The dragon was larger up close.
Its scales were not smooth like the elephant's skin nor firm like the horse's hide. They were jagged. Layered. Cold. Each one like a shard of stone pressed into flesh.
The baby reached out.
Its tiny fingers brushed against a scale and recoiled slightly. It hurt. The edges scraped its soft skin, leaving faint red lines. But it did not understand pain as warning. It only understood movement.
It tried to climb.
Hands pressed against the uneven surface. Knees scraped along sharp ridges. Its injured leg trembled as it lifted itself upward. Each movement scratched and bruised its fragile body, but it did not stop.
It was searching.
For warmth. For something alive. For something that would respond.
Halfway up the dragon's side, its hand slipped.
The scale it gripped shifted under dried blood. Its body tilted.
Then, It fell.
Not far enough to kill.
Far enough to hurt.
The baby rolled down the dragon's curved body and dropped into a thick puddle below.
Blood.
It landed with a heavy splash.
For the first time, it felt something overwhelming.
The impact knocked the air from its tiny lungs. Its back struck something hard beneath the surface, perhaps armor, perhaps bone. Pain burst through its body in a way it had never experienced before.
It opened its mouth.
A scream tore out of it.
The sound carried across the empty battlefield, echoing faintly among corpses and broken steel.
No one answered.
The wind did not pause.
The sky did not change.
The baby lay there for a moment, soaked, trembling. Its small chest rose and fell rapidly as it tried to understand what had happened.
Then, slowly, it rolled onto its stomach.
It pushed against the ground.
It stood again.
Unsteady.
Shaking.
But alive.
As it walked forward, limping slightly now, it saw something different.
Smaller than the elephant.
Smaller than the horse.
Smaller than the dragon.
A body.
It had two hands.
Two legs.
A head.
It looked… similar.
The baby stared.
What is this?
It approached cautiously. Its fingers reached out and grabbed the arm of the human corpse. The skin was colder than expected.
It pulled.
It shook the arm.
Wake up.
There was no movement.
It tried again, gripping the cloth near the chest and tugging harder.
Still nothing.
The baby frowned slightly, confused. This creature looked like it. Why wasn't it standing? Why wasn't it walking?
Hunger tightened its stomach again.
It shook the body once more, harder this time.
Something slipped from the corpse's side and fell to the ground with a dull sound.
A bag.
Soft.
Bulging slightly.
The baby turned toward it.
It crawled closer and pressed its fingers into the strange object. It moved when touched. It picked it up clumsily and brought it toward its mouth.
It bit down.
For a moment, nothing.
Then, Shhhhhh.
The material tore.
Cool liquid spilled out.
Water.
The baby's eyes widened slightly as instinct took over. It pressed its mouth harder against the torn opening and drank greedily. The water dribbled down its chin and neck, mixing with dried blood.
It did not know what water was.
It only knew relief.
It drank until the bag was empty.
Then it dropped it.
The hunger did not disappear.
Its stomach still ached.
The baby looked around.
Everywhere it turned, there were bodies.
Millions of them.
All sleeping.
Why?
Where is this place?
Why are they not waking up?
Its mind could not form full thoughts, only sensations and questions. It touched its own chest as if checking whether it too would stop moving.
Am I going to sleep like them?
Are they not hungry?
Why do they not stand?
The wind moved again, brushing past the elephant's massive form.
A small movement caught the baby's eye.
On the elephant's body, something black hopped and pecked.
A bird.
A crow.
It landed on the thick flesh and began striking at it with its beak. Peck. Tear. Peck again.
The baby tilted its head.
What is it doing?
Why is it putting that inside?
The crow tore at a softer part near a wound. Small pieces came loose.
It swallowed.
The baby stared at its own stomach.
Hunger.
That was the first connection it made.
The bird was doing something to stop the ache.
The baby stepped closer.
It reached the elephant's side again and touched the same area the crow had pecked. The flesh there was different. Not as firm.
It pressed harder.
It tried to bite.
Its small teeth pressed against thick skin.
Nothing.
It pulled back and tried again.
Still nothing.
It did not have the strength.
It did not have the teeth.
The crow fluttered away briefly, annoyed by the interruption.
The baby frowned slightly.
Then it searched along the elephant's body.
Little by little, it found places where the flesh had already torn. Softer parts. Open wounds left by blades or arrows.
It pressed its fingers inside.
Warmth was gone. But softness remained.
It brought its hand to its mouth.
It hesitated.
Then bit.
The taste was strange.
Heavy.
But the hunger pushed it forward.
Again.
And again.
Small pieces first.
It learned quickly. Where it was easier to tear. Where it was softer.
The pain in its leg remained. The bruises from the fall throbbed. Dried blood crusted along its skin.
But the hunger lessened.
Around it, the battlefield remained silent.
The rulers had gone.
The armies had gone.
The war was over.
And in the center of that graveyard of giants, beneath a sky that watched without judgment, a one year old child learned how to survive.