The sky over Shadowfen was that special shade of gray that promised rain, misery, or spontaneous monster attacks. My shadow dragon hatchling—who now reached mid-thigh and had decided that personal space was a myth—was already awake and gnawing on the remains of a mana-moss log. I envied her energy. I also envied her ability to look adorable while drooling black goo all over my only spare shirt.
Breakfast was a negotiation. She wanted the last strip of dried lizard. I wanted to not get bitten again. We compromised: she got the lizard, and I kept my fingers. It was the little victories that kept me going.
The System chimed in: [Companion Skill: Shadow Snap – Minor shock effect added to bites.] Great. She was evolving from "dangerous pet" to "electrified nuisance."
I set out to check the traps. The hatchling followed, occasionally vanishing into the underbrush and reappearing with trophies: a glowing beetle, an angry fairy, half a mudcrab. The fairy was the least amused, pelting us with sparks and curses before escaping to sulk in a nearby tree. I offered a half-hearted apology. The hatchling sat on my foot, looking smug.
Mid-morning brought the first social call. Three fairies, all wings and attitude, hovered at the edge of my camp, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Their leader—tiny, iridescent, and with a glare that could curdle milk—floated closer.
"You owe us for yesterday."
I blinked. "Wasn't me. She did it." I pointed at the hatchling, who promptly sneezed a puff of shadow and pretended to be asleep.
The fairies were not impressed. The lead one zipped to my face, poked my nose, and declared, "Tribute or torment!"
I dug into my pouch and produced a handful of mana-moss. With a dramatic sigh, she accepted, then sprinkled a pinch onto my hair. "May your day be less fatal," she muttered, before leading her posse away. The hatchling snapped at them, missed, and gave me a look that said, "Why aren't you more terrifying?"
"Working on it," I muttered.
By noon, the weather turned. Rain hammered the lean-to, and the world turned to mud and fog. I sat inside, patching my gear and listening to the hatchling snore. Occasionally, she twitched, chasing dream-prey. I envied her simple ambitions.
When the rain eased, trouble arrived in the form of a shadow beast adolescent. Not as big as the matriarch, but plenty dangerous. He circled the camp, sniffing, eyes fixed on my companion. The hatchling woke, shadows rising. The System chimed: [Event: Territorial Challenge Detected.]
I kept my spear close and my expectations low. The adolescent growled, hackles raised. The hatchling responded by fluffing up and hissing, which would be more impressive if she didn't look like a fuzzy thundercloud with feet.
Negotiation, Shadowfen-style, lasted all of ten seconds. The hatchling lunged, missed, tumbled through a puddle, and came up spitting mud and curses (if you could call them that). The adolescent shadow beast laughed, a deep, gurgling sound, and flicked his tail in what I decided was the universal sign for "not worth it."
He left. The hatchling sulked. I patched another hole in my cloak and gave the System a mental high-five for a crisis averted by sheer awkwardness.
The afternoon brought new challenges. The fairies returned, this time bearing gifts: a single blue flower and a warning. "A hunter is near. Two legs, sharp eyes. Not one of us."
Human. Or something close. My stomach dropped. The last thing I needed was civilization stumbling into my patch of barely-controlled chaos. The hatchling sensed my tension, pressing close and wrapping her tail around my ankle. Her eyes glowed, ember-bright and unblinking.
I spent the rest of the day setting extra traps, camouflaging the lean-to, and teaching the hatchling the fine art of "don't be seen." She was a quick study, blending into the shadows and vanishing whenever I blinked. The System rewarded her: [Companion Skill: Blend – Temporary invisibility in low light.]
Dusk settled in. The world outside buzzed with danger. I sat with the hatchling, sharing the last of the roasted mushrooms. She curled up beside me, purring, her warmth chasing away the chill. The fairies lingered on the edge of camp, casting protective wards and muttering about "the big one" being "mostly harmless."
The System pinged: [Bond: Stable. Local threat level: Elevated.]
I listened to the rain, the distant howls, and the hatchling's slow breathing. Tomorrow, I'd have to deal with whatever the fairies warned about. Tonight, I had shelter, a shadow dragon, and the grudging acceptance of a few half-mad forest spirits.
Sometimes, that was enough. Sometimes, it even felt like progress.
Sometime after midnight, I woke to a strange silence. The hatchling was up, hunched at the edge of the lean-to, tail lashing. The swamp—normally a cacophony—was holding its breath.
A crunch. Footsteps. I eased my spear into hand, signaling the hatchling to stay back. She ignored me, of course, but at least she tried to look like she was obeying.
A figure emerged from the gloom: tall, hooded, armed. Human. Their eyes gleamed with the System's faint blue overlay—another transmigrant? Or a local with a borrowed trick?
We stared at each other across a patch of mud and broken roots. The hatchling growled, low and dangerous. The stranger hesitated, then lowered their weapon.
"Didn't expect to find anyone out here," they said. Their voice was young, tired, wary.
"Yeah, well. I didn't expect uninvited guests. Welcome to my nightmare."
A pause. Then, to my surprise, they laughed. A real, honest, desperate sound. "You got food?"
I didn't lower my spear, but I nodded to the edge of the fire. "If you're not here to kill me, grab a seat. Fair warning, the mushrooms are only mildly neurotoxic."
They sat. The hatchling eyed them, then, apparently satisfied, curled up at my feet.
We traded names—sort of. They went by "Ash." I stuck with "Knox."
Ash was a scavenger, fresh from a failed caravan raid, half-starved, and nursing a burn that looked suspiciously magical. We shared a meal, exchanged stories in the kind of gruff, careful way people who don't trust each other do.
They warned me about a group of hunters moving through the swamp—mercenaries, maybe slavers, definitely not friends. The fairies had been right. I felt my blood run cold. The hatchling sensed it, pressing closer. Ash saw and, for a moment, looked almost sorry.
"Swamp's never this quiet," Ash said, voice low.
"Means something's hunting bigger than us."
We swapped information, bartered a few supplies (one rusty knife for three strips of jerky), then agreed on a mutual "don't kill each other in our sleep" truce. It was the closest thing to friendship I'd had since arriving.
Morning came fast. Ash was gone—left a note scratched into the mud: "Thanks for not killing me. Good luck staying that way."
I grunted, checked my traps, and found a single, perfectly wrapped fairy flower tucked in my pack. The fairies' way of saying "good job not dying."
The hatchling yawned, stretched, and immediately stole the last of my breakfast. I let her. She'd earned it.
I spent the day prepping defenses, setting traps, and teaching my companion new tricks. She mastered "scare the fairies" and "look innocent when you're actually plotting mischief," both essential skills in Shadowfen.
Dusk brought new visitors: the adolescent shadow beast returned, this time with two cubs. The hatchling fluffed up, ready to fight, but the older beast just watched, then lay down at the edge of the clearing. Not a threat—an uneasy ally.
The fairies hovered nearby, arguing about which of us was more dangerous. The hatchling ignored them, busy trying to dig up a mana root the size of her head. I watched the forest, nerves on edge, waiting for the next disaster.
The System chimed: [Shadowfen Survival: Progressing. Allies: Unstable. Enemies: Evolving.]
Night fell. The world outside was still full of things that wanted me dead. But inside the little patch of light and laughter, I had a dragon, a few frenemies, and the faintest hint of hope that I might actually make it out of this alive.
For now, that was enough. For tomorrow, I'd need more than luck.