The snow crunched softly beneath me as I shifted, the warmth still rolling off my body in lazy plumes. Cold air curled around my sides, wrapping its fingers through the trees, but it didn't bite. Not really. I could feel it, sense the temperature drop the farther it moved from my core — but it didn't hurt. It didn't even sting.
My breath rose like smoke in the still morning. Cloudy sky overhead. Thick tree trunks surrounded me, tall and packed tight, their branches bare and heavy with frost. The forest was vast — wide, quiet, slow. There were no cars. No buildings. No fences. Just me, steam, and snow.
I didn't feel afraid.
Which was weird. I'd just been born, or reborn, or something in between. I was no bigger than a cat, naked, alone, in the middle of the woods in what I guessed was early winter — and yet, the fear I expected never came.
Instead, I felt steady. Quietly aware. There were bigger things out here than me, sure. Bears maybe. Wolves if I was unlucky. But I wasn't helpless. My new body might've been small, but it was built for something. I could feel it in the way my limbs pushed against the snow — solid, low to the ground, balanced like a predator.
I moved slowly, carefully. I didn't need to figure out which leg was which. My body just knew. My head turned smoothly from side to side. My tail dragged a shallow arc behind me. My shoulders rolled with each step. No tripping, no tumbling. I wasn't graceful, but I wasn't broken either.
The forest didn't fight me.
It welcomed me — like I belonged to it.
I kept walking, weaving around trees, stopping every few meters to listen. My ears were… somewhere. I couldn't see them, but I could hear everything. The groan of branches in the wind. The gentle rustle of dry needles shifting overhead. A single bird — small, fast, gone in an instant — flitting between trees.
Nothing larger. No danger. Just space.
The forest gave way to a small hollow, quiet and tucked between the snow-heavy pines. In its center sat a frozen pond — half-iced over, the middle still dark and smooth like a sheet of obsidian. I stepped toward it slowly, careful not to slip. The snow was thinner here, crusted with wind and lined with little animal tracks I didn't yet recognize.
I crouched by the edge, breath fogging the air, and looked down.
And for the first time, I saw all of me.
The water wasn't perfectly still — the breeze kept a faint ripple moving across the surface — but beneath it, my reflection waited. Wavering. Soft around the edges. But enough.
The shape staring back had a narrow head. Sleek. Long. Its eyes were wide, sharply angled, the pupils vertical and slit through a radiant gold. Around each iris, a subtle violet ring pulsed beneath the surface, glowing faintly even in the cloudy light. When I blinked, the reflection blinked too, and the pupils adjusted with the dimness, just like a snake's.
It didn't look human. Not even close.
I leaned closer. The skin — no, scales — were black and ridged, layered thick like crocodile hide. Where the light hit just right, violet shimmered along the edges. It wasn't decoration. It was part of me. A slow, pulsing glow just under the surface. Not bright, but constant. Like something alive.
I turned slightly and caught the side of my shoulder in the reflection. Something folded there — unfamiliar shapes that moved as I shifted.
Wings.
Bat-like in shape, tight against my spine, wrapped and veined. The membranes were translucent in places, crisscrossed by delicate lines of violet just beneath the skin. I hadn't even noticed them until now, but there they were. Real. Waiting.
I moved one, barely thinking. It twitched. Then the other.
They weren't strong yet — I could feel it. The muscles weren't ready. The weight wasn't there. But the structures were. And they were mine.
I stared at the reflection. At the eyes. The snout. The scales. The wings.
And something inside me shifted.
Not like a thought. Not even like a realization. More like a quiet truth unfolding in the background, one that had been waiting for me to stop long enough to see it.
I had claws. I had fangs, probably. I had a tail. Wings. Eyes that belonged to a predator. Scales that shimmered in unnatural light.
This wasn't a mutation. It wasn't some lab-bred lizard or alien reptile.
I was a dragon.
The word surfaced on its own — slow, heavy, strange on the tongue. Not metaphorical. Not poetic. Literal.
I blinked at the reflection again, waiting for the water to distort it. But it stayed. It breathed when I did. It looked back like it had been waiting.
Me.
A dragon.
I crouched lower by the pond, my claws digging into the packed snow, and felt the warmth in my chest coil again. That low, steady pressure behind the sternum — it wasn't going away. It sat there like a sleeping ember.
I remembered every fantasy book I'd read, every game, every movie. Smaug, greedy and vast. Drogon, black and blazing with fire. Toothless, silent and loyal. All of them fictional. All impossible.
Except I was standing here.
Was I supposed to hoard gold now? Was I going to breathe fire? Sleep in a cave?
I didn't know. But something told me I wasn't done changing yet.
And whatever I was meant to be — I wasn't there yet.
I sat still for a long time, watching my reflection.
The warmth in my chest had faded to a low throb by the time I pulled away from the pond. I wasn't sure how long I'd been crouched there, staring at myself, breathing against the ice. Time was different now — not slower, just quieter. Measured by breath and movement instead of clocks.
I stepped back onto the snow-packed bank, claws biting gently into the crust. A breeze caught the edge of the clearing, brushing past me, dragging pine and ice through my nose. The scents were sharper than before — more layered. Bark. Frozen soil. Old wood. Something sweet in the distance, maybe sap. I didn't think I had much of a sense of smell before. But now?
Now I could taste the air.
I started to walk again, aimless at first. The forest was still. The snow underfoot had a soft give, but never fully collapsed — each step left a clean impression. My tail dragged lightly behind me, drawing lazy lines across the surface. The clouds hadn't moved much. It was still midday, though the sun never showed.
That was when it hit me.
Not as a thought. Not as a feeling.
As a need.
It wasn't a growl or a sharp pain. It was lower than that, deeper — like my body was missing something it had never learned to live without. I slowed, pausing near a tree half-draped in frost, and tried to breathe through it.
Hunger.
Real, undeniable, and building fast.
I hadn't thought about food. Not since waking. Not even since dying. But now it filled me — not just a craving, but a pull. Every step forward felt heavier, every breath thinner. I didn't feel weak, but I felt… empty.
I sat back, claws spreading slightly in the snow, and stared into the woods.
What did dragons even eat?
In movies, sure — they ate sheep. Goats. The occasional knight. But that was fiction. Game of Thrones had Drogon burning wagons and chomping on people. Smaug ranted about treasure and roasted dwarves. But none of them had a diet manual.
Did dragons even need to eat?
I sniffed the air again. That same sharp clarity returned. Cold first. Then pine. Then — something else.
Warm. Light. Fragile.
I turned toward it slowly, eyes narrowing. I couldn't see it with my eyes — not yet — but the scent grew stronger. My tail dipped lower behind me. My steps grew quieter without trying.
Then something changed in my vision.
Colors shifted. The white-blue of the snow dimmed slightly, as if my focus adjusted. I didn't see red exactly — not flames or heatwaves — but the area ahead looked… warmer. A soft glow across a patch of ground, like coals buried just under the frost.
Footprints.
They curved through the snow just ahead, weaving between the trees. Small and delicate. Each one still fresh — still holding warmth.
I crouched low.
I didn't decide to do it. My body did. My legs bent naturally, shoulders rolling forward, claws easing into the snow to dull the sound.
Something rustled ahead.
I saw it before it moved — a blur of soft white fur nestled near a tree root, ears twitching. It was small, its body pulsing gently with breath. Steam rose faintly from its back where the heat escaped.
A hare.
Normal-sized. Clean white fur. Ears sharp and upright.
It was beautiful, in its way. Fragile. Still.
And my mouth watered.
I didn't know why. I hadn't thought about meat. I'd never hunted in my life — not even in games. I wasn't a killer. But now… something in me didn't care.
My claws flexed once. The heat in my chest stirred again.
I hesitated. Just long enough to think, Is this really happening?
Was I going to eat a rabbit? Raw?
Was this what dragons did?
I tried to hold still, to keep thinking, to figure out another option. But my body was already shifting its weight forward. My legs coiled. My breath stilled. The air funneled through me, quiet and tight.
The hare flinched, ears flicking sideways.
And I moved.
I lunged — low and fast, a blur across the snow. The distance closed in a blink. My front claws came down hard, pinning the hare before it could launch away. It kicked once — a desperate, final jolt — but I felt the shock run through it as my claws cut in.
There was a faint sting in the air — not from me, not from blood — something chemical, bitter. A shimmer of venom from the claws maybe. Not strong, but enough. The hare went limp quickly.
I didn't wait.
I tore into the meat before I could talk myself out of it. The warmth hit my tongue like nothing I'd ever tasted — not blood, not copper, not even close. It was rich, wild, and unbearably satisfying. I didn't stop until there was almost nothing left.
And when I did stop… I sat back.
No nausea. No guilt. No regret.
Just silence.
Snow drifted down in tiny flakes. The wind moved on. The taste lingered.
I looked down at what was left. A few bones. A strip of fur.
I should've felt something.
But all I felt was full.
And underneath that — deeper than instinct, colder than reason — was a new kind of understanding.
I wasn't just reborn.
I was a predator now.
The snow had already crusted over the patch where the hare's warmth used to be. My pawprints surrounded it now — scattered, shallow dents from where I'd moved, eaten, breathed too hard. Steam no longer rose from my skin. I could still feel the heat inside me, steady and low, but the burst of motion had passed. I wasn't wound up anymore.
I was tired.
Not the kind of tired that made you stumble or yawn. It was deeper. It settled under my ribs like weight. My legs didn't ache exactly, but they moved slower, less curious. My tail dragged more than it swayed.
I'd eaten. I'd hunted. I'd survived.
Now I just wanted to stop moving.
I didn't think, I need to find shelter. I just started walking — not fast, not with urgency, but with a quiet pull forward. The trees changed a little as I moved. They grew closer, knotted in uneven clusters. The snow deepened in some places, softened in others, and patches of root rose like twisted bones from the earth. I stepped around them. The forest made room.
It took longer than I expected to find anything.
I didn't want an open spot or a hollowed log. I passed a few — a dip near a stump, a patch under low branches — but they didn't feel right. My body didn't respond. Something quiet inside me kept saying, No. Not yet.
Then I saw it — half-covered in snow, wedged against the base of a sloped rock wall. A natural hollow. Not deep, but curved like a cupped hand, the opening small enough to hide me from above. The edges were lined with frost, but the inside looked dry, shadowed, layered in old leaf matter and clumped soil.
I stepped toward it without hesitation.
The space wasn't big — barely larger than I was — but the moment I ducked inside, the wind vanished. The air went still. The world dimmed. My claws scraped softly against packed earth as I turned once, twice, and settled in.
I curled automatically, tail wrapping near my legs, head low but upright. My shoulders dropped. My breathing evened out.
And for the first time since waking… I stopped.
I wasn't cold. Not even a little. The chill of the stone against my side felt like background noise. The heat I carried inside me had no interest in leaving. My body held warmth the way the rock held shadows — quietly, without effort.
I blinked slowly, letting the dark settle.
Except… it didn't.
The cave wasn't bright, but I could see everything.
Not like night-vision goggles or weird green filters — just… clearer. The inside of the hollow revealed itself in soft shapes. Pebbles. Cracks in the wall. Old scratch marks along the floor — maybe from something that used to live here. Or maybe from something trying to get out.
The longer I looked, the more the details emerged. My eyes weren't adjusting. They were made for this.
Dragons could see in the dark.
I didn't know how I knew that. I just did.
I rested my chin against one forelimb and let the thought hang in the air with my breath.
I was a dragon.
I'd hunted. Eaten raw meat. Slept in a cave. My skin glowed. My tail could kill. My claws carried venom. I could see heat, scent prey, and now, this — this stillness, this dim light — felt like home.
I didn't know what dragons were supposed to be. Not really. Not outside of books and shows. I didn't know what they meant to this world, or if this world even remembered them.
But I knew what I was now.
And for the first time since dying, I felt still. Not content, exactly. But balanced.
I closed my eyes.
The ground was cold beneath me. My body stayed warm.
I didn't dream. I didn't need to.
There would be time for that later.