Crispin returned to the place he had been born because it was the only place that felt certain.
The broken shell lay scattered where he had left it, half-buried in loose soil and leaf litter. Its scent had changed. Where it once carried heat and something sharp and metallic, it now smelled of damp earth and decay, the forest already reclaiming it as refuse. Time moved faster here than it used to. Things did not linger.
He circled the shallow depression slowly, head low, eyes never still. His body moved with more confidence than it had earlier, claws placing themselves with quiet intent, tail following the rhythm without conscious thought. He paused at the edge of the nest site and lowered his head, nostrils flaring.
Nothing new had come. That was good. Instinct pressed him forward. He nosed aside fragments of shell, testing the ground beneath them, then dug.
The motion came easily. His forelimbs worked in a steady rhythm, claws slicing through loose soil and pulling it back beneath his chest. Dirt clung to his scales, cool against the warmth that radiated from inside him. He did not think about what he was building. He knew only what his body wanted—cover, depth, something that would break the wind and hide his shape.
The work consumed him.
Time slipped.
Light shifted overhead in a way he noticed only dimly, the sun creeping across the canopy while shadows stretched and folded back in on themselves. Muscles burned, eased, then burned again, but the discomfort felt distant, muted by the certainty that this mattered.
When he finally stopped, he had carved a shallow burrow against the roots of an old tree. The trunk had been hollowed by age and rot, its interior dark and dry, smelling faintly of fungus and old rain. The opening was narrow, just wide enough for his body to slip through if he curled his wings close and tucked his head.
Good.
He climbed inside and settled low, belly pressed to packed earth, tail wrapped loosely around his hind legs. The space held his heat. The world outside dimmed to filtered light and layered sound.
Safe enough—for now.
His breathing slowed. The frantic edge of his awareness dulled, replaced by something heavier and quieter. His eyelids lowered without his permission, and for a moment, he thought he might sleep.
His stomach tightened.
The sensation was sharper this time, not the raw ache of desperation, but something deeper and more insistent. A reminder, not a scream.
Crispin lifted his head and blinked.
The light outside had changed. Gold filtered through the leaves at a lower angle, warmer and longer, catching on dust motes and drifting pollen. The forest sounded different too. Insects had begun their chorus, a steady hum that vibrated faintly through the ground beneath him.
The sun was sinking.
Understanding settled into him with cold clarity. Night was coming. His body stirred, strength flickering uneasily beneath his scales. He pushed himself out of the hollow and stretched, limbs extending more smoothly than before. His balance had improved. The minor corrections that once required effort now happened on their own. His tail no longer betrayed him when he shifted his weight.
Progress.
The pond lay where he had left it, water reflecting the changing sky in muted bronze and green. He approached slowly, staying low, every sense stretched outward.
The water rippled.
Not the gentle flicker of fish.
Something larger moved beneath the surface.
Crispin froze.
A long shape slid through the shallows, armored back breaking the surface for just a heartbeat before vanishing again. Its body was thick with muscle, its head long and narrow, its mouth lined with pale teeth that caught the light even underwater.
It moved patiently.
A predator. Twice his size, at least.
Crispin's throat tightened. His claws flexed unconsciously into the soil as he watched it glide through the pool, snapping up smaller fish with effortless precision. Each strike was quick, controlled, economical. No wasted movement. No hesitation.
It was eating his food.
Fear rose fast, sharp and instinctive. His body wanted to retreat, to melt back into cover and let hunger pass as it had before, but hunger did not pass.
It pressed harder. The ancestral pressure brushed the edge of his awareness, not urgent, not commanding. Just cold.
If he did not eat, he would weaken.
If he weakened, he would die.
Crispin glanced back toward the hollow tree, then returned his gaze to the water. The predator turned lazily, its shadow sliding across the pond floor like a living thing.
Running would keep him alive tonight. Hunting might keep him alive tomorrow. His wings twitched.
The movement startled him. He looked down and spread them slowly, testing each joint with care. Thin membranes stretched between elongated fingers, dark and translucent in the fading light. They trembled as he extended them fully, catching air he hadn't realized he could feel.
They were heavy. Powerful. Awkward.
Not built for soaring—not yet. They felt made for sudden motion, for control rather than grace. He folded them again, heart pounding.
An image surfaced in his mind, unbidden. Not a memory of this life, but of another—half-remembered documentaries, animals diving from height, bodies angled just so to strike with speed rather than strength.
Pattern.
Crispin lifted his gaze to the low branch that hung over part of the pond, its leaves brushing the water's surface. From there, the angle would be steep. Direct.
He climbed.
The ascent was easier than before. His claws found purchase without searching, limbs coordinating with quiet certainty. He hauled himself onto the branch and settled low, wings tucked tight against his sides, body pressed close to the bark.
The predator continued to feed below him, unaware.
Crispin waited.
The world narrowed. Sound softened. Light dimmed. His breathing slowed until it barely stirred his chest. His body aligned itself without instruction, spine angling forward, wings folding back to reduce drag.
The pond seemed very far away.
The predator drifted beneath him, jaws snapping shut around another fish.
Crispin did not hesitate.
He dropped.
The dive stole the breath from his lungs as gravity seized him. His body cut cleanly through the air, wings tight, claws tucked. He struck the water like a spear, jaws snapping shut on the top of the predator's skull.
There was a moment of violent resistance—thrashing, pressure, impact that rattled through his bones—then his teeth found purchase.
He bit down.
The struggle ended abruptly.
The larger creature went slack beneath him, momentum carrying them both into the shallows. Crispin surfaced gasping, heart hammering, jaws locked tight as instinct screamed at him not to let go.
He dragged the body toward the mossy edge of the pond, claws scraping stone until he could haul it free of the water.
Only then did he release his grip.
The predator lay still.
Crispin stood over it, sides heaving, trembling with exertion and shock. Water dripped from his wings. His legs shook, but they held.
He was alive.
A pane slid into view.
[THREAT NEUTRALIZED]
Superior predator defeated.
EXP Gained: +15
Total EXP: 15 / 100
The message faded, leaving a warm, steady pressure behind his eyes.
Crispin lowered his head and fed. This meal took longer. The flesh was tougher, richer. Strength settled deep in his body as he ate, grounding him in a way the smaller prey had not. When he finished, he lay beside the remains, chest rising and falling slowly.
The forest felt quieter now.
Crispin lifted his head and stared into the darkening trees beyond the pond. The light was fading fast, shadows deepening, the world shifting toward something heavier and more dangerous.
Something deeper stirred beneath the earth, beyond his understanding. Whatever lay ahead, one truth had already etched itself into him.
The world below was not empty, and he was no longer the weakest thing in it.