"Aurelion! Aurelion!"
Ize's stomach grumbled with the intensity of a miniature volcanic eruption. The call of the Flame Dragon Mother echoed twice more outside the massive lair, carrying authority that no creature born of fire dared ignore. A deep, resonant roar replied—a dragon's acknowledgment that stirred the molten core beneath the mountain.
Moments later, a towering young red dragon stepped into the lair.
Her wings extended farther than her body length, crimson scales gleaming like lava-forged armor, each one thick as plated steel. Unlike typical red drakes, her draconic crown swept back like a volcanic crest, radiating aristocratic power and mature ferocity.
"Great Mother of Dragons," Aurelion intoned with deep reverence, bowing her head so low her horned snout touched molten rock, "as per your will, I sought to procure a young human maiden for the young wyrm's first feast… but I failed. I am prepared to receive punishment."
Despite being a full-grown red dragon with strength that rivaled mountain titans, she humbled herself completely before the Flame Dragon Mother, Daenerys. It wasn't fear alone—no, this was a deeper, more primal loyalty. A reverence beyond even the Draconic Pantheon. Compared to the long-fabled goddess Tiamat, it was Daenerys who raised and unified half the Flame Range's red dragons, binding them not with divine decree but with iron rule and fiery devotion.
Without Daenerys, the red dragons of the Elbaf Continent would have dwindled to scattered beasts. Under her, they were a sovereign race again.
"Hmph! Aurelion," Daenerys' scornful snarl reverberated like a volcanic tremor. "I expected better. A trivial errand, and you botch it?"
"Great Mother, you are aware," Aurelion replied steadily, "thanks to your unmatched might, the Flame Mountains have become a domain feared by all neighboring human nations. No kingdom dares to settle here, and few caravans risk passage. Even poachers and mercenaries have learned to avoid us."
"Excuses," Daenerys snapped. Her voice was a rumble of smoldering fury. "If there are no wild humans left, take one from another retinue. Are there not humans serving other dragons? Have you become so toothless you dare not barter—or steal?"
Aurelion fell silent.
Red dragons hoarded power, not just gold. Humans, especially young, pure-blooded ones, were rare delicacies. To ask another dragon for one—especially kin—meant trading away treasures. Yet Aurelion had surrendered her hoard many times for the sake of loyalty. She had little left to bargain with.
Dragons were apex predators. While other creatures might survive on roots or stone when desperate, red dragons were pride incarnate. They scorned inorganic substances. They consumed only flesh—beasts, men, monsters—and had an insatiable lust for tender humanoid meat.
Among all prey, nothing compared to a young human virgin. It wasn't just a meal—it was a feast worthy of a wyrm-king.
"Great Mother, forgive me. While I could not secure a human, I did capture three fire-laced salamanders nesting in the central crater. Though inferior in flavor, they are saturated with fire chakra—rich in life force and ideal for the young wyrm's development."
"Sister Aurelion, please!" Ize interjected, stepping forward. "I truly do not mind. Salamander flesh greatly enhances my growth. It's much more suitable than human meat, I feel."
Daenerys's eyes narrowed, the lava-pools in her gaze simmering. Then, slowly, her posture eased.
"Very well," she said. "What are you waiting for? Bring them in."
"Yes, Flame Mother."
Aurelion dipped her massive head toward Ize in quiet gratitude—an acknowledgement that the young one had spared her from disgrace. Red dragons remembered debts. Generosity or insult, it would be repaid tenfold.
Ize released a soft breath. Although now draconic in flesh, his soul was still human. The idea of devouring a person unsettled him on a fundamental level. He didn't want to think of himself as a beast—not yet. Salamanders, at least, weren't sapient.
The three flaming salamanders Aurelion laid down were massive, each over three meters long. Their serpentine bodies were still hot to the touch, back ridges shaped like smoldering fins. Though slain, their corpses radiated heat, blood bubbling from their wounds like volcanic magma.
Any other creature would suffer burns from mere proximity. But to a red dragon, fire was warmth. Magma was bathwater.
Salamanders were elemental beings who thrived in volcanic pits. Their bodies emitted sulfuric scents and embers with each twitch. Ize extended his claws—newly formed but sharp as razors—and tore into the belly of the nearest one. The armored scales that protected salamanders from molten rock parted like fruit skin before his growing strength.
Behind the layers was red flesh, steaming and slick.
Starved, Ize didn't hesitate. He exhaled a light jet of dragonfire to sear the meat, then sank his teeth in with primal hunger. A mix of blood and magma-coated juice sprayed, but he didn't care.
And then—shock.
That taste—like a seared delicacy aged in flame.
The flavor danced across his draconic palate like a fiery waltz. Smooth. Tender. Juicier than he'd imagined. Far richer than the half-digested eggshells from his birth, which now felt like chewing gravel.
This was ecstasy.
Ize's eyes glowed.
He plunged in again, head lowering like a beast in frenzy, tearing chunks and swallowing whole. Scales, tendons, fat—nothing escaped.
A dragon's appetite was vast. Even newborns required a mountain's worth of meat weekly. Within half an hour, Ize had devoured one whole salamander, leaving behind only smoldering bones. His body processed the meal with terrifying efficiency. No bloat, no fatigue—only raw fire energy swelling inside.
Burping flames, Ize flopped onto the heap of Daenerys' coin hoard. His belly bulged faintly, but not unpleasantly. He stretched like a lazy feline, scales catching golden reflections, and patted his gut with satisfaction.
So this was what it meant to be provided for. Not to scavenge or kill or steal—but to be fed.
If he had to do this alone, he'd be starving half the time. Dragons needed food like the sea needed tides.
The law of the strong was simple: eat, grow, conquer.
He yawned. A full belly demanded rest, just as a sharpened blade demanded blood.
If he had a cigarette… now that would've been perfect.
He chuckled to himself.
But no. He wasn't here just to laze around. He was a dragon, yes—but one with a goal. He would command fire. He would wield magic like a king. He would rise, not sleep.
Even so… a nap couldn't hurt.
Just a short one.