The digging went exactly as well as you'd expect when you put seventeen hatchlings in a pit and tell them to move dirt.
Vesperra led the effort, of course. She took position at the bank and started digging — one massive claw, driving into the earth like a piston, pulling up chunks of soil and rock the size of my head and tossing them aside like they weighed nothing. The other hatchlings watched for exactly three seconds, then scrambled to copy her.
I supervised.
From a comfortable position on a flat rock about twenty meters away.
I was a spellcaster. My body was smaller, my claws were weaker, my scales were thinner. If I tried to dig, I'd last about five minutes before collapsing from exhaustion. It would be inefficient. It would be a waste of resources. It would be *bad management.*
The person with the plan doesn't dig. The person with the plan *directs.* That's how organizations work. That's how civilizations are built. That's how—
*Okay, I'm just lazy. But there's a dignified way to frame it.*
Besides, I had a congenital condition. *Congenital weakness.* It was a real thing. The Inheritance had confirmed it. Green dragons were spellcasters first and everything else second. My body was built for thinking, not lifting. My muscles were optimized for channeling magic, not moving dirt. If I tried to dig, I'd probably hurt myself, and then who would direct the operation?
Exactly. I was *essential.* In a strategic, behind-the-scenes, completely-non-physical kind of way.
From my rock, I could see the entire operation. Vesperra was carving the channel in a straight line from the river to the valley — wide enough for water to flow, deep enough that it wouldn't collapse. The other hatchlings were widening it, clearing debris, packing the walls. An was working quietly at the back, her black scales covered in mud, her expression unreadable as always. Verra — the green dragon, not me — was paired with her, the two of them moving in sync, clearing rocks and smoothing the channel floor.
They were efficient. I'd give them that.
The channel grew. Ten meters. Fifteen. Twenty. The bank between the river and the channel got thinner and thinner, and I could hear the water pressing against it, eager, patient, waiting for the moment it could rush in.
I was just starting to feel drowsy — the post-meal lethargy was still hanging on, and the sun-warmed rock beneath me was *very* comfortable — when I heard something.
Not a sound, exactly. More like a *feeling.* The kind of half-formed awareness you get when you're drifting between sleep and waking, when your brain is still processing the world but hasn't quite committed to being conscious yet.
I dreamed I heard water. No, that wasn't right. The water was real. I could hear it — not the steady flow of the river, but something *different.* Something faster. Something that sounded like it was... breaking through?
"An, do you think he's watching?"
Verra's voice. Low. Urgent. Coming from somewhere near the channel wall.
I tried to open my eyes. They didn't cooperate. My body was heavy, sunk deep into the warm rock, and my brain was still floating in that comfortable space where thoughts moved like molasses.
*Probably not,* An's voice replied. Calm. Flat. *He's asleep.*
*Good. Then we can—*
A sound. Wet. *Cracking.* Like soil giving way. Like something structural failing.
My eyes snapped open.
The world came into focus in a single, horrifying instant.
The bank was collapsing.
Not gradually — *all at once.* The thin wall of earth between the river and the channel blew outward in a shower of mud and rock, and the river *poured* in. A wall of black water, churning and foaming, rushing down the channel with a sound like thunder.
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And I was at the bottom of the valley.
Directly in its path.
I had exactly one second to process this before the water hit me.
It wasn't like being hit by a wave. It was like being hit by a *mountain.* The force was absolute — it picked me up like I weighed nothing, spun me around, slammed me into the channel wall, bounced me off, and dragged me downstream. I tumbled through black water, claws scraping uselessly at stone, my brain screaming instructions my body couldn't follow.
The cold hit me first — a shock of icy water that drove the air from my lungs. Then the current — a physical force that wrapped around me like a fist, pulling me down, down, into the darkness. My scales scraped against rock. My tail slammed into something hard. I rolled, tumbled, was flipped upside down and righted and flipped again.
And through it all, a single thought burned in my mind, white-hot and furious:
*Traitors!*
Someone had done this. Someone had waited until I was asleep, until I couldn't react, until I was *vulnerable,* and then they'd triggered the collapse early. This wasn't an accident. This was *sabotage.* This was a *coup.* Corporate sabotage on my first project.
The water dragged me into the valley pit. I hit the bottom hard, rolling through mud and debris, my scales scraped, my pride in tatters. The water kept flowing, filling the pit, rising around me. I gasped, swallowed water, coughed, and surfaced.
I surfaced, coughing, sputtering, water streaming from my nostrils.
And then I felt something thrashing against my side.
Something long. Something scaled. Something with teeth.
I looked down.
A fish. A Kashi. A meter-long, teeth-filled, bioluminescent Kashi, tumbling through the water right next to me, as confused and disoriented as I was.
My claws moved before my brain caught up. One strike. Venom threads. The fish went limp.
I surfaced again, fish in my jaws, and looked around.
The valley was filling with water. The channel was still flowing, a steady stream of black water pouring into the basin. And floating all around me, caught in the current, were fish. Dozens of them. Maybe fifty. Maybe more.
The trap had worked. Better than expected.
The valley — my valley, the fish pond I'd designed — was now a churning, bubbling basin of black water, and it was *full* of fish. Kashi of every size, from one-meter minnows to five-meter behemoths, all trapped in the same basin, all confused, all thrashing against the walls of their new prison. Some of them were already leaping, trying to jump back into the river, but the channel only flowed one way. The current was too strong. They were stuck.
Just like I'd planned.
I dragged myself onto the highest point of the valley floor — a rock that was barely above the waterline — and sat there, dripping, bruised, and absolutely *furious.*
Someone had done this. I was sure of it. The timing was too perfect. The collapse happened exactly when I was asleep, exactly when I couldn't react, exactly when the water would sweep me into the pit along with the fish.
This wasn't an accident. This was a *coup.*
I scanned the hatchlings, who were perched safely along the channel walls, having been warned just in time by—
An.
Of course. An had warned them. An had seen the collapse coming — or had orchestrated it — and had lifted Verra into the air just before the bank blew. Every other hatchling had scrambled to safety too, pulled up by their neighbors, alerted by someone who'd known exactly when the water would break.
Every single one of them had been warned. Except me.
An was now sitting on the channel wall, staring at me with an expression that was either innocent apology or the most convincing performance I'd ever seen. Her black scales were still caked with mud from the digging. Her tail was wrapped neatly around her claws. She looked calm. Composed. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just tried to drown me.
Beside her, Verra wouldn't meet my eyes. The green dragon's scales were pristine — she'd been lifted clear of the mud — but her tail was twitching. A tiny, involuntary motion. The only sign that she was feeling anything at all.
I knew that twitch. I'd seen it before, back when I'd tied their tails together in the cave. It was the twitch of someone who knew they'd been caught but was hoping you hadn't noticed yet.
*Traitors.*
Both of them. The quiet one and the pretty one. The strategist and the diplomat. They'd waited until I was vulnerable, then they'd triggered the collapse and left me to get swept away. They'd known I couldn't react in time. They'd known the water would drag me into the pit. They'd done it *on purpose.*
In my previous life, I'd been betrayed exactly once. A colleague had taken credit for my project in front of the CEO, and I'd spent three months rebuilding my reputation from scratch. I'd thought that was bad. I'd thought I understood betrayal.
But this was different. This wasn't corporate politics. This was *physical.* They'd put me in actual danger. They'd let a wall of water slam me into rock. They'd nearly—
No. They hadn't *nearly* killed me. I was fine. Bruised, wet, furious, but fine. Dragons were tough. I'd survive.
But the *principle* was what mattered.
I sat there, fish in my jaws, water dripping from my scales, and I made a mental note. A very detailed, very specific mental note.
*File under: people who will die. Category: An and Verra. Priority: high. Method: TBD. Timeline: eventually.*
But I wasn't dead. And I had fish. And the trap had actually *worked* — better than expected, even. Fifty Kashi, trapped in the valley, ready to be eaten.
So I'd deal with them later. When I was dry. When I was fed. When I wasn't still coughing up river water.
Revenge was a dish best served... not right now. Right now, I needed a nap.