Dragon POV
I hated my mother.
Okay, maybe hated was a strong word.
But she was so overbearing.
I was twenty years old already, and yet I was still being forced to take lessons like “How to Hoard Your Gold 101.” As if that was a real subject. As if I cared about gold in the first place.
Sure, I had failed the class four times, but that did not mean I needed to keep taking it.
Clearly, the problem was not me.
The problem was the wrinkly old professor dragon my mother kept hiring to teach me. He flew in every few days using some annoying cloaking spell and lectured me for hours about treasure protection, defensive formations, and proper hoard organization.
Proper hoard organization.
Who cared if rubies were supposed to be sorted separately from emeralds?
They were shiny rocks.
Put them in a pile and be done with it.
The only lessons I actually enjoyed were the ones about the outside world. Different lands, different climates, different monsters, different races. Those were interesting.
Especially the lessons about hyumans.
Apparently, hyumans were invasive creatures who spread across land like mold on old meat. They claimed territory, built cities, chopped down forests, mined mountains, and tried to take anything they thought was valuable.
Including dragon hoards.
My mother told me that hyumans had tried to steal from our family’s hoard more than once.
I did not care much about the gold itself, but still.
The audacity.
Imagine walking into someone else’s home and trying to steal their shiny rock pile.
Disgusting behavior.
Because of that, I had been taught what hyumans looked like, how they fought, and several effective ways to kill them if necessary.
At the time, I thought the lessons were dramatic.
Then again, my mother was dramatic about everything.
For twenty years, I had been stuck inside that mountain.
Twenty years of lessons.
Twenty years of rules.
Twenty years of being told I was not ready.
Eventually, I decided enough was enough.
One day, I walked up to my mother with all the confidence and determination I could gather.
“Mother, I want to leave the nest.”
She stared at me.
For a long time.
So long, in fact, that I was about to repeat myself.
Then she said, “You are not ready for what is out there. That is the last I will hear of it.”
Then she turned and lumbered away.
That was it.
No discussion.
No compromise.
No “maybe when you pass Gold Hoarding 101.”
Nothing.
Unfortunately for her, I had only asked as a formality.
I was done living in that dreary mountain. I was done listening to lectures from ancient dragons who smelled like dust and old coins. I was done being treated like a hatchling.
Not even my terrifying mother was going to stop me.
A few days later, the perfect opportunity appeared.
My mother and the professor were in another part of the mountain, probably discussing my “lack of discipline” or “poor survival instincts” or some other insulting nonsense.
For the first time in what felt like forever, no one was watching me.
So I left.
I spread my wings, looked back at the mountain that had trapped me for so long, and gave it the most heartfelt farewell I could think of.
“Fuck you.”
Then I flew away.
I did not leave a note.
I did not look back.
I flew as fast and as far as my wings could carry me. The air rushed over my scales, the sky opened above me, and for the first time in my life, I felt free.
Completely, wonderfully free.
Eventually, I found a tall tree that looked comfortable enough and curled up on one of its thick branches.
For one perfect moment, I thought I had won.
Unfortunately, there was a very good reason my mother had never wanted me to leave.
It was like I had a target painted on my back.
Everywhere I went, something chased me.
Trolls.
Ogres.
Goblin packs.
Things I did not even recognize.
They all looked at me with the same crazed, hungry eyes, drool dripping from their mouths like I was some rare delicacy that had wandered straight into their territory.
And maybe I had.
I was a dragon, sure, but I was also young, alone, exhausted, and very much not as prepared as I had believed.
Not that I would ever admit that out loud.
After hours of flying, hiding, and narrowly avoiding several ugly creatures with worse dental hygiene than the professor, I finally found a place where I thought I could rest.
That was when I realized something awful.
I was lost.
Completely lost.
I had no idea where the mountain was.
No idea which direction I had flown from.
No idea how to get home.
For one tiny, embarrassing second, I apologized to my mother in my head.
Maybe she had been a little bit right.
Just a little.
Unfortunately, I did not yet understand how much worse things could get.
Three minutes after I climbed into another tall tree to rest, I was ambushed.
By a troblin.
A tree goblin.
I know. Embarrassing.
During lessons, goblin variants had actually been one of my favorite subjects. There were so many kinds, each with their own habitats, hunting styles, and bizarre little behaviors.
Troblins were supposed to be easy to avoid.
They hid in trees, using their green skin to blend in with leaves. They usually hunted birds, squirrels, and other small creatures that climbed into trees looking for food or shelter.
Their weapons were simple. Sharpened sticks. Rusty knives. Bits of bone. Anything small enough to hide against the bark.
The one in my tree had a knife.
And because I was tired, hungry, and too busy feeling sorry for myself, I did not check the branches properly.
The little bastard struck before I even knew it was there.
Pain exploded through my wing.
Not normal pain.
Not the warm sting of fire building in my throat.
This was sharp, burning, horrible pain that made my entire body lock up.
I screamed.
Then I got angry.
Very angry.
I snapped my jaws shut around the troblin’s head and bit it clean off.
Then I immediately spat it out.
Because gods above, troblins taste disgusting.
Like rotten leaves, mud, and bad decisions.
Thankfully, there were no more of them in the tree.
Unfortunately, that did not matter much.
My wing was ruined.
Blood poured down my side, dripping onto the branches below. My legs started to weaken. My vision blurred at the edges.
I tried to hold on, but my claws kept slipping against the bark.
Then the ground started shaking.
Slow, heavy steps.
Something big was coming.
Probably an ogre.
Of course it was an ogre.
I tried to move, but my body would not listen. I swayed on the branch, dizzy and weak, like a leaf barely hanging on in the wind.
Then I fell.
As I dropped, everything seemed to slow down.
The forest blurred around me.
The shaking grew louder.
My blood trailed through the air.
And for the first time since leaving the mountain, I thought of my mother without anger.
She was right.
I was not ready.
The ground hit hard.
Pain tore through me, and my vision darkened.
I could hear the ogre getting closer.
I could smell my own blood pooling beneath me.
I tried to move, but my body would not obey.
Then I saw something running toward me.
A hyuman.
For a moment, fear shot through me.
Every lesson I had ever been taught screamed in my head.
Hyumans were dangerous.
Hyumans were greedy.
Hyumans stole from dragons.
Hyumans killed what they did not understand.
But this one was different.
He was running hard, breathing heavily, his face twisted with panic.
Not hunger.
Not greed.
Panic.
When he saw the blood beneath me, his eyes widened.
Something inside me settled.
I did not know why.
I had no reason to trust him.
No reason to believe he would help me.
But somehow, I knew.
He was not going to hurt me.
He was here to help.
Another wave of pain rolled through me, and I whimpered despite myself.
The hyuman rushed forward and carefully scooped me into his arms.
I should have fought.
I should have bitten him.
I should have done anything except let a strange hyuman carry me away.
But I did not.
His arms were warm.
His grip was careful.
And he smelled… safe.
I tried to keep my eyes open, because I was afraid that if I closed them, I would never wake up again.
But I was too tired.
The world darkened.
The last thing I remembered was the sound of his heartbeat, the feeling of being held, and one final thought drifting through my fading mind.
Maybe not all hyumans were monsters.