My head was spinning.
The world tilted in slow, nauseating circles. My legs trembled under my own weight — four legs that had been perfectly steady thirty seconds ago now felt like they belonged to someone else.
*Yeah. Using mid-tier spell output in a hatchling body was a bit much.*
My magic reserves were completely drained. Not low. Not running on fumes. *Empty.* Every last drop I'd pushed through my bloodline talent was gone. Even squeezing harder wouldn't produce a single spark.
I stayed seated. Not because I wanted to look cool. Because if I tried to stand, I'd probably fall over.
On the ground in front of me, Ferra stirred.
Her vine-wrapped body shifted. She pushed one claw into the dirt — shaking, barely lifting her head — then collapsed again.
She tried once more. Her crimson scales were crisscrossed with puncture wounds, each one still oozing. Blood had pooled beneath her, mixing with the dust into dark, sticky patches.
She got halfway up. Her jaws opened — not to breathe fire, not to snarl. Just to breathe.
Then her eyes found mine.
Pure hatred. The kind that doesn't fade. The kind that calcifies.
She wasn't looking at me like I'd beaten her. She was looking at me like I'd *humiliated* her.
*Oh.*
I understood now. To a red dragon — a creature built on physical dominance, on the absolute certainty that stronger scales and sharper claws meant victory — losing was bad. But losing to a *green dragon* who hadn't even *stood up?*
That wasn't a defeat. That was a statement.
And Ferra was reading it loud and clear.
I could almost hear her thoughts, sharp enough to cut stone: *This green hatchling is trying to humiliate me. Someday — someday — I'll make him pay for this.*
I didn't say anything. I didn't need to.
Because the thing Ferra didn't understand — the thing *nobody* in this clutch understood yet — was that I hadn't been being merciful. I hadn't been making a point.
I literally couldn't move.
My claws never left the ground. Not once. I didn't need to move. I didn't need to fight. I just needed to cast.
That was the difference between a pure caster and a stat monster. The stat monster had to *do* things. Run. Jump. Bite. Bleed.
The caster just... sat there.
Ferra's legs gave out again. She hit the dirt with a wet thud and stopped trying.
Eventually — I wasn't sure how long — the thorn vines retracted. I let them. Not out of mercy. Out of practicality. Dead vines wasted magic I didn't have.
Ferra lay there, bleeding and shaking. She didn't try to get up again. Not because she couldn't. Because every time she looked at me, her claws dug deeper into the dirt, and she *chose* not to.
Pride. Red dragon pride. It was the only thing she had left, and she was gripping it like a lifeline.
After a while, she dragged herself away. Each claw-step left a bloody print on the stone. She didn't look back. She found a spot at the far end of the bank — as far from me as the cave allowed — and collapsed.
Her crimson eyes stayed open. Fixed on me.
She'd be watching me for a long time, I suspected.
I looked away. Not out of mercy. Out of boredom.
*Vesperra.*
The red head emerged from the water as soon as I called. She climbed onto the bank in one fluid motion, water sheeting off her crimson scales.
"We start hunting Kelpfang when I wake up," I told her. "I'm out of magic."
It wasn't a request. It was a statement of fact.
Vesperra's gaze flicked to Ferra's bleeding form, then back to me. She didn't ask what happened. She'd probably heard the roar.
"Rest, then," she said.
I nodded. Then: "Oh — and Vesperra? While I'm sleeping, take a few hatchlings and scout the tunnel. Upstream and downstream. Get a feel for the layout."
Her head tilted. "You want us to explore?"
"Yeah. We've been sitting in this pit since we left the slumber cave. I want to know what's out there."
I paused. Then I told her about the dream.
The circular body of water at the end of the underground river. The feeling of something massive lurking beneath the surface. The absolute certainty that going near it meant death.
I described every detail. The rock formations. The water color. The way the current changed near the opening.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Vesperra listened without interrupting. Her crimson pupils contracted as I spoke — the mark of a dragon taking something seriously.
Dragons don't dream. Not normally. When a dragon *does* dream, it's prophetic. Everyone knows that.
"Can you describe the location more precisely?" she asked.
I did. Every turn, every landmark, every detail the dream had burned into my memory.
"Rest," she said again. "I'll take a team downstream."
*Corporate management 101: delegate to your most competent employee and hope they don't quit.*
Vesperra moved to the cluster of hatchlings and picked four — two reds, a blue, and a green. The smallest ones. The ones who could keep up without slowing her down.
I watched them launch from the bank. Vesperra took the lead, her wings cutting the stale cave air with efficient, practiced strokes. The four hatchlings fell in behind her, already struggling to match her pace.
Within minutes, they disappeared around the first bend.
Then it was just me, the sleeping Munch pressed against my side, and the quiet drip of the underground river.
She'd arranged herself there while I wasn't looking — curling her round body into the curve of my flank, tucking her stubby tail under my wing. A nest. She'd made a *nest.* Against *me.* The white hatchling who couldn't hunt, couldn't fight, and could barely stay awake through her own meals had decided that the most important thing in the world right now was keeping me warm.
*Mrmh...*
She mumbled something in her sleep. A tiny, contented sound. Then she was still again.
I closed my eyes.
The cave was quiet. Not silent — never silent. The underground river murmured against the stone, a constant, low rush that you stopped noticing after a while. Somewhere deeper in the tunnel, water dripped in a steady rhythm. *Drip. Drip. Drip.* Like a metronome keeping time for nothing.
Munch's breathing was warm against my scales. Slow. Deep. The kind of sleep only a dragon with a full belly can achieve.
I envied her.
Behind the thorn vine net, the water had gone still. The fish and shrimp were gone — hunted or scattered. The pit was empty. Just brown, murky water and the occasional bubble rising from decomposing vegetation.
Our little feeding operation had run its course. Time to move on.
If the dream was right, there was something much bigger waiting downstream. Something that would make fish and shrimp look like appetizers.
I let the thought sit there, uncomfortable and unresolved, and drifted into a shallow doze.
*
I don't know how long I slept.
Long enough for the dizziness to fade. Long enough for the first thin trickle of magic to seep back into my channels. Not much — barely enough to summon a single Sense Vine — but it was something.
The sound of wings brought me back.
I opened my eyes.
Vesperra landed on the bank in front of me.
She was... different.
Dark green fluid coated her jaws — not blood, something thicker, almost viscous. Her forelimb scales showed deep gouges, fresh enough that the raw pink underneath hadn't started healing. Her left wing had a tear near the trailing edge.
She'd been in a fight.
Behind her, the four hatchlings landed in a heap. Exhausted doesn't cover it — they collapsed onto the rock like wet laundry, wings splayed, tongues hanging out.
Vesperra ignored them.
She dropped something from her jaws. It hit the stone with a heavy, wet *thud.*
A tentacle.
Black-skinned, easily a meter thick at the base, five or six meters long. The broken end was ragged — torn, not cut. Pale green flesh showed where the break had been made by brute force. Dark fluid seeped from the torn fibers, pooling on the rock.
I stared at it.
The tentacle was still twitching. Faintly. The muscle fibers contracting and releasing in slow, involuntary spasms. Dark fluid seeped from the torn end, pooling on the rock with an almost oily sheen.
I extended a Sense Vine — the only spell I had enough magic for — and let the green eyeball float over the tentacle's surface. The vine's life-sense painted a picture: dense muscle, high magical concentration, and something else. Something deep in the tissue that felt *old.*
This thing had been growing in that dark water for a long time.
"The circular water body," Vesperra said. Her voice was steady, but her pupils were still contracted. "Downstream, about an hour's flight. Just like you described."
She paused.
"There's something in the water. I didn't see the full thing. But *this* came up to say hello."
She flicked her tail toward the tentacle.
"I bit one off. There were more."
The four exhausted hatchlings behind her stirred at that. One of the reds — the one with the torn wing — was staring at Vesperra with something close to awe.
I looked at the tentacle. Then at Vesperra's wounds. Then back at the tentacle.
A meter thick. And she'd bitten through it. Alone.
*That's* the kind of stat monster I want on my side.
The hourglass imagery flashed behind my eyes. The same dark water. The same tentacles. The same feeling of something ancient and patient, waiting beneath the surface.
The dream wasn't a warning. It was a *preview.*
The hourglass didn't show random nightmares. It showed the future. Specifically — *my* future. Specifically — my death.
*Death precognition.*
I let that sink in. Then I pushed it aside. Problem for later. Right now, there was a more immediate question.
"Upstream?"
"Nothing," Vesperra said. "Just more tunnel. I turned back after a while."
She sat down across from me, tall and composed despite the gore on her scales. Four claws arranged neatly together. The picture of quiet authority.
"What do you think we should do?"
*Oh, so now I'm the strategist?*
Before the slumber, Vesperra would never have asked me anything. She'd been the undisputed leader — every dragon in this clutch followed her because she was the strongest. Simple.
But now something had shifted. She'd seen the dream. She'd seen what the hourglass showed me. And in dragon logic, a dragon who could see the future was worth listening to.
I could guess what she was thinking: *If he can predict death, then we should plan around his predictions.*
Smart. Practical. Also slightly annoying, because I didn't actually have time powers. I had a sand clock and a prayer.
But looking at Vesperra — composed, serious, waiting — I decided not to correct her.
*I think we should stay.*
My voice came out steady. More confident than I felt.
"There's no rush to find an exit. This underground river has enough food for all of us. If the conditions are right, we could spend our entire hatchling period down here."
Vesperra's jaws parted slightly. Then closed.
"Agreed," she said.
Just like that. No argument. No discussion. One word.
She reached out with one claw and pushed the tentacle closer to me.
"Eat. It's not poisonous."
I looked at the tentacle. Then at her.
The gesture was... odd. Not the first time, either. Ever since we left the slumber cave, Vesperra had been deliberately, conspicuously looking out for me. Bringing me prey. Assigning me the safest position. Asking my opinion.
It was weird. A four-meter red dragon — a *stat monster* in her own right — treating a green hatchling like she was... I don't know. *Investing* in me.
I pushed the feeling aside and bit into the tentacle.
*Fresh.* Incredibly fresh. The flesh was tender despite the rough exterior, and the moment it hit my tongue I felt a surge of warmth spread through my chest.
Magic-dense. This thing was *loaded* with magical energy. Every bite felt like drinking a potion.
I ate fast. Four-fifths of the tentacle disappeared before I stopped.
*...Oops.*
I pushed the remaining meter toward Vesperra.
She looked at it. Looked at me. Then picked it up and swallowed it in two bites — skin and all. Not a single scrap wasted.
I watched her eat, then looked away.
*She wants me to grow up fast.*
I could see it now, in the way she watched me. In the way she'd agreed so quickly. In the way she'd pushed the tentacle toward me without hesitation.
Vesperra wasn't just protecting me. She was *farming* me. Nurturing a dragon who could see the future, because a dragon who could see the future was worth more alive and strong than dead and forgotten.
And honestly? Fine. I'd take the investment.
I just hoped she knew what she was getting into.