The wind howled through the towering pines, whispering through the trees like ghostly voices carrying the warnings of those who had come before. The dirt path winding up the mountain was uneven, littered with loose stones and gnarled roots, making the ascent treacherous. The five adventurers trudged forward, their breaths misting in the crisp evening air. The village of Briarstead was now a distant speck behind them, its warm lights barely visible against the rolling hills.

  At the head of the group walked Garran "The Hound" Brask, his massive two handed sword strapped across his back, a confident smirk pulling at the scarred corner of his mouth. He moved with the ease of a man who had fought more battles than he cared to count, his chainmail shifting with each step. "A humanoid dragon," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Some kind of freak of nature. That’s all it is." He turned to the others, his tone dripping with amusement. "And here I was thinking we'd be hunting a real beast."

  Trailing just behind him, Varek Aldren adjusted his satchel, the weight of ancient tomes and scrolls pressing against his shoulder. At only twenty-five, he was the youngest of the group, but his mind was sharp, his curiosity insatiable. His light brown hair was tousled from the wind, and his long coat, meant for traveling scholars, flapped slightly with each step. "You underestimate what we might be dealing with, Garran," he interjected, his voice calm but firm. "If the rumors hold any truth, this isn't just some 'freak of nature.' It's something entirely unique."

  Hrothgar Bloodmaw, the hulking half-orc berserker, snorted loudly. His massive arms, bare despite the cold, flexed as he shifted the weight of his greataxe. His green skin was covered in old battle scars, and his long, dark hair was tied back in thick braids. "Pah! Doesn’t matter what it is," he rumbled. "If it bleeds, I can split it in two." His grin was full of sharp teeth, his tusks prominent as he relished the thought. "And it sure as hell ain’t a real dragon. Those things are gods of the sky. This?" He spit onto the ground. "A mistake."

  Walking with an air of elegance, Silwen Erelith, the elven archer, chuckled softly. His silver hair shimmered under the moonlight, and his sharp, refined features bore the smug confidence only elves seemed to possess. He wore a finely woven dark cloak over his leather armor, his enchanted longbow resting lightly in his hands. "Mistake or not," he mused, "it still has eyes, and a well-placed arrow will render it blind just the same." He glanced toward Varek, one brow raised. "Tell me, scholar, where do dragons have their weakest points?"

  Varek exhaled, glancing down at the dirt path as they walked. "Dragons are covered in scales that are nearly impervious to blades, arrows, and even most spells," he began, voice steady but tinged with unease. "However, their bodies require some flexibility, particularly around the joints—the base of the neck, under the arms, and the underside of the tail. Those areas are more vulnerable if you can break through the scales."

  "Sounds easy enough," Silwen said, inspecting the fletching on one of his arrows. "I’ll put one through its throat before it even sees me."

  Kaedric Vaughn, the group's magus, let out a quiet laugh. "You all worry too much," he said, pushing his dark bangs out of his eyes. His deep red robes, embroidered with flickering runes, pulsed faintly with latent magic. "Unlike you lot, I actually have something that can kill it outright. A well-placed fireburst should incinerate whatever remains of its unnatural hide." He twirled his fingers, small embers flickering at his fingertips. "And, worst-case scenario, I can shield us from its own flames."

  Varek halted mid-step, his brows furrowing. "Wait—incinerate?"

  Kaedric smirked, enjoying the attention. "Obviously."

  The scholar turned fully to face him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and concern. "You mean to tell me you don’t know that dragons are completely immune to fire?" His voice was sharp now, cutting through the group’s confidence like a blade. "Their scales make them impervious to their own flames and any external fire-based magic. Your spells will do nothing but warm them."

  Kaedric's cocky expression faltered slightly. "That… is yet to be proven."

  Varek rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath. "Goddess help me…"

  Garran, unbothered by the revelation, merely rolled his shoulders. "Doesn’t change anything. We adapt. We fight. We kill it." He glanced toward Silwen. "Your father fought dragons before, right? What did his groups do?"

  Silwen gave a slow nod, his smirk returning. "My father was in two separate hunting parties that took down red dragons. They always focused on the wings and eyes first. Blind a dragon, and it loses its biggest advantage. Take its wings, and it’s grounded." He drew an arrow from his quiver, spinning it between his fingers. "This thing isn’t a true dragon, it will be a piece of cake."

  They continued up the mountainside, the air growing colder as they ascended. The entrance to the cavern loomed ahead, a dark maw carved into the rock, ancient and foreboding.

  Garran grinned, resting a hand on his sword hilt. "Alright, boys. Time to put all that talk to the test."

  The group stepped into the cavern, their boots crunching softly against loose gravel as they entered the dimly lit expanse. The air was thick, carrying the scent of stone, dust, and something faintly primal—a lingering presence of something ancient and powerful.

  The flickering light from the setting sun barely reached into the cave, but where it did, it revealed a sight that made even the seasoned warriors hesitate.

  She lay curled in the cavern’s depths, partially draped in golden light. Her massive, obsidian-black wings were folded loosely around her, their edges resting against the stone. A long, sinuous tail coiled lazily around her legs, ridges casting faint shadows across the uneven ground. Her pure white hair, soft and layered, spilled across the stone like silk, some strands partially covering her shoulder and arm, while others fanned out around her head. Her horns, deep obsidian and subtly ridged, curved elegantly backward from her temples, their tips twisting slightly upward. Every inch of her body was covered in scales as dark as the abyss—except for her face, which remained eerily human, smooth and untouched by the armor-like plating.

  And then, she sighed.

  It was not the sound of a monster stirred from slumber. It was the sound of mild annoyance—the exhale of someone disturbed from a pleasant nap by an unwelcome noise.

  The group froze.

  Her golden eyes fluttered open, pupils contracting into slits as they focused on them. The expression she wore was not one of rage, not of fear, nor even of hostility. It was boredom.

  A few tense seconds passed. No one moved.

  Then, Kaedric slowly raised his hand, fingers curling as embers flickered to life in his palm. The glow of the forming fireball cast eerie shadows across his face.

  Silwen, with practiced ease, drew an arrow from his quiver, nocking it without a sound. His sharp elven eyes traced over her form, searching for the weak points Varek had described.

  She, still resting her head on her folded arms, let out a slow breath. Then, without shifting her body, her eyes flickered downward—to a small stone near her fingers, no larger than a human’s palm.

  With a motion so casual it seemed almost meaningless, she raised her free hand, resting two fingers lightly against the stone.

  And then, she flicked.

  A deafening shockwave erupted through the cave. The force sent a violent gust of wind tearing through the air, knocking loose dust from the ceiling and nearly sending the group stumbling backward. Varek felt his ears pop, the sheer pressure forcing him to stagger.

  And then—

  Silence.

  For a heartbeat, nothing seemed to have happened. The stone she had flicked had disappeared, as if it had never existed.

  Varek turned his head toward Garran, expecting to see him rushing forward, blade drawn—

  But Garran was no longer whole.

  Where his right eye had once been, where his cheek had once held the ghost of an arrogant smirk, there was nothing. A gaping void had replaced nearly half of his head, the flesh completely gone, as if reality itself had been erased in that single instant.

  There was no slow collapse, no final words—only the wet, sickening sound of his body hitting the ground, twitching once before going completely still.

  Two long seconds passed.

  Then, the blood came.

  It poured from the jagged edges of what remained of his skull, spilling onto the stone floor in dark, pulsing rivers. The sight was grotesque, but what sent a shiver down Varek’s spine was the precision of it. No crude, brute force had done this. It had been surgical—an execution performed with unfathomable speed.

  The group stood frozen, horror-struck.

  Varek’s breath came in shallow gasps, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Kaedric, his lips slightly parted, had stopped his spellcasting entirely. Silwen’s fingers trembled against his bowstring.

  And then—

  She yawned.

  She stretched her arms lazily before waving a hand toward them, a gesture as dismissive as swatting away a fly.

  "Leave," she murmured, voice low, smooth, bored. "I am not in the mood to play with humans."

  With that, she rested her head back onto her arms, golden eyes half-lidded, as if Garran’s death had been nothing more than an insignificant moment in an otherwise peaceful afternoon.

  The cave fell silent once more.

  Hrothgar moved before the others could even process what had happened. With a furious roar, he charged, his massive axe raised high above his head. His muscles tensed as he swung with all his might, the blade cutting through the air in a brutal arc, aimed directly at the creature’s neck.

  A deafening crack echoed through the cavern.

  The weapon, forged from strong steel, shattered on impact. Not a dent. Not a scratch. She did not even flinch. The sheer force of the failed strike sent shockwaves up Hrothgar’s arms, making him stumble back as the splintered remains of his axe handle quivered in his grip.

  And then—before he could react—came the sound. A wet, sickening schlck.

  Hrothgar’s eyes widened. A sharp, piercing agony bloomed in his gut. He looked down. From his side, just below the ribs, a spear-tipped tail jutted through his flesh, glistening with his own blood. It had impaled him clean through.

  For any normal man, this would have been instant death.

  But Hrothgar was no normal man.

  The Half-Orc snarled through clenched teeth, veins bulging as he fought against the pain. Blood spilled from his mouth as he turned his head toward the others, his voice a furious bellow. "Cowards! Fight, damn you! It’s just one—"

  She barely acknowledged him. With an effortless flick of her tail, she wrenched the blade-like tip free, sending a fresh spray of crimson across the cavern floor. The momentum of the motion sent Hrothgar flying, his massive frame crashing into the rocky wall with a force that cracked the stone behind him. He slumped forward onto his knees, gasping for breath as blood poured from the gaping hole in his torso.

  Silwen was the first to recover. His bow was already drawn, fingers steady as he aimed for the one spot he had seen—just above her collarbone, where there were no scales. A human body needs arteries to function, he thought. If she has any resemblance to one, this will kill her.

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  He loosed the arrow.

  The instant before impact, something shifted.

  Scales.

  Jet-black armor formed in an instant, seamlessly covering the spot he had aimed for. The arrow, enchanted to pierce even enchanted steel, ricocheted harmlessly off her newly formed plating, clattering against the cavern wall.

  Silwen didn’t hesitate. He adjusted, firing again—this time at her face, at her closed eyes.

  But she was already moving.

  Her tail lashed out like a whip, intercepting the projectile midair. The arrow snapped like a twig, splintering uselessly to the ground.

  She sighed again as she opened her eyes again.. A long, slow exhale, as if she had just woken from a long nap.

  And then she stirred.

  Her arms shifted as she sat up, pressing her hands against the stone floor. She lifted her head, rubbing her eyes, the action eerily human in contrast to the devastation she had already wrought. Another slow, drawn-out yawn escaped her lips, her fangs glinting in the dim light. Then, with a smooth, almost lazy motion, she rose to her full height.

  She changed.

  The imposing armor of scales across her body retracted, vanishing beneath pale, flawless skin. Like an organic tide withdrawing from the shore, the natural plating pulled away, leaving only a minimal covering over her chest and lower body—just enough for modesty, yet revealing the sculpted, feminine elegance of her form. Her wings, once wrapped around her, faded from existence entirely, leaving her back bare and unburdened.

  She stood barefoot against the cavern floor, her lithe figure no less powerful in its exposed state. She was a contradiction—deadly, yet graceful. A being of war, yet effortless in her dominance.

  Only three things remained unchanged:

  Her horns, curving back in obsidian arcs.

  Her tail, still dripping with fresh blood.

  And her gaze—now fully awake, fully aware, locked onto the remaining men with a presence so absolute, so suffocating in its sheer authority, that even the air seemed to tremble beneath it.

  Slow, deliberate steps carried her forward, each one echoing softly in the silence that followed. Her golden eyes, gleaming like molten metal, swept over the broken Half-Orc before her. Hrothgar, impossibly, was still alive. Lowering herself into a crouch, she pressed her knees together, arms resting loosely atop them, her posture relaxed. She tilted her head, studying him with mild curiosity, as though examining a rare creature that had somehow defied its natural limits.

  "Hmph... still clinging to life?" A trace of amusement laced her voice, smooth as silk, yet dripping with condescension. "Impressive. But really—what are you hoping for? A miracle?"

  Without hesitation, she reached down and wrapped her slender fingers around his skull.

  Then, she pressed.

  The sound was sickening. Wet. A grotesque crunch as bone collapsed like overripe fruit.

  Hrothgar’s body barely had time to twitch before his head—his entire head—flattened in her grip. Blood and viscera oozed through the spaces between her fingers, and with a final push, her palm met the cavern wall behind him, as though there had never been a skull in the way at all. A smear of red was all that remained.

  Varek’s breath caught in his throat. His knees buckled, sending him stumbling back onto the stone floor, eyes wide with pure, unfiltered horror. This wasn’t a battle. There was no struggle. No contest. This thing—they had never stood a chance against it.

  As panic set in, Kaedric seized his moment.

  Incantations spilled from his lips, fast and precise, his hands moving in practiced motions. Power surged through his veins, burning hot, and with a final word of command—

  Fire.

  A roaring inferno burst forth from his hands, engulfing the cavern in searing heat. The flames spread in an instant, a wave of blistering light that consumed everything in its path.

  The heat was unbearable. Varek clenched his teeth as sweat poured down his face, his skin feeling as though it might blister from the sheer intensity. Even Silwen, braced as he was, turned his head away, shielding his face from the unbearable heat.

  And yet—when the flames finally receded, when the smoke and embers began to settle—

  She stood.

  Unscathed.

  Not a single mark. Not a single burn.

  She merely shook out her hand, sending the last remnants of Hrothgar’s remains splattering to the ground with an air of mild disgust, as though she had simply touched something filthy. Then, with a slow stretch, she turned her attention back to the remaining men.

  "Mmm... not bad." She smirked, voice as smooth as ever. "It’s nice to have the place warmed up a bit. I usually have to keep my scales on when I sleep, but if you stayed around, maybe I wouldn’t need to."

  Her smile widened, fangs just barely visible. "So? What do you say, little heat lamp? Want to keep me warm?"

  Kaedric’s face twisted in terror. Any remnants of courage or strategy shattered in an instant. With a strangled gasp, he turned and bolted, fleeing as though the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  Silwen, shaking but still gripping his bow, saw his chance.

  He had to try.

  With Kaedric gone, the Dragon Demibeast was momentarily distracted, and Silwen acted on pure instinct. He loosed another arrow, aiming for her throat, desperate to strike before she could summon her scales again.

  To his shock—

  It worked.

  No scales appeared. No sudden defense.

  The arrow hit exactly where he aimed.

  And yet—

  It bounced off.

  The projectile snapped in two, clattering uselessly to the ground.

  She clicked her tongue in mild irritation. "Tsk."

  Before he could react, before he could so much as draw another arrow—

  She was there.

  A blur. Faster than sight. Faster than thought.

  Her hand moved.

  Silwen’s head didn’t.

  For a single, surreal second, his body remained upright, still gripping the bowstring, still frozen in mid-motion. Then, like a marionette with its strings cut, it collapsed, headless. The severed skull hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling to a stop mere inches from Varek’s trembling hands.

  The rest of the body slumped over beside him.

  Silence.

  Heavy. Suffocating.

  Varek felt something watching him. He looked up.

  She stood over him, golden eyes staring down—piercing, unwavering.

  That molten amber gaze smoldered, deep and rich, as if a fire burned just beneath the surface. The irises, vibrant at the center, darkened at the edges, shifting subtly with the dim light of the cave. Her pupils were sharp, focused, like a predator sizing up its prey. Her lashes cast faint shadows over her expression, her arched brows further defining the intensity of her stare.

  Those eyes demanded attention. Held power.

  And they were locked onto him.

  "Hmmm..." A pause. Then, voice smooth as silk, she asked—

  "And you?"

  She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

  "You don’t look like a fighter."

  Varek tried to speak.

  He wanted to answer.

  But his throat felt tight, as if something heavy had lodged itself there, strangling his words before they could form. His lips parted, but all that escaped was a hoarse, broken stammer. His pulse pounded against his ribs, his mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. The impossible strength. The fire. The absolute gap between their power and hers.

  She let out an exasperated sigh.

  Clearly annoyed, she shifted her weight and lowered herself with slow, fluid ease, one arm resting against her thigh as she leaned in slightly, her gaze sweeping over him with mild disinterest.

  Then, her gaze flickered downward—to his pack.

  Books. Scrolls. Loose parchments.

  Her expression shifted. The suffocating menace from before eased just slightly, giving way to something that almost resembled curiosity. "Ah... So you're a scholar?*" Her voice was smoother now, lacking the sharp edge it had carried moments ago.

  Varek swallowed hard, trying to force his brain to function.

  So much had happened. Too much.

  Somehow, her question, mundane as it was, felt like the most surreal part of it all.

  He struggled to gather himself, grasping onto the first thought that surfaced. "H-how..." His voice was barely a whisper. "How do you know what a scholar is?"

  Her pupils, thin as slits, widened slightly.

  For a brief moment, the predatory sharpness in her gaze dulled, replaced by something unreadable.

  Then, she spoke.

  "Because I was raised by a human."

  A pause.

  Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if working through a memory she hadn’t recalled in some time. "About... thirty years ago. He was like a father to me."

  Varek blinked.

  Of all the things he expected her to say—that was not one of them.

  His mind scrambled to make sense of it, but before he could ask anything else, his eyes caught movement.

  Her hand.

  The one that had flattened Hrothgar’s skull like fruit.

  At first, it looked normal—human. But then, before his very eyes, her index finger elongated, the nail sharpening into a curved, onyx-colored claw. The rest of her fingers darkened, smooth skin giving way to gleaming scales.

  "You’re testing my patience."

  Her voice was still smooth, but now it carried a distinct warning. "If I’m already awake, I may as well find a way to entertain myself."

  Varek flinched. "I—I study dragons!" The words rushed out of him before he could stop them, his voice trembling. "I-I’ve been compiling a collection—an encyclopedia of dragon species, their personalities, their habits—"

  She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Ugh. Dragons."

  She moved back slightly, her expression shifting into one of distinct irritation. "I’ve met two. Arrogant bastards. Always looking down on everyone else."

  The irony was so thick it was almost comedic.

  Varek, despite his fear, couldn’t help but register it. She had literally just treated them like insects beneath her feet, and now she was complaining about dragons being condescending?

  But he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

  Instead, his scholar’s instincts betrayed him, pushing aside some of his fear and replacing it with a bubbling curiosity. "What’s your name?" he blurted out.

  She shifted, tilting her head slightly as she leaned in closer.

  Too close.

  Varek barely breathed as her golden eyes bored into him, thoughtful, as if deciding whether or not she even wanted to answer.

  Then, with a slow exhale, she leaned back.

  "Vylaris."

  She let the name linger in the air for a moment before her gaze dropped back to his belongings. "You have anything else interesting?"

  Varek hesitated before fumbling through his pack. "I—I have two books on the fauna of Eldrath Isle. It’s mostly unexplored, and I have reason to believe dragons may inhabit it. It’s an unfinished encyclopedia...*"

  Vylaris exhaled, leaning back, standing straight.

  Without another glance, she turned away, heading back toward the far end of the cavern. Her movements were slow, unhurried, as if the conversation itself had begun to bore her.

  "Leave them." Her voice was casual, indifferent. "If they’re worth reading, I’ll find out."

  As she walked, her body began to change once more.

  The smooth, pale skin of her mostly bare form darkened, shifting into deep, black scales. Her wings, absent before, unfurled slowly from her back, emerging as though they had never left at all.

  By the time she reached the place where she had been sleeping, she had fully returned to what she looked like when they entered.

  She lay down, curling into herself, exuding the same primal stillness as before—completely at ease, as if the carnage of the last few minutes had never even happened.

  This was his chance.

  Varek didn’t hesitate.

  His hands moved frantically, shoving through his pack as he pulled out the two books and dropped them onto the cold stone floor. Then, heart pounding in his chest, he turned—

  And ran.

  His legs nearly gave out beneath him as he stumbled through the cavern, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn’t dare look back.

  The moment he felt the cold air of the outside world against his skin, the reality of it all slammed into him at once.

  He was alive.

  Against all odds. Against all logic.

  He had survived.

  The terror, the impossibility, the sheer incomprehensibility of what had just happened—it was burned into his mind, something he would never forget.

  And one day—

  He would write about it.