《Always Be A Dragon》


 ?—01:: Mama’s Boy

    My mom¡¯s an asshole.


    No, really, she is.


    In fairness, she¡¯s also a dragon.


    And when I say dragon, I don¡¯t mean the cool, intelligent kind like in Merlin that was so posh they literally needed John Hurt to voice him (God rest his soul). No, by dragon I mean the dumb, raging kind like in Game of Thrones; at least I think the dragons in GoT were of the dumb, raging variety anyway, since I wouldn¡¯t really know as I never saw the show. That isn¡¯t the point though, the point is... what was the point again?


    Oh, right, my mom¡¯s an asshole.


    Now, why have I come to this conclusion, you ask?


    Simple, because I¡¯ve known this woman for exactly one week, one fucking week¡ªwhich is about as long as I¡¯ve been alive¡ªand within that time, this crazy bint has breathed fire at me, pushed me off a cliff, and tried to get me to hunt some kind of weird sabertooth wolf.


    To put things into perspective, I¡¯m currently about the size of a fucking Chihuahua.


    So, yeah, she¡¯s an asshole.


    Said asshole roars in anger as I storm off, finally and utterly done with her shit, and my reply is to succinctly flip her the fuck off.


    It doesn¡¯t really work too well, both because my new bat-like forelimbs/wings/arms lack the appropriate anatomy for it, and because the bint I¡¯m flipping off has no bloody clue what the gesture even means.


    Unfortunately, mother jerkass doesn¡¯t need to understand the gesture; nope, the simple act of me ignoring her is more than enough to make her flip the fuck out. And I¡¯ve come to learn that when dragon mama flips out, she tends to do so combustibly.


    Her sharp intake of air is all the clue I need to get the fuck out of the way, diving/gliding as best as I can on my unfamiliar wing-arms into the small nearby river.


    Through the crystal-clear water, I watch as the world above is covered in an inferno of blue flames, and feel the temperature of the water around me tick up a few degrees.


    ¡®Fuck me, that was close.¡¯


    It¡¯s not that the flames would kill me¡ªto be honest they don¡¯t even do much damage¡ªbut Jesus fuck me Christ they hurt like a bitch.


    When the flames finally go out, I swim up to the surface and peek out.


    The elephant-sized dragon I now call mom watches me with baleful, golden eyes, and I poke out my left wing-arm and flip her off again.


    ¡®Yeah, fuck you too.¡¯


    The dragon lets out a fiery huff through her nose, then she spreads her wings and takes off into the air, disappearing quickly over the treetops.


    She¡¯ll be back. Soon even. But hopefully, by then she would have worked out her aggression on some poor, defenseless creature or something.


    With her gone, I take in the damage mother dearest has caused with her shitty yoga breathing and feel a little awed despite myself.


    Whatever part of the ground her firebreath had touched was glassed, with the grass for feet after burnt to ash.


    The tree line is about thirty feet away from the riverbank, and yet I can see that some of the trees have burnt leaves and blackened barks.


    Honestly, how the psychopath hasn¡¯t started a forest fire yet is beyond me.


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    Several seconds later, I sigh¡ªmentally, since both my snout and nose slits are still underwater.


    ¡®What the fuck has my life become?¡¯ I wonder.


    I consider leaving the water, but quickly decide not to when I think about how much I like being in it.


    In fact¡ª


    ¡ªwith a series of smooth, instinctive motions, I submerge myself fully and swim down to settle on the riverbed.


    Perfect, I think, as I feel several feet of water pressing on me on all sides.


    I like this. I really do. I like it so much in fact, that if it wasn¡¯t for my wings and my crazy mother I would probably have assumed that I was an amphibious creature, especially since I¡¯ve got gills for some reason. Honest-to-god gills.


    Why a firebreathing creature would need those, I do not know, but whatever evolutionary madness gave me possession of them, I¡¯m thankful for it, because there¡¯s just something I find so very pleasant about the contrast between the cool stillness of the water surrounding me and the steadily-becoming-familiar heat simmering in my chest.


    It calms me.


    Unfortunately, being calm always makes me think about the four-headed, baby pink mammoth in the room, namely the simple fact that, until I¡¯d broken out of an egg a week ago, I¡¯d had thumbs, actual thumbs, not these weird, claw thingies attached to the ¡®elbows¡¯ of my wing-arms.


    No, I¡¯d had fingers, and arms, and a home.


    I had a family.


    I was human.


    But then I¡¯d died; and now I¡¯m this.


    And don¡¯t get me wrong, psycho mom aside, I¡¯m glad to be a dragon, because to be frank, with my luck I always assumed that the best I could ever get from reincarnation was to pop up as Keira Knightley¡¯s underwear or something. But instead I¡¯ve got wings, and gills, and firebreathing and who knows what else.


    It¡¯s amazing. I¡¯m lucky. I¡¯m thankful.


    ...


    Still though, a chance to say goodbye would have been nice.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    DROON YUDDRICK: ADVENTURER & FRONTIERSMAN


    Droon took a sip from his flask and sighed as the delicious, life-giving creaminess of the beverage within flowed down his throat.


    It was fairy mead, and the magical flask could carry about sixty liters of the stuff.


    Droon considered this flask, but mostly the drink within, to be the most important item he owned, and he would¡ªand had¡ªkilled people for messing with it.


    Now, most people would say that the twenty-year-old was addicted to fairy mead, and they would be right, because, as is the case with all fairy foods, fairy mead is ridiculously addictive to most non-fairies.


    It¡¯s why non-fairies generally tend to avoid consuming them.


    Another thing about fairy mead is that it¡¯s expensive, ridiculously so, which ties in pretty nicely to why young Droon Yuddrick was currently here, deep in the frontier and about 125 miles from the nearest village; he was seeking a fortune.


    Five months ago, in the northeast, after 116 years, the frontier had expanded, an estimated 300,000 square kilometers of unexplored terrain unveiled by The Mist (the largest, some say, in the last six thousand years).


    With The Expansion always comes treasure hunters, skilled (and some not so skilled) women and men full of bravado and greed seeking their fortunes in the new land.


    A never-ending gold rush.


    Droon Yuddrick was in debt; money borrowed to feed his addiction. He was also an adventurer of some skill.


    His next step was pretty obvious.


    Teaming up with a duo of young, greedy adventurers like himself, the trio had journeyed forth, minds full with the dreams of treasure awaiting.


    That was four weeks ago, and so far things had gone decently, though they were yet to hit any kind of motherload.


    Droon downed another sip of fairy mead as the voices of his teammates behind him rose.


    They were arguing again.


    While their pickings so far had been okay, their team dynamic was anything but.


    Droon¡¯s teammates, two Kaleeshan women named Myrrh and Sage, just could not see eye to eye.


    They argued about everything; where to set up camp, when to set up camp, who to do which chore, and even, as they were doing right now, which direction to head in.


    Droon had suggested once, early in their journey, that the two should just fuck and get it over with; he¡¯d almost died.


    Since then, he just stepped aside and let them argue.


    Downing another mouthful of fairy mead, Droon ignored the arguing women behind him and took in the vista before him.


    They were atop a pretty high cliff, giving him an unobstructed, panoramic view of the terrain for miles and miles.


    It was a forest, vibrant with life unlike he¡¯d ever seen, untouched by human hands, and through the lush vegetation snaked a small, glittering river.


    The clear, afternoon sky was filled with colourful birds, and a particularly huge one far off in the distance caught the young adventurer¡¯s eye.


    Wait, no, that wasn¡¯t a bird.


    Droon squinted. Was that¡ªsweet Mother!


    ¡°Guys?¡± he called back to his arguing teammates without taking his eyes off the airborne creature for even a second. ¡°Guys!¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Sage asked angrily.


    ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± Droon asked back, pointing.


    His teammates moved forward and stared.


    ¡°Is that¡ª¡± Myrrh began but didn¡¯t finish.


    She didn¡¯t need to.


    It was. It definitely was.


    As one, the expressions of all three adventurers morphed into a gleeful, greedy smile.


    This was the motherload.

 ?—02:: The First Day of the Rest of My Life

    DRAGON MAMA: FIRE-SPITTING BEAST OF RAGING FURY


    She was a dragon of seventeen years and some weeks.


    This meant that, for her species, she was an adult yet paradoxically still a child, for she was still too young to awaken true intelligence.


    The capacity for thought beyond the basic urges, for speech, for self-awareness and empathy, all of these still eluded her, including the desire for an identity, hence, currently, she was nameless.


    Another thing the nameless dragon was, was a mother, and unfortunately for her she was coming to truly lament this fact, for her child, you see, was quite odd.


    The first odd thing about her child was his size; he was small. Very, very small. About half the size that her instincts told her he should be.


    Even his egg had been small, and when she¡¯d had her first look at it, she¡¯d assumed that the child wouldn¡¯t survive, or would be deformed even if it did.


    She had almost given up on it then, left it to the cold to die, considering that a greater mercy than whatever half-life it could have lived as a deformed dragon.


    But something had made her hesitate. A thought: ¡®What if...?¡¯


    ¡®What if the child lives? What if it¡¯s healthy?¡¯


    If she had been a smarter dragon, she would have realized those thoughts for what they were; early signs of her awakening true intelligence.


    Alas she was not a smarter dragon, so while she acted on the thoughts, she thought no more on them.


    The nameless dragon stayed with her egg, breathing heat from her chest upon it like she was supposed to, and twenty weeks later, her effort was rewarded when a beautiful male with gold and lime green scales poked out his little head in utter confusion.


    That was when the oddities had begun.


    Naturally, the first item on the new mother¡¯s agenda was to toughen up her son; he was small, uncoordinated, weak, he would not survive long.


    So she breathed fire at him to strengthen and clean his scales, and he panicked and jumped into water; she threw him from high places so he could properly train his wings, and he panicked and clung to the nearest surface and refused to let go; she pit him against some small, pathetic creature so he could learn to hunt, and he panicked and ran from an animal he could kill with a breath.


    All of the things her instincts told her a mother should do for her young, all of the things her own mother had done for her, all of it got nothing but panic and strange mind sounds from him.


    She didn¡¯t understand it, she didn¡¯t understand him, and that, she had come to find, was quite aggravating.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    OUR ¡®ADORABLE¡¯, FOUL-MOUTHED BABY DRAGON


    I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯m underwater for, but I¡¯ve begun to dose off when mother dearest returns.


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    I know she¡¯s returned because the crazy bint sticks her huge fucking head into the water and gives me a long look before withdrawing.


    She hadn¡¯t spoken, she can¡¯t, but in that look had been the words; ¡®come outside, or else,¡¯ and, as much as it pains me, I decide not to push her. For now.


    Swimming languidly, I take my time reaching the surface, and when my head pokes out, I stare at her where she sits on the riverbank and ask: ¡®The fuck do you want?¡¯


    The sound comes out something like yaanweggrr.


    I almost sigh. Right, dragon throat, can¡¯t talk.


    Fuck me.


    Being the lower lifeform that she is, Dragon mama doesn¡¯t respond to my articulate query, instead, she simply turns her serpentine head to her left and blows a gout of blue fire at the bloody carcass of some animal I don¡¯t recognize before it¡¯s wreathed in flames.


    ¡®Ah, lunch. Shoulda said so,¡¯ I think, as I quickly swim to the bank and hurry over.


    The one positive about dealing with this crazy reptile I call mom, is the food.


    I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s my new dragon taste buds, or if dragon mama just has a meat roasting superpower or some shit, but whatever it is, it makes roast meat taste fucking amazing!


    It¡¯s like I can taste every part of the meat; it¡¯s flesh, it¡¯s fat, it¡¯s blood, even it¡¯s fucking diet, all of it comes together to create this ridiculously rich flavour that knocked me on my ass the first time I tried her food.


    Even just the aroma is enough to almost make me drool.


    Reaching the steaming meat that¡¯s several times my size, I dig in and barely come up for air until I¡¯m full to near bursting, then I collapse to the ground on my back with my wings spread out.


    ¡®Good job, mama. You¡¯ve outdone yourself,¡¯ I say, and give her my best approximation of a thumbs up. Which, I only now realize looks exactly the same as my attempts at flipping her off.


    ¡®Meh, fuck it.¡¯


    With me finally done, dragon mama leans down, stretches her jaws wide enough to give me a clear view of her huge¡ªand surprisingly clean¡ªteeth, and proceeds to chow down the rest of the animal¡ªbones and all¡ªin two and a half bites.


    I see it every day, but the sight of her pulverizing bones with her teeth still gives me fucking shivers.


    Dragon mama¡¯s long tongue flicks out to clean her snout and teeth after her final swallow, then she yawns widely and settles down, her eyes drifting shut, and, before I realize what I¡¯m doing, I¡¯ve rushed over to her and settled down with my tiny body pressed to the side of her huge head.


    One of her eyes pop open and stares down at me. I stare back.


    ¡®Don¡¯t make this any weirder than it already is,¡¯ I say, and close my eyes.


    ¡®Fucking dragon instincts,¡¯ I mutter. Somehow though, I can¡¯t really bring myself to move.


    Then again, Dragon mama doesn¡¯t move either, nor does she chase me away, so I try not think too much about it.


    I¡¯m just beginning to sink into sleep, when the sound of an object travelling at high speed jars me up.


    I hear it connect with something, and then I hear my mother roar. Not in anger, not as a threat, but for the first time since I¡¯ve known her, in pain.


    And then the world goes mad.


    Mom rises up and spews fire at something in the trees.


    I¡¯d thought her fire was hot before, I really had. But what comes out of her mouth now is like a bonfire compared to the candle flames of her previous attempts.


    Through the deafening rush of Mom¡¯s flames, I hear a voice; a female, human voice.


    ¡°Sage!¡± it screams.


    These are people! Mom¡¯s attacking people.


    Then a crescent-shaped bolt of crimson energy flashes out from the forest and takes off mom¡¯s tail.


    No, I realise. People are attacking us.


    Mom¡¯s roars again in pain, as the stump where her tail and much of her backside used to be gushes golden blood, and a spear-wielding chick leaps out of the now burning forest, covering way more distance than any human being should be able to with a single jump.


    The chick comes down on mom from above like the wrath of God, and mom snatches her from the air and bites her in three.


    ¡°Myrrh!¡± another human voice, male this time, shouts, and I see a guy standing just outside the blazing forest, looking like he¡¯s starting to regret his recent choices.


    Mom spits more fire at him so fast that the guy doesn¡¯t even have time to react, and just like that, it¡¯s over.


    My heart is pounding in my chest, my whole body¡¯s shaking, the forest is burning.


    ¡®What the flying fuck just happened?¡¯


    Mom collapses.


    ¡®Mom!¡¯


    I rush to her.


    Golden blood is spreading on the ground. Where the fuck is it coming from!?


    There. In mom¡¯s left side. A spear has gone in so deep that only the very bottom of it is still visible.


    Mom groans.


    ¡®No. No.¡¯


    Her eyes flutter close.


    ¡®No. Please no.¡¯


    I can tell when she dies.

 ?—03:: Blood of Fire & Blood of Iron

    She always fed me.


    It¡¯s weird the kind of shit you think about when you¡¯re in... in what really? Shock? Is that what I¡¯m in?


    Catatonia, maybe?


    ...


    Is that even a word?


    ...


    Whatever. Whether or not it¡¯s a word, the point remains that it¡¯s weird the kinda shit you think about in situations like these, and the thought that comes to me now is that she always fed me.


    Three times a day, sometimes four; she never skipped it.


    No matter how much I pissed her off, no matter how difficult I was, she fed me.


    And while, yes, this doesn¡¯t change the fact that she was objectively a terrible mother, by human standards at least, as I stare at her cooling corpse laying in a pool of her glittering, golden blood, I¡¯m willing to admit that it counts for something.


    Well, it counted for something.


    I stare at the dead dragon¡¯s corpse for a long while, long enough in fact that it¡¯s several minutes before I realise that the forest has stopped burning.


    The fire has gone out utterly. And when I say utterly, I mean utterly; no smoke, no smoulder, just lots of ash and the burnt out husks of once powerful trees.


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    Okay, that¡¯s very fucking weird, but I¡¯ll take it.


    Rather weird than a forest fire. Those things are fucking awful.


    With an exhale, I rise, then shiver in disgust when I realise that, sitting next to dragon mama like I have all this time, her blood has flowed around and all over the parts of me touching the ground.


    How the fuck had I not noticed this?


    ¡®Ugh! I need a swim,¡¯ I mutter, then turn to head for the river, only to stumble to a stop when I come across a woman¡¯s head with half the torso still attached.


    Right, spear chick.


    She looks Chinese, young too, probably not even twenty-five, and her face is permanently frozen in an expression of surprise, like she¡¯d actually expected jumping at a dragon¡¯s mouth to end any other way than with her death.


    Why had they attacked us? I wonder. What the fuck did we ever do to them that made them willing to take on a fucking dragon?


    I see both of spear chick¡¯s legs and the rest of her torso nearby, all in separate pieces, and the ground has splotches of red from her blood in the few places where dragon mama¡¯s own golden, more voluminous one hasn¡¯t spread.


    I can smell it, her blood; dragon mama¡¯s too, now that I bother to pay attention to it.


    Spear chick¡¯s blood is fainter, iron-y, while dragon mama¡¯s has this indescribable fiery tang to it that once noticed cannot be unnoticed.


    It¡¯s everywhere, cloying, clinging, seeming to suffocate me like a wave and I rush to the water, hoping that submerging myself in it would make the fucking smell go away, but when I reach the water there¡¯s a surprise waiting; it¡¯s turned gold.


    Mom¡¯s blood has beat me here.


    I step back from the river, then pick a direction at random (right; also downstream, coincidentally) and just begin to walk.


    I¡¯m not very fast on my feet, but that¡¯s okay, I¡¯m not in a rush.


    One foot in front of the other, one wing in front of the other, slowly, steadily, I walk forward until the water inevitably turns clear again, then I dive in and swim forward without ever looking back.

 ?—04:: Just Like Jaws!

    ¡®I¡¯m sailiiiing awaaaaay!¡¯


    The blue flamingo closest to me gives an indignant squawk, then stares at me like my singing has personally upset it.


    I ignore it; ain¡¯t got time for no haters.


    ¡®Set an open course for the endless seeeeaaaa!¡¯


    Realizing that the magnificence of my singing might be too much for it handle at such close proximity, the flamingo swims farther away from me.


    For all of one second, I consider swimming after the bird, just to be a dick, but then quickly decide not to. While the flamingoes have generally ignored me so far, there¡¯s still about twenty of them to one little old me, and those beaks of theirs look like they could do some serious damage if used right.


    I certainly don¡¯t want a picture of my battered corpse on the news tomorrow, captioned with the headline: IRATE FLAMINGO MOB BEATS ANNOYING DRAGON TO DEATH.


    That¡¯d just be a shit way to go.


    With my only source of entertainment now avoiding me like an angry ex, I go back to enjoying my leisurely swim.


    I¡¯ve been on the river for hours now, ever since I left dragon mama¡¯s corpse behind, and even though I¡¯m not going particularly fast, certainly not as fast as I feel like I could go, I¡¯ve covered more than a fair bit of ground.


    The river is wider now, deeper too, and the trees on either side are much bigger; I¡¯m thinking I¡¯ll follow it all the way to the end, see where it leads.


    It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve got anything better to do with my time.


    Seeing as I started this little trip sometime in the afternoon and have now been at it for hours, night is fast approaching.


    The sun has already dipped behind the trees and the temperature is dropping, and for a moment, I worry about finding shelter for the night, then I remember; ¡®duh, I¡¯m an amphibian.¡¯


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    Well, to be accurate I¡¯m an amphibious, avian, warm-blooded reptile, but let¡¯s not be pedantic.


    Thinking about my lack of need for shelter for the night makes me wonder about my flamingo buddies.


    They¡¯d shown up about an hour back, and the entire flock had descended down to the water, I¡¯m guessing for fish, seeing how they keep diving underwater every now and then.


    I¡¯m pretty sure flamingoes don¡¯t live on water though, so I would have thought that, with the fading sun, they would have skedaddled to wherever they call home.


    Then again, I¡¯m also pretty fucking sure that flamingoes aren¡¯t blue either, yet these ones are. So, who knows, maybe they live on water too.


    After all, I¡¯m an amphibious dragon, and I just saw a human girl pull off a Hulk jump, so clearly wherever I am, anyone can be anything they set their minds to be.


    Right as I think that, a flamingo shoots out from the water with a terrified squawk and takes off into the air, and, as though a signal has been lit, or a shot fired, all the other flamingoes immediately follow.


    I watch as the flamingoes rush out of the water like people in a public pool who suddenly realize that someone in there is peeing, then I swallow.


    ¡®You know, maybe finding shelter on the ground isn¡¯t the worst idea,¡¯ I think, as I begin to head for the nearest bank as quickly as I can. ¡®Or a tree. A tree sounds good. A <u>very</u> tall tree.¡¯


    Halfway to the riverbank, something changes; some indescribable feeling that gives me the impression that there is something in the water underneath me.


    I don¡¯t stop to look and see what it is, or stop to check and confirm if there is actually anything there.


    Shit, I don¡¯t stop at all, the only thing I do is leap out of the fucking water while flapping my wing-arms like a bat outta hell.


    There¡¯s a splash as something bursts out of the water behind me, but I don¡¯t turn to see what it is, because fuck that horror movie shit.


    All I do is zero in on the nearest tree and try my hardest to reach it, regretting all the while that I didn¡¯t learn to fly before now, because fuck water. I am never going in there again.


    Dragons are beasts of the air for a reason, goddammit!


    Finally making it to the tree, I cling to a branch and quickly scan the water to see if whatever the fuck that was is still following.


    But there¡¯s nothing there. The river¡¯s empty, calm. If it hadn¡¯t just tried to eat my scaly ass I would never have imagined that there was something under there besides maybe fish.


    ¡®Fuck me, that is diabolical.¡¯


    With my heart rate finally slowing, and a severe distrust of all bodies of water forever ingrained in my soul, I decide to head higher up the tree.


    And it is when I do that I get accosted by an angry squirrel, because, you know, that¡¯s my life now.

 ?—05:: A Perfectly Ordinary Specimen of My Species

    ¡®What the fuck am I looking at right now?¡¯ is all I can wonder as the angry squirrel waves a small branch at me threateningly.


    ¡®No, seriously, what the fuck am I looking at?¡¯


    The squirrel screeches at me loudly enough to make my ears ring, then it waves its branch again, sweeping it in an arc in front of me, in a manner that a smarter creature would have realized by now is a futile attempt to scare me off.


    I sigh.


    ¡®Okay, Theodore, I don¡¯t know what kind of territorial shit this is, but¡ª¡¯ and that¡¯s when the squirrel darts forward and smacks me on the head with the branch.


    Then it screeches extra loud, right in my face for good measure.


    I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and count to three. When I open them, I stare right at the motherfucker and say with complete seriousness, ¡®I¡¯m gonna eat you.¡¯


    The squirrel either understands me, or it can tell from the expression on my face that it done fucked up, because it immediately ditches its weapon and scurries into the nearest hole in the tree.


    ¡®Where are you going?¡¯ I call after it. ¡®It¡¯s just you and me, you piece of shit. You¡¯re only delaying the inevitable.¡¯


    I take my time getting to the hole, and when I do, I call out; ¡®Knock, knock, little piggy. Anybody home? It¡¯s the big bad dragon and I¡¯m about to huff and motherfucking puff.¡¯


    On the last word, I stick my head into the hole, and immediately regret it as a flurry of blows from way too many fists and claws pound into my snout.


    Pain, but mostly shock, causes me to jerk back, which then causes me to loose my grip on the trunk and fall off the tree.


    ¡®Oh, shit!¡¯ I scream, as I flail as hard as I can in the hope of keeping myself from falling to my death.


    Through a combination of luck and... well, just luck actually, my wing-arms manage to catch enough wind to help me glide to a lower branch, and I grip that motherflunker like a long lost brother.


    When my heartbeat finally stops pounding in my ears, chittering from above draws my attention back to the hole, where I see three squirrel heads poking out.


    Apparently, the motherfucker has friends, and I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯re laughing at me right now.


    A realization dawns upon me in that moment, closely accompanied by a feeling of deep shame as I feel my ego shatter into a million, tiny, irreparable pieces: ¡®I just lost to a bunch of squirrels.¡¯


    A deep voice from an unidentified location behind me agrees; ¡®yes, you did.¡¯


    ¡®Jesus Christ in a titty bar!¡¯ I scream, almost jumping out of my scales.


    ¡®Who said that?¡¯ I ask, searching around for the source of the voice, but besides the squirrels up above who are now staring at me oddly, I see no one e¡ªwait a minute.


    Is that¡ªthe creature blinks, and spotting its eyes suddenly makes me able to map out its form.


    It¡¯s an owl.


    It¡¯s perched on a nearby tree, and with how still it¡¯s sitting and the pattern on its feathers, it had blended almost perfectly into its surroundings.


    ¡®Hey, was that you?¡¯ I call, but the owl doesn¡¯t answer.


    Before I can even think about it, and maybe weigh the pros and cons, I jump off the branch that I¡¯m on and glide semi-gracefully to the branch the owl is on.


    Closer now, I¡¯m suddenly able to tell that the owl is bigger than I¡¯d first thought. Much bigger. I¡¯m not sure how it would compare to something like a human, but against my teeny ass, well, let me just say that it¡¯ll be good for everyone involved if it doesn¡¯t suddenly decide that it would like to eat me.


    The owl watches me placidly as I slowly approach its perch.


    Stopping well before entering its personal space (since, you know, I¡¯m polite and shit), I ask the owl; ¡®Hey, can you talk?¡¯


    The owl blinks at me, slowly, then, without its beak moving, that same deep voice emanates from it. ¡®Yes. I can.¡¯


    Despite expecting (read: hoping for) a response, getting one still surprises me, and for a second, all I do is stare.


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    ¡®Holy shit,¡¯ I say. ¡®A talking owl.¡¯


    The owl, who looks unimpressed with my perfectly accurate observation, says back; ¡®And you¡¯re  a talking dragonling. I suppose we¡¯re both seeing something new today.¡¯


    I blink at that. ¡®Fair enough, I guess.


    ¡®Hey, since we¡¯re on the subject of talking; how are you talking without moving your mouth... beak, whatever? Are you telepathic, or something?¡¯


    The owl tilts its head at me. ¡®You mean how am I doing the same thing you¡¯re doing?¡¯ it asks.


    I blink at the owl¡¯s question before realizing what it (or, he, I guess) means; my voice isn¡¯t coming from my mouth. This entire time I¡¯ve been speaking, I¡¯ve been doing it with my mind.


    To confirm though, I press a wing-arm to my throat and recite my favourite tongue twister as fast as I can; ¡®Titty, booty, booby, gazongas. Hey, you¡¯re right! I am talking with my mind.


    ¡®Huh. This is fucking awesome. I wonder how I¡¯m doing it.¡¯


    ¡®What I¡¯m wondering,¡¯ the owl says, ¡®is where a dragon as young as you learnt such foul language.¡¯


    ¡®Learnt? Pfft! Nah, dude, that¡¯s all me. It¡¯s my God-given gift and I exercise the fuck out of it any chance I get.¡¯


    ¡®I see,¡¯ the owl says, then falls silent.


    Naturally, I don¡¯t let the silence last, not when I¡¯ve spent the last week thinking that actual human (or whatever the hell this is) conversation was a thing of the past.


    Fuck no, I intend to talk this poor bastard¡¯s ears off until he either kills me, or kills himself.


    ¡®Seriously, though, how can you talk? Because I¡¯m pretty sure normal owls can¡¯t¡ª¡¯ I pause midsentence as a thought occurs to me.


    ¡®Wait. Are you like me?¡¯ I ask.


    I mean, it would make sense, wouldn¡¯t it? After all, if I could be here then why not him?


    ¡®Like you?¡¯ the owl (heh) parrots.


    ¡®Yeah, like me. You know a... reincarnator.¡¯


    The obvious confusion I can see in the owl¡¯s attitude, despite how unfamiliar I am with his expressions, causes the little kernel of excitement that had begun to grow in my chest over my hypothesis, to fizzle out long before he even asks; ¡®Reincarnator?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, it¡¯s nothing,¡¯ I say, feeling more disappointed than I would have thought. ¡®Forget about it.¡¯


    The owl hums thoughtfully. ¡®I understand wanting to find kinship, little dragon, especially when you¡¯re odd. But I can assure you that I am a perfectly ordinary specimen of my species. You, on the other hand, appear to be a rather... unique specimen of yours.¡¯


    We both stare at each other in silence for a beat.


    ¡®Did you just politely call me a freak of nature?¡¯ I ask finally.


    The owl splutters. ¡®What? Of course not. I was simply... and why are you on your own, anyway? You look a little young to be left unattended.¡¯


    Uh-huh, real smooth. Totally seamless transition there, old guy. I never noticed a thing.


    Deciding to throw the owl a bone though, I answer his question.


    ¡®My mom was killed. Just a few hours ago actually.¡¯


    I practically feel the owl¡¯s astonishment as he asks; ¡®Killed? How? By what?¡¯


    ¡®Humans,¡¯ I reply simply, but, to my surprise, the owl¡¯s response is a confused ¡®humans?¡¯


    Wait. Does he not know what humans are? Huh. Well, in that case, get ready for a biology lesson, old guy.


    ¡®Yeah, humans. They¡¯re basically hairless, bipedal monkeys who are <u>really</u> good at killing things.¡¯


    The owl digests this information, then asks: ¡®And how many of these humans killed your mother?¡¯


    I go over the event in my head, ignoring the strong urge I feel to flinch at certain parts of it.


    ¡®Three. I think.¡¯


    Wrong. I don¡¯t think, I know. One was named Sage, another, Myrrh.


    The third had been a guy, and I still clearly remember the look of realization on his face about how stupid they¡¯d been to attack us when Mom cooked him.


    ¡®Why did they attack you?¡¯ the owl asks.


    I almost laugh.


    ¡®Dude, humans don¡¯t need a reason to attack someone who they see as different. That¡¯s their whole thing. They kill shit, burn shit, cut down shit, dig up shit, poison shit, and when there¡¯s nothing left, they move somewhere else and start over.¡¯


    Maybe I¡¯m not being too fair to my former species, after all, they¡¯ve done some amazing things too; built some cool shit.


    But then, the question still has to be asked; how many other nonhuman species, species like I am now, had to die for all that cool shit to exist?


    All the fur jackets, the genuine leather boots, the fancy suburbs, the breathtaking skyscrapers, even Jeff Bezos¡¯ penis rocket; how many habitats, how many species, how many nonhumans like me had to be wiped out for all that to look just right?


    A lot. That¡¯s how many.


    So, you know what? Fuck, humans.


    And fuck those three dead cunts for trying to turn Dragon Mama into a fucking belt.


    Yeah, sure, she was a bitch, but she was my bitch, goddammit!


    ¡®These humans,¡¯ the owl says, his voice pulling me from my aggressive thoughts, ¡®how large are they?¡¯


    I shrug.


    The gesture comes out weirdly, since my shoulders aren¡¯t really built for it.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know; maybe two, three times your height. Why does it matter?¡¯


    ¡®Because they¡¯re dangerous,¡¯ the owl says simply. ¡®And they¡¯re powerful.¡¯


    He seems to deliberate on something for several seconds, then, decisively, he shakes out his wings, looking like he¡¯s getting ready to take off.


    ¡®Come,¡¯ he says, ¡®I¡¯ll take you to my parliament. You¡¯ll tell them everything you know.¡¯


    Dafuq?


    This motherfucker¡¯s got a parliament?


    More importantly though¡ª


    ¡®Uh, we can¡¯t go anywhere actually,¡¯ I say before the owl can take off.


    The bird stares at me.


    ¡®Why?¡¯


    ¡®Well, I assume that we¡¯ll need to fly to reach this parliament, or whatever, right?¡¯


    ¡®Yes?¡¯ he answers cautiously.


    ¡®Yeah, see, that¡¯s kinda totally a problem then, since I can¡¯t fly.¡¯


    The owl stares at me.


    ¡®Surely, you jest.¡¯


    ¡®Surely, I do not.¡¯


    The owl continues to watch me for several seconds, almost like he¡¯s waiting for me to suddenly go ¡®ha! Got you.¡¯


    After several seconds of waiting fruitlessly however, he finally accepts reality and sighs.


    ¡®Fine,¡¯ he grouches. ¡®I¡¯ll teach you to use your wings.¡¯


    My stomach rumbles.


    ¡®Yeah, how about before I learn to use my wings, I first grab myself a chicken wing? Get it?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ the owl says. ¡®I don¡¯t.¡¯


    Buzzkill.

 ?—06:: Paul the Dragon

    My problems are twofold, well threefold; I can¡¯t fly but I need to travel, and I can¡¯t hunt but I need to eat.


    My third problem, is the fact that the only person I have to help me with my previous two problems, is Mr. Owl over here, and he apparently does not understand the concept of a catch-22, because the ass has just gotten the ¡°brilliant¡± idea to solve both my not knowing how to fly problem, and my hunger problem, by teaching me how to hunt... which, of course, requires that I know how to fly.


    ¡®Wait, hold on, why can¡¯t you just bring me something to eat?¡¯ I ask.


    ¡®Because you need the motivation,¡¯ the owl replies.


    ¡®What motivation?¡¯


    ¡®Of an empty stomach.¡¯


    ¡®But if you just brought me something to eat, I wouldn¡¯t have to do anything on an empty stomach. Hell, I won¡¯t even have to hunt at all. We could simply move on to the flying lesson.¡¯


    The owl exhales slowly. ¡®Listen, dragonling...¡¯ he begins, then pauses.


    ¡®You don¡¯t have a name yet, do you?¡¯ he asks after a few seconds, and I begin to tell him that ¡®of course I have a name¡¯ before I rethink it.


    I do have a name, one from my old life back on Earth, but I don¡¯t think I want to use it anymore.


    And it¡¯s not because of any bullcrap like ¡®starting over¡¯, or ¡®accepting my new reality¡¯ or some shit. No, it¡¯s because what the fuck kind of name is Paul for a dragon?


    Like, seriously, I¡¯m supposed to call myself Paul the Dragon? Fuck no.


    Taking my silence for a negative response, the owl says: ¡®No, I suppose you wouldn¡¯t.¡¯


    ¡®Mom never gave me one,¡¯ I say. ¡®Wasn¡¯t really the talking type, that woman.¡¯


    ¡®Well, as I understand it dragons name themselves after awakening true intelligence,¡¯ the owl says. ¡®Although you seem to have managed that already for some reason. Why don¡¯t you give yourself a name?¡¯


    Three words from the owl¡¯s last comment light up in my brain like a neon sign on a dark night.


    ¡®What do you mean ¡®awaken true intelligence?¡¯¡¯ I ask.


    The owl seems to consider how best to explain what he wants to say for several seconds, before finally speaking: ¡®Your mother wasn¡¯t like you, was she? She couldn¡¯t speak. Acted more like...¡¯


    ¡®A dumb animal,¡¯ I finish for him.


    The owl hummed in agreement. ¡®Dragons are that way for the first quarter century or so of their lives. But after that their minds awaken... or their souls. I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not an expert.


    ¡®Regardless, they become truly intelligent; become capable of thought, of speech.¡¯


    ¡®They become sapient,¡¯ I say, my mind distant.


    Mom would have been... somebody, someday. Something, no, someone more than the raging beast of instinct I knew.


    I could have known her, the real her, in time. In a few years. Maybe even a few months.


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    I¡¯ll never get that now.


    While I think my thoughts, the owl, unaware of my distraction, keeps speaking, and I tune back in halfway through a sentence.


    ¡®¡ªname for yourself?¡¯


    I blink. ¡®Huh.¡¯


    ¡®I asked if you need more time to think of a name,¡¯ the owl says.


    ¡®Right. Name. That¡¯s what we were talking about,¡¯ I say, then realise something: ¡®Wait, what¡¯s your name? I don¡¯t think you ever told me.¡¯


    ¡®I didn¡¯t.¡¯


    A moment passes. Then two.


    ¡®You trying to be mysterious, or something?¡¯ I ask finally, completely unimpressed.


    ¡®Longtail,¡¯ the owl says. ¡®Longtail of Great Oak.¡¯


    ¡®Great Oak? Is that where you¡¯re from?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, it¡¯s my home.¡¯


    ¡®Huh. And why are you called Longtail? Because I¡¯m hoping there¡¯s a very good reason why you¡¯re called Longtail.¡¯


    ¡®Tradition. Owlets are usually named for a unique feature they possess,¡¯ the owl, Longtail, explains. ¡®I had long tail feathers.¡¯


    I steal a quick glance of Longtail¡¯s tail feathers, a rather easy feat, seeing as his body has been facing away from me this entire time and he¡¯s just been doing that weird 360¡ã spin thing owl¡¯s do with their heads.


    Anyway, his tail feathers look completely average to me, but before I can mention it, Longtail, having seen my glance, explains; ¡®I grew into them.¡¯


    Dafuq?


    ¡®So, let me see if I¡¯ve got this straight. You¡¯re called Longtail, because your tail <u>used</u> to be long when you were a baby?¡¯


    ¡®Yes. And?¡¯


    ¡®<u>And</u> you can¡¯t change the name?¡¯


    The owl sounds confused as he asks; ¡®Why would I want to?¡¯


    I look at the bird like he¡¯s singing reggae at a jazz club. ¡®Because... you know what? Never mind.¡¯


    After all, who the fuck am I to talk the man out of it if ¡°HERE RESTS LONGTAIL¡± is what he wants on his tombstone.


    ¡®Wait. What about children who aren¡¯t born with any special features?¡¯ I ask. ¡®What do they name those?¡¯


    Longtail looks irritated with my questions, but he still answers. ¡®Well, sometimes they¡¯re named for something memorable they do as hatchlings.¡¯


    I take a long look at the dark grey owl before me, a million jokes about names like ¡®scratch-balls-a-lot,¡¯ ¡®eat-booger,¡¯ and ¡®pee-on-grandpa¡¯ on the tip of my tongue.


    But no. No, I have standards.


    ¡®Now, if you¡¯re quite done,¡¯ Long tail says, ¡®we have a hunt to get to.¡¯


    ¡®Dude, you¡¯re still on about that? What the fuck, man? It¡¯s late, it¡¯s dark.¡¯


    And I¡¯m not making it up either; it is dark. The sun set a while back and there¡¯s no moonlight, the forest is as near to pitch dark as it can be without actually being pitch dark.


    At least I think it is, as I wouldn¡¯t really know, seeing as I¡¯ve got pretty ducking good night vision.


    Unfortunately, my totally logical argument just makes Perfectly Average Tail more determined.


    ¡®Exactly, now is the best time. The prey won¡¯t see you coming.¡¯


    Is he fucking serious right now?


    You know what? Fuck it, all in.


    ¡®Yeah, great, they can¡¯t see us. But I really don¡¯t see how that¡¯s much of an advantage, considering I can¡¯t see them either.¡¯


    Longtail looks at me. ¡®What do you mean?¡¯


    ¡®I mean, that unlike some people, I can¡¯t see in the dark.¡¯


    Yeah, I¡¯m lying through my teeth. But he doesn¡¯t know that, does he?


    ¡®Dragons have perfect night vision,¡¯ Longtail says.


    Goddammit!


    Okay, so he does know that I¡¯m lying, but fuck me if I¡¯m not willing to die with this lie.


    ¡®I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡¯ I say. ¡®I mean, I can¡¯t even see you right now, and you¡¯re right in front of me.¡¯


    ¡®Can¡¯t even see me standing right in front of you?¡¯ Longtail asks, voice dripping skepticism.


    ¡®You calling me a liar?¡¯


    I expect the owl to say yes, and force the issue.


    He doesn¡¯t. What he says instead is arguably worse.


    ¡®Very well then, we can¡¯t hunt if you can¡¯t see. Go to bed. We¡¯ll do it in the morning.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ I say, then pause: ¡®Wait, what do you mean go to bed?¡¯


    ¡®I mean go to bed,¡¯ Longtail says. ¡®It¡¯s your first hunt in the morning, you should reserve your strength.¡¯


    ¡®Reserve my¡ªwhat do you mean reserve my strength? I¡¯m hungry now.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, I know,¡¯ Longtail says, ¡®but look on the bright side; a hunt is more successful when motivated by an empty stomach, so I¡¯m sure that by tomorrow the prey might as well be lining up at your feet.¡¯


    And with that the bastard flies up to a much higher branch on a different tree, effectively keeping me from following him.


    It doesn¡¯t stop me from calling him names though. Asshole.


    In the end, for the first time in this life, I go to bed hungry.


    On the bright side though, right before I fall asleep, I realise what I want my name to be.


    Kilgharah. I¡¯m gonna be Kilgharah the Dragon.


    Fuck, that¡¯s so much better than Paul.

 ?—07:: F__k That Mr. Miyagi Sh!t

    LONGTAIL: A PERFECTLY ORDINARY SPECIMEN OF HIS SPECIES WITH A PERFECTLY AVERAGE TAIL


    Longtail was a perfectly ordinary specimen of his species. His species, of course, being True Owl. Named thus by themselves, because they consider themselves the only true owls, regarding every other owl species to be lesser; beneath them.


    Now, is this Arrogant with a capital A? Absolutely. But when you¡¯re the only species in your... genus? Phylum? Whatever. Point is, when you¡¯re the only species in your group of species to be smart enough to name yourselves, you automatically earn the right to call, both yourselves and everyone else, whatever the fuck you want.


    Take humans for example; baboons did not choose the name ¡®baboon¡¯. Hell, baboons may not even like the name baboon.


    But what the fuck are baboons going to do about it?


    Nothing, that¡¯s what.


    Now, where was I?


    Right.


    Longtail was a True Owl, and this involved many things, one of them being that he was a magnificent flyer, and while at thirty-one he was definitely no spring chicken, he was still in more than good enough shape to give many younglings a run for their money.


    A leisurely flight for him clocked in at around 75 kph, which was around the fastest recorded speed of any lesser owl species, and a good enough speed to ensure that, within just half a dozen hours of flying, he could be nearing half a thousand kilometers from Great Oak, his home.


    Currently, Longtail had been flying for some seventy-nine hours spread out over the last thirty days now, so, even though he¡¯d never really gone anything faster than his equivalent of a fast-ish trot for a land animal, he was maybe more than six thousand kilometers away from home already.


    The owl had no particular destination in mind, which was understandable considering that this was supposed to be something of a vacation for him anyway.


    He¡¯d retired recently from a long, and somewhat successful, career in the Great Oak Constabulary, and with no mate or children, or intimate relationships of any kind really, he¡¯d decided to do something he¡¯d always wanted to, and see the world outside of Great Oak.


    He could have joined the Great Oak Exploration Guild, if he wanted, or maybe some other Adventuring Party, but that felt less like retiring and more like changing jobs.


    So, here he was, seeing the world outside of Great Oak all by his lonesome, and so far, it had been, to use the parlance of the younglings these days, ¡®pretty meh.¡¯


    Or at least it was until he¡¯d woken to the chattering of an angry squirrel who was threatening a talking dragonling with a stick.


    He''d been impressed by the mettle of the creature, even if he¡¯d also mourned it for the pointlessness of its efforts.


    Right up until the dragonling had proceeded to lose to the aforementioned squirrel, and while Longtail had seen some strange things in his life, that had easily taken the worm.


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    A conversation had been struck between the two, mostly by the persistent efforts of the little dragonling, and with the conversation had come unsettling news; humans.


    Creatures powerful enough to slay an adult dragon. An unawakened dragon, true. But a dragon all the same.


    Longtail had immediately made the decision to take the information, and the informer, back home post haste, only to run into a rather sizable problem; the dragonling could not fly.


    He was also lazy, spoiled, and a terrible liar.


    It was a very good thing then that this wouldn¡¯t be the first time Longtail had had the task of whipping such a youngling into shape.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    KILGHARAH: THE GREAT AND MIGHTY DRAGON BEFORE WHOM ALL SHALL BOW


    ¡®Rise and shine, dragonling. It¡¯s daybreak; time to hunt,¡¯ the current bane of my existence says loudly, right in my ear.


    ¡®Shut up,¡¯ I whine without opening my eyes. ¡®And go away. I¡¯m trying to sleep.¡¯


    ¡®Ah, my apologies,¡¯ the owl says contritely.


    ¡®Accepted,¡¯ I reply sleepily. ¡®Now, bleep off.¡¯


    ¡®Of course. Immediately,¡¯ Longtail agrees, and it takes my sleep-fogged brain several seconds to actually process that he just agreed with me.


    Huh, that¡¯s nice, I think sleepily. If I¡¯d known all I need to do to get rid of him is to tell him to sod off, I would¡¯ve done it long be¡ª


    ¡®Motherfuck!¡¯ I scream, barely managing to grab onto the branch I¡¯m sleeping on. The branch that the motherfucker currently standing over me just tried to kick me off of.


    ¡®Are you crazy!?¡¯ I scream at the owl as soon as I¡¯ve pulled myself back onto the thickish branch. ¡®I could have died.¡¯


    Jesus, what is it with flying creatures and throwing people from high places?


    Looking infuriatingly unperturbed by my reaction, Longtail says: ¡®First lesson of the hunt, young dragon; always be aware of your surroundings.¡¯


    And with those words, I come to the completely logical decision to be as much of a dick as is dragonly possible to him this morning.


    ¡®You know what?¡¯ I say, affecting a fa?ade of calm as I watch for an opportunity to strike. ¡®You¡¯re right, I should be ashamed of myself. I mean, to think I was that unobservant of my¡ª¡¯ now!


    I lunge at the bastard.


    Now, what I¡¯ll do when I grab him, I have no fucking clue. But honestly, with how pissed off I¡¯m feeling right now, I¡¯m pretty fucking certain that I¡¯ll be sinking my teeth into something.


    Longtail doesn¡¯t dodge as I come at him. No, he just bats me aside with a wing casually, sending me clean off the branch.


    ¡®You fuck!¡¯ I scream as I fall, before quickly catching myself and gliding to grab onto a lower branch.


    Longtail descends too, coasting smoothly down to a bough about fifteen feet away from my new location.


    ¡®You know,¡¯ he says as I glare at him in deep-seated rage, ¡®I think I¡¯m starting to understand how you managed to lose to a squirrel.¡¯


    ¡®Fuck you,¡¯ I say, ¡®it was three to one, and you know it.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, dear, however did you make it out alive?¡¯ I can literally hear the sarcasm.


    ¡®I¡¯m gonna eat you,¡¯ I say, meaning every word.


    I have no fucking clue how I¡¯m going to manage it, but I swear to baby Jesus I will.


    My hardening resolve promptly explodes into apoplectic fury when Longtail says: ¡®Now, don¡¯t let the squirrel hear you saying that. He might beat you up again.¡¯


    With a scream of rage I leap at him, only to just barely miss him as he takes off from the branch at the last second, perching on another, higher branch, some twenty feet away now.


    ¡®Goddammit!¡¯ I scream, leaping after him as soon as I perch on his previous post. ¡®Stay still so I can bite you.¡¯


    Longtail flies off again, landing even farther away now.


    ¡®Hmm, you haven¡¯t picked a name yet, right?¡¯ he muses conversationally, even as he takes off again before I can reach him. ¡®Okay then, you have thirty minutes. If you haven¡¯t caught me by then, I¡¯ll follow Owl custom and name you after the most memorable thing I¡¯ve seen you do.


    ¡®Say, which do you like more? Squirrelbait? Or just loser?¡¯


    ... Okay, motherfucker, this shit just got personal.


    I dive after the bastard, and he flies off again.


    Now, I¡¯m not an idiot. I see what he¡¯s doing.


    He¡¯s doing some bullshit Karate Kid ¡°pick up your jacket¡± train without training crap.


    I see it. I really do.


    But fuck I just can¡¯t stop myself.


    Because in the words of the immortal Michael Jackson: ¡°This motherfucker¡¯s butt is mine.¡±


    No homo.

 ?—08:: May the Wind Only Ever Blow At Your Back

    My wings are heavy, my lungs ache, and I¡¯m pretty sure if I could sweat I would be drenched in it.


    I don¡¯t know exactly how long I chased after Longtail fruitlessly, but I know that it must have been a couple of hours at least.


    Hours of diving and taking off and sharp, aerobatic maneuvers at high speed. Yeah, fuck that. I¡¯m done. He can call me whatever the fuck he wants.


    Collapsed on my back, with my wings spread out to the sides, and my unfocused eyes staring sightlessly up at the bright morning sky, I suck in air through my gaping maw, my teeny slit nostrils not feeling up to the task.


    Longtail perches by my head.


    ¡®Your stamina needs work,¡¯ the owl says, his tone and words making his opinion of my performance clear.


    ¡®Yeah, fuck you too,¡¯ I reply most wittily, even as I suck in more air to soothe my burning lungs.


    That¡¯s the best part of this mental speech thing we do, in my opinion, the fact that a pesky little thing like being short of breath can no longer prevent me from verbally flipping off a motherfucker.


    I swear, it¡¯s like my dream superpower.


    ¡®Articulate as always,¡¯ Longtail says, every word dipped in sarcasm.


    ¡®Yep!¡¯ I agree with false cheer. ''You can call me Mr. Bombastic.¡¯


    ¡®Speaking of things to be called,¡¯ Longtail begins at my comment, and I groan.


    ¡®Dude, seriously?¡¯ I whine. ¡®You can¡¯t actually have expected me to catch you; this is my first time flying.¡¯


    The owl sighs.


    ¡®I¡¯m not going to give you some juvenile name, dragonling,¡¯ he says. ¡®I only said I would to motivate you.¡¯


    Oh, right. Yeah, I knew that. And in his shoes I would totally do the same. You know, be all mature and shit.


    Totally.


    Longtail continues: ¡®I was simply wondering if you¡¯ve finally picked a name.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, that? Yeah, I did; Kilgharah. I¡¯m Kilgharah.¡¯


    Longtail stares at me.


    ¡®Kilgharah?¡¯ he asks, the word coming out slowly, as though he¡¯s trying to confirm if I heard the word I just said.


    ¡®Yeah, Kilgharah,¡¯ I say. ¡®What¡¯s wrong with it?¡¯


    ¡®Besides that it sounds like you put together a trio of nonsensical sounds to make a longer nonsensical sound? Nothing at all.¡¯


    My glance at him showcases how unamused I am with his opinion.


    ¡®Okay, first of all, a guy named <u>Longtail</u> automatically loses the right to badmouth someone else¡¯s name. And, second of all, Kilgharah¡¯s an awesome, dragonly name.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m sure you think so,¡¯ Longtail says, and before I can make any sort of rebuttal, continues: ¡®Now, come, we¡¯ve wasted too much time.¡¯


    ¡®Wasted too much time for what?¡¯ I wonder, struggling onto my feet.


    Longtail looks at me like I¡¯m an idiot, which, I¡¯ve got to say; rude.


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    ¡®The whole point of teaching you to fly was so you could accompany me to Great Oak,¡¯ Longtail says, and, from his tone, it almost sounds like he¡¯s starting to rethink that a little bit.


    Although, now that I think of it myself, would that be so bad? If he rethinks it, I mean. Because I don¡¯t know if I even wanna go to this Great Oak place. Hell, I don¡¯t even know where it is.


    Longtail sure as hell hadn¡¯t told me, or asked for my opinion on the matter actually, he¡¯d just decided I would be going back with him, and, for some reason, I¡¯d gone along with it.


    Why had I gone along with it?


    No, better question: why am I going along with it?


    ¡®Dragonling,¡¯ Longtail calls, snapping me out of my thoughts.


    ¡®Huh? What?¡¯


    The owl huffs out a short, irritated breath. ¡®I <u>said</u>, that we have several days of flying ahead of us, and with you slowing me do¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Wait, wait, stop. Several days? What do you mean several days? How far away is Great Oak?¡¯


    ¡®A few thousand miles east,¡¯ Longtail says curiously. ¡®Why does it m¡ª¡¯


    ¡®A few thousand miles!?¡¯ I ask aghast. ¡®Dude, what the fuck? That¡¯s bigger than some countries.¡¯


    And he wants us to fly that? Is he insane? What the fuck has he been smoking?


    Longtail sighs. ¡®Let me guess,¡¯ he says tiredly, ¡®you¡¯re too hungry and tired to fly that far.¡¯


    Something about the way he says that gets to me. I don¡¯t know what it is, but something about the way he says those words just rubs me in all the wrong ways, and in the next moment, I¡¯m not annoyed, I¡¯m not irritated. No, I¡¯m mad.


    ¡®You know what?¡¯ I say with faux calm. ¡®You¡¯re right. I am tired. And hungry. I¡¯m also thirsty too now that you mention it.


    ¡®And I am oh so sorry that that is inconvenient for you. I <u>apologize</u> that I¡¯m not more excited to go flying off with you, a literally random dude I just met yesterday, to some fucking place that I couldn¡¯t give less of a shit about.


    ¡®And most of all, please <u>forgive</u> me for telling you that if you don¡¯t like that, then you can kindly fuck off.¡¯


    You know, I get what had pissed me off about what he said now. It¡¯s the way he keeps acting like I¡¯m disappointing or something.


    Like I should be tougher, stronger, faster. Better equipped for life alone in the wild, like the concept of a hunt for me until a week ago, wasn¡¯t a two minute walk to the nearest store.


    And yes, I realize that he doesn¡¯t actually know any of that, but that still doesn¡¯t make his attitude any less annoying.


    Longtail and I stare each other down for several seconds, long enough for me to begin to wonder if owls actually need to blink, and if I¡¯ve just inadvertently screwed myself over by getting into a staring contest with one.


    To my great surprise, Longtail blinks first, and his next words are even more surprising.


    ¡®Very well then. If that¡¯s how you feel, then I suppose this is where we part ways.¡¯


    Wait, what?


    The owl spreads out his wings.


    ¡®May the wind only ever blow at your back,¡¯ he says in greeting(?), then he takes off and shoots off into the sky. He¡¯s gone in seconds.


    I keep staring at the sky, waiting for him to come back. Because he has to be coming back right? I mean, who leaves that abruptly?


    After almost two minutes of waiting though, I finally accept the truth.


    Longtail¡¯s gone.


    ¡®Huh,¡¯ I say. ¡®Motherfucker actually left me.¡¯


    That... kinda stings, to be honest.


    Which is silly, because we weren¡¯t friends. I barely knew him; and for the time I did, he seemed mostly annoyed to be around me.


    You know what? Fuck him.


    And good riddance, I say.


    Speaking of riddances, time to rid myself of my parched throat. After that I¡¯ll see about getting myself something to eat.


    God, hunting will be a bitch. Hmm, I wonder if dragon¡¯s can eat plants here.


    It¡¯ll be a blessing if I can; my food problem will be pretty much solved.


    Time for that later though. For now, water.


    The only body of water I know of is the river, so, without further ado, I fly to it.


    You know, flying¡¯s actually quite nice, now that I¡¯m not chasing after that bloody owl. It¡¯s pretty neat, and not as hard as I¡¯d thought it¡¯d be either.


    It''s like my body knows what to do. Like it does with swimming.


    Immediately spotting the river as I break out of the forest, I dive in, and the feeling of the water enveloping me is the highlight of my day.


    I open my mouth, drinking my fill of the water as I swim (I¡¯m not gross, you¡¯re gross), and I can¡¯t help but wonder why I ever left in the first place.


    No, seriously, why had I left the water yesterday? I recall that I¡¯d planned to spend the night in it since¡ª


    Oh, yeah, it was because of some monster that almost ate...


    Oh fu¡ª


    ¡ª?¡ª


    The squirrel heard a splash, and poked his head out to see the golden lizard from the evening before swimming in the river.


    What an idiot, the squirrel thought. Didn¡¯t he almost die in there yesterday?


    Right then, an inky blackness, like shadow given solid form, burst out from under the water and swallowed the stupid lizard whole.


    The squirrel burst out laughing, and when his brothers came to ask him what was going on, he told them what he¡¯d seen and they laughed too.


    Ah, dumb lizards.

 ?—09:: Aww. What A Kind Old Lady

    KILGHARAH THE ULTIMATELY POWERFUL, VANQUISHER OF SQUIRRELS


    I¡¯m lying on a cloud.


    And not just any cloud, no, this has got to be like the softest fucking cloud in the history of clouds.


    Like, no joke, it¡¯s soft, fluffy, and kinda bouncy too, with a very nice heart shape that just tells me that when this cloud walks in the club, all the boys go ¡°dayum!¡±


    Yes, indeed, this is a very nice cloud.


    So, anyway, I¡¯m on a cloud, flying through the sky (because, where else would a cloud be?), and I¡¯m headed to the most wonderful place of all; I¡¯m headed to Cornucopia.


    Where the fuck is Cornucopia, you ask?


    Well, long ago, in the mysterious land of Toronto, Canada, Willy Wonka¡¯s chocolate factory fucked Mt. Olympus from Disney¡¯s Hercules, and wouldn¡¯t you know it, a baby was born. That¡¯s Cornucopia.


    A mountaintop paradise with rivers of honey, waterfalls of chocolate, hills of bread, and gay, perfectly done steak frolicking in the valleys. Ooh la la.


    At the barred gates, eternally denied entry, there¡¯s an owl requesting, nay, begging to be allowed in.


    His face is a sniveling mess as he pleads with the heavens above to permit him entry; begging to be able to taste of the bounties of Cornucopia.


    Strange, I think, he looks sort of familiar.


    As I fly past above him on my fluffy cloud, the owl sees me.


    ¡®Kilgharah!¡¯ he screams. ¡®Mighty Kilgharah. Please, forsake me not. Even if just a drop from your fingertips, let me taste of the riches of Cornucopia.¡¯


    I gaze upon him as I pass. Then I look away.


    I know him not.


    My wonderful, bouncy cloud comes to rest in a valley with grass as vividly green as the eyes of any male love interest in a harlequin romance, and I disembark, and, for several seconds, just take it all in.


    A herd of prime ribs saunters past, and their delectable aroma invades my nostrils and temporarily shuts down my mind.


    ¡®God, I¡¯m so fucking hungry.¡¯


    The kindly voice of an older woman whispers in my ear: ¡®Then why don¡¯t you eat, dear?¡¯


    Yeah, she¡¯s right. Why don¡¯t I just¡ªwait, who the fuck was that?


    I open my eyes to pitch darkness; a squelching sound; a tight squeezing sensation all arou¡ª


    I open my eyes to a kindly older woman with kind eyes and a kind smile patting my head kindly.


    ¡®Hello there, little dragon,¡¯ she says kindly.


    ¡®Sup.¡¯ I blink at her. ¡®Uh, who are you?¡¯


    Her kindly smile widens. ¡®You can call me Nana, little dragon.¡¯


    Oh, great, I almost roll my eyes. One of those old ladies who get everyone to call them Nana, thinking it¡¯ll get people to like them or something.


    Well, jokes on you, lady. Cause I didn¡¯t even like my actual Nana, so good luck getting me to like you.


    Now, where the fuck am I? I wonder, looking around at my weirdly blurry surroun¡ª


    ¡®Are you hungry, little dragon?¡¯ Nana kindly asks, and my eyes snap back to her.


    ¡®Yes, please.¡¯ I nod.


    She smiles kindly, then gestures to the spread of numerous dishes before us. ¡®Help yourself then,¡¯ she pronounces.


    For a moment, I stare at the wondrous bounty before me.


    ¡®OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD,¡¯ I whisper in awe, before diving headfirst into the nearest dish; a thick meaty broth that simply tastes divine.


    From there I jump to the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, on and on and on. Soups, pastries, fruits, meat, the options are as inexhaustible as my appetite.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    My too inexhaustible appetite.


    I don¡¯t know for how long I eat before I realize it, but I¡¯m not getting full. At all.


    I must have eaten three times my body weight by now, and yet I feel just as famished as when I started.


    What the hell?


    ¡®Well, maybe you should eat some more,¡¯ Nana suggests kindly.


    ¡®Well, I could, I guess. But what¡¯s the point? I¡¯m still hungry.¡¯


    Nana¡¯s kind smile twitches oddly. ¡®You know,¡¯ she says, though not as kindly as before, ¡®some people would be happy to be able to eat without ever getting full.¡¯


    ¡®Those people are idiots who¡¯ve never actually being hungry,¡¯ I say, utterly unimpressed with her ¡°silver lining¡± shit.


    The reason I want to eat is not because I enjoy the taste, it¡¯s because I¡¯m fucking hungry.


    Nana¡¯s smile does that twitching thing again.


    Okay, that¡¯s fucking weird.


    And speaking of weird¡ª¡®Where am I?¡¯ I wonder aloud.


    ¡®Don¡¯t be silly, Kilgharah,¡¯ Nana says. ¡®You¡¯re home.¡¯


    I stare at her like she¡¯s bonkers.


    ¡®No, I¡¯m not. This isn¡¯t my home, I¡¯ve got no fucking clue where the fuck this is... And how the fuck do you know my name?¡¯


    The old lady rolls her eyes, but there¡¯s  a clear hint of frustration in them now.


    ¡®Because you told me, you silly goose.¡¯


    ¡®No, I didn¡¯t. This is the first time we¡¯ve ever met, and I didn¡¯t tell you my name.


    ¡®And how did I even get here? Last I remember I was¡ª¡¯ my eyes widen as the memory comes to me.


    ¡®Holy fuck,¡¯ I scream. ¡®Something swallowed me. Am I dying? Is this like a death dream?¡¯


    ¡®A death dream,¡¯ the old lady says, sounding like she¡¯s trying out the words. She seems to like them, because she smiles, an ugly, terrifying thing, and says: ¡®Why yes, Kilgharah. That¡¯s exactly what this is.¡¯


    Then she transforms.


    In seconds, the old lady no longer looks anything like an old lady, and certainly not a kindly one. Instead she looks like an unholy crossbreed between the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and a leathery skeleton. And let me tell you, that shit ain¡¯t pretty.


    ¡®Holy shitballs,¡¯ I scream.


    ¡®Silence, you vexatious creature,¡¯ the... thing growls, and I suddenly find myself upside down in the air, with one of my legs in a clawed, spindly grip.


    She holds me up to her face, and at the sight of her fangs, I just about piss myself.


    ¡®Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Please, don¡¯t eat me,¡¯ I beg.


    To my absolute surprise, the monster lady actually stops and stares at me. Then she bursts into laughter.


    Confused as all hell, I nevertheless decide to keep her laughing if I can. After all, laughing monster means not-dead Kilgharah.


    ¡®Yeah, see?¡¯ I say nervously. ¡®I¡¯ve got funny bones. If you eat me I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll taste funny. Probably make you feel funny too.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ve already eaten you, you idiot,¡¯ monster lady screams at me, not feeling so amused anymore.


    I blink in confusion, then the memory of the last thing that happened to me before I woke up here replays in my head.


    ¡®Holy shit,¡¯ I say, stunned. ¡®I¡¯m dying.¡¯


    ¡®And taking your sweet time with it too,¡¯ she complained. Actually complained. Like, I¡¯m the one being eaten alive and yet this bitch has the temerity to complain.


    You know what? Fuck her, and fuck this shit.


    And if I really am dying, then I¡¯m taking a page from Dragon Mama¡¯s book and taking this bitch with me.


    What was it she always said?


    Right.


    Kilgharah, if a crazy, psycho, demented, monster bitch ever tries to eat you, spit fire at her face.


    Obviously, Dragon Mama never actually said this, but I feel like it¡¯s something she would have said if she could speak, because honestly, this bitch¡¯s face is just begging for a blast of fire right now.


    Monster Bitch laughs again.


    ¡®And how are you going to do that when you can¡¯t breathe fire?¡¯ she asks me.


    What the¡ª¡®How do you know I can¡¯t breathe fire?¡¯


    ¡®Because I can read your mind, you fool. You¡¯re powerless, and we both know it.¡¯


    ¡®Well, right now, sure,¡¯ I agree easily enough. ¡®But I¡¯m pretty sure breathing fire can¡¯t be that hard.¡¯


    It just can¡¯t be, not with how much Mom did it.


    ¡®Is that so?¡¯ Monster Bitch asks, voice mocking.


    ¡®Yes, that is so. Now, fuck off and die.¡¯


    I reach into my chest for that well of heat that I¡¯ve gotten into the habit of ignoring, and pull it up.


    Something lodges in my throat and I cough, and a ball of golden, phlegmy fire flies out of my mouth and splashes onto Monster Bitch¡¯s face.


    ¡®Holy fuck!¡¯ I scream.


    ¡®Yaaaaarrrgghhh!¡¯ she screams.


    Monster Bitch tosses me to the ground.


    ¡®It burns!¡¯ she shrieks in soul-wrenching agony.


    ¡®Put it out,¡¯ I yell, rushing to her; only to have to duck aside when she almost stomps on me in her panic. So I take to shouting advice from farther back. ¡®Tuck and roll; pour some water on it. Put it out.¡¯


    Monster Bitch tries to beat the fire down with her bare hands, only for them to catch fire too and she yells again.


    ¡®Don¡¯t use your hands, you dumbass,¡¯ I scream. ¡®Tuck and ro¡ªwait, what am I doing? I hate you.¡¯


    Having remembered that, my tune instantly changes.


    ¡®Yeah, burn bitch. Die. Woohoo! You like it? I bet you¡ªholy shit, you smell good.¡¯


    Monster Bitch finally stops screaming and drops to the ground, the fire still burning.


    Is she dead?


    The world around me starts going dark.


    Um, am I dead?


    The world around me dissolves, and I take my first real breath for some time as I become aware of the pain wracking my body.


    I¡¯m still in the river, near the very bottom, and, wreathed in golden fire despite being underwater and sinking down to the riverbed, is an oily black blanket-like object.


    I ignore it, the pain in my body more demanding.


    I swim for the surface, each motion accompanied with discomfort, and around me the water is being stained with gold.


    I¡¯m bleeding.


    My head breaks the surface, and immediately, I head for the nearest riverbank and crawl onto the sand, then I collapse on my back and simply stare at the bright morning sky.


    Fuck my life.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    Up on a tree, a squirrel witnessed a miracle. He had seen a lizard get swallowed by something in the water and assumed it dead, only for the very same lizard to come crawling back onto the bank, broken and bleeding, but alive.


    The squirrel could not speak, but if he could, he would have said: ¡°Oh, come on. This some bullshit.¡±

 ?—10:: BFFFF (Best Friends For F__king Forever)

    INTRODUCING OUR SQUIRREL OVERLORDS, OPPRESSORS OF DRAGONS EVERYWHERE


    Squirrels can¡¯t speak.


    They¡¯re intelligent, true, sapient even (for a handful of species anyway), but the capacity for speech, either verbal or mental (like with dragons and true owls) eludes them all.


    This doesn¡¯t mean that they¡¯re incapable of communication though, far from it, for while even the most intelligent among them were still simple creatures by human standards, communication does not require one to be capable of speech, either verbal or mental.


    No, communication can be anything, as long as it can (relatively) accurately convey a message. Therefore, being incapable of speech as already stated, squirrels communicated in simpler ways; basic sounds, simple gestures, rudimentary, overt ways to convey simple messages effectively.


    Unfortunately, while this is the best that they can do with their minimal intelligence and lacking natural capabilities, it is far from ideal, and... misunderstandings often tend to arise as a result.


    One such misunderstanding happened just the evening before, between a little dragon and a squirrel whose name-sound is ¡°squeak-squeak-squeak-chirp-squeak-chirp-chirp-squeak.¡± A name-sound which, I¡¯m sure you can imagine, is more than a bit of a hassle to type out, so we¡¯ll just call him Dave.


    Now, Dave lived in a tree with his two brothers, who we¡¯ll call ¨¦mile and... hmm, let¡¯s see. How about Jean-Pierre? I like Jean-Pierre.


    So, Dave lived in a tree with his two brothers, ¨¦mile and Jean-Pierre, and for them, life wasn¡¯t too bad.


    Fruits and nuts were abundant in the part of the forest they lived in, and, with the river nearby and the large insect population to supplement their diet, their basic needs were more than adequately met.


    There were predators, of course, there always are, but most of them weren¡¯t the best climbers and so weren¡¯t much of a threat to the tree dwelling brothers.


    For those predators that could climb well, or perhaps didn¡¯t need to because they could, you know, fly, the brothers had learned to hide. Hide and, when necessary, fight.


    They weren¡¯t the best at it, fighting, that is, but with a combination of luck and a well-honed ability to pick their opponents, they¡¯d gotten by well enough.


    Well enough however did not mean without incident, as, every now and again, a particularly annoying or memorable foe would show up to cause trouble for the brothers.


    One such event, in fact, happened just four days ago (three days before the ¡®great clash¡¯ with the dragon), when a golden iguana had decided to try its luck against the squirrel brothers.


    A golden iguana is a rare breed of iguana with, yep, you guessed it, golden scales. And when I say golden scales, I don¡¯t mean scales that are gold in colour, no, I mean scales that are literal gold.


    18 karat gold, to be specific.


    Golden iguanas are also carnivores, with a diet that mostly consists of small animals like bats, mice, and, of course, squirrels.


    I¡¯m sure you see where this is going.


    The golden iguana comes out of the river, climbs their tree, and almost succeeds in eating ¨¦mile, the youngest.


    After a long, hard battle, the hardest the brothers could remember, they managed to knock the iguana down and drive it off, but not without the reptile leaving them with a few wounds, and the unshakable belief that all golden reptiles were the spawns of Satan.


    Fast forward three days, and the brothers spot another golden reptile in the river.


    Sure, this one looked a little different from the last one, with a longer neck, shades of bright green here and there, and what Dave was pretty sure we¡¯re wings, but none of that mattered. All the brothers cared about, was that he was a lizard, and he was gold, so clearly he was an accomplice of the golden iguana, and he¡¯d come to seek vengeance.


    There was a happy moment before the lizard reached them, when something in the water almost ate him, but then the asshole survived, and, wasting no time, he came right for them.


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    Fortunately, this new lizard was much weaker than the previous one and they summarily whooped his ass, but had to retreat when they realized that there was an owl present.


    The lizard teaming up with an owl was worrying, and they were hiding inside, discussing what to do about it, when, to their eternal surprise and pleasure, the lizard had committed suicide.


    Only, he hadn¡¯t died. Somehow.


    And now all the brothers were watching him bleed out on the ground from high up on their tree, and, to be honest, while he had been pissed off at first that the lizard had somehow managed to survive, looking at him now, Dave kinda pitied him a little bit.


    ¡®Lizard die?¡¯ Jean-Pierre squeaked, and Dave, the oldest of the three, shrugged.


    ¡®Help?¡¯ ¨¦mile, the bloody bleeding heart chirped, looking at him with doe eyes.


    Dave¡¯s instinctive response was a solid no; after all, the lizard had attacked them, he deserved whatever he got.


    But then he thought about it; did the lizard actually attack them? At least before Dave himself had hit him? Because now that he was thinking about it, it hadn¡¯t even seemed like the reptile had even known they were there.


    Also, if the lizard wanted to harm them, then why didn¡¯t he do so with his owl buddy, instead of spending hours flying around together like weirdos?


    Most importantly, didn¡¯t this new lizard look kinda very different from the last one?


    Argh! Thinking was so hard! Especially when ¨¦mile was still looking at him like that.


    Fine, he decided, then commanded his brothers: ¡®Stay,¡¯ before heading down.


    He needed a stick.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    KILGHARAH THE DEPRESSED AND DEFEATED


    I¡¯ve learned one thing in the sixteen years that I¡¯ve been alive... well, actually I¡¯ve learnt lots of things in the sixteen years that I¡¯ve been alive, one of them being that ¡°Keeping Up with the Kardashians¡± is actually a lot more entertaining than people make it sound.


    But the thing that I¡¯ve learnt in my sixteen years of life that is actually relevant to my present situation, is that, those ¡°silver lining¡± sayings; you know, like ¡°turn that frown upside down,¡± or the one about making lemons with life¡¯s lemonade; they¡¯re all bullshit.


    And fuck you if you think it¡¯s cynical to admit it.


    I¡¯m bleeding, in pain, and I¡¯m pretty sure that lots of things in lots of places in me are broken. And, on top of all of that, I¡¯m still. Fucking. Hungry.


    This just isn¡¯t my day. No, this just isn¡¯t my week. Because this entire week has, so far, been one giant shit show that has culminated in today, the shitty climax.


    A spasm of particularly sharp pain runs through me. I groan.


    Fuck me. I feel like I just got hit by a bus.


    And that¡¯s not a figure of speech, no, I know exactly what being hit by a bus feels like, seeing as it¡¯s how I ended up in this fucking place to begin with.


    Why couldn¡¯t I have reincarnated somewhere nicer? Somewhere like My Little Pony. That¡¯s supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows, right? Hell, I¡¯m pretty sure there were characters in that show actually named Sunshine and Rainbow.


    Another spasm of pain shoots through me, and I just... stop. Thinking hurts too much.


    An indeterminate amount of time later, I feel something poke me. Once, twice, three times. Then squeaking and chattering.


    What the fuck is going on?


    I force a heavy eyelid open, and almost growl in rage at the sight of the squirrel fuck who attacked me yesterday.


    He¡¯s holding a branch in one paw, most likely what he poked me with, and he¡¯s standing as far away from me as he can while still being in my immediate vicinity.


    ¡®The fuck do you want?¡¯ I ask, and the squirrel jumps back and raises the branch threateningly.


    My instinctive reaction to flinch causes sharp spikes of pain to flow through me, and that stokes my annoyance all the higher.


    ¡®What the fuck do you want from me?¡¯ I scream. ¡®What, yesterday wasn¡¯t enough for you? You have to beat me while I¡¯m down too?


    ¡®What the fuck did I ever do to you? What did I do to any of you?


    ¡®Why can¡¯t you just leave me alone?¡¯


    My eyes sting, and it¡¯s only when I sniffle that I realize that I¡¯m crying.


    Great, driven to tears by a squirrel. How much lower can I get?


    The squirrel stares at me after my outburst, then it turns and scurries off.


    ¡®Good fucking riddance,¡¯ I mutter bitterly. I hope he gets run over by a bus.


    I close my eyes and return to... honestly, I have no idea what I¡¯m doing right now. I¡¯m just too fucking tired to move. Or think, for that matter.


    I think I¡¯m beginning to fall asleep when I hear chattering again, and I angrily slam my eyes open, angry words on the tip of my tongue, before pausing at what I see.


    A fruit. There¡¯s a fruit in front of my face. And three squirrels standing farther back.


    I blink.


    ¡®Is this for me?¡¯ I ask.


    All three squirrels keep staring at me.


    Okay? This is weird.


    Weird or not though, my mind now recognizes that there is food right before me, and my stomach begins to make its demands known.


    Fine, fine, I hear you, I think, and with supreme effort, push myself to my feet.


    I stare at the fruit, the squirrels stare at me. I stare at the squirrels, they stare at me.


    Okay?


    Slowly, I reach for the fruit.


    Before I can pick up the fruit, a thought crosses my mind; can I eat fruit? Don¡¯t dragons only eat meat?


    After a second, I decide to fuck it; I lose nothing by trying.


    I pick up the fruit with my mouth and bite in, and my eyes roll into my head as the heavenly juice contained within bursts out onto my tongue.


    Oh my fucking God.


    I have seen the face of God, and it is a fruit.


    The fruit doesn¡¯t last long, and when I¡¯m done, I lick my lips.


    Fuck, that was good.


    ¡®Thanks,¡¯ I say to the squirrels, though I don¡¯t know if they understand me. ¡®Um, you wouldn¡¯t happen to have any more of those, would you?¡¯


    The squirrels stare at me for several seconds, then one of them, the one in the middle, reaches behind him and picks up another fruit.


    He rolls it to me, then chirps something.


    Well, I have no idea what the fuck he just said, but I think I just found my new best friend.

 ?—11:: Romance Dawn

    KILGHARAH THE BOLD AND ADVENTUROUS


    It takes three days for me to heal; a fucking miracle by human standards for sure, and much faster than I¡¯d dared to hope considering how fucked up I¡¯d been, so as itchy as my scales become while my wounds scab over and seal themselves shut, I can¡¯t really bring myself to complain.


    The last three days have also been spent getting to know my new squirrel buddies a little better.


    Emphasis on the little.


    In fact, it¡¯s pretty safe to say that calling them my buddies might be a bit of a stretch, seeing as it¡¯s pretty fucking obvious that they don¡¯t like me. Or trust me, for that matter. Which is really fucking weird, because I never did jack shit to ¡®em.


    Meh, maybe they¡¯re just one of those ¡°we don¡¯t take kindly to your type around here¡± kinda folks.


    Thankfully though, the squirrels¡¯ lack of affection for me doesn¡¯t make them treat me badly, or even coldly, but it does mean that they keep their distance from me.


    It had kind of weirded me out, at first, since I¡¯d assumed after they fed me that we¡¯d start, I don¡¯t know, mending bridges, or something.


    But that hadn¡¯t happened.


    Instead, as soon as I finished eating the second fruit, they¡¯d run back up to their tree and steadfastly avoided me.


    Eventually, when I¡¯d finally mustered up the willpower to push through the pain and find myself a tree perch too, I¡¯d figured it was best to head to a different tree. Since, you know, I didn¡¯t want to get beaten with a fucking branch again.


    I¡¯d stayed up on my tree almost exclusively for the next three days; healing, sleeping, and eating many times my body weight of the unfamiliar fruit that grew on my tree.


    Ah, eating.


    That¡¯s undoubtedly been my favourite activity to engage in recently. And I¡¯m eternally grateful to the squirrels for having been the ones who helped me realize that I wasn¡¯t actually carnivorous.


    It''s kinda crazy to think about, to be honest; that I¡¯d been surrounded by food, easily accessible food for that matter, and yet I¡¯d gone to sleep hungry because that jerkass Longtail had refused to help me.


    I wonder how long it would have taken me to realize it if the squirrels hadn¡¯t gotten their little change of heart.


    How long would I have gone hungry while surrounded by food? A day? A week? Till I died?


    Fuck, that¡¯s some scary shit to think about, and I¡¯m glad that I don¡¯t have to worry about it ever again.


    While my convalescence only takes three days, I stay on my tree for about a week.


    I leave, of course, but only temporarily, mostly just to try the fruits of whatever nearby tree that catches my fancy.


    I love it, living this way. Eating and sleeping away my days. It¡¯s lazy, peaceful, maybe even decadent, but fuck if I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯ve earned it after the week I¡¯ve had.


    This is what an afterlife should be, in my not so humble opinion. Lazing about, eating, and sleeping. Not that Bear Grylls ¡°You vs Wild¡± bullshit.


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    Unfortunately, after that first week of lazing around, something changes; I get bored.


    To be honest though, if I¡¯d thought about it before now, I would probably have realized that it was inevitable.


    After all, I¡¯m not some mindless, instinct-driven animal, I¡¯m a human being... well, a person anyway.


    Moreover, I¡¯m a person from a technologically advanced age where entertainment was always a swipe of a finger away. The truth is I¡¯m addicted to that stuff; you could say that it¡¯s in my blood.


    The only reason I haven¡¯t craved a fix before now is because I¡¯ve been more than sufficiently distracted.


    First with dragon mom, then her death, then the psycho river monster who ate me... yeah, my life before now had been sufficiently full of entertainment.


    With all of that now a week behind me though, the craving is back, and, before I realise it, I begin to find little ways to entertain myself. Little ways like singing, stargazing, and, my personal favourite, exploring.


    Everyday, I fly a little farther from my tree, heading a little deeper into the forest, tree by tree. I try out new fruits, encounter new animals, I even try hunting. Once.


    It goes... about as well as I really should have expected it to. That is to say, of course, that it ends up a complete fucking disaster.


    By the end of it, I¡¯m so frustrated that, (almost) completely involuntarily, I spit a ball of golden fire at the animal, some small, foxlike creature.


    Naturally of course, the wily bastard dodges, and my fire hits a tree instead and sets it alight.


    Oh, fuck.


    The golden flames spread fast, faster than I would have thought possible, and in mere seconds, they climb up the trunk and begin to spread onto the lower branches.


    The forest is going to burn if I don¡¯t put this out.


    As soon as I think that, I feel it.


    Or, more accurately, I realise that I¡¯ve been feeling it this entire time.


    I can feel the flames. Feel as they grow in strength. And just like that, I know what to do.


    The fire goes out with a simple thought. It leaves nothing behind; no smoke or smoulder, just a tree with a scorched trunk and lower branches that will very likely not survive.


    ¡®Holy shit,¡¯ I whisper. ¡®I can control fire.¡¯


    Huh.


    Wait, is this how dragon mama managed to not burn down the forest despite breathing fire all the time?


    Good to know.


    It must also have been how she put out the forest fire she started when she was killed.


    I stay watching the blackened tree for some time, feeling a little in awe of myself, then eventually, I fly off.


    The adventure continues.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    The first night I spend away from my tree comes two weeks after my ¡°Dance with the River Nana.¡±


    ... It''s a working title.


    Anyway, before tonight, I always go back to my tree to sleep at night, but this time, I just don¡¯t.


    In the morning, it doesn¡¯t take much introspection to realise that I¡¯m going to leave my tree.


    Hell, I already have.


    I want to see more of this world, and without the fear of starvation hanging over my head, and with the knowledge that I have a very effective weapon in my firebreath, there simply isn¡¯t anything keeping me from doing it.


    I consider going back to my tree all the same, to say goodbye to the squirrels at the very least. But then I cast the thought aside; they probably won¡¯t even notice I¡¯m gone, and, if they do, they most likely won¡¯t care.


    That morning, I fly off. And, for the first time ever, I fly for many hours before stopping.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    I stare at the deep, dark hole framed by the roots of the tree.


    ¡®Hmm,¡¯ I murmur.


    On the one hand, this is obviously a trap. On the other though, I do hear a voice asking for help.


    ¡®Hmm,¡¯ I murmur again.


    It¡¯s been... maybe a month? Since I officially began my adventure, if you could call it that, and so far, things have been going well.


    I¡¯ve seen things, done things, eaten lots of things, it¡¯s been fun.


    No, really, it has. I mean, animals, trees; what¡¯s not to love?


    So, anyway, today I heard someone calling for help, and when I tracked down the voice, I realized that it was coming from the aforementioned very deep and very dark hole in the root of a big tree.


    I¡¯ve called down the hole, both with my mind voice and my actual voice, but whoever¡¯s down there either can¡¯t hear me, or can¡¯t answer because there is actually no one down there and this is simply a trap.


    I sigh, coming to a decision.


    Fuck it, I¡¯m not gonna risk my life over this.


    Sorry to whoever¡¯s down there, but¡ªwait a minute. Is that light I see in there?


    Curious and perplexed, I lean my head a little into the hole to get a better¡ª


    *schluk*


    As I fall into the infinite darkness, pulled down by an invisible force, my only thought is: ¡®Fuck me.¡¯

 ?—12:: Knight In Scaly Armour

    KILGHARAH THE VERY LOST


    I¡¯m in a cave.


    Or a temple. Not sure which yet.


    Not sure how the fuck I got here either.


    All I remember is being pulled down that dark hole, and then after what could have either been ten seconds or five hours of falling, blinking and finding myself here in this weird cave-temple place.


    Naturally, the first thing I do as soon as I get my bearings, is spew fire everywhere. And when I say everywhere, you bet your ass I mean everywhere.


    The floor, the walls, the ceiling, I don¡¯t give a fuck, I just breath fire on everything and let it burn for like half a minute before putting it out.


    Extreme, you say? Well, I say you can come feed me that shit after you¡¯ve been eaten by an evil river grandma. Not before.


    Fortunately, I don¡¯t hear any shrieking, or smell anything burning, so that means that I have neither been swallowed by an animal, nor did I have anything waiting to gank me as soon as I showed up.


    Then again, there¡¯s also the possibility that the reason why nothing is dying right now, is not actually because there¡¯s nothing here, but because whatever is here is immune to my fire.


    ... Okay, that thought is scary as fuck, so I¡¯ma just go with there being nothing here... while also being ready to spit fire at anything that so much as farts. Yeah, that¡¯s a good plan. I like that plan.


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    Now, where the fuck am I?


    Unfortunately, a second look around doesn¡¯t tell me anything I hadn¡¯t already figured out; it¡¯s some sort of weird cave-temple place.


    Rough walls and ceiling with that natural, cave-y look to them; fifteen, maybe twenty feet high and wide, but very long, like a tunnel; and, last, but not least, two giant statues of kneeling angels set before the wall behind me.


    Honestly, the only thing I notice now that¡¯s different from before, is that everything around me shows clear signs of having been put under extreme heat very recently, and well, we know who¡¯s to blame for that one.


    ¡°Help me, please.¡± I hear coming from farther down the tunnel.


    It¡¯s the same voice. I think.


    It had been so low before when I was hearing it from the hole, but it¡¯s much clearer now. I can even tell that it sounds male.


    ¡°Please, help me,¡± the person, whoever he is, says again, and as I try to peer down the hallway, I realise that there¡¯s a very faint light coming from it.


    That must be what I¡¯ve been seeing with, I realize, seeing as there¡¯s no other light source anywhere. I hadn¡¯t noticed before now, because my night vision is apparently so good that it can use such a faint light to make my surroundings appear fully visible to me.


    Ironic how the very thing that makes me able to use such little light effectively, also made it easy for me to miss said light.


    ¡°Help me, please.¡±


    Oh, right. That¡¯s still a thing.


    ¡®Uh. Hello? Can you hear me?¡¯ I call out, then roar for good measure, in case our Dude-in-Distress happens to not be telepathic.


    Everything¡¯s quiet for some seconds, then the call comes again. ¡°Please, help me.¡±


    Yep, just like it was back at the hole. A voice pleading endlessly for help, but failing to answer when I call.


    To be honest, it doesn¡¯t exactly motivate me to want to go rushing in to help.


    Unfortunately though, the only path left for me now is forward. Literally, considering there¡¯s a solid wall behind me.


    So, with a sigh, and cautious steps, I begin to make my way forward.


    ¡°Help me, please,¡± the voice says again.


    ¡®Oh, shut up already. I¡¯m coming.¡¯

 ?—13:: This is Why Dragons Shouldnt Be Knights

    KILGHARAH: VALIANT RESCUER OF DUDES-IN-DISTRESS


    It is only when I walk past the scene of my fiery arrival, that I notice that the tunnel is full of paintings.


    Murals.


    That¡¯s what they¡¯re called when they¡¯re on walls, right? Yeah. Well, the tunnel¡¯s full of ¡®em.


    It¡¯s kinda like the Sistine chapel; if the Sistine chapel was a tunnel and had lots of separate paintings, instead of that one huge finger pointing thing where everyone is naked for some reason.


    It¡¯s pretty cool, though. Not the Sistine chapel, no, this tunnel; the murals are nice.


    They¡¯re also obviously a chronicle of the history of some sort of butterfly people. Or, at least people with butterfly wings.


    And, not to be an irrational skeptic here, especially considering that I myself am a firebreathing, amphibious, warm-blooded, flying lizard who can talk and was human until like a month ago, but, I¡¯ve got to say, the existence of butterfly people, who can¡ªif I¡¯m understanding these paintings right¡ªuse magic, is way down there on my list of believable shit.


    I look around; paintings of people with colourful wings shooting lightning from their fingertips, cleaving hills in two with the swing of a sword, splitting the earth just by stomping really hard.


    It chills me, all of it; scares the ever-loving fuck outta me, because, the one time I met people who seemed like they could do shit like this, I watched them kill a dragon.


    Yeah, sure, Dragon Mama had taken them with her, but the fact remains that they¡¯d killed her. And if they¡¯d been smarter about it, they probably would have survived too.


    And now I¡¯m trapped here, in this place that seems like it has many more people who can do all that and probably more.


    Suffice to say, I¡¯m not feeling very cum-fucking-table about my current situation.


    There¡¯s a vain hope that these paintings are just that, paintings. The vivid creations of an imaginative mind. Or perhaps that these butterfly people whose history they chronicle are long since exist.


    But like I said, it¡¯s a vain hope.


    There¡¯s no substance to it, because I know that, while possible, it¡¯s unlikely.


    It can¡¯t be anything but. Not with what I¡¯ve seen, and not with what I am.


    The voice comes again.


    ¡°Please, help me.¡±


    I stare in the direction it comes from for several seconds, then I sigh, and, after a moment, continue to walk forward.


    ¡®I swear to God,¡¯ I mutter, ¡®when I find this motherfucker, I¡¯m going to bite off his dick and spit it down his fucking throat.¡¯


    I pause.


    ...Okay, that one¡¯s too weird, I decide.


    Needs some workshopping.


    Let¡¯s see. What if I bite off his dick, but then I¡ªno, no, no biting of his dick.


    Instead, why don¡¯t I¡ª


    Aha!


    ¡®When I find that motherfucker, I¡¯m gonna <u>rip</u> his dick off and <u>shove</u> it down his fucking throat.¡¯


    Boom! There we go.


    And with that settled, and my mood mildly lifted, I continue down the tunnel.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    ¡°Help me, please.¡±


    Wait, is it just me, or is this kind of¡ª


    ¡°Please, help me.¡±


    No, it¡¯s not just me. It is.


    ¡°Help me, please.¡±


    ... The next one will be ¡®please, help me.¡¯


    ¡°Please, help me.¡±


    I knew it! The cry for help¡¯s artificial. A recording, most likely. Same words, same tone, right on time, every time.


    The fucking thing¡¯s a loop.


    I stop walking, simply taking a moment to process the implications of this.


    A loop implies, almost indubitably, that this is in fact a trap. Someone, or something, is trying to get me somewhere, and honestly, they¡¯re doing a shitty job of it, whoever they are... whomever?


    Whatever, the point is, if they really want to get me rushing somewhere thoughtlessly, then all these dark holes in forest floors, and creepy, subterranean tunnels with paintings of superpowered butterfly people are really not helping their cause.


    And that¡¯s before I factor in the obviously canned cry for help.


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    Ugh! It just sucks that I have nowhere else to go.


    I swear, as soon as this tunnel splits, I¡¯m heading in whatever direction the voice isn¡¯t coming from.


    Not that I¡¯ll get the chance from the way things are looking though, because if the steadily brightening golden light coming down the tunnel is any indication, then I¡¯ll soon be wherever the voice wants me to be.


    I sigh, then, slowly, and with even more caution than before, continue making my way forward.


    Even though I¡¯ve been walking for several minutes, between my small size and my well-deserved caution, I haven¡¯t actually covered much ground.


    Although, to be perfectly honest, I don¡¯t think I would still be moving particularly fast even if I was bigger and less cautious, because the simple truth of the matter is that my dragon body is just not that good at walking.


    Climbing? Sure. Swimming? Absolutely. Walking though? Not so much.


    Maybe if I was the six-limbed kind of dragon (i.e. four-legged and with two wings sprouting from the back) it would be better, but I¡¯m not. I¡¯m the bat kind instead. I have two hind legs, and my forelimbs double as leathery wings.


    And while looking this way does give me more range of motion in my forelimbs than I suspect I would have otherwise, it leaves me with the walking speed of a drunk tortoise, and my one attempt at running left me fucking depressed.


    Kinda makes a guy miss having human legs, to be honest.


    After all, humans, for all their flaws, are great walkers. I mean, damn, those motherfuckers can trek.


    Literally did it across an entire planet.


    I will admit though, that flying beats walking any day of the week. Wings are fucking awesome.


    Which makes it even more annoying that I can¡¯t use them here, since if I fly then I might not be able to react quickly enough if some horror movie shit pops out at me like a fucking jack-in-the-box.


    The voice comes again.


    ¡°Help me, please.¡±


    And this time, I¡¯ve just about had it.


    ¡®Oh, shut up, already,¡¯ I scream in annoyance, only to almost die of a heart attack when there¡¯s a sharp gasp from down the tunnel.


    Wait, was that...?


    ¡°Hello?¡± a voice, a male voice, the male voice that has been calling for help this entire time, says.


    Holy shit. There¡¯s actually someone down here.


    ¡°Hello? Is someone there?¡± the voice comes again.


    It¡¯s croaky, disused, and the amount of hope in it tugs at my little, reptilian heartstrings.


    ¡°Please, if you¡¯re there say¡ª¡±


    ¡®I¡¯m here,¡¯ I say.


    The voice catches, and then whimpers. He¡¯s crying.


    Fuck.


    ¡®Hold on, I¡¯m coming,¡¯ I say, and before I can even think about it, I take to the air, zipping down the hallway.


    I¡¯d suspected that I was close before, but with my much faster speed from flying, I realise just how close.


    All it takes is one more bend down the tunnel, and suddenly, I¡¯m in a cavernous room awash in golden light from above.


    The room is huge and round, with a dome-shaped ceiling that seems to be made of some kind of glowing, golden crystal.


    At the cardinal points on the wall, or at least, arranged in such a way that they¡¯ll form a cross if you link them, are three wide openings that, from what I can see, lead into tunnels like the one I just flew out of.


    All of this is secondary though; secondary to the skinny boy who¡¯s been chained to the floor in the cage in the exact center of the room.


    His hair is long and matted; his only attire, a simple pair of cloth trousers, is ragged and barely hanging on around his skim waist. His face seems to be caked in several layers of dirt and who knows what else, but his eyes, his eyes are bright. Alight with hope and desire like I¡¯ve never seen.


    I fly to him.


    ¡®Holy shit, are you okay? No, sorry, stupid question. Of course, you¡¯re not okay. I meant¡ª¡¯


    The boy begins to laugh.


    It starts low, small, then quickly devolves into a hysterical cackle.


    ¡®Um, are you okay?¡¯ I ask, stepping back a bit.


    The boys laughter peters out slowly, and he just stares at me, eyes glistening with tears that cause gross, muddy tear tracks to run down his face.


    ¡°You are the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever laid eyes on, young dragon,¡± he says.


    I blink, then preen a little under the praise. ¡®Well, not to brag but, yeah, I am pretty amazing, aren¡¯t I?¡¯


    The boy laughs again, much more tamely this time.


    ¡°That you are,¡± he agrees with a small smile.


    The moment of levity is nice, but it quickly passes.


    ¡®What happened to you?¡¯ I ask, and the boy¡¯s face darkens under a shadow of immense rage. The ground trembles around me, and the crystal ceiling brightens.


    Okay.


    ¡®Or, you don¡¯t have to talk about it. Really, it¡¯s cool. Not my business.¡¯


    The boy sucks in a deep breath, and the tension in his muscles relax as he lets it out.


    The ground stops shaking, the crystal dims down to as it was before.


    What the ever-loving fuck?!


    The boy speaks finally. ¡°I was a king,¡± he says.


    Oh.


    ¡®Really?¡¯ I ask, not really disbelieving, but certainly surprised. And not only because of his current circumstances but also because, even through the face full of dirt, he doesn¡¯t look to be much older than fifteen. Sixteen at most.


    ¡°Hard to believe, isn¡¯t it?¡± the boy asks, smiling. It¡¯s a sad thing.


    ¡®A little bit, yeah,¡¯ I agree. ¡®What happened?¡¯


    The boy sighs, bitter and tired, then says; ¡°The same thing that always happens; some people protested my birthright.


    ¡°We fought. I lost.¡±


    Oh. I blink. Oh shit. Is this like a Baahubali thing?


    I observe the caged boy.


    Yeah, this is totally like the Baahubali thing, isn¡¯t it? Classic brother killing (or, I guess in this case, locking up) brother for the throne type of thing.


    I almost shake my head. Some fucking people, I swear to Jesus.


    Before I can dwell on it any further, the boy¡¯s eye find mine, his beseeching.


    ¡°Please,¡± he says intensely, ¡°free me. I¡¯ll give you anything. I¡¯ll do anything. Just please, help me.¡±


    The look in his eyes is... insane.


    I swallow, a little overwhelmed by it.


    ¡®Jesus, dude,¡¯ I finally manage to say, ¡®you don¡¯t have to promise me heaven and earth. Of course, I¡¯ll help you. I¡¯m not gonna just leave you here.¡¯


    I observe the thick, sturdy bars of his cage, then the chains that bind him; one on each ankle, one on each wrist, and one around his neck.


    Fucking hell. What kind of asshole chains up a person like this after locking them in prison?


    ¡®Okay, try to stay back. I don¡¯t want to risk burning you,¡¯ I say, moving into position to torch the bars of his cage. I¡¯ve never melted metal before, but I¡¯ll bet good money that I can.


    ¡°No,¡± the boy says. ¡°Not the cage.¡±


    He points up.


    ¡°Burn the gem.¡±


    I look up at the roof, then back at him, the guy who¡¯s caged.


    Meh, whatever. I¡¯m sure he knows what he¡¯s doing.


    I brace myself, taking a good stance, then I stoke that, by now very familiar heat in my chest and let loose.


    A constant stream of golden flames jets from my mouth. It slams into the crystal ceiling, and the world groans, like an old, rickety chair being sat on.


    The ceiling grows brighter, and I can feel it. It¡¯s fighting me. Fighting my flames. This motherfucker doesn¡¯t want to burn.


    Well, fuck that. I¡¯m the dragon. I decide what burns.


    NOW BURRRNNNNN!!!


    My flames change, becoming tinged with red, and exploding with a heat and weight ten times greater than before.


    The ceiling cracks. It¡¯s light flickers once. Twice. Then it explodes.


    I cut off the flames immediately.


    God fucking hell, my throat feels sore.


    Dafuq? I thought I was immune to fire?


    The boy¡¯s voice pulls me from my thoughts.


    ¡°You did it,¡± he says, almost sounding like he can barely believe it. ¡°You actually did it.¡±


    I begin to make some witty reply, but then the boy looks at me.


    There is something nakedly happy, cruel, and wickedly vindictive in his expression.


    Wait, I wonder. Were his eyes always red?


    ¡°Thank you, young dragon,¡± the boy says. ¡°I will never forget this.¡±


    And then he transformed.


    Oh, Kilgharah, you fucking idiot.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    In the island of Bliss, in the Temple of Goot, the Jewel of Tereema, used three thousand years ago to seal a great evil, exploded.

 Interlude:: The Tainted One

    THREE THOUSAND YEARS AGO


    Many legends start in mundane ways; many evils, in innocuous ways.


    The legend of Kopika, he who came to be known as The Tainted One, started in a rather mundane way, but his evil was not born from anything innocent.


    It was born from greed.


    Heir to the throne of Bliss, Kopika believed it his birthright to rule, and when he did rule, he believed it his birthright to rule eternally.


    Unfortunately (or fortunately, if you understand anything about human nature), all men must die, even kings, so Kopika had to watch, year after year, as his body inevitably grew old and frail, despite the best efforts of his doctors and alchemists.


    Naturally, since it would be too easy for everyone if the bastard had just died, the closer Kopika came to his end, the more desperate he became for a miracle cure to death.


    He cast wider, dug deeper, left no stone unturned in his quest to ¡®save¡¯ himself, and, eventually (because I would not be telling you this story otherwise), he found something.


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    It was a ritual. A simple ritual, with a simple cost; 77 lives. All of them within their seventh year.


    Kopika paid it in a heartbeat.


    On the morning after, while his people mourned their children, Kopika basked in his rejuvenated flesh.


    For the first time in decades, he felt, he was happy.


    It didn¡¯t last.


    Having had a taste, and knowing that his current fix was only temporary, Kopika wanted, no, he needed more. And more he found.


    The following eighty years are known in the island-kingdom of Bliss as the Dark Times, and all blame for it can only be laid at the feet of one man¡¯s avarice.


    There was no magic too dark, no ritual too foul, no bargain too costly, not as long as it would give him life; give him power. Because that was what Kopika really wanted. Power.


    Power over others. Over life.


    And over death.


    It is said that power doesn¡¯t change people, that is simply brings out what was already there.


    Well, the only thing left in Kopika even as he gained more power? Was horror.


    Eventually... inevitably, the people had enough. They fought back.


    Their defeat was swift and brutal.


    But they were not the only enemies Kopika had. Oh no, he had made plenty; one of which was a fierce dragon mage whose egg he had stolen for some perverse ritual.


    Her name was Tereema, and she was his undoing.


    Kopika¡¯s enemies came from far and wide. They fought. And they won. And while they could not kill him, everyone agreed that the motherfucker just had to go.


    So Tereema paid the ultimate price.


    She shaped her life into a jewel; a prison capable of sealing his power. And that was it.


    The people of Bliss rebuilt. They moved on. But they never really forgot.

 ?—14:: Im Talking to You, Jailerrr~ Stop Calling Me A Prisonerrrr~

    ZARA THE JAILKEEPER


    Sometimes, when Zara slept, she Dreamt.


    For anyone else, this would be perfectly unexceptional, barely even worthy of mention, but Zara was not anyone else. She was Jailkeeper. And for the eight hundred years that that position has existed in the island-kingdom of Bliss, it has been considered of more importance than any other, including that of the Prime Minister herself.


    Now, being Jailkeeper meant many things; it meant that Zara would never live to see old age for one, likely not even midlife, and it also meant that, sometimes, when Zara slept, she Dreamt.


    In her Dreams she saw Him, caged and bound, both by metal and by his true form when stripped away from all his dark power.


    He was a lepid, like Zara herself; a humanoid being evolved from a lepidopteron like¡ªbut not quite¡ªa butterfly.


    Lepids are not much different looking from humans, though it can be safely said that no one in their right mind would ever confuse them for one another.


    Compared to humans, lepids are short, with the tallest among them barely brushing past four feet in height.


    On a human, their faces would be too elongated, their eyes too far apart, too big and oddly coloured, but, besides that and the huge, brightly coloured wings and short, bristly hair they tend to have, yeah, lepids aren¡¯t much different from the homo sapiens species.


    Now, if you happen to be a scientist or some such, and you¡¯re thinking to yourself; ¡®What the hell kind of bullshit is this? A species that evolved from a lepidopteron could not possibly share any, but the vaguest similarities, with one that evolved from an ape.¡¯


    Well, I¡¯ve got something to say to you: ¡°Ever heard of magic before?¡±


    Anywho, let¡¯s get back to Zara.


    Zara never watched him for long when she Dreamed of him. She didn¡¯t like to.


    She didn¡¯t like to see his face, with its handsome, gentle features that were naught but a mask for the ugliness within; didn¡¯t like to see him caged and in chains, like a slave. A victim.


    So, whenever Zara Dreamed of the prison inside the Jewel of Tereema to which she was now inextricably bound, she wandered.


    It was not a big place, the prison. But it didn¡¯t need to be, not when it was created to hold one man.


    Unfortunately, its small size posed a bit of a problem for her wandering, so much so, in fact, that even though she¡¯d only held the position of Jailkeeper for five months, and had only had a quarter dozen Dreams that she was sure of, she¡¯d still managed to explore every inch of the place.


    Familiar though, did not mean boring, seeing as the walls of the tunnels had some of the most beautiful paintings she¡¯d ever seen in her young life.


    Murals detailing the histories and legends and myths of the four races.


    On random, Zara picked a tunnel, that of the lepids (or the lepid tunnel as she¡¯d tagged it in her mind), and off she went.


    She could float, in her Dreams, like an apparition. So she did.


    It was a pleasant feeling, very different from flying with the wide, bright red and blue wings on her back. Smoother and easier.


    She carried on through the tunnel. It was dark, and in the waking world she would have needed a light to guide her. But this wasn¡¯t the waking world, it was a Dream, a little darkness could not inconvenience her here.


    Even though she¡¯d seen them before, Zara appreciated the paintings as she floated past.


    She recognized some of the figures they portrayed; like Jero, the intrepid adventurer who¡¯d discovered potatoes on some strange island during her travels, and, deciding to bring the plant back home, became the first potato farmer in Bliss after she retired from adventuring.


    Skip a few millennia later, and potatoes were now a staple in the Blissian diet.


    The island-kingdom even celebrated its harvest every year.


    In many ways, it was rather heady to consider, that the culture of an entire people was altered, simply because a woman decided to bring home and try to cultivate a strange plant she found.


    Eventually, Zara reached the end of the tunnel, and with it the only part of the murals she didn¡¯t like to look at.


    It was of Kopika, this prison¡¯s sole occupant, and it detailed everything about him; his rise to power, his madness, his deeds, all of his evils portrayed in vivid colour for her viewing displeasure.


    Zara looked away, focusing instead on the only things worth appreciating here at the end of the lepid tunnel; the statues.


    There were four tunnels in The Jewel, each running off from the cavern where The Tainted One was bound.


    Each tunnel was like the others; full of paintings of people and events from times long past, and at the very end of them all rested a pair of statues, each pair a male and female of one of the four species that ¡®worked together¡¯ to bring down the man The Jewel had been created for.


    There was the dragon pair, the ogre pair, the treant pair, and, last but not least, the ones that she was currently standing before, the lepid pair.


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    It was interesting, really; three thousand years after the fact, and with dozens of variations to the tale, if most Blissians today were to see this place, they would likely nod their heads, and say that it was only appropriate that the races that unified under the threat of The Tainted One be immortalized in this way.


    Because that¡¯s how the story goes now; of four races, coming together, setting aside their differences to stand hand in hand, all in the quest to stop an ancient evil.


    But Zara knew the truth.


    Had there been four races? Certainly. Were they accurately portrayed here? Sure. But there had been no unity. No friendship. Kopika had simply wronged too many people and they all just wanted to see him die.


    No, the friendship came after. After the war and the death.


    Honestly, Zara suspected that the only reason that Tereema had put these statues here, was because of her own sense for the dramatic.


    After all, everyone knew that the dragon had been a poet, among other things.


    Zara took another look at the lepids, kneeling facing each other, their foreheads touching, then she turned to go look at something else.


    That was when the dragon appeared.


    It was small, not much bigger than a newborn, with golden scales accented with lime green.


    It took a single look around itself, then it covered the world in golden fire.


    Jailkeepers could not wake themselves from their Dreams, but they could be jarred from them. Turns out a face full of fire was jarring enough.


    Zara shot up in bed, heart pounding, eyes wide, blood cold.


    ¡°No,¡± she said in horror.


    In a minute she was out her door, and in two more she was rushing into the vault where the Jewel was safeguarded.


    Zara had never been gladder that she resided at The Temple of Goot, where the Jewel was stored, than she was now.


    The temple was high up in the mountains, far away from civilization, in the¡ªadmittedly extremely unlikely¡ªevent that Kopika escaped his prison.


    That event was seeming more than likely now though, and for the first time since this became her duty, she fully understood, and appreciated, just why it was required for the Jailkeeper to live here.


    Somehow, even though Zara had only raised an alarm after beginning to head here herself, there were already twenty of the Golden Guard at the ready in the huge chamber-like vault. All of them armed and ready for anything.


    Even after three thousand years of growth and change since The Tainted One was sealed away, the people of Bliss had still not forgotten just how terrible he¡¯d been.


    It was hard to, when there were still entire portions of land in the kingdom where nothing grew till this day. The fault of a man with more dark power than sense or empathy.


    Consequently, the Golden Guard, the order whose duty it was to protect the Jewel from threats both within and without, took their job very seriously.


    While the Temple of Goot may have been called a temple, it was in function more of a garrison, meant to house the 150 sworn warriors of the Golden Guard.


    Them, the Jewel of Tereema, and, of course, its Jailkeeper.


    Zara rushed into the room and headed straight for where the Jewel sat on its pedestal, and the Golden Guard parted for her without even needing to be told.


    The Jewel looked as it always did, bigger than her head, oval in shape, and glowing like the sun with a steady, inner light.


    ¡°Jailkeeper, report!¡± Commander Azix... well, commanded from behind Zara, and the girl had to restrain the urge to jump.


    Zara cleared her throat as the older lepid woman flew to stand beside her.


    Technically speaking, as Jailkeeper she outranked the woman, and Zara knew that the Commander would obey her if Zara pushed for it, but, as Zara¡¯s predecessor had taught her, it was stupidity to annoy people who could beat you while half-dead, drugged, and with two of their limbs missing.


    And Zara was fully aware that even thinking about pulling rank with the Commander would very much annoy the woman.


    ¡°I had a Dream,¡± Zara said.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Commander Azix replied. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Zara didn¡¯t let the Commander¡¯s attitude faze her.


    Honestly, if she didn¡¯t know any better, she would have assumed that the Commander was this way with her because she was young and relatively new to her post.


    But nope, this was simply who the woman was. And, in a way, that actually made it better.


    ¡°There¡¯s a dragon inside the Jewel,¡± Zara said.


    The Commander blinked. ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± she countered.


    ¡°I saw it,¡± Zara argued.


    ¡°Not to tell you how to do your job, Jailkeeper, but unless you¡¯re saying that there¡¯s something very wrong with the Jewel, then that¡¯s impossible.


    ¡°So,¡± Commander Azix said, staring at Zara steadily, ¡°is there something wrong with the Jewel?¡±


    And that was the problem; there wasn¡¯t.


    The Jewel was fine, Zara knew that as surely as she knew her own name.


    ¡°I think you just had a dream,¡± Commander Azix said, sounding surprisingly understanding.


    It hadn¡¯t felt that way. It had felt like a Dream.


    ... But what if it hadn¡¯t been a dream?


    After all, not all of a Jailkeeper¡¯s dreams were Dreams. Most were simply dreams; products of an imaginative mind mixing the things we expect, with the things we dread or crave.


    Zara was fifteen. She¡¯d had the job of Jailkeeper for five months now, and if nothing went wrong, at all, she might see fifty.


    Zara dreaded something going wrong.


    She looked at the Jewel. It was fine. And as long as it was fine, nothing could come out or in.


    The girl sighed. She¡¯d raised an alarm over a stupid dream.


    Even now more of the Guard was assembling, preparing for a battle that would never come.


    Argh! How could she have been so stupid? She should have just kept her mouth shut and tried to verify by herself first.


    As soon as she thought that though, one of her predecessor¡¯s lessons came back to her.


    ¡°Zara,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°at some point while you have this job, most likely sometime in your first year, you will have a bad dream.


    ¡°You will think that it¡¯s a Dream, only to realize after you¡¯ve raised an alarm that it was only a dream. This will probably make you not want to act on the next bad Dream that you have out of fear that it¡¯s only a dream.¡±


    He¡¯d looked right at her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    Zara took a breath and steadied herself.


    Reef, her predecessor, was right; she shouldn¡¯t think like that.


    After all, the Jewel wasn¡¯t infallible. The very fact that Zara was here was proof of that.


    Jailkeepers are needed because the Jewel had been failing, Tereema¡¯s life force only capable of doing so much after so long.


    So Jailkeepers are used as a supplement; they are bound to the Jewel and provide whatever extra life force is needed.


    There had been twenty-nine Jailkeepers before Zara, and she refused to be the one on who¡¯s watch Kopika escaped.


    Zara stood tall and looked Commander Azix in the eye.


    Damn not pulling rank.


    ¡°Even if it was just a dream,¡± Zara said, ¡°I think we should remain alert. It wouldn¡¯t do to take chances.¡±


    To the girl¡¯s great surprise, the Commander looked pleased.


    ¡°Understood, Jailkee¡ª¡±


    The Jewel brightened, and all eyes pinpointed on it.


    Now, this was nothing strange. Rare, yes, but not strange.


    Every now and again, Kopika liked to rage around a little bit, and the Jewel always brightened as a result, so again, this was nothing strange.


    Somehow though, it made a feeling of foreboding settle on everyone present.


    The Jewel dimmed.


    It took many seconds, but slowly, everyone relaxed again.


    Then the Jewel glowed.


    Zara sank to her knees as she felt her life force rush out of her and into the Jewel.


    She couldn¡¯t breathe. Couldn¡¯t think. And just when she was starting to think that, maybe, just maybe, what was being taken would be enough, it intensified.


    The last words that Reef, her predecessor, had said to her before he died were: ¡°It¡¯s worth it.¡±


    Zara repeated those words to herself like a mantra, even as, with an almighty explosion, the Jewel burst open and her world faded to black.

 ?—15:: To Arms... For Those Who Have Them

    Previously, On ¡®This Dragon Is A Dumbass¡¯


    ¡°Thank you, young dragon,¡± the boy says. ¡°I will never forget this.¡±


    And then he transformed.


    Oh, Kilgharah, you <u>fucking</u> idiot.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    KILGHARAH THE QUITE HORRIFIED


    You ever had one of those ¡°oh shit...!¡± moments? Like; ¡°Oh shit, maybe I shouldn¡¯t have pissed off that really big dog.¡±


    Or, like; ¡°Oh shit, maybe I shouldn¡¯t have tried to jump onto a trampoline from the roof.¡±


    Or, even; ¡°Oh shit, maybe I shouldn¡¯t have played football inside the house.¡±


    Ever had one such moment?


    No? Lucky you. Because, I get them. I get them a lot.


    In fact, I¡¯m getting another one right now.


    It¡¯s not that I go out of my way to put myself in these situations. Hell, I would rather not be in them if I can help it, hence the ¡°oh shit!¡±


    I¡¯ve tried to stop. Really, I have, I just... I don¡¯t know, I guess my brain is wired different, you know?


    Like, some people¡¯s brains are wired for math, others are wired to be able to learn like a dozen languages, shit, some people¡¯s brains are even wired to be able watch fourteen hours of porn without suffering a stroke.


    I guess mine¡¯s just wired to give me ¡°oh shit...!¡± moments.


    Like: ¡°Oh shit! Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have freed this motherfucker.¡±


    Said motherfucker has continued to steadily transform while I have my monumental realization of how much shit I just threw at the metaphorical fan, and by now, he¡¯s about twelve feet tall, with huge demon horns, and humongous fangs.


    His body glows red for a second, and in the next, he shoots off, up and through the gaping ceiling in the blink of an eye.


    ¡®Oh fuck,¡¯ I say with feeling. ¡®Oh fuck, oh shut oh damn oh hell oh fuck oh shit oh FUCK. ME! It¡¯s all so <u>fucking</u> obvious now.¡¯


    How the fuck did I miss it before?


    The super, obviously magical prison, the fact that he was the sole occupant, the rage; this motherfucker was screaming ¡®sealed ancient evil¡¯ vibes in my face the whole time.


    ¡®Argh, fucking hell.¡¯


    God, I wish I had fucking hands, so I could hide my idiot face in shame.


    I sigh, staring up at the huge hole above me where Evil McDickface had flown out through.


    ¡®The fuck do I even do right now?¡¯ I wonder. ¡®Do I go after him? Is there someone I could maybe report this to?¡¯


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    Who the fuck do you even call when you release what, for all intents and purposes, appears to be a sealed ancient evil?


    Some dumb, little part of my mind whispers; ¡®The Ghostbusters.¡¯ And I consider punching myself in the face for that. Only to remember that I don¡¯t have arms.


    I sigh again, then stare back up at the destroyed ceiling.


    I¡¯m procrastinating. It¡¯s obvious. I¡¯m avoiding going up there to see whatever devastation my actions have wrought.


    ... Although, maybe nothing is happening. After all, it¡¯s totally possible that I¡¯ve simply misread the situation.


    Maybe that guy isn¡¯t actually evil. Or, who knows, maybe he¡¯s just done the same thing that any sane person would do after escaping prison and run off into the sunset to live out the rest of his days in Aruba.


    I mean, it¡¯s possible, right?


    After all, he was so nice; he complimented me and everything. And he¡¯d looked so helpless before I freed him.


    He can¡¯t be a bad guy, right?


    Right?


    I sigh a third time. Then I strap on my big boy pants and fly towards the ceiling.


    The sounds, and sight, of a raging battle overwhelms me as soon as I fly out. And when I say overwhelm, I mean overwhelm.


    It¡¯s like that final war in Avengers Endgame, but without the spaceships, and I find myself perching on the ground softly to take it all in.


    I¡¯m in a huge chamber, and when I say huge, I mean huge; at least twice as large as a football field. And on one side of it, a small, medieval army clashes against one obviously superior opponent.


    That isn¡¯t the amazing thing though. The amazing thing is that most of this small army appears to be made up of the butterfly people from the paintings.


    Interesting as the butterfly people are though, they don¡¯t distract me from the huge orcs(?) and the smattering of giant tree people I can see mixed up in the fray.


    In fact, there doesn¡¯t seem to be any humans here, since I sure as hell am not counting Evil McDickface (who, as you¡¯ve probably guessed is the one everybody¡¯s trying to kill) as one.


    In all honesty though, the species of the people fighting, is much less amazing than the manner in which they¡¯re doing the fighting.


    All through the battlefield flies spells of every colour of the rainbow. Soldiers shoot beams of energy from their hands, ice spikes rise from the floor, lightning smites down from the fucking ceiling.


    Swords glow, arrows explode, people teleport and blur and phase; it¡¯s like a hardcore DND¡¯ers wet dream.


    And the most insane part of it all, is that this is all to stop one enemy. An enemy that, even from where I stand, is tearing through them.


    Any magic the soldiers have, Evil McDickface has a counter to, any damage they throw at him, he can match three times as bad.


    Oh, they get some good hits in. But they¡¯re few and Evil McDickface mostly seems to shrug them off. Meanwhile, the soldiers are just being... ripped apart.


    It¡¯s horrible. And if I had any doubts about whether Evil McDickface was really evil, or a dick, they¡¯re all gone now.


    As I watch the chaos rage on, a quiet thought slips into my mind; I need to help them.


    I pause, considering it. I do need to help them, don¡¯t I? If for no other reason then simply because it¡¯s my fault that this is happening.


    Besides, not to brag, but I¡¯m pretty confident that my firebreath will do a shitton more damage to McDickface over there, than anything those soldiers seem to have.


    Despite knowing all that though, I don¡¯t jump in.


    My heart is pounding in my chest; my muscles stiff. I¡¯m terrified. Petrified even. Hell, you could say that I¡¯m scared outta my ass... And you know what? That¡¯s okay.


    Because it¡¯s not going to stop me. Wanna know why? Cause I¡¯m a fuckmothering dragon, that¡¯s why, and there is no motherfucker on the face of the earth, be they man or woman, who can manipulate me without getting their fucking head burnt off.


    My heart is still pounding, but it¡¯s different now; like it¡¯s pushing liquid fire through my veins.


    My senses sharpen, my focus narrows, and I just know that I¡¯m either gonna kill McDickface, or die trying.


    My legs tense, my wings spread, and the moment I take off, somehow, through the din of the battle, I hear a weak groan near me.


    My focus shatters, and I land back on the ground clumsily.


    I stare in the direction the groan had come from, and I see a small form struggling to sit up.


    Before I can think about it, I¡¯ve flown to them, and it is only when I land beside the person that I fully realise that it¡¯s one of the butterfly people.


    A very old one of the butterfly people.


    The ancient woman¡¯s eyes light up in recognition as I perch before her, and while I would like to know what that¡¯s about, there¡¯s something more important at hand.


    ¡®Are you okay?¡¯ I ask, feeling a little foolish about the question, because, to be honest, she doesn¡¯t look okay.


    Besides being old as dirt, the woman is also pale and shivering, and scariest of all, she¡¯s bleeding from her left eye.


    At my question, the woman frowns, looking confused.


    Then she asks: ¡°You can talk?¡±


    Seriously? That¡¯s what she¡¯s interested in? I swear to God some people¡¯s priorities are all over the place.

 ?—16:: Onward Into the Breach

    ZARA OF INDOMITABLE SPIRIT


    Zara was fifteen years old, and she had been Jailkeeper for five months. This meant that, if nothing at all had gone wrong, she might have lived to see fifty.


    Something had gone very wrong.


    Many people, especially those not of Bliss, don¡¯t quite appreciate how much work goes into finding a new Jailkeeper. Because, contrary to some of the more outlandish rumours out there, the Bliss government does not, in fact, just snatch random children off the street.


    No, it is a lengthy and rather arduous process that comes with its fair share of challenges.


    The first, and arguably most problematic, of these challenges, is that whoever is chosen must be young. In their late teens at the most. Any older than that and their life force burns out twice as fast as it would have otherwise.


    There are more than a few conjectures as to why this is the case; the prevalent being that an adult simply has less life force than a child.


    Regardless of the why though, the fact remains that a child is needed for the role, and the younger they are, the longer they can last.


    But this, of course, now leads to the question; how many children are intelligent enough, and brave enough, to truly understand what the position of Jailkeeper demands, and be willing to do it anyway?


    Some will argue none. And maybe they¡¯re right, considering how many Jailkeepers have ended up depressed and even resentful.


    But then again, for every one who has been resentful, there have been more like Reef, Zara¡¯s predecessor. A good, kind man who had been willing and proud to do his duty.


    Zara had decided a long time ago to be more like Reef.


    ¡ª?¡ª


    KILGHARAH: HE WHO WHEN THEY MADE HIM THEY (FORTUNATELY FOR EVERYONE) BROKE THE MOULD


    ... she asks: ¡°You can talk?¡±


    Seriously? That¡¯s what she¡¯s interested in? I swear to God some people¡¯s priorities are all over the fucking place.


    Or maybe she¡¯s in shock? Because, I think I remember seeing somewhere that people tend to focus on the weirdest things when they¡¯re in shock.


    Before I can sink any deeper into my idle wandering though, the old lady¡¯s eyes widen.


    ¡°You can talk,¡± she says again, but it¡¯s not a question this time, and I can¡¯t help but quip.


    ¡®Yes, I noticed.¡¯


    The old lady either doesn¡¯t hear me, or doesn¡¯t care, because she continues, eyes lighting up with fervour. ¡°You¡¯re awakened. You helped¡ª¡± blood spurts out of her nostrils suddenly, freaking the fuck out of me and leaving her a coughing, wheezing mess.


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    ¡®Holy shit! Are you okay?¡¯ I ask.


    I consider stepping closer to help her, but both the fact that I don¡¯t really see how I could, and that she¡¯d been kinda going all crazy on me before the whole blood thing, causes me to hesitate.


    The old lady struggles to get her wheezing under control, then she rasps: ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡°Why would you help him?¡± she asks, staring at me with big, angry, purple eyes.


    And when I say her eyes are big, I don¡¯t mean it in the way people do when they say Amanda Seyfried¡¯s eyes are big, for example. No, when I say this lady¡¯s eyes are big, I mean that she¡¯s got some sort of Dobby the elf situation going on in her skull.


    Good thing the rich purple colour of her eyes make them quite pretty, because otherwise that would be way too much eyeballs for anyone for look at.


    Her eyes aside, her words leave me rather confused. Why would I help him? Help who?


    What the fuck is she talking about?


    That¡¯s when it hits me.


    ¡®Wait, you think I <u>helped</u> him?¡¯


    The old lady blinks, taken aback by my annoyed reaction, and for one second, through the wrinkles and sickly visage, she looks remarkably young.


    I¡¯m not done yet though.


    ¡®He tricked me,¡¯ I continue. ¡®I heard him crying in the forest; ¡°help me, help me¡± and when I went to look, some black hole swallowed me up and took me to him.


    ¡®It¡¯s not like I knew he would do any of this,¡¯ I finish, gesturing at the battle still raging some distance away from us.


    Of everything I¡¯ve said, the old lady seems to have fixated on a single part.


    ¡°Black hole?¡± she asks. ¡°Do you mean a shadow portal?¡±


    ¡°Well, it took me somewhere else and it was completely dark so... I guess?¡± I answer unsurely.


    ¡°How¡¯s that possible?¡± she asks. ¡°He shouldn¡¯t be able to use such a spell from inside his prison.¡±


    ¡®Lady, how the fuck would I know?¡¯ I ask in return. ¡®Hell, I should be asking you; you seem to actually know what¡¯s going on.


    ¡®Like, who the fuck the guy killing everybody is, for example.¡¯


    At my words, we both look at Evil McDickface, who, at that moment, snatches one of the butterfly people out of the air and almost casually slaps off the soldier¡¯s head.


    WHAT. THE. FUCK?!


    Scariest of all, is that he does this even as some sort of magical Gatling cannon the soldiers have pulled out from somewhere unloads dozens of shots into his back.


    ¡°That¡¯s Kopika,¡± the old lady says. ¡°The Tainted One.¡±


    Oh, great, he even has a bad guy epithet. Magnificent.


    I sigh.


    ¡®Look,¡¯ I say, ¡®I¡¯m sorry about freeing him, but I think I can help. After all, if my fire could burst him out of his prison, then it should be strong enough to hurt the bastard.


    ¡®So, just... I don¡¯t know, try to find a safe place to hide in, before someone accidentally drops a meteor on your head, or something. Okay?¡¯


    The old lady stares at me intensely, and I see a hint of that youth again.


    Finally, she says: ¡°You¡¯re right. I think you can help. Come.¡±


    She tries to rise, only to collapse back to the ground with a pained grunt.


    ¡®Yeah, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going anywhere, lady,¡¯ I say.


    A furious gaze slams into me, and I can¡¯t help but draw back at the intensity of it.


    ¡®What? It¡¯s true,¡¯ I say defensively. ¡®You¡¯re fucked up right now; blood just came out of your nose like two minutes ago.


    ¡®Your eye is even still bleeding.¡¯


    The lady draws a deep breath, calming herself.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she says finally, ¡°bring me the Jewel.¡±


    The jewel that I assume she¡¯s talking about (seeing as it¡¯s the only one anywhere near us), is the one on the pedestal close by.


    It¡¯s big, about the size of a grown man¡¯s fist, and it has a wide, deep crack running through it.


    Without really thinking about it, I fly over and snatch it up in one taloned foot and deposit it in the hands of the old lady.


    She holds the jewel gently in her shaking hands, looking like she might cry, and it only now hits me: ¡®Wait, that¡¯s the prison?¡¯


    The old woman nods. ¡°The Jewel of Tereema,¡± she says.


    I look closer at the small object. I¡¯d been inside that? Huh. Small world.


    ¡°It¡¯s dying,¡± the woman says next.


    It is?


    I look again at the jewel. Besides the size and the big crack in it, it looks like any other jewel I¡¯ve ever seen.


    Then again, this lady seems to be the expert here, which is why my next question is: ¡®Uh, can we fix it? Or, save it, or whatever?¡¯


    ¡°We might be able to,¡± she says. ¡°But I¡¯ll need your help.¡±


    ¡®Sure, what do I need to do?¡¯


    The old lady moves the jewel to her left hand, then holds out the right to me.


    ¡°Take my hand,¡± she says.


    Okay.


    I reach forward and put one of my wings in her hand, and the world turns white.