I am Jade, 10 years old, and I am a Mage who serves my tribe of Kobold as the Dragon Priestess.

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I hurry down the east tunnel of the hatchery wing, my claws rapidly clattering against the cold stone floor. My breath comes quick and heavy, but I don’t slow down. The tunnel twists and turns, its walls smooth and seamless, magically hewn from the cavern my tribe calls home. I rush past numerous junctions and stone archways leading to various chambers, the steady glow of light crystals lining the walls casting soft, dim light over my path.

My long white and grey priestess robes feel too restrictive, ill-fitted for running, but I push forward. Head Priestess Skeera would certainly disapprove. She always says that running is unbecoming of a Dragon Priestess.

But who cares what she thinks?

Priestess Skeera has a lot of rigid opinions about how a priestess should behave, but they can all be summed up by a single rule, “no fun allowed”. A personal life? Out of the question. In her mind, every moment of my existence should be dedicated to catering to the chaotic whimbs of the wild, irresponsible, rude and violent princess.

Stealing baked sweet root from the kitchen and sneaking off to eat a quick snack with one of my old clutch mates under the guise of fetching supplies? Definitely forbidden.

Fortunately, I've never been particularly good at following stupid rules.

I reach the door of Hatchery Chamber two and tap on it with my clawed foot, my hands occupied holding two plates stacked with warm sweet roots.

"Morning, Priestess Jade," comes a familiar voice.

I turn just in time to see Lady Yrix, one of the senior minders, passing by with her usual air of self-importance. Like most other kobolds she is at least head taller than me, but her scales are a red, faded by her advanced age, while mine are bright emerald green. She doesn’t stop, but she does slow down just enough to give me a judging glance.

"What brings you by here… again?" she asks, her tone clearly implying that I am not where I’m supposed to be.

"Official Dragon Priestess business," I lie smoothly, flashing a big, toothy grin.

Tsk.

I distinctly hear the disapproving click of her tongue as she turns and continues down the corridor.

I narrow my eyes, watching the stuck-up old hag scuttle off. She should focus on minding her own scales.

I never wanted this priestess job in the first place.

At three years old, I began my apprenticeship as a mage, the job I actually wanted. It didn’t take long to realize I had a natural talent for mana control and spellcraft. By the time I was four, I was outperforming apprentices three years my senior.

At five, I passed the mage trials, becoming the youngest apprentice to ever graduate as a full-fledged mage. If I had been allowed to continue my studies in earnest, I have no doubt I could have reached the rank of master within two more years.

But the tribal council had other plans.

They decided that the tribe needed a Dragon Priestess more than they needed a master mage. “It’s an honor,” they told me. They said that caring for the dragons was our tribe’s most sacred duty and that my natural talents with magic were precisely why I had been chosen.

As if that was supposed to make me feel better about having my dreams stolen from me.

The door to the hatchery creaks open, revealing the familiar pale blue scales, short horns, and bright teal eyes of my friend Rithka. The moment she sees me, her expression lights up.

“Jadey! It’s good to see you!” she chirps excitedly, stepping back to let me inside. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I know! I’ve missed you!” I say, slipping into the room. “And I brought you a snack.”

Rithka’s nostrils flare as she inhales the sweet aroma. Her eyes immediately track the plate in my hands, her tail twitching with anticipation.

“Mmmmmm…” she hums, her voice practically dripping with longing. “That smells divine.”

I settle into one of the four wooden chairs surrounding the sturdy stone table near the left side of the entryway. This part of the hatchery serves as a space for the minders, where they sit and keep watch over the hatchlings while handling their other duties, preparing meals, cleaning, tending to injuries, or teaching basic lessons.

Just beyond the table, a low stone wall separates the minder's area from the large pen where the hatchlings will live together for their first year. The pen is spacious, its smooth stone floor surrounded on three sides with walls with small alcoves cut into them. The alcoves are small nests where each hatchling can sleep. At the base of the low wall, a stone basin filled with freshwater offers them a place to drink… or, as is often the case, to play in.

As I set the plates of sweet root on the table, my gaze drifts downward, over the low stone wall, and into the pen. A few of the ten or so hatchlings are tumbling over each other, wrestling in the water basin. Their tiny, scaled bodies scurry across the smooth stone floor, playfully nipping at one another before splashing back into the water with high-pitched squeaks of delight.

A few of the more curious ones, however, are beginning to prop themselves up on unsteady hind legs, their tiny clawed hands gripping the edge of the wall for support. Their snouts twitch as they sniff at the air, drawn by the scent of sweet root and the presence of a newcomer. Their wide, bright eyes dart between me and the food, filled with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

I smile as I watch them, remembering a time not so long ago when Rithka and I were just like them, small, clumsy, and endlessly curious.

I can’t help but smile.

“Kinda nostalgic, right?” Rithka asks, catching the expression on my face.

“Sure is,” I reply.

Rithka and I were raised in this very hatchery chamber. For our first year of life, we lived here with eight of our clutch mates, sleeping in the same alcoves, eating from the same bowls, and playing just like the little ones below us now. My nest was the third alcove on the right wall.

Unlike other races, kobolds are not raised by the ones who lay our eggs. We are raised as a group, cared for by the entire tribe. The specially trained minders tend to us before we are old enough to begin our education. Each year, eggs are laid in batches, and no kobold female knows which hatchling is hers. Likewise, no hatchling knows who laid them.

The result? Every kobold views the entire tribe as their family. The hatchlings belong to everyone.

Because of this, our people are incredibly close. But I am closest to my clutch mates like Rithka. "Hard to believe we used to be that small," I say, reaching down to pat the bright-eyed, red-scaled little one excitedly hopping up against the wall. Its tiny claws scratch at the stone as if begging to be picked up.

"You haven’t grown that much, actually," Rithka teases with a sly smile.

"Shut it, I’m still growing," I snap back, shooting her a glare while keeping my hand extended over the wall.

The truth is, kobolds don’t grow any taller after the age of six. At ten years old, I’ve already reached my full height. Unfortunately, that means I’m doomed to be stuck at roughly the size of a four-year-old youngling for the rest of my life. Why? Because I was born the runt of our clutch, making me an oddity in the tribe.

The presence of a runt isn’t uncommon, but a runt surviving past their first year is nearly unheard of. It’s a brutal reality that around twenty-five percent of every clutch dies before then, whether from disease, injury, or accidents.

Unlike mammalians, kobold young are born far more active, mobile, and developed. They can scurry around and eat solid food shortly after hatching. The fact that they have sharp teeth and claws but lack the ability to reason or control themselves, means they run a high risk of injuring themselves, each other, or even getting accidentally trampled underfoot by adults. Given all that, the fact that I survived at all is nothing short of a minor miracle.

"Growing?" Rithka scoffs. "You might grow shorter when you become an old maid."

Unfortunately for her, being a runt is a bit of a sore point for me.

"Go rud yourself," I shoot back, baring my teeth.

"Ouch!" I yelp, suddenly pulling my hand back. A sharp pain stings my finger.

The little red hatchling stares up at me, tail wagging. It just bit me.

Rithka bursts into laughter.

I stick my sore finger in my mouth, nursing the sting as Rithka calms her laughter.

“Speaking of old maids,” she says, still grinning but with a note of genuine curiosity, “Jadey, when are you going to lay your first egg? You’re talented, you know. The tribe could use more magically gifted hatchlings.”

“Not happening.” I respond without a bit of hesitation. “I have zero interest in laying an egg.”

“Why not?” Rithka asks, looking slightly offended by my outright rejection of the idea.

I scoff. “For starters, have you seen how big those eggs are? No thanks.” I shake my head, making an exaggerated oval shape with my hands.

Rithka rolls her eyes. “It’s not that bad. The egg size is determined by your body, you know.” She gestures at herself. “I’ve laid one each of the last years, and I’m fine. I know you can handle it.”

“So I’d just end up making more runts?” I reply with a dismissive wave. “They probably wouldn’t even survive.”

“You survived.”

I shoot her a glare, but she presses on.

“Second…” I continue, steering the conversation away, “making an egg takes two, you know. And being a priestess doesn’t exactly give me much time to socialize.”

“A bunch of males would love to help you with that…” she teases, waggling her brow.

“Rithka,” I say flatly, already exasperated. “I don’t want to do it with just any guy. I want it to be someone I actually care about.”

Rithka huffs. “You’re too picky.”

“It’s not about being picky!” I protest, frustration creeping into my voice. “I just—” I grimace, folding my arms. “I’m not going to let just anyone do that to me.”

Rithka smirks, resting her chin in her hand. “Oh, come on, don’t be so shy!” Then, as if remembering something particularly indulgent, her expression turns dreamy, and I swear her blue scales darken slightly. “It’s actually pretty exciting, you know. Having a guy hold you down, pin your arms, wrap his tail around you…”

“Stop.”

“Pressing close…”

“Hey, stop.”

“And then they lightly bite your neck…”

“Rithka!”

“And then—” she draws the word out with a sly grin—"the kiss…”

“I said stop!” I practically yelp, clamping my hands over my ears and squeezing my eyes shut, trying very hard not to imagine whatever lewd scenario she’s playing out in her head.

“When did you become so squeamish?” Rithka asks, giving me a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“You’re saying all of this right in front of the hatchlings!” I snap, grasping at any excuse to shut her up.

Rithka waves a dismissive hand toward the little ones, rolling her eyes. “They’re only three months old. They couldn’t possibly understand me.”

I scowl. “That’s not the point.”

“The real question is why you are so weirdly uncomfortable with something that’s completely natural and normal,” she presses. “I’m worried you’re going to waste your best egg-laying years just because you’re irrationally scared.”

I hug my own torso, my tail flicking anxiously. “I just… I don’t like the idea of letting anyone dominate me like that,” I admit quietly, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Some kobolds would say that’s the fun part,” Rithka mutters under her breath.

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“Not for me.”

“It’s not like it hurts, you know… It’s way less aggressive than how those mammals up top do it,” she adds with a grimace.

I hesitate. “What? What do they do?”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

Rithka’s eyes light up. “Oh, you don’t know?” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “I heard from Eido that their males have to stab their females with… like, a horn thing.”

“Oh my gods—”

“Yeah, and their hatchlings move around inside them.” Rithka shudders. “For seven arcs.”

“Seven arcs? That’s two-thirds of a year!” I exclaim, horrified.

“Mmhmm. And I heard they can kick their females. From the inside.”

I recoil. “That’s awful!”

“Oh, it gets worse,” she continues. “Once they’re born, they can’t even walk or eat solid food for—get this—an entire year.”

I stare at her. “How do they even survive as a species?”

Rithka shrugs. “No idea.”

I shake my head. “Okay, yeah, those mammals definitely have it rough.”

She smirks. “Makes laying your own egg seem a whole lot easier, huh?”

“Nope.” I cross my arms firmly.

“I don’t get why you’re so against it,” Rithka says, tilting her head. “Haven’t you been studying the humans? You know, their language and all that?”

“I studied their language, not their mating process,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Unlike some people, I don’t go around researching weird things.”

“Hey, it’s not weird.” Rithka pouts, then sighs, looking uncharacteristically wistful. “Human couplings are just… different. They’re more romantic. And I like romance.”

I have a strong suspicion that one of our clutchmates, Eido, a scribe, has been filling Rithka’s head with the wrong kind of surface-dweller literature.

Aside from magic, my biggest focus has been studying everything important our scribes know about the surface world. That includes Common, the most widely spoken language among the surface dwelling races. Most kobolds in the tribe don’t bother learning it. We’ve remained hidden for generations, isolated from the outside world. The elders say it’s safer this way.

Safer for us. Safer for the dragons.

But I have ambitions beyond this tribe.

At ten years old, I’ve already read every book on magic in our collection. I’ve learned everything our senior mages can teach me. And it’s not enough. If I want to develop my craft, if I want to learn new magics, I have to leave. I have to seek knowledge beyond these tunnels.

The elders wouldn’t approve.

If they knew, they’d call me reckless. Selfish. A deserter.

They’d say I abandoned my duty.

But how can you abandon a duty you never asked for?

And why should I let anyone else decide how I live my life?

“Hey, something on your mind, Jadey?” Rithka’s voice is light, but her sharp gaze lingers on my face. She must have noticed my sour expression and figured my frustration ran deeper than just our conversation about reproduction.

“It’s nothing,” I lie.

Rithka doesn’t buy it. “Still struggling with being a priestess?” She says with a concerned tone as she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Am I that obvious?” I grumble.

“It’s no secret this wasn’t the job you wanted,” she says awkwardly.

That’s an understatement.

“I want to explore the world, to learn more magic,” I confess with a heavy sigh. “I feel trapped here. Every day is the same, and I have no freedom.”

“But you’re doing something important for the tribe,” Rithka points out gently.

I scoff. “Please. I’m a glorified babysitter. It’s a waste of my talents.”

“I know she’s hard to handle,” Rithka says, lowering her voice slightly, “but she’s our future. Taking care of her is a sacred duty.”

“So I’ve heard.” I take an angry bite of sweet root, chewing it far more aggressively than necessary as I glare at the wall.

Silence stretches between us. I rock my feet back and forth under the table, my legs too short to reach the floor. Rithka shoots me concerned glances, but she doesn’t understand. Even my best friend doesn’t get it. Visiting her only reminds me how trapped I am, stuck in a life that doesn’t fit me.

Rithka clears her throat. “Hey, Jade, would you mind watching the hatchlings while I grab their lunch?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She stands and heads toward the door, then glances back over her shoulder. “Please keep them safe. I’ll be quick.”

“Got it covered,” I say, waving her off.

Rithka smiles before stepping out. The heavy door closes behind her with a dull thud, the sound echoing through the chamber. The hatchlings continue their chaotic squealing, scampering, and wrestling.

The red-scaled little menace who bit me earlier has now moved on to gnawing on his sibling’s tail.

I flick my fingers and send a small jet of water at him. The stream splashes across his face, making him jerk back with a startled squeak. He glares at me, tiny claws flexing.

“Serves you right,” I say with a smirk.

Undeterred, he charges at the low stone wall, slamming his little hands against it in protest. I flick another burst of water at him, forcing him to back off with a huff before scurrying into his alcove.

I grin. That wasn’t so hard. I could totally do this job.

And then—

BANG!

A loud crash shakes the chamber.

I freeze.

My mind races, trying to make sense of the deafening sound that shook the room.

A tunnel collapse? No, impossible. The tunnels are magically reinforced and carved from mithril-rich stone.

An explosion? But there’s no mining equipment anywhere near the hatchery.

Whatever it was, someone might be hurt or need my help.

I spring to my feet, already moving toward the door, but then I hesitate.

The hatchlings.

I turn, looking back at the pen. I’m supposed to be watching them. But the sounds outside… those blood curdling screams I hear echoing down the tunnel tells me someone is in danger and I have no time to hesitate.

I throw open the door and step into the tunnel.

Then I see a scene that is so truly horrible and so unexpected that at first I am unable to understand what I am seeing.

Fifty meters down the passage, flashes of unnatural blue light pulse in rapid succession, illuminating the tunnel in eerie, flickering bursts. The glow emanates from shimmering rings that appear, hover for a moment, then vanish, each time leaving behind three new figures.

They are short green figures I recognize instantly.

A cold chill grips my spine.

Goblins.

Filthy, ugly creatures and the long time enemy to all Kobolds. They’re no taller than a kobold, but their hunched forms and grotesque features make them look monstrous. Their ears stick out at odd angles, long and pointed, their noses bulbous and crooked. Their yellow eyes gleam with malice as they snarl, baring rows of jagged, rotting teeth.

They wield rusted swords and crude clubs, and their bloodthirsty and almost joyful yells fill the tunnel as more and more of them appear in bursts of light.

I feel my hands tremble.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Goblins have attacked our home before, but they’ve never made it this far inside. The traps in the tunnels and the tribe’s warriors always stop them at the outer defenses.

But they’re here.

Deep inside our home.

And more keep coming.

I don’t understand. How did they get past our defenses? What is that magic bringing them here?

My mind struggles to process what I’m seeing. Goblins don’t possess the intelligence required to use this kind of magic. Everything I know tells me this should not be possible. But here it is, happening before my eyes.

In the short time I’ve stood frozen in shock, watching as goblins inexplicably teleport into our home, at least fifteen of them have already appeared.

I watch in paralyzing horror as they spread out, slipping through unlocked chamber doors.

Screams continue to rip through the tunnels.

Bodies, limp and lifeless, are being dragged from the chambers before my eyes. Some having already been butchered before being dragged out of their chambers. Others, hatchlings and minders, are still alive, wailing in agony as they are pulled into the hall. There the goblins tear into them with their teeth and claws.

I see Lady Yrix. She’s screaming and pleading for mercy. Her tunic is torn, a gaping wound in her stomach spilling blood as a goblin drags her into the hall. Then, more of them pounce on her.

And start eating.

Tearing into her flesh, ripping, gnawing at her while she is still alive.

Her shrieks, Gods, her shrieks, pierce my soul.

My body won’t move.

I can’t move.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.

Then I see a goblin dragging a hatchling by the tail. The tiny body twitches, still alive.

What do I do?

This can’t be happening.

This can’t be real.

More goblins materialize, and more of my people are slaughtered as I stand frozen in terror. My breath catches in my throat as I watch the goblins push forward, cutting down everyone in their path.

Then, something shifts. A single thought shatters through the horror trapping me in place:

I can’t let this happen!

The moment that realization hits, I move.

Mana flares at my fingertips as I conjure four stones, each the size of my palm. I thrust my hand forward, launching them like daggers toward the nearest goblins, forty meters away.

The first strikes the goblin dragging the hatchling. The crack of breaking bone echoes as its head snaps to an unnatural angle. It stiffens, gurgles, and collapses.

The second and third slam into a goblin feasting on a hatchling, caving in its skull. Blood sprays from its mouth as it crumples to the floor.

The fourth misses. The goblin dodges at the last second.

The goblins turn in unison towards the direction my stones were thrown from. Their enraged eyes lock onto me and without hesitation, they charge.

Panic claws at my chest. I conjure more stones, throw them as fast as I can, but with the element of surprise lost, the goblins dodge. My attacks strike only one, its knee shatters, sending it tumbling face-first into the stone floor. Its comrades leap over its writhing form, undeterred.

I backpedal, throwing two more salvos, taking out another two pursuers, but they’re too close now.

Twenty meters.

I can’t stop them all in time.

I have to run.

Spinning on my heel, I bolt for the hatchery door, rip it open, and slam it shut behind me. The lock clicks into place just as the first goblin slams into it. The handle rattles violently as they claw and pound against the wood, shrieking in fury.

Without hesitation I pour everything I have into a reinforcement spell, strengthening the door as the goblins throw their full weight against it. My mana drains fast, but I don’t stop.

Wide-eyed, breath coming in ragged gasps, I force my shaking hands to keep casting. The only thing holding me together is the sheer desperation keeping the spell going.

The goblins pound against the door. It shakes with every hit.

Then another familiar sound rumbles through the tunnels. I recognise the sound as the mournful drone of the tride’s war horn. It blows a long, singular note signifying a call to retreat.

The chill in my spine deepens because I know that means our chief must have ordered an evacuation. If I were in his situation, seeing the goblins are so deep inside our home, I would have done the same thing. The only choice left is to flee to save the women, younglings and elderly from the melee.

This realization hits me like a stone to the chest because I know the goblins appeared between me and the only evacuation routes. There is no way out.

Not for me.

Not for these hatchlings.

And now, with the retreat sounded—

No one is coming to save us.

My spell fizzles out.

A wave of dizziness crashes over me, and the room tilts. My vision swims as my body wavers unsteadily. I barely manage to stop myself from draining my last bit of mana, clinging desperately to consciousness.

Then, my legs give out.

I fall hard onto my tail, the impact jarring my spine, but I hardly feel it. My breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps as the door ahead blurs and distorts in my failing vision.

I won’t pass out.

I can’t pass out.

I scoot back, pressing myself against the low stone wall of the hatchlings’ pen, trying to regain some sense of control. But the pounding on the door doesn’t stop. The goblins keep trying, their relentless hammering making my skull vibrate with every thud.

I suck in deep, steadying breaths. My limbs tremble, weak and useless. But I refuse to let go—

I must protect them.

I can’t let those monsters inside. I can’t let them tear the hatchlings apart—

Oh Gods.

If they break through that door…

A sickening image flashes through my mind, that of Lady Yrix, her body torn open, her screams drowned beneath the wet tearing of flesh and the sound of gnashing teeth.

I lurch forward and vomit all over myself.

The acidic taste burns my throat, but I barely notice. My hands dig into the cold stone floor as my body heaves, bile spilling past my lips as my mind relives the horror over and over again.

I can’t let that happen again.

I don’t care what happens to me, I don’t care if I die here. I won’t let those monsters inside.

But then—

A new terrifying thought takes hold.

The hatchlings aren’t the only ones I was supposed to protect.

The dragons—

The Queen… Her daughter…

A horrible realization claws its way into my chest.

I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

The Dragon Temple lies at the deepest part of our caves where the Queen Dragon and her daughter sleep.

That’s where I should be.

Not here.

I should be at the temple. Guarding them. Evacuating them. Doing something.

But I’m not.

And now—

Now, I’ve failed.

The weight of my failure crushes me, pressing down so hard I can barely breathe.

I had one job.

One duty.

And I didn’t take it seriously.

And now, when my tribe needed me most—

I failed them all.

A broken sob tears from my throat.

I curl inward, hugging my knees to my chest, as hot tears spill down my snout. My body shakes violently as I rock back and forth, the wretched sounds of my own screams and wails filling the chamber.

I beg for this nightmare to end.

But the banging on the door continues.

And behind my closed eyelids, all I see is blood.

For hours, the goblins persist, hammering, clawing, snarling, trying to get in.

For hours, I sit here, holding my knees, rocking in place, drowning in terror and guilt.

Eventually the pounding stops, leaving just the distant sound of screams.

But I don’t move.

I don’t feel anything.

I just sit there, staring at nothing, the world around me numb.

After what feels like an eternity, even the distant sounds of battle, slaughter, and screams finally fade into silence.

I sit there, unmoving, listening to the hollow emptiness that follows.

By now, anyone who had the ability to escape would have already done so.

The thought occurs to me that there might be others like me, trapped, cut off from the evacuation routes. But unlike me, the vast majority aren’t mages. They wouldn’t have been able to barricade themselves in as I have. And even among the few mages in our tribe, even fewer could cast reinforcement spells as powerful as mine.

A dark, suffocating certainty settles over me.

We’re alone.

But then, something else occurs to me.

A small flicker of hope.

I failed to be at my post, I wasn’t there to protect the dragons. But if the goblins couldn’t break through my enchantment, then perhaps… perhaps the Queen and her daughter are still safe.

The temple doors are solid mithril, reinforced with powerful enchantments, stronger than mine. Those doors lock automatically and can only be opened by one of the Dragon Priestesses.

Even without me, even despite my failure—

They should still be safe.

Or… at the very least, they may have escaped through their private evacuation tunnels.

I cling to that fragile thread of hope, because without it, I have nothing.

A soft whine pulls me from my thoughts.

The hatchlings.

Their tiny, pitiful cries break through my frozen terror, forcing me back into motion. They’re hungry, and unlike me, they don’t understand what has happened. They only know they are hungry.

Slowly, on shaking, unsteady legs, I push myself up. My knees threaten to buckle, but I steady myself, force myself to move.

I reach for the plates of sweet root on the table, my hands trembling as I clutch it tightly, then make my way to the hatchlings’ pen.

The moment I open the gate, the little ones swarm me.

They clamber over each other, chirping and squeaking, their small claws scraping against the stone as they scramble toward me. Some stand on their hind legs, stretching their necks toward the plate, noses twitching eagerly at the scent of food.

I don’t speak. I don’t smile.

I just kneel, breaking off pieces of sweet root, handing them out one by one.

The dark thought crosses my mind that I may be feeding them their last meals.

Some snatch it greedily from my fingers, their tiny teeth biting down too hard. I barely flinch as sharp fangs pierce my skin, leaving my fingers raw and bleeding by the time I finish.

But I don’t yell.

I don’t get angry.

I simply bring my fingers to my mouth, sucking away the blood as I sink to the ground, cross-legged, my body too exhausted to hold itself up anymore.

The hatchlings immediately take the opportunity to crawl all over me. One with burnt-orange scales climbs into my lap, curling up against my stomach. A second, pale blue one follows, tucking itself against my arm, while a third, dark grey, settles against my thigh.

The rest press in around me, seeking warmth and comfort.

The red-scaled one from earlier, the one that bit me, decides my tail is his next chew toy.

It hurts but I don’t stop him.

I just sit there, silent, petting their small heads, running my claws gently over their scales, holding them close.

Waiting.

For either the goblins to return—

Or for the far less likely possibility of rescue.

I sit in silence for hours, curled among the hatchlings, until unfamiliar voices echo down the tunnel.

Not goblins, something else. A language I almost understand.

I stand quickly, my body tense. The voices grow closer, and then—

Rattle.

“This one’s locked,” a feminine voice observes from the other side.

My heart clenches. The enchantment must have faded. I should recast it—I need to recast it.

BOOM.

The door explodes inward with a deafening crash, sending wood splinters and dust flying. The hatchlings squeal, cowering behind me.

Coughing, I wipe debris from my robes and look up defiantly at the intruders.

A towering figure, nearly two meters tall, wearing a hood and mask stands in the doorway.

After a short pause while the masked creature seemingly staring at me, I hear it say the word kobolds in Common.

Swallowing my fear, I straighten my back and clench my fists.