Chapter 2: What is Mine

Story-Complimentary Comic [2/12] Written by D.M. Rhodes Artwork by @5enketsu

Dawn broke slowly over the forest, the light creeping through the canopy in thin, golden threads. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of morning dew. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out, answered by another farther away. The forest was waking up, and so was she.

Barjuchne sat at the mouth of her high cave, her legs dangling over the edge of the stone lip, watching the sunrise paint the treetops in shades of amber and rose. Her stomach growled. Again. The hunger was constant now, gnawing at her insides with relentless persistence. She needed food.

She pushed herself to her feet and stretched, feeling the pull of new muscle along her arms and shoulders. The evolution had changed her. Made her stronger. She could feel it in the way she moved, the ease with which she lifted stones that would have been too heavy before. But strength came at a cost. She was burning more calories now than before. Now she needed several fish and even then she was still hungry for more.

She headed deeper into the forest, following the sound of running water.

The brook was narrow but clear, winding between moss-covered rocks and cutting a path through the undergrowth. The water was cold when she dipped her hand in, sending a pleasant shock up her arm. Small fish darted through the shallows, silver and quick, their scales catching the filtered sunlight.

She crouched at the water’s edge and waited.

Her instincts guided her. Patience. Stillness. Her claws hovered just above the surface, ready. When the next fish drifted close, she struck. Her hand plunged into the water, fingers closing around slippery scales, and she yanked it free in a spray of droplets. The fish thrashed once, twice, then went still.

She bit into it raw.

The taste was still as strange as it always was. It was not unpleasant but still a little unfamiliar no matter how many she ate. It would probably take some time to get used to after a life of cooking her food. She didn’t care. She ate quickly, tearing through flesh and bone with teeth sharper than they had been yesterday. By the time she finished, three more fish lay gutted on the rocks beside her, and the hunger had finally dulled to something manageable.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood. The timer in the corner of her vision glowed a steady yellow.

She needed treasure. And she had no idea where to find it.

So she explored.

The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, dense and tangled and full of life she didn’t recognise. Strange birds with iridescent feathers watched her from the branches. A creature that looked like a deer bounded away when she approached. The trees themselves seemed very old here where she was, their trunks wider, their roots twisting through the soil in gnarled patterns.

She moved carefully, keeping to the shadows, her ears pricked for any sound that didn’t belong. Most of them were just her own, though. She wasn’t very capable of being quiet. Despite her silhouette essentially being only a vertical line against the horizon, her frame was extremely dense and heavy. She sank into the soil a little with every step.

And so, she explored for days, mapping out every nook of the region she could reasonably travel back and forth from her cave.

As with any good bride, her captured princess waited for her return every night, as proven by the burning acid she lovingly sprayed on Barjuchne’s finger every time she tried to touch her.

And then, one day, the last day, she smelt smoke.

It was faint at first, just a hint of burning wood carried on the breeze. She followed it, her steps silent on the forest floor, until the trees thinned and she caught sight of firelight flickering between the trunks.

She dropped low and crept closer.

The camp was small, nestled in a clearing where the undergrowth had been hacked away. A fire crackled in the centre, surrounded by rough-hewn logs serving as seats. Tents sagged in a loose circle around the blaze, patched and stained and clearly well-used. And the people gathered around the fire were not what she expected.

Humans, yes. Three of them. But also two elves, tall and sharp-featured, their ears tapering to elegant points. An orc sat sharpening a blade, his skin a mottled green-grey, tusks jutting from his lower jaw. And perched on a log near the fire, wings shimmering faintly in the firelight, was a fairy, of all things. Tiny, no larger than her hand, with delicate features and an expression of bored disdain.

A magical world.

The thought settled into her mind with quiet certainty. This wasn’t where she came from in her past life. This place really was something else entirely, not that she hadn’t caught onto that before, considering she’s a half-lizard abomination. But still. This really settled it. These people were her first ‘outside’ contact with the world.

But her senses told her one thing: danger.

There was an air to them, an aura, that she could smell in the air. They were bad news.

Her gaze shifted to the centre of the camp, and her breath caught.

Treasure.

A small chest sat open near the fire, coins glinting gold and silver in the flickering light. Beside it were rolled-up bolts of cloth, a few weapons, and a pair of ornate candlesticks. Not a fortune, but enough. Enough to satisfy the system. Enough to keep her alive.

And honestly, seeing it somehow made her hungry again in a way that she’s sure no number of fish could satiate. It was a different hunger than for food.

She desired, no… she needed that loot. It was a deep yearning she couldn’t hope to deny.

And tied to a tree at the edge of the camp were two figures. A man, middle-aged and soft around the middle, his fine clothes torn and dirty. And a young woman, an elf too, her silver hair tangled and her wrists bound with rough rope. A merchant and his daughter, if Barjuchne had to guess. They were likely the previous owners of the parked carriage and the mound of wares here.

Bandits, then. These were bandits.

The timer pulsed in her vision.

She was out of time.

Panic rose in her throat. She didn’t know how to fight. She’d never been in a fight in her life, either of them. She was stronger now and a little bigger thanks to the evolution, but she was still alone and there were eight of them. Nine, if she counted the fairy.

But she was a monster herself now. Wasn’t she?

Monsters were supposed to be scary. What else was she supposed to do? Either she went in and tried to play the role given to her by the universe, or she would just die out here anyway because she didn’t meet the system’s absurd requirements.

Barjuchne forced herself to stand, her legs shaking, and stepped into the firelight.

The conversation around the fire died instantly. Every head turned toward her, eyes widening, hands reaching for weapons. She kept walking, her palms flexing at her sides, her tail swishing behind her. She had no idea what she looked like to them. Some kind of lizard creature, probably. Lanky and strange and covered in dark scales. Her red eyes gleamed their way.

She was going to do it just like with the wolf the other day.

Bracing herself, she pounced straight toward the firelight in a surprise attack and then roared with all of her might at them.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then one of the humans laughed. A short, barking sound that was picked up by the others. The orc grinned, showing all his teeth. The fairy giggled, high and mocking.

They seemed unimpressed.

“What is that?!” laughs one of them. The others all started laughing too, a loud chorus of voices emerging in the night.

Barjuchne stood there, frozen, her clawed hands outstretched. Her face was blushing. This wasn’t what she expected.

One of the elves rose to his feet. He was tall and lean, with a sword hanging from his belt. “You’re a scrawny weird thing, aren’t you? What are you supposed to be? Some kind of kobold?”

“Never seen one that big,” noted the fairy from the side. “Bet we would take it to the carnival for a good trade,” he suggested. “Let’s catch it and bring it to F.P. We’ll see what she says about it,” he said.

Heat flooded her face. Humiliation burnt in her chest, and with it came something else. Something hotter. They were making fun of her.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Barjuchne’s mouth opened, and fire poured out.

She hadn’t meant to do it. Didn’t even know she could. But the flames erupted from her throat in a roaring gout of heat and light, spilling across the clearing in a wave of orange and gold. The bandits screamed. They scattered, diving away from the fire, stumbling over logs and each other in their panic. The elf who had spoken took the brunt of it, his cloak catching fire, and he hit the ground rolling and shrieking.

The flames died as quickly as they had come, leaving her gasping and staring at the chaos she’d caused.

The bandits didn’t stop to fight. They ran as she spewed lashes of flames after them out of instinct. All of them bolted into the trees, into the darkness; their shouts faded into the distance until only the crackling of the campfire remained. The fairy shot off into the night immediately.

Barjuchne stood alone in the clearing, her chest heaving, her claws trembling.

And then she saw the treasure chest.

Immediately, every bad feeling in her heart vanished. The balm of pilfered loot soaked over her soul like an ointment.

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, shaky and edged with hysteria. She stumbled forward and collapsed beside the treasure chest that she fondled, her hands closing around the cool metal of the coins. Gold. Silver. Copper. All of it hers. She clutched it to her chest, feeling the weight of it, the reality of it. In ecstasy, the dragon girl rubbed her face over the cold, shiny metal. Coins clinked beneath her cheek, sliding back and forth.

“Mine,” she whispered almost deliriously. “All mine.”

Her laughter grew louder and more genuine, and she pressed her face against the pile of coins, grinning so hard her cheeks ached.

Then, movement caught her eye.

The merchant and his daughter were still tied to the tree, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

She blinked. Right.

Them.

But as she studied the tied-up captives, a strange instinct tugged at her as Barjuchne’s eyes washed over the bound elven girl. She rose to her feet and crossed the clearing, her steps slow and deliberate. The merchant flinched as she approached. The daughter went very still.