Chapter 8: The Dragon\’s Domain

 

The window appeared in her vision just as she was counting coins for the third time that morning.

Barjuchne froze mid-count, her claws hovering over a stack of silver, and stared at the glowing text that materialised before her eyes.

 

 

A second window replaced the first, offering her two distinct paths forward.

 

 

Barjuchne read both options carefully, her tail swishing behind her in thought. The hydra path sounded powerful, but the water dependency bothered her. Her cave was on a mountain. The nearest significant water source was the brook in the forest far below, and relying on it felt like a weakness she couldn’t afford. In her current environment, it really wasn’t an option, was it?

The wyvern path, though. Flight. Better breath control. A stronger physical presence.

She chose that option without further hesitation on the matter.

Heat flooded her body the moment she confirmed her selection, far more intense than any previous evolution before. Barjuchne dropped to her knees, gasping, as her bones cracked and reformed. It actually hurt a lot this time. Her shoulder blades split open, and she screamed as her growing wings tore through her flesh, unfurling in their full span in a spray of blood and flaked scales.

They were magnificent. Massive, leathery membranes stretched between elongated finger-thin bones, dark as midnight. They were shot through with visible veins that pulsed with draconic power.

Sitting back upright, she spread them experimentally, and they filled the central chamber, each wingbeat creating gusts that scattered coins across the floor.

Her frame grew denser, her muscles compacting and strengthening. Her chest expanded, her lungs enlarging to accommodate the enhanced breath capacity. The small horns that had sprouted from her skull extended in full length, curving backward elegantly like a ram’s, and when she looked down at herself, her body had transformed into something frighteningly beautiful and undeniably powerful.

She looked every inch the predator she was meant to be.

A new window appeared as the transformation completed.

 

 

Before she could process her new form, another window materialised.

 

 

Barjuchne stared at the quest requirements. Sixty days. Ten chambers. Three monster types.

She looked around at her cave, which suddenly felt very small and very inadequate, then at the entrance where she could hear the goblins making camp in the forest beyond.

She had work to do.

 

---

 

The first chamber she carved was practical.

Veliah needed a kitchen. The elf had been cooking over open fires in the main chamber for weeks now, and while Barjuchne didn’t particularly care about such things, she’d noticed Veliah’s frustrated sighs every time she had to improvise.

She pressed her palm against the stone wall adjacent to Veliah’s room and felt the dungeon’s power flow through her fingers. The rock became malleable and responsive, and she shaped it with careful precision. A cooking area with a proper ventilation shaft that led to the surface. Stone counters. A fire pit with adjustable vents. Storage alcoves for supplies.

When she finished, she stepped back and examined her work. It was functional. Veliah would appreciate it.

Probably. The elf seemed unhappy about the new company. Maybe this would balm her soured mood a little.

 

 

The goblin princess needed quarters of her own as well. Barjuchne carved another chamber next to Veliah’s, this one smaller but still comfortable. She added a bed, a table, and some basic furnishings. The goblin princess hadn’t complained about sleeping in the main chamber, but having her constantly visible was… exhausting.

Dragon or not, Barjuchne appreciated her solitude when she could get it.

 

 

Not that Barjuchne didn’t think she was fine enough. But she just needed space. Lots of space. Away from people.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d collected princesses because her dragon instincts demanded it, but in her old life, she was an introvert. Wasn’t she?

It’s hard to remember at this point. That old existence had become a blur.

Nonetheless, life was hard when your biology conflicted with your own inner nature.

From the outside, her frantic burrowing probably looked like enthusiasm. Draconic zeal for expansion and fortification of the territory. The goblins certainly seemed to think so, praising her tireless work ethic and dedication.

The reality was that Barjuchne was an introvert who suddenly had some fifty people living in her home, and she was quietly losing her mind.

Frantically, the dragon dug deeper.

Much deeper.

 

---

 

The dragon clan tribe moved into the front chambers of the dungeon.

They organised themselves with surprising efficiency, claiming rooms and hallways and establishing a defensive perimeter around the dungeon entrance. Their hunters went out daily, returning with game and foraged supplies. Their craftsmen began working on proper traps to replace Barjuchne’s crude attempts that had nonetheless served well enough during the knight’s incursion.

And they swore, loudly and repeatedly, to defend their Dragon Queen’s territory with their lives.

Barjuchne appreciated that a lot, actually. It saved her a lot of work. But she still went out of her way to terrify them so they would stop talking to her so much.

 

---

 

The goblin princess found her one morning while she was carving out the seventh chamber. Veliah was with her, and they approached cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal.

“We wanted to thank you,” Veliah said. Her voice was soft, careful. “For the kitchen. And for the amenities.”

Barjuchne didn’t look up from her work. “You needed them.”

“Still. It was thoughtful,” said Veliah.

The goblin princess nodded. She was small, barely coming up to Barjuchne’s waist, her pale green skin almost luminescent in the torchlight. “The tribe is grateful as well,” she says, but seems almost let down for some reason as she sighs.

Barjuchne grunted and continued shaping the stone.

There was a long, awkward silence.

“We were wondering,” Veliah continued, “if there’s anything we can do to help.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“No,” replied Barjuchne firmly. “Leave.”

The way she meant it was, ‘No, this is dangerous work and you’re likely to get hurt. Please let me handle it and stay somewhere safe.’ But the way it came out was much less restrained.

Another silence.

“Are you sure? Because —”

Barjuchne looked back at them over her shoulder.

Both of them took an involuntary step backward. Barjuchne’s new draconic presence radiated from her without conscious effort, making the air feel heavy and oppressive.

She didn’t mean to scare them. But they didn’t know that. They saw the wings, the horns, and the eyes that glowed, and they retreated quickly, murmuring apologies.

Barjuchne sighed and went back to digging. She feels bad, but she can’t handle this right now. She needed to be alone for at least a week to recover from this much social interaction. The dragon girl stopped for a second, turning her head to look in confusion at the little ant that walked past her, carrying a tiny stone in her mandibles as she, apparently, was helping to dig.

“At least you understand me,” she said to the ant, almost jokingly, in quiet exasperation.

The ant, however, did not respond as she walked away to place the pebble-crumb of rock onto a small pile of rubble.

After all, she was, as always before, simply an ant.

 

---

 

The cave-in happened on the fourteenth day.

Barjuchne was working on the ninth chamber, burrowing deep into the mountain’s heart, when she felt the stone shift wrong elsewhere in the dungeon. She stopped, sensing the shift in the mountain’s rock.

In the central chamber, the ceiling groaned. Dust rained down from above.

She barely had time to turn and start running backward at full speed before the entire section collapsed over the heads of the goblin workers who were expanding and fortifying the central chamber. Underestimating the ability of the dungeon to alter its own shape and stonework to adapt, they had dug wrong and triggered a collapse.

Rock thundered down in a deafening avalanche, filling the tunnel and sending shockwaves through the entire dungeon. Somewhere ahead, beyond the rubble, she heard screaming.

Her claws dug into the rubble, tearing away rocks the size of her torso and flinging them aside. Her wings spread for balance as she lifted a massive boulder and hurled it down the tunnel behind her. Dust choked the air. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop.

She could hear them beneath the stone.

She dug faster.

Her hands bled where sharp edges of obsidian glass from the mountain sliced through even her own scales. Her breath came in ragged gasps. But she carved a path through the collapse with raw determination and impossible strength, refusing to let her survival instincts tell her to abandon them and preserve herself before something else collapses over her head.

Maybe it wasn’t well-wishing so much as it was her draconic, greedy heart telling her to protect anything that is hers that guides this effort. But the result was the same in the end.

They were hers. Her responsibility.

The first goblin she pulled free was unconscious but breathing. The second was crying, his leg crushed but salvageable. The third was pinned beneath a boulder too large for even her to lift directly.

Barjuchne braced her back against the ceiling, planted her feet, and pushed.

The boulder shifted. Inch by agonising inch, she forced it upward, her entire body trembling with effort, until there was enough space for the goblin to be dragged free by his companions.

Then she let it drop and collapsed against the wall, panting.

Rou-ya, the goblin princess, appeared in the tunnel entrance, her eyes wide. She and many others come running at the sound of the collapse, and now she stands frozen, staring at Barjuchne covered in dust and blood, surrounded by the rescued goblins.