I lay nestled in my bed, wrapped up snug and warm, the soft blankets a comforting embrace against the chill of dawn. Then, quite suddenly, a sound drew me from the edge of sleep — the faintest, most deliberate breathing. Blinking my eyes open, I found Bob’s face mere inches from mine, his expression curious and unrepentant.

  “Bob,” I whispered, half amused, half bewildered, “why are you here?”

  He shrugged, eyes bright with that peculiar sort of earnestness. “It’s morning,” he said simply, “and I don’t have anything to do.”

  “You could’ve stayed cozy in your bed,” I murmured, only to remember, “Wait — you don’t have a bed. You slept on the table, didn’t you?”

  He nodded, a little sheepishly. “Exactly.”

  I sighed, already planning. “Right, that won’t do at all. I need to buy you a proper bed. Now, off downstairs with you. I’ll be down shortly.”

  With a reluctant nod, Bob finally pulled himself away and padded quietly down the stairs, leaving me to the warmth of my blankets — for now.

  I tried to will myself back to sleep, but my mind was now wide awake, restless and buzzing with curiosity. With a sigh, I slipped out of bed and crept downstairs, only to find a visitor waiting—an unusual one at that. A lizardman, his scales shimmering a deep emerald green, stood in quiet conversation with Bob.

  Clearing my throat, I stepped forward, breaking their talk. “Welcome to the House of Flesh. How may I assist you?”

  The lizardman turned to me, his voice low and thoughtful. “As I was telling your assistant, I wish to become a dragonborn, but I’m uncertain of the color of scales I want, or even the size of my horns.”

  I blinked, caught off guard. “Okay… what’s a dragonborn?”

  He smiled faintly, as if expecting the question. “The manager of the Dragon Hoards Emporium is a dragonborn.”

  Recognition flickered. “I think I know who you mean.” I reached out and touched Bob. In an instant, he transformed into what I imagined a dragonborn to be — proud, scaled, and horned.

  I glanced at the lizardman. “Is this what you want to be?”

  “Yes, just like that—only with blue scales,” the lizardman said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  I waved my hand, and Bob’s scales shimmered, shifting to a deep, royal blue. “Do you mean this color?”

  The lizardman shook his head gently. “A bit brighter. Like the clear sky on a summer’s day.”

  With a flick of my fingers, the scales brightened to a vivid cerulean. “Is this better?”

  His face broke into a pleased smile. “Yes, that’s perfect. Now, could you make the horns larger?”

  “Of course.” I focused, and Bob’s horns stretched upward, curling with a majestic sweep. “Anything else you’d like?”

  “No,” the lizardman said, eyes shining with satisfaction. “That’s exactly right.”

  “Very well,” I said, voice steady. “Then I shall proceed with the change.”

  I reached out and gently touched the patient’s head, feeling the subtle pulse of magic beneath his skin. With a careful whisper of enchantment, his scales shimmered into a brilliant, dazzling blue. Slowly, I adjusted the contours of his skeleton, reshaping bones here and there, until the form was strong and proud. Finally, I summoned a pair of majestic horns, curling gracefully from his brow.

  “There,” I said, stepping back. “That should do it. There’s a mirror over there—you can take a look.”

  He nodded eagerly and moved toward the mirror, eyes wide with anticipation. For a long moment, he studied his reflection, turning this way and that, striking various poses. Then, at last, he settled into a final stance, mouth opening wide as he exhaled deeply, a breath that seemed to carry the very spirit of dragons themselves.

  “Where is my attack?” the lizardman asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated, then said, “I was supposed to have a breath attack.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to be a bit clearer. What exactly do you mean by ‘breath attack’?”

  He straightened, as if preparing to explain something deeply important. “Every dragonborn has a breath attack—unique to their color. Now that I have blue scales, I should possess a breath attack that deals lightning damage.”

  I considered this thoughtfully. “So, it’s just a modified exhale?”

  He shook his head. “Technically, it’s the exhalation of magical energy.”

  “Ah,” I said, nodding slowly. “So, you need me to make you breathe lightning?”

  “That’s the oversimplified version,” he replied with a small smile, as if the truth was far more wondrous than it sounded.

  “Alright, lightning breath coming right up,” I said, reaching out to touch his head once more. With a gentle wave of magic, I shaped his exhale into a crackling blast of lightning. I enchanted it so that a deep inhale followed by a powerful exhale would activate the breath.

  “And... done.”

  “Let me try it now,” he said eagerly, drawing in a long, slow breath.

  “Hold on! Don’t do it inside—you’ll wreck my shop!” I warned, eyes wide with sudden alarm.

  “Oh, right. Sorry,” he muttered, stepping outside.

  There, beneath the open sky, he inhaled deeply again. As he exhaled, brilliant jagged bolts of lightning erupted from his mouth, dancing and crackling through the air. The street was scorched black where the sparks had landed—thankfully, we had moved outside in time.

  “It worked,” he breathed, awe coloring his voice. “I’m a dragonborn.”

  “Now, about the payment,” I said.

  “Oh, your assistant’s already taken care of that,” the lizardman replied with a smile.

  “Well, in that case,” I said with a shrug, “have a wonderful day.”

  I turned back to Bob, who was standing quietly nearby. “Bob... what did you charge him?”

  He grinned, holding up a single gold coin. “Just one.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “...Good job.”

  I stepped back inside, my thoughts already turning to how I might maximize my revenue. Simply waiting for customers to wander in was far too slow, and my attempts to drum up business by venturing outside had so far earned me nothing but strange looks. No, I needed a new angle—something fresh, something inventive.

  Perhaps instead of modifying the customers themselves, I could focus on something they own. Their possessions, perhaps, or even their pets. Yes, pets! People always seem to value their animals more than their own well-being. If I could test my ideas on an animal first, I’d have a new service to offer in no time.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  I needed a subject. A rat, perhaps. There’d been a dozen of them scuttling around just yesterday—nobody would miss a rat. Decision made, I stepped outside, my eyes scanning the dim corners of the street. I didn’t have to search for long.

  Only, this one was already dead. Which, frankly, saved me the trouble of chasing it down. Perfect.

  I returned to my shop and set about resurrecting the rat. As it drew a deep breath, I felt a flicker of relief—I was fairly certain I lacked the skill to twist rat nipples in any magical fashion. Now came the real challenge: modifying the creature itself. First, it needed something distinctly rat-like, something that captured its true nature… perhaps turning it into a shadow.

  I placed my hand gently on the rat’s head, focusing all my concentration on weaving the transformation spell. Slowly, the creature began to darken and waver, its form melting away into a shadow on the floor.

  Success.

  I stepped back, staring at the shapeless figure. But then a new question pressed on me—how on earth would I turn it back into a rat?

  I reached out to touch the shadow, but my fingers met nothing but the cold, hard floor. Frustrated, I flung open the windows, letting shafts of sunlight flood the room, hoping the light might coax the shadow back to life. But no matter how brightly the sun shone, the shadow remained stubbornly unchanged.

  It was less a silhouette now and more like a thick, inky puddle of darkness, pooling silently at my feet.

  It seemed, quite unexpectedly, that I had managed to transform something living into something unnervingly non-organic.

  There was nothing left to do but find another rat. I returned to the grim task of rat-catching, but luck was not on my side this time—no dead rat lay abandoned anywhere. So, I had no choice but to catch a live one.

  The chase was slow and frustrating. Growing impatient, I stomped down with my foot, listening intently. Then came the satisfying crunch beneath my sole. Finally, my dead rat.

  Back in the shop, I brought the rat back to life once more, my mind racing for a new idea. Shadow was clearly a dead end. What about something more... spectacular? Fire-breathing, perhaps?

  Focusing my magic, I twisted the rat’s exhale into a flicker of flame. The little creature blinked, looking around in confusion.

  “Come on,” I muttered, nudging the rat gently. “Do the fire breath.”

  The rat blinked up at me, looking hopelessly confused. It twitched its whiskers, tilting its tiny head, but no flame emerged. I sighed, the realization dawning on me—the problem with modifying non-sentient creatures was painfully clear. Of course! If the rat couldn’t understand me, how could it follow instructions?

  That meant the solution was obvious: I needed to make it understand me. I needed to make it... smarter.

  Placing my hand on the rat’s tiny head, I focused all my energy on its mind. I could feel it—the shift, the changes taking place within its brain. Neurons multiplying, density increasing, connections forming where none had existed before. It was as if the rat’s very essence was evolving beneath my hand.

  And then, after a moment that felt like an eternity, it was done.

  I decided to start with a simple test. “Rat, do you understand me?” I asked, holding my breath.

  To my astonishment, it nodded its tiny head.

  “Yes!” I couldn’t help but cheer. Just think of the possibilities—an animal gifted with sentience, capable of so much more than a mere creature of instinct.

  “Now, let’s begin the second test. Wait—where did you go?”

  I glanced around the room, but all I found were a few scattered rat droppings. It seemed the clever little thing had slipped away while I wasn’t looking.

  In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have made him quite so smart.

  Never mind the escaped rat—there were plenty more outside. I headed back out, and before long, I managed to find another dead one. Scooping it up, I returned to my shop, working quickly to resurrect it.

  This time, I decided to take a different approach. I modified its brain, carefully training it to understand words, but without granting it the ability to perform complex tasks. I was crafting a very particular sort of intelligence—smart in linguistics, hopelessly inept in everything else. An idiot savant, if you will.

  Now came the moment of truth.

  “Do you understand me?” I asked.

  The rat nodded.

  Excellent.

  “How much is two plus two?” I tried next.

  The rat tilted its head, utterly befuddled. Perfect.

  “What is a verb?” I pressed.

  It let out a squeak—high-pitched and sharp. Was it attempting to answer? It seemed so. I leaned closer, trying to make sense of the sound. This was progress, of a sort.

  I suddenly realized the problem—I hadn’t given the rat the ability to speak. A glaring oversight. With a touch of my hand on his head, I bestowed upon it the gift of speech.

  “Now, let’s try again.”

  “What is a verb?” I asked.

  The rat’s voice was clear and measured: “A verb is a word that describes an action, occurrence, or state of being, and is essential for forming sentences.”

  A textbook answer, perfectly delivered.

  I smiled. “And what is it that you desire?”

  The rat looked up, eyes bright. “I desire food. May I have some food, please?”

  “Of course you may.” I turned to Bob. “Bob, go outside and buy some of those meat sticks from the vendor.”

  Bob left, leaving me alone with the rat, who now sat blinking up at me as if expecting instructions. I scratched my head, trying to remember why I’d bothered making it understand me in the first place. Something about modifying pets, yes—but what practical use was there in having a rat that could comprehend my words?

  Could I sell it? A talking rat—who on earth would want such a thing? Perhaps I could give it away. The tumor girl, Anteka, might like a pet. She always seemed lonely enough.

  Just then, Bob returned, carrying a small bundle of meat sticks. I handed one to the rat, which eagerly grabbed it and began munching happily, its whiskers twitching in delight.

  Well, at least it was content. Now to figure out what came next.

  After the rat finished the last of the meat sticks, I took it to the ‘temple.’ Stepping inside, I found only Anteka sitting quietly in the dim light.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked, glancing around. “Have they all decided they hate me and stopped coming?”

  “Oh, hi Dim,” she said softly. “No, everyone still likes you. It’s just... early in the day.”

  I frowned. “Why does being early mean they’re not worshipping me here?”

  She shrugged. “It means they’re working. Not everyone can earn a gold coin in mere minutes, you know.”

  “Fair point,” I said. “But if that’s true—why are you here?”

  “I quit my job,” Anteka said, her eyes steady. “I’m working for you now.”

  I blinked. “I don’t remember hiring you.”

  She smiled, undeterred. “Well, you should. You explicitly told me to ‘go spread the word about your divine identity to the world.’”

  I frowned. “Even if that’s true, I don’t remember paying you.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to worry about that. I just take what I need from the tribute pile.”

  “Sacrilege!” I gasped. “How many coins have you stolen?”

  “I only take what I believe I’m owed—one gold coin a day.”

  I mulled that over. “That’s not so bad.”

  “It’s more than most people make in a year,” she said quietly. Then, fixing me with a curious look, she added, “But why are you here?”

  “Well, that’s a bit rude to ask,” I said, frowning. “Can’t I just visit my ‘temple’ for the fun of it?”

  Anteka raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure ‘just for the fun of it’ isn’t why you’re here.”

  I hesitated, then said, “Well, I thought you might be lonely and in need of some company. So I brought you this.” I held out the rat.

  “That is a rat,” she said flatly.

  “It’s an idiot savant rat.”

  “A what?”

  “It means it’s brilliant at one thing and utterly clueless at everything else.”

  She looked even more confused. “What?”

  “Let me show you.” I turned to the rat. “Rat, what is a noun?”

  The rat’s little nose twitched as it replied, “A noun is a word that names a person, place, thing, or idea.”

  Anteka’s eyes widened. “Wow. A talking rat! Can I try?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Rat, do a backflip.”

  The rat looked utterly perplexed. “...How do you do a backflip?” it seemed to wonder.

  Anteka turned to me with a knowing smile. “I see what you mean by it being an idiot savant.”

  She faced the rat again, her voice patient but firm. “Focus on jumping straight up, tuck your knees to your chest at the peak of your jump, and land on your feet.”

  The rat gave it a try, only to land flat on its face. Undeterred, it tried again—and this time, a little better. For nearly ten minutes, it kept at it, stumbling and fumbling, until finally, with a triumphant flick of its tiny body, it completed a proper backflip.

  She couldn’t help but grin. “Well, it took a while, but it got there in the end. That’s one pretty cool rat.”

  “It’s your pretty cool rat now,” I said, smiling.

  “Really? I get to keep it?” Her eyes lit up with surprise.

  “Absolutely.” I handed the little creature over. “I hope you have fun with it. And, you know, maybe give it a proper name—calling him ‘the rat’ every time does feel a bit odd.”

  She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go buy my servant a bed.”

  “Bye,” she called after me, a small smile tugging at her lips as I left.

  I stepped outside and made my way straight to the carpenter’s shop, picking up the parts for a bed frame. From there, I headed to the bustling market to find a mattress to go with it.

  Both the frame and mattress I carried by hand. Normally, this would have been impossible for me, but a quick boost to my strength had changed all that. With a flick of will, I could now lift heavy objects with ease.

  As I entered the store, I spotted Bob—still in his dragonborn form—scrubbing the floor with quiet determination.

  “Hey, Bob. I’ve got you your bed,” I said, setting the mattress down carefully.

  “Good,” he replied without looking up. “Where do you plan to put it?”

  I scratched my chin. “Well, I can’t leave it on the ground floor, so that only leaves one place—upstairs.”

  “Don’t you live upstairs?” Bob asked.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t live there too,” I replied.

  Suddenly, his eyes grew misty, and he dropped to his knees. “Thank you, Master. I am the luckiest servant to have a master as generous as you.”

  I had no idea what was coming over him, but honestly, I didn’t mind.

  “Well, don’t just kneel there,” I said, stifling a smile. “Come and help me install your bed upstairs.”

  We climbed the stairs together and set to work. It was far harder than it looked and took embarrassingly long to put the bed together. By the time we finished, the day had slipped quietly away.