“Is he dead?” Torra asked.

Aldrina glanced over at Michael, lying motionless in the sand. The fight had been brutal, and she could see the toll it had taken on him. She walked over cautiously, her boots sinking slightly into the gritty terrain, and kicked him, causing him to roll onto his back. His chest was rising and falling, albeit slowly.

“No, he’s still breathing,” Aldrina answered “What should we do? Leave him? Or wait for him to wake up?” she asked.

“I’d say, on the off chance that he’s an actual noble we should take him, the gold, remember?” Torra said

“Right, the gold,” Aldrina said as she kneeled down and grabbed his arms. “There is a river not too far from here, let's take him and have him rest a bit and fill up my canteen”

It was an hour's walk—not too bad if you're used to this sort of thing, even if you’re dragging around an unconscious noble. Aldrina had put Michael down to inspect the surroundings for danger. The terrain was rough, with jagged rocks and dense underbrush, but nothing seemed out of place.

“Alright, we're in the clear,” she announced, satisfied that they were alone. She walked back and dragged Michael closer to the water, his limp body leaving a shallow trail in the sand. Kneeling beside him, she used an old rag to soak up water from the river and gently laid it on his forehead, hoping to cool him down. His skin was clammy, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She frowned slightly but kept her thoughts to herself.

Grabbing her canteen, she made her way back to the river to fill it. The water was cool and clear, reflecting the light of the desert sun.

“So, what do you plan to do with him if he’s not a noble?” Torra asked, breaking the silence. “Some random guy isn't going to pay you 500 crowns for this type of job.”

Aldrina capped her canteen and looked back at Michael, who was still unconscious. “I have an idea of what to do just in case,” she replied, her tone steady. “Besides, it’s not just about the money. If he’s lying, there are other ways to make this worth our while.”

“What do you mean?” Torra asked.

Aldrina sat down beside Michael, her expression thoughtful. “Think about it. He claimed to have a Salamadrake, but those creatures are incredibly rare. They only live in the Orcish lands, far from here. I highly doubt some human noble would travel halfway across the world for something like that. If he’s not who he says he is, then he’s hiding something.

Just then, Michael stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. His eyelids fluttered as he began to regain consciousness, the fog in his mind slowly lifting.

“What happened?” Michael muttered, his hand instinctively reaching up to cradle his aching head.

“Ah, you’re finally awake. I was starting to get worried, Michael,” Embora said, her voice resonating from within him, a mix of relief and concern evident in her tone.

Michael blinked, trying to focus as the world around him came into sharper view. The coolness of the damp rag on his forehead felt like heavan compared to the heat that had engulfed him during the battle. He slowly sat up, wincing as his muscles protested.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Aldrina, who had been watching him closely, leaned in. “You’ve been out for a while. How are you feeling?”

Michael groaned again, rubbing his temples. “Like I got run over by a stampede. What happened to the Scorthion?”

“You took care of it... sort of. Whatever you did, it worked, You melted it.” Aldrina said

Michael’s eyes widened slightly as memories of the battle flooded back—the searing pain, the burning goo, the creature's screams. He placed his hand on his mouth, the reality of what he had done slowly sinking in. “What was that about?” he asked, his voice shaky. “I was trying to breathe fire on it, not vomit lava or whatever that was.”

“That was an Evolution skill, Michael,” Embora explained gently. “It’s a skill that alters your body slightly, sometimes in ways you’re not expecting. The white-hot goo that came out was… well… your melted lungs.”

Michael stared at the ground, trying to process what she had just said. “My lungs... melted?” The words sounded absurd, but the burning sensation he remembered made it all too real. He took a breath, feeling the air fill his lungs.

“H-how am I breathing if my lungs melted?” Michael asked, confusion and concern lacing his voice.

“You do have lungs, just not your original ones,” Embora replied, her tone both reassuring and cautious. “You now have the lungs of a dragonkin.”

“A Dragonkin?”

“It's what we call humanoids who became partners with dragons, we dragons have too much pride I think,” Embora explained, “its extremely rare for a dragon to form a partnership. The only reason I did was because I had no choice,”

“Gee, thanks,” Michael said as he stood up and wiped the sand off of him. He looked around and noticed the river, that's weird, do rivers flow through the desert? Rivers in the desert.

“Hey!” Aldrina shouted. “We're almost to Osta, it'll still be a few hours but we should be there before nightfall.”

“Good, I'm So done with sand for a while,” Michael said.

And so they made their way through the desert while following Aldrina, Michael decided to open his menu screen and explore it.

“Huh, there's a clock on the bottom? That's neat, " he said inwardly.

“Ah yes. While being imprisoned, that quickly became my favorite feature.” Embora said.

He looked at the menu clock, and it showed that it was 6:21 pm. The sun is starting to set.

“I can see how that's useful, how does it know what time it is?” Michael asked

“I'm not sure, I never thought to ask,” Embora answered.

Michael and Aldrina make their way through the desert, and an hour later they see the edge of a large town.

“Oh thank God! We can finally get out of the desert.” Michael said. The buildings from what he could see were tall and made of a white stone. The style was what you'd think a typical fantasy home would look like, except sandy.

It was a beautiful sight against the setting sun, except for the giant plume of smoke rising from the town below. The black tendrils twisted upward, staining the orange sky with an ominous shadow. Michael squinted at the smoke, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. "Why is it smoking?" he asked, turning to Aldrina.

She had her hands over her face and was slowly lowering herself into a crouch. Her entire posture was tense, her breathing heavy.

“Um… Aldrina? You good?” Michael asked, concern creeping into his voice.

Aldrina slowly lowered her hands from her face, but she didn't turn to meet his gaze. Her eyes were wide, and her expression was somewhere between disbelief and fury.

“No, Michael, I'm not good,” she said, her voice low and strained as she stood up. Her body was trembling, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

“Those idiots…” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

“Excuse me?” Michael said, taking a cautious step back. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he knew enough to sense the storm brewing.

“Those fucking idiots!” she suddenly shouted, her voice echoing through the stillness. Without another word, she broke into a full sprint toward the town, her expression a mask of rage.