[TLD] Chapter 1 - Hatching

Chapter 1

Hatching

“Find it, mongrel.”

A boot caught her between the shoulders, and she stumbled from the tunnel into the chamber.

The heat from the heart of the volcano struck like a fist. The air shimmered, thick enough to choke on. She caught herself on scorched stone, burned paws screaming.

She crawled forward, sniffing at the air despite the sulfur burning her senses. Following the scent they wanted. Knowing they would kill her once they had their prize.

Because slaves who completed tasks like this died. She knew it. Had always known her turn would come.

But slaves obeyed.

The chamber stretched before her, walls glowing orange with reflected heat. Every breath seared her lungs. The burns on her arms wept fluid that sizzled on hot rock. She crawled further.

There.

Her claws scraped at the collapsed rubble. The scent was strongest here, behind the fallen stone. She stopped. Looked back.

They surged past her, shoving her aside. Hands glowing with Qi tore through rock with ease, revealing the alcove behind.

She saw it first.

Scaled and purple. As tall as a human. Pulsing with heat of its own. She didn’t understand what it was. Only that it was beautiful beyond any words she knew.

“A dragon egg!”

The hunters’ voices overlapped, filled with greed and triumph.

“We’re rich!”

“—the choice of any sect—”

“—supposed to be extinct!”

She pressed against the wall, making herself small. Their voices clawed at her ears as they claimed possession of something that should never be owned.

Then the leader struck.

His sword took the first man’s head before the body understood. There was a wet sound as the head hit the ground and rolled.

Chaos erupted.

She flattened into her corner. Small and still. That was how slaves survived.

Two more died in sprays of red across ancient stone. The survivors scattered, weapons rising, voices hoarse with panic and rage.

The scuffle pressed close to the alcove. A dying man fell.

The egg rocked.

Rolled.

Toward the edge. Toward the magma pool below.

She saw it. The hunters didn’t. They were too busy killing each other.

It rolled closer.

Her mouth opened. 

She should warn them. That’s what slaves did.

Her mouth closed.

Let it fall. Let it escape their greed. Let it be free from the fate that awaited it.

The egg reached the edge.

Then it tipped and fell.

It disappeared into the molten rock with a hiss. Steam rose as it sank. Silence fell like a blade.

“No!” The leader’s roar shook dust from the ceiling. “You idiots! Years of searching to complete this quest and you—”

The argument erupted. Blame and fury and the sounds of men who’d lost everything.

She would die for this. For staying silent. For choosing, just once.

Good.

She closed her eyes and waited.

***

Crack.

The world was darkness and heat.

Consciousness flooded in with the thought. Memories that weren’t his crashed through his mind like broken glass. A blade whistling through fog. A roar, distant and certain, full of determination. A whisper that crackled and died.

His name surfaced through it all, sharp and clear.

Azratheon.

For a moment, there was warmth. Safety. Then it drained away, leaving only weakness behind.

And hunger. So much hunger.

He tore at the walls imprisoning him. His claws punched through the shell and light stabbed into the darkness. Magma poured in through the crack, but the heat did no harm to him. He bit down on the edge and ripped. The shell gave way in chunks until he could squeeze through into the molten rock.

He swam upward and broke the surface. A bright cavern stretched out around him.

Voices drifted down from above, hidden beyond the edge of the platform.

“...your fault, all of it...”

“...hunting for years and you...”

“...should have grabbed it before...”

The words were familiar. Language fragments from memories that didn’t belong to him knitted together into something like understanding. They were angry. Blaming each other.

Azratheon pulled himself to the edge of the pool and began to climb. The stone was soft and his claws sank in deep, but his limbs shook with every pull. His wings hung limp. When he tried to flex them, pain lanced through the membranes. Even his scales sat wrong against his body, loose and patchy like ill-fitting skin.

Something was broken within him.

But he climbed anyway.

At the top, he dragged himself to the edge and saw them.

Five humans. Four facing one, with several bodies fallen around them. One of the four held something small in his grip. A beastkin cub, maybe. He shook her hard enough that her head snapped back and forth, small fluffy ears atop her head flopping.

“Useless mongrel! You were supposed to warn us!”

“It’s gone because of you!”

The egg. They meant his egg. The prison he’d just escaped.

Then one of them noticed him.

The argument stopped. Five pairs of eyes locked onto Azratheon.

“Oh shit!”

“Just born and already bigger than a deer…”

“—looks sick though, like it’s starved or something.”

The biggest one laughed, joyous and merry. Qi roiled within the man. The strongest of the five by far based on pure Qi.

Azratheon pulled himself fully onto the stone. Magma ran off his scales in rivulets and pooled beneath him. He crouched low and began stalking forward, targeting the powerful one.

The big man turned toward him, sword dangling loose from one hand. He glanced back at the others with a grin.

“Well look at that. It knows which of us is strongest.”

He dropped to one knee and extended his empty hand.

“Come on then, you little cripple. Come here.” His grin widened. “Come to daddy.”

Azratheon kept crawling. Closer. His legs trembled but he moved steadily forward.

Yes. He knew which was strongest.

The man opened his mouth again, head turning to look at the others.

Azratheon struck.

He twisted sideways and lunged, jaws snapping wide. His teeth sank into the man’s throat and closed. Blood flooded his mouth, hot and rich and intoxicating. The man’s scream turned into a gargle. The others were shouting but Azratheon didn’t care. He ripped sideways and tore the throat free.

The man fell backward in his attempt to escape. Azratheon lunged again, landing on his chest, claws raking through cloth and flesh. Ribs cracked and broke under his assault. He tore through muscle and found what he needed.

The heart. Slowing. But still beating.

Something deeper than hunger seized him. A demand he couldn’t name.

He bit down and swallowed.

The power hit differently than blood. It sank into his bones and spread outward like roots taking hold. Something that had been sleeping inside him awoke. His body drank it in. The shriveled muscles in his limbs thickened. His bones stopped aching. The loose scales pulled tighter against his flesh. His wings straightened and the tearing pain dulled to a manageable throb.

The weakness didn’t vanish. But it retreated.

Azratheon threw his head back and roared.

The sound shook dust from the ceiling and echoed off stone. The four men broke and ran.

Instinct surged through him like a flood.

He hunted.

The men scattered toward the tunnel, screaming. The one holding the small cub turned and hurled her at him.

She tumbled through the air.

Memory rose through hunger and instincts. The first was certain. Absolute. Dragons do not hunt the weak. Another voice followed, this one cold and pragmatic: Killing the helpless serves no path.

The memory-thoughts were not his, but still they were part of him.

Azratheon flowed around her like lava around rock. She hit the ground behind him with a cry of pain. He didn’t slow. The man who’d thrown her had already reached the tunnel entrance.

Azratheon caught up to him in the tunnel.

The man spun, sword coming up in a desperate guard. 

Steel flashed in the dim light. He cut at Azratheon’s neck. The blade skittered across scales and bit shallow into softer flesh beneath. Pain flared. Azratheon lunged through it. His claws raked across the man’s chest. Cloth and skin tore. The sword fell. Azratheon’s jaws closed on his throat.

The kill was fast.

He tore into the chest and found the heart. Tore it free. Swallowed it.

Warm power flowed through him. It was satisfying, but nothing like the first. No renewal. No surge of strength. Just a gentle pulse that settled into his bones.

He continued the hunt.

Outside, the volcano’s slope stretched downward in broken stone and ash. The sun hung low, bleeding red across the western sky. Above, storm clouds churned and twisted. Wind howled down the mountain. Lightning split the sky and thunder answered, but no rain fell.

Three figures fled below, heading for the forest that ringed the mountain’s base in all directions. They moved at different speeds. One was already falling behind.

Azratheon pursued.

His limbs ached but he pushed forward. Neither the heat nor the terrain troubled him. This was home. The men below struggled with every step on the unstable ground.

He closed the distance.

The slowest one glanced back and his eyes went wide. Azratheon leaped. He came down on the man’s back and drove him into the ashy surface. Claws tore through cloth and flesh. The man screamed. Azratheon ripped him open from behind, pulled the heart free and ate it.

Even less than the last. The power barely registered. Just a faint warmth that faded almost immediately.

The weakness was creeping back. His limbs trembled. Exhaustion pressed at the edges of his awareness. And something else. Something inside him, building pressure like steam beneath stone. Trying to force its way out.

He growled and kept moving. 

Two left.

The next one saw him coming. The man stopped and turned, taking a stance with his sword raised. Ready to fight.

Azratheon didn’t slow.

He leaped.

The man’s sword came up but Azratheon twisted midair. His claws found the man’s throat and tore it open. Blood sprayed. The man fell. Azratheon landed beyond him and kept running without stopping to feed.

One more.

The forest edge loomed ahead. Dark trees rising from the base of the mountain. The last man reached the treeline and stopped. Turned to face him. Out of breath. Sword in hand.

Azratheon approached, slower now. His shriveled limbs burned. The burst of strength from the first heart was gone. Only exhaustion remained. And the pressure inside, growing stronger.

They circled each other.

The man attacked first. His sword came in fast. Azratheon tried to dodge but his body responded sluggishly. The blade cut across his shoulder causing real pain to flare. He snarled and lunged. The man parried and cut again, catching his flank. Blood ran hot down his scales.

Azratheon pressed forward anyway. The man backed up, cutting at him. One strike. Two. Three. Small wounds that added up.

But Azratheon was relentless.

He slipped inside the man’s guard. His jaws clamped down on the sword arm. Bone crunched. The man screamed and dropped the sword. Azratheon released and struck again. Claws raked across the man’s chest. He fell backward. Azratheon was on him instantly, tearing him open.

Finding the heart. Eating it.

And nothing. Barely a whisper of warmth.

Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. He staggered. His vision blurred at the edges. The pressure inside surged upward, unstoppable now.

He threw his head back and roared.

The sound tore from his throat. Raw and triumphant.

Something inside him answered. The pressure exploded outward through his body. Pain lanced through him. His bones cracked. His flesh and scales shifted. His vision went white.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

***

She followed the blood trail down the mountain.

It wasn’t hard to find. Bodies marked the path like signposts. She stopped at each one and went through their belongings with practiced motions. Storage rings pried from dead fingers. Weapons she could barely carry. Everything went into the sack she’d taken from the chamber.

Slaves who didn’t bring valuables back didn’t last long. She knew that.

The trail led to the forest edge. The last body lay sprawled in the ash. Near it, something else lay curled up in a puddle of blood.

She approached carefully.

The creature was large. Humanoid. Blood-soaked and unconscious. Red scales covered its body in various places: the backs of its arms, shoulders, and neck. Finer ones traced up either side of its face. 

At the center of its bare chest, a single golden scale. Larger than the others. It caught the last light of the setting sun and gleamed.

Claws tipped its fingers. A tail curled against its side. Beastkin, but wrong somehow. The proportions were off. The features too sharp.

She stared at it.

The dragon. It had to be. Nothing else made sense.

All her masters were dead. This thing had killed them. Which meant it was her master now. That was obvious.

She looked past it into the dark forest. Trees stretched endlessly into shadow. She could run. Just walk into those trees and keep going.

Her hands tightened on the sack of supplies.

She was powerless. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t hunt. Didn’t know which plants were safe to eat or where to find water. She’d been a slave her entire life. What was the point of running?

She kneeled down near the unconscious creature and arranged the supplies beside her.

The sun dipped below the horizon. Darkness fell across the mountain and the forest and them both.

And she waited for her new master to wake.