a field of shattered stone, his gleaming amber eyes wide with panic. The desolate landscape stretched endlessly around him, amplifying Zephyr’s terror—and a strange, flickering curiosity.
He shook debris from his obsidian-scaled body, staring at the rocky fragments beneath his claws.Eggshells?His mind reeled.Since when do creatures hatch from stone? Am I some kind of… rock-born Monkey King?
A worse question clawed at him: Why washehere, encased in a petrified egg? Had he…crossed worlds?
His back twitched. With an instinctive flex, a pair of slate-gray wings unfurled from his shoulders. Zephyr craned his neck to examine his transformed body—clawed limbs, armored hide, and wings shimmering with the same mineralized texture as the eggshells.
A dragon.
The hatchling flopped onto the cold ground, staring blankly at the crimson dawn. Well. It had happened. And in some bizarre way… this didn’t feel entirelybad.
Sleep. If this is a dream, I’ll wake. If not…
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When Zephyr stirred, the sun hung low on the horizon. His claws—still very muchnothuman hands—gleamed faintly in the twilight. Hunger gnawed at his belly.Typical hatchling problems, he mused bitterly.Where are my so-called parents, anyway? Leaving a newborn in this wasteland…
His gaze drifted to the stone shards nearby—his "eggshells." Despite their rocky texture, an irrational craving surged.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
If it’s edible… stone be damned.
The crunch of mineralized shell echoed through the gathering dark.
"Stay sharp! That thieving wyrm’s nearby!" growled Sander, a grizzled mercenary, his hand tightening on the greatsword strapped to his back.
"Oh, relax, old man," drawled a pale-skinned noble youth. "The dragon hasn’t hurt anyone. We’re just here for the spectacle!"
Idiots, Sander seethed. These spoiled aristocrats had only heard half the guild’s warnings. True, the dragon hadn’t drawn blood—yet. But it had a habit of relieving travelers of their valuables.
Most avoided provoking wyrmlings. Their mothers tended to take offense. Yet here these fools were, treating a apex predator like a tavern oddity.
A primal dread prickled Sander’s spine. The forest around Thunderpeak Ridge was unnervingly silent—no birds, no insects. Only the weight of a predator’s gaze.
Too late to turn back.He’d stashed all valuables save his sword. The job’s pay would cover the loss—
A vine snaked from the shadows, yanking him upside-down into the air.
"The dragon!!" the nobles shrieked, their excitement eclipsing sense.
Morons.Sander thrashed in his bindings.Insulting a dragon to its face? Pray its mother isn’t listening.
Trees shuddered as a shadow emerged—larger than Sander remembered. The dragon’s obsidian scales drank in the moonlight, its slit-pupiled eyes freezing the nobles mid-breath. Two girls collapsed, their leather skirts darkening with fear.
By the gods, Sander thought.It’s nearly doubled in size since last moon.
"Foolish mortals!!" The dragon’s roar shook the forest—though the words blurred into guttural growls.
"U-Uncle Sander!" A trembling noble girl stammered. "Is that…Draconic?"
The mercenary shook his head. True dragons spoke only after adolescence. Yet this creature…
Zephyr flicked a claw, disarming a guard. He hoisted a squealing noble girl by her collar, stripping her of jewels with practiced ease. "Robbery hour," he declared in Mandarin—a language none understood.
The humans stared, bewildered.
This, Zephyr decided,is going to be fun.