It was interesting.

Humans learned to gather mana from incantations, rituals, cores, or potions. I know that juveniles in Trane practiced from an early age, but not everyone was skilled enough to advance. Some humans didn’t possess any capabilities at all, dismissing the amount of effort one may put into learning magic.

Life was cruel like that, not caring for your circumstances. But you moved on and if you didn’t natural selection took over. The strong advanced and the weak were left behind. That was the truth of the world.

Dreams were a delusional luxury. Reality was the crude reminder of what was happening.

Because humans processed varying talents in magic, it made the talent of such treasured. It seemed like you could get ahead if you had an ounce of promise.

Glory, riches, and titles were gained by the factor of which you were born. That was something similar for both demons and humans. Called it twisted -but this reality existed for all races. Maybe it was twisted? See, I wasn't the best moral compass to make such a judgment.

This is why the mages of each kingdom were highly valued, being separated from their lower counterparts for the roles into which they were born.

Dragons worked differently though. Like that upper percent of the species, I was born to be ahead. My existence was treasured from the moment I was born, not for parental reasons, but for the weight of my promise.

For dragons, mana was inbred from the moment we hatched. Because our nature revolved around mana, we had an infinity for it.

Mana came as normal as breathing because my existence depended on it. My father counted on a lot of it during my reign in Hellion. For war spells, cloaking, transmutation, and healing; my expertise was something expected.

It was a promise that if I didn’t live up to my father’s expectations during my childhood, I would have been slaughtered. He would have just replaced me.

I was conditioned to be nearly perfect at it. I had to be.

Despite my level of mana control, there was only so much that I could do. Like a high-level transmutation spell being held up constantly for weeks at a time, plus the self-healing for my wound. It started to take a toll.

Staying in human form helped with healing. But, staying in human form for strenuous amounts of time also damaged my body.

So, it was the logic that anything is bad for you in copious amounts. In normal circumstances, I could balance these factors with a blink of an eye. Unfortunately for me, I was fucked in many ways.

I had been aware of the toll of the constant mana usage on my levels. It wasn’t at a point where I needed to be concerned that I’d lose control of my form in the middle of duty, but it was a factor that I needed to be aware of.

If I were able to rest in the woods for a day, I’d be okay for the rest of what I knew would be a chaotic time in Trane. Knowing the sadistic nature of the king, we could run like dogs for the next year nonstop.

I’d take this day – a few hours even.

The woods, for the most part, had been deemed unsafe for normal travel. With the number of low-level demons prowling in the tree lines, civilians were prohibited from veering from the main paths.

Unless they wanted to die. Which, I mean, would probably happen with the hostility coming from these low levels.

Fallen branches and leaves cracked under my boots, and rustles from the surrounding bushes accompanied the noise.

Low growls could be heard from the distance, along with scurrying from what I assumed to be demonic pests. Glowing eyes from the distance watched my movement, not daring to get closer.

Part of me wondered if I’d fallen so low that I’d be attacked by lower-level demons. At the same time, it would be nice to be able to let out some frustration.

To my disappointment, I was left alone as I ventured deeper into the woods, stumbling on another clearing.

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I sighed, lifting the transmutation magic off, and watching the vegetation from under me grow smaller. I felt my wings brush against the branches, as my size returned to normal.

I glanced at my damaged wing, observing the scarred leathery tissue that hung in skewed patterns. The initial gashes had healed, but the disfiguration of the burnt-away flesh still left more to be desired.

It would be longer till I could fly. That is – if I could ever fly again. Without the advanced magic and constant check-ups that I would have gotten in Hellion, I wasn’t sure how the healing would finish.

At least now, I’d be able to get off the ground partially or lopsided. But my wing would rip from my weight. So, that was off the table.

It was whatever.

Huffing, I rested my head on my legs and did my best to get comfortable despite the limited space.

My body felt better. It was a relief to have such a complicated spell off my shoulders. I could already feel my mana replenishing itself.

The canopy would be thick enough to cover my body and the forest was dense enough to be able to have a calm mind.

Now, I can just relax. But my luck never lasted long.

The demons that had watched from the bushes peeked their heads out. My eyes darted to the snapping of a twig, as a familiar silhouette emerged from a bush.

I was certain it was the same Bajang from before, its fully black, smoked form creeping into the clearing.

“Sweak?” It chirped, its tail twitching, as its shadowed legs dared to inch closer.

I rolled my eyes, letting out a huff.

“I’m not moving again. You’ll have to deal with it.” I warned, narrowing my eyes at the demon. This was the last thing that I wanted to deal with on my time off.

Part of me regretted not killing it the first time.

“Sweak…sweak…” It lowered its head down, its tail tucked between its shadowed legs.

Oh.

You had to be joking. Was it apologizing? A demon was apologizing. Well, if you could even consider this one of the same categories as demons.

It was more of a pest in my eyes.

The creature cooed, chirping once more, “Sweak…” it scampered on its feet, “Sweak!”

Its eyes wandered to the branch that rested above one of my spikes. Bundles of red berries hung on the tree.

Another chirp rang from the creature, but I didn’t have the energy to protest anymore.

I huffed in acknowledgment, “I see. Well, don’t let me stop you.”

It stood on its hind legs, giving me one final look before scurrying closer to me.

Maybe I’ve gotten soft. That- or I was too tired to care. It was one of the two options.

The Bajang wasted no time, as it crawled up my body. Its shadowed paws scampered on my leathery skin and slowly headed for the berried branch.

A squeak echoed, as it grabbed the branch with its fangs, swinging its head till a small portion broke off. The force of the break sent the smoke weasel crashing to the ground with a thud.

I adjusted, my head now watching in amusement at the disheveled creature. Now that I watched this lowly creature, the more I realized that it was lucky that it didn’t live in Hellion.

These discarded woods were a suitable place for it. I’d not doubt that this brainless creature would even hold up anywhere else. It was disconnected from the brutality of the demon race in a proper setting.

I don’t know if wild was the right term for it. However, it was missing something more.

“I can’t tell if you’re dumb in nature, or you’re one of a kind” I hummed over my breath.

It reminded me of Edwin. Dumb, incompetent, and lacking survival instincts. Both were things that I could kill with a flick of my claw.

Humans…Pests… same thing. Spot the difference. You can’t.

These sorts of creatures were considered pests in Hellion. They didn’t have much intelligence and functioned in our society the same as street rats.

My second brother accidentally skinned one when he was younger. He had been genuinely distraught after he had come to his bearings. Then my father had him locked in the castle dungeons till he was able to kill pests without hesitation.

So, if I happened to squish this creature that was its fault. All the other demons knew better than to approach me.

Well, all but this one.

The Bajang shook its head, its back leg coming up to scratch itself like a cat.

“…squeak,” it chirped, regaining itself before picking up the branch of berries and dragging it over to my head.

It stomped on the branch, biting down till a small portion of the berries broke off. Picking up the red-berried branch, it nudged it closer to me with its nose.

“Squeak!” It chirped meekly, retreating a few steps back.

I looked at the tiny branch, my eyes dancing from it to the Bajang.

“A peace offering?” I questioned, almost amused by the absurd action of the dumb creature.

It nodded, wagging its tail.

What an odd thing to offer a dragon.

“Fine.”

Another twig snapped, as three more tiny Bajang poked their heads from the same bush that this one had emerged from.

The original one hissed at the younglings, before glancing back in my direction with a hum. Lifting its head, it dragged the branch into the bushes, before disappearing into the woods with the others.

Was I doomed to never find peace on my breaks? Maybe that was karma laughing in my face. It probably was.

I peered down at the branch, blowing it to the side with a huff. I leaned over, allowing my wing to span over on the ground of the forest clearing.

The clearing was too small to fully open, but I engaged it slightly – trying not to wince at the stiffness of the wing.

Dead flesh retore, as the muscles stretched. The pain wasn’t awful though. If I let my wings sit too long, I’d be grounded for the rest of my life.

If a dragon couldn’t fly, I was just an overgrown lizard.

I couldn’t help but humor myself in my pathetic state. A war general, grounded and collaborating with humans. Humans that could be killed, got sick, and couldn’t live past a hundred years.

They were fragile beings with a taste for death. Yet so unpredictable and stupidly empathetic. I had killed them in war thousands of times but look at me now.

What the hell was I doing? Really. I couldn’t believe myself sometimes. Could I help it at this point? Not really.

I was everything that my father had told me not to become. Weak and vulnerable.

But the more time I spent wallowing in my defeat, it only furthered my eventual descent into being a complete waste of life.

I wasn’t ready to die. Nor did I want to. My greed to survive was enough motivation to exist in whatever conditions favored me.

For once, I didn’t have to worry about subjects to appease by my actions, nor a father who used my existence as his tool.

A tool that he tossed away when it got rusty or bent. And if I became useful again, I would be beckoned to do his bidding in place of whatever toy had replaced me.

And if Edwin were smart, he’d use me to his advantage too. Serlon was surely thinking about it, weighing the benefits and risks of my being in Trane.

We were using each other. My reasons were selfish and theirs probably were too. It was just the nature of the situation now. Especially with the war coming up.

Edwin needed power behind him, whether that be a risk taken for the kingdom or not. But something was coming. Things would change. War tended to stir a society into chaos.

Slowly but surely.

I stared at the branch that now rested next to the outer edges of the clearing. Light brushed down on it. Bugs crawled on the discarded branch, eating away at the red berries.

Drops of red littered the forest ground in sweet, pigmented droplets. Almost like blood.

War was coming.