My mom’s an asshole.

No, really, she is.

In fairness, she’s also a dragon.

And when I say dragon, I don’t mean the cool, intelligent kind like in Merlin that was so posh they literally needed John Hurt to voice him (God rest his soul). No, by dragon I mean the dumb, raging kind like in Game of Thrones; at least I think the dragons in GoT were of the dumb, raging variety anyway, since I wouldn’t really know as I never saw the show. That isn’t the point though, the point is... what was the point again?

Oh, right, my mom’s an asshole.

Now, why have I come to this conclusion, you ask?

Simple, because I’ve known this woman for exactly one week, one fucking week—which is about as long as I’ve been alive—and within that time, this crazy bint has breathed fire at me, pushed me off a cliff, and tried to get me to hunt some kind of weird sabertooth wolf.

To put things into perspective, I’m currently about the size of a fucking Chihuahua.

So, yeah, she’s an asshole.

Said asshole roars in anger as I storm off, finally and utterly done with her shit, and my reply is to succinctly flip her the fuck off.

It doesn’t really work too well, both because my new bat-like forelimbs/wings/arms lack the appropriate anatomy for it, and because the bint I’m flipping off has no bloody clue what the gesture even means.

Unfortunately, mother jerkass doesn’t need to understand the gesture; nope, the simple act of me ignoring her is more than enough to make her flip the fuck out. And I’ve come to learn that when dragon mama flips out, she tends to do so combustibly.

Her sharp intake of air is all the clue I need to get the fuck out of the way, diving/gliding as best as I can on my unfamiliar wing-arms into the small nearby river.

Through the crystal-clear water, I watch as the world above is covered in an inferno of blue flames, and feel the temperature of the water around me tick up a few degrees.

‘Fuck me, that was close.’

It’s not that the flames would kill me—to be honest they don’t even do much damage—but Jesus fuck me Christ they hurt like a bitch.

When the flames finally go out, I swim up to the surface and peek out.

The elephant-sized dragon I now call mom watches me with baleful, golden eyes, and I poke out my left wing-arm and flip her off again.

‘Yeah, fuck you too.’

The dragon lets out a fiery huff through her nose, then she spreads her wings and takes off into the air, disappearing quickly over the treetops.

She’ll be back. Soon even. But hopefully, by then she would have worked out her aggression on some poor, defenseless creature or something.

With her gone, I take in the damage mother dearest has caused with her shitty yoga breathing and feel a little awed despite myself.

Whatever part of the ground her firebreath had touched was glassed, with the grass for feet after burnt to ash.

The tree line is about thirty feet away from the riverbank, and yet I can see that some of the trees have burnt leaves and blackened barks.

Honestly, how the psychopath hasn’t started a forest fire yet is beyond me.

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Several seconds later, I sigh—mentally, since both my snout and nose slits are still underwater.

‘What the fuck has my life become?’ I wonder.

I consider leaving the water, but quickly decide not to when I think about how much I like being in it.

In fact—

—with a series of smooth, instinctive motions, I submerge myself fully and swim down to settle on the riverbed.

Perfect, I think, as I feel several feet of water pressing on me on all sides.

I like this. I really do. I like it so much in fact, that if it wasn’t for my wings and my crazy mother I would probably have assumed that I was an amphibious creature, especially since I’ve got gills for some reason. Honest-to-god gills.

Why a firebreathing creature would need those, I do not know, but whatever evolutionary madness gave me possession of them, I’m thankful for it, because there’s just something I find so very pleasant about the contrast between the cool stillness of the water surrounding me and the steadily-becoming-familiar heat simmering in my chest.

It calms me.

Unfortunately, being calm always makes me think about the four-headed, baby pink mammoth in the room, namely the simple fact that, until I’d broken out of an egg a week ago, I’d had thumbs, actual thumbs, not these weird, claw thingies attached to the ‘elbows’ of my wing-arms.

No, I’d had fingers, and arms, and a home.

I had a family.

I was human.

But then I’d died; and now I’m this.

And don’t get me wrong, psycho mom aside, I’m glad to be a dragon, because to be frank, with my luck I always assumed that the best I could ever get from reincarnation was to pop up as Keira Knightley’s underwear or something. But instead I’ve got wings, and gills, and firebreathing and who knows what else.

It’s amazing. I’m lucky. I’m thankful.

...

Still though, a chance to say goodbye would have been nice.

—❈—

DROON YUDDRICK: ADVENTURER & FRONTIERSMAN

Droon took a sip from his flask and sighed as the delicious, life-giving creaminess of the beverage within flowed down his throat.

It was fairy mead, and the magical flask could carry about sixty liters of the stuff.

Droon considered this flask, but mostly the drink within, to be the most important item he owned, and he would—and had—killed people for messing with it.

Now, most people would say that the twenty-year-old was addicted to fairy mead, and they would be right, because, as is the case with all fairy foods, fairy mead is ridiculously addictive to most non-fairies.

It’s why non-fairies generally tend to avoid consuming them.

Another thing about fairy mead is that it’s expensive, ridiculously so, which ties in pretty nicely to why young Droon Yuddrick was currently here, deep in the frontier and about 125 miles from the nearest village; he was seeking a fortune.

Five months ago, in the northeast, after 116 years, the frontier had expanded, an estimated 300,000 square kilometers of unexplored terrain unveiled by The Mist (the largest, some say, in the last six thousand years).

With The Expansion always comes treasure hunters, skilled (and some not so skilled) women and men full of bravado and greed seeking their fortunes in the new land.

A never-ending gold rush.

Droon Yuddrick was in debt; money borrowed to feed his addiction. He was also an adventurer of some skill.

His next step was pretty obvious.

Teaming up with a duo of young, greedy adventurers like himself, the trio had journeyed forth, minds full with the dreams of treasure awaiting.

That was four weeks ago, and so far things had gone decently, though they were yet to hit any kind of motherload.

Droon downed another sip of fairy mead as the voices of his teammates behind him rose.

They were arguing again.

While their pickings so far had been okay, their team dynamic was anything but.

Droon’s teammates, two Kaleeshan women named Myrrh and Sage, just could not see eye to eye.

They argued about everything; where to set up camp, when to set up camp, who to do which chore, and even, as they were doing right now, which direction to head in.

Droon had suggested once, early in their journey, that the two should just fuck and get it over with; he’d almost died.

Since then, he just stepped aside and let them argue.

Downing another mouthful of fairy mead, Droon ignored the arguing women behind him and took in the vista before him.

They were atop a pretty high cliff, giving him an unobstructed, panoramic view of the terrain for miles and miles.

It was a forest, vibrant with life unlike he’d ever seen, untouched by human hands, and through the lush vegetation snaked a small, glittering river.

The clear, afternoon sky was filled with colourful birds, and a particularly huge one far off in the distance caught the young adventurer’s eye.

Wait, no, that wasn’t a bird.

Droon squinted. Was that—sweet Mother!

“Guys?” he called back to his arguing teammates without taking his eyes off the airborne creature for even a second. “Guys!”

“What!?” Sage asked angrily.

“Is that what I think it is?” Droon asked back, pointing.

His teammates moved forward and stared.

“Is that—” Myrrh began but didn’t finish.

She didn’t need to.

It was. It definitely was.

As one, the expressions of all three adventurers morphed into a gleeful, greedy smile.

This was the motherload.