Dawn broke slowly over the forest, the light creeping through the canopy in thin, golden threads. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of morning dew. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out, answered by another farther away. The forest was waking up, and so was she.

  Barjuchne sat at the mouth of her high cave, her legs dangling over the edge of the stone lip, watching the sunrise paint the treetops in shades of amber and rose. Her stomach growled. Again. The hunger was constant now, gnawing at her insides with relentless persistence. She needed food.

  She pushed herself to her feet and stretched, feeling the pull of new muscle along her arms and shoulders. The evolution had changed her. Made her stronger. She could feel it in the way she moved, the ease with which she lifted stones that would have been too heavy before. But strength came at a cost. She was burning more calories now than before. Now she needed several fish and even then she was still hungry for more.

  She headed deeper into the forest, following the sound of running water.

  The brook was narrow but clear, winding between moss-covered rocks and cutting a path through the undergrowth. The water was cold when she dipped her hand in, sending a pleasant shock up her arm. Small fish darted through the shallows, silver and quick, their scales catching the filtered sunlight.

  She crouched at the water's edge and waited.

  Her instincts guided her. Patience. Stillness. Her claws hovered just above the surface, ready. When the next fish drifted close, she struck. Her hand plunged into the water, fingers closing around slippery scales, and she yanked it free in a spray of droplets. The fish thrashed once, twice, then went still.

  She bit into it raw.

  The taste was still strange the second time, not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. She didn't care. She ate quickly, tearing through flesh and bone with teeth sharper than they had been yesterday. By the time she finished, three more fish lay gutted on the rocks beside her, and the hunger had finally dulled to something manageable.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood. The timer in the corner of her vision glowed a steady yellow.

  She needed treasure. And she had no idea where to find it.

  So she explored.

  The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, dense and tangled and full of life she didn't recognise. Strange birds with iridescent feathers watched her from the branches. A creature that looked like a deer bounded away when she approached. The trees themselves seemed very old here where she was, their trunks wider, their roots twisting through the soil in gnarled patterns.

  She moved carefully, keeping to the shadows, her ears pricked for any sound that didn't belong. Most of them were just her own, though. She wasn’t very capable of being quiet. Despite her silhouette essentially being only a vertical line against the horizon, her frame was extremely dense and heavy. She sunk into the soil a little with every step.

  And so, she explored for days, mapping out every nook of the region she could reasonably travel back and forth from her cave.

  As with any good bride, her captured princess waited for her return every night, as proven by the burning acid she lovingly sprayed on Barjuchne’s finger every time she tried to touch her.

  And then, one day, the last day, she smelt smoke.

  It was faint at first, just a hint of burning wood carried on the breeze. She followed it, her steps silent on the forest floor, until the trees thinned and she caught sight of firelight flickering between the trunks.

  She dropped low and crept closer.

  The camp was small, nestled in a clearing where the undergrowth had been hacked away. A fire crackled in the centre, surrounded by rough-hewn logs serving as seats. Tents sagged in a loose circle around the blaze, patched and stained and clearly well-used. And the people gathered around the fire were not what she expected.

  Humans, yes. Three of them. But also two elves, tall and sharp-featured, their ears tapering to elegant points. An orc sat sharpening a blade, his skin a mottled green-grey, tusks jutting from his lower jaw. And perched on a log near the fire, wings shimmering faintly in the firelight, was a fairy, of all things. Tiny, no larger than her hand, with delicate features and an expression of bored disdain.

  A magical world.

  The thought settled into her mind with quiet certainty. This wasn't where she came from in her past life. This place really was something else entirely, not that she hadn’t caught onto that before, considering she’s a half-lizard abomination. But still. This really settles it. These people are her first ‘outside’ contact with the world.

  But her senses tell her one thing: danger.

  There is an air to them, an aura, that she can smell in the air. They’re bad news.

  Her gaze shifted to the centre of the camp, and her breath caught.

  Treasure.

  A small chest sat open near the fire, coins glinting gold and silver in the flickering light. Beside it were rolled-up bolts of cloth, a few weapons, and a pair of ornate candlesticks. Not a fortune, but enough. Enough to satisfy the system. Enough to keep her alive.

  And honestly, seeing it somehow made her hungry again in a way that she’s sure no number of fish could satiate. It was a different hunger than for food.

  She desired, no… she needed that loot. It was a deep yearning she couldn’t hope to deny.

  And tied to a tree at the edge of the camp were two figures. A man, middle-aged and soft around the middle, his fine clothes torn and dirty. And a young woman, an elf too, her silver hair tangled and her wrists bound with rough rope. A merchant and his daughter, if Barjuchne had to guess. They are likely the previous owners of the parked carriage and the mound of wares here.

  Bandits, then. These were bandits.

  The timer pulsed in her vision.

  She was out of time.

  Panic rose in her throat. She didn't know how to fight. She'd never been in a fight in her life, either of them. She was stronger now and a little bigger thanks to the evolution, but she was still alone and there were eight of them. Nine, if she counted the fairy.

  But she was a monster herself now. Wasn't she?

  Monsters were supposed to be scary. What else was she supposed to do? Either she goes in and tries to play the role given to her by the universe, or she just dies out here anyway because she didn’t meet the system’s absurd requirements.

  Barjuchne forced herself to stand, her legs shaking, and stepped into the firelight.

  The conversation around the fire died instantly. Every head turned toward her, eyes widening, hands reaching for weapons. She kept walking, her palms flexing at her sides, her tail swishing behind her. She had no idea what she looked like to them. Some kind of lizard creature, probably. Lanky and strange and covered in dark scales. Her red eyes gleamed their way.

  She was going to do it just like with the wolf the other day.

  Bracing herself, she pounced straight toward the firelight in a surprise attack and then roared with all of her might at them.

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Then one of the humans laughed. A short, barking sound that was picked up by the others. The orc grinned, showing all his teeth. The fairy giggled, high and mocking.

  They seemed unimpressed.

  “What is that?!” laughs one of them. The others all started laughing too, a loud chorus of voices emerging in the night.

  Barjuchne stood there, frozen, her clawed hands outstretched. Her face was blushing. This wasn’t what she expected.

  One of the elves rose to his feet. He was tall and lean, with a sword hanging from his belt. "You're a scrawny weird thing, aren't you? What are you supposed to be? Some kind of kobold?"

  “Never seen one that big,” says the fairy from the side. “Bet we would take it to the carnival for a good trade,” it suggests. “Let’s catch it and bring it to F.P. We’ll see what she says about it,” he suggests.

  Heat flooded her face. Humiliation burnt in her chest, and with it came something else. Something hotter. They’re making fun of her.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Barjuchne’s mouth opened, and fire poured out.

  She hadn't meant to do it. Didn't even know she could. But the flames erupted from her throat in a roaring gout of heat and light, spilling across the clearing in a wave of orange and gold. The bandits screamed. They scattered, diving away from the fire, stumbling over logs and each other in their panic. The elf who had spoken took the brunt of it, his cloak catching fire, and he hit the ground rolling and shrieking.

  The flames died as quickly as they had come, leaving her gasping and staring at the chaos she'd caused.

  The bandits didn't stop to fight. They ran as she spewed lashes of flames after them out of instinct. All of them bolted into the trees, into the darkness; their shouts faded into the distance until only the crackling of the campfire remained. The fairy shot off into the night immediately.

  Barjuchne stood alone in the clearing, her chest heaving, her claws trembling.

  And then she saw the treasure chest.

  Immediately, every bad feeling in her heart vanished. The balm of pilfered loot soaked over her soul like an ointment.

  A laugh bubbled up from her throat, shaky and edged with hysteria. She stumbled forward and collapsed beside the treasure chest that she fondled, her hands closing around the cool metal of the coins. Gold. Silver. Copper. All of it hers. She clutched it to her chest, feeling the weight of it, the reality of it. In ecstasy, the dragon girl rubbed her face over the cold, shiny metal. Coins clinked beneath her cheek, sliding back and forth.

  "Mine," she whispered almost deliriously. "All mine."

  Her laughter grew louder and more genuine, and she pressed her face against the pile of coins, grinning so hard her cheeks ached.

  Then, movement caught her eye.

  The merchant and his daughter were still tied to the tree, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

  She blinked. Right.

  Them.

  But as she studied the tied-up captives, a strange instinct tugged at her as Barjuchne's eyes washed over the bound elven girl. She rose to her feet and crossed the clearing, her steps slow and deliberate. The merchant flinched as she approached. The daughter went very still.

  Barjuchne reached out and gripped the younger elf's chin, tilting her head upward toward her closely studying face. The gag over the hostage’s mouth muffled her gasp. Barjuchne pulled the fabric down, studying her features. Pale skin. Paper-blonde hair. Wide, violet eyes that shimmered in the firelight. She was beautiful.

  Without thinking, Barjuchne leaned in and inhaled, an animal instinct to smell her overpowering her lingering human sense of shame.

  The elf smelt like lavender, sweat, and that salty smell you get on your hands when you touch too much dirty metal. The scent curled into her lungs, warm and strangely pleasant, and the instinct in Barjuchne’s own chest purred with satisfaction.

  "Are you of royal blood?" asked the dragon girl with a reptilian hiss.

  The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and mortification flooded her immediately. Why did she just ask that? Why did she smell her?

  The elf blinked, her cheeks flushing. "I… no. I'm just a merchant's daughter."

  Barjuchne pulled back, her face burning as a past life’s social awkwardness overtook her lizard brain. She cut through the ropes binding them, her claws making quick work of the knots. The merchant sagged forward as soon as he was free, rubbing his wrists.

  "Thank you," the elven man said softly. "Thank you for saving us."

  The older merchant straightened, his eyes darting to the treasure chest. "I'll never be able to repay you for rescuing us and saving my fortune from those brigands. Thank you!"

  Barjuchne stared at him.

  "...About that," she said slowly. They both looked at her. She gestured to the treasure chest. "I'm taking everything."

  The merchant's face went pale. "What?"

  "Consider it a bargain price for your lives." She met his gaze, her voice flat and cold. "Leave my forest and never return," she said threateningly. She wasn’t sure why she did, but now her lizard side was overtaking her awkward side again. Her insides felt like they were on a scale that kept teetering from left to right. Her emotions were in wild fluctuation between two completely contrasting states.

  "You can't!" he barked, stepping forward. "That's a year's worth of sales right there!" He moved to block her path to the coins, his body between Barjuchne and her treasure.

  Something snapped inside her.

  The reptilian greed in her heart was visceral and fully overwhelming. Her vision narrowed. Her hands flexed. A low growl rumbled in her chest, and she took a step forward, her lips pulling back from her teeth. She could bite his throat out. Tear it open. Make him bleed for standing between her and what was hers.

  But she didn't. She stopped herself at the last second.

  Instead, Barjuchne turned and then instead grabbed the feather-light elven girl, easily hoisting her over her shoulder. The merchant’s daughter let out a surprised cry, her weight nothing against Barjuchne's new strength. "Then I'll take your daughter instead," Barjuchne said threateningly. Her voice was calm. Final. "But payment must be made."

  Obviously, she wasn’t actually going to take the girl. That would be unethical. A person is different from an ant.

  But this seemed like a good way to scare the old man into giving up his money without a fight. Barjuchne needed that money to live. She didn’t want to hurt him. She wasn't a bad person, after all. She’s just in a desperate situation that she doesn’t have the time to explain the full depth of. That’s even if he would understand or care to begin with.

  The merchant stared at her, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

  "Father!" the elven girl shouted, struggling uselessly against Barjuchne's grip as she remained slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  His eyes darted between them. Between his daughter and the chest of coins.

  Then his shoulders sagged.

  "I… very well," he said quietly, resigning. Barjuchne nods, getting ready to set the girl back down. "Take her,” he says, just as she started kneeling down. “But leave the money."

  Silence fell over the clearing.

  "Father!" the elf screamed. "How could you?!"

  Barjuchne stopped moving. She lifted her head slowly, staring at the merchant. She wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

  Did he just agree?

  He stepped in front of the chest, his arms spread protectively over it. "Sorry, princess,” says the father to his daughter. Barjuchne’s eye twitches at the pet name. “It's for the best,” he explained plainly, fully unaffected. “I’ve worked too hard for this. I know you understand."

  The elven girl went limp over Barjuchne's shoulder, her breath coming in short, shocked gasps.

  Barjuchne looked back at her captive over her shoulder for a moment and then the dragon girl stared back at the merchant man for a strangely captive moment.

  Both sides of Barjuchne’s internal emotional instability came to a unified agreement on this singular matter, at least.

  A few minutes later.

  The cart was heavier than she had expected it to be, but her new strength made it manageable to pull. Barjuchne dragged the treasure-laden carriage behind herself with one hand, the wheels creaking and bumping over roots and stones of the overgrown mountain pathways. The bag of coins stored inside of it clinked softly with every step, together with the rugs and other claimed plunder. The merchant’s daughter was trapped in the carriage with the rest of the bounty, rolled up tightly inside of a rug, and secured in place.

  And as for the merchant himself, he lay unconscious in the clearing behind them, a large, freshly darkening bruise blooming across his eye.

  A new window appeared in Barjuchne’s vision, glowing softly.

  Barjuchne chose the claws without hesitation.

  Heat surged through her hands, sharp and sudden. Her fingers lengthened, the bones cracking and reforming. Her claws grew, darkening from dull grey to polished black, each one tapering to a wicked point. She doesn’t really know how strong she is. The claws of her hands dug into the handle of the cart, splintering the wood. The elven girl let out a frightened, terrified yelp at the sudden force.

  Barjuchne flexed them experimentally, feeling the new weight, the new sharpness.

  Perfect. She can try hunting real game with these. Fish are well and good, but she’s getting hungrier. She saw that deer the other day. If she could manage to get the jump on it…

  "What are you going to do with me?!" the elf said suddenly, her voice cracking behind the dragon girl.

  Barjuchne didn't answer. She didn't know what to say, honestly. She, herself, didn't actually know what she wanted her for to begin with. The instincts in her draconic heart had demanded she take the girl, but beyond that, she had no plan for her. No idea at all. She was making it up as she was going along and now, here she is, carrying an elf and a carriage full of gold back to her dark mountain cave and she has no idea what to do with either of them.

  Why doesn’t she just let the elf go? She doesn’t need some elf. This isn’t a priority for her new lifestyle, is it?

  But she has her now, and the thought of letting something go that is hers is very difficult. Barjuchne doesn’t think she can do it. There is something in her gut that churns at the idea of relinquishing so much as even a single pebble from her collection, to which the elf now belongs as one treasure of many.

  Sometimes, being successful is just as daunting as failure.

  Barjuchne decides to alleviate the situation with a joke to let the awkward tension out of the air. She looks at her, doing her best to hide the awkwardness in her own expression with a calm facade. “Perhaps I will devour you or use you to incubate my young,” she jokes, making fun of the fact that she’s some kind of strange dragon-lizard thing, as if this were some nature documentary. She used to watch a lot of those on idle days back in her old life.

  But the elf doesn’t laugh. Instead, she lets out a terrified cry, trying to kick and get away again.

  …That didn’t work.

  This joke was perhaps interpreted as being more ominous than if she had just outright said nothing at all.

  Sometimes, failure can be very daunting too.

  After hours of marching back, the cave finally came into view as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep purple and blood orange. Barjuchne slowed, her eyes widening.

  The entrance had changed. It was different now than how it was when she left.

  Where rough stone had framed the opening before, now smooth black obsidian rose in elegant arches, polished to a mirror shine. The dark gateway gleamed in the fading light rather ominously, like a glowing beast’s mouth.

  Barjuchne stopped at the threshold, staring. The elf lifted her head, following Barjuchne's gaze. "What… what is this place?" she whispered in fear.

  The dragon girl stepped forward, crossing into her territory, and felt the dungeon's presence settle around her shoulders.

  "Home," she replied quietly as she stepped into the cave.

  The obsidian doors swung shut behind them with a loud, thunderous crash.

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