Draconic Reversal

It was that time of year again. You could smell it on the wind. The leaves were falling, and the air was cooling; some animals were preparing to hibernate, and others were preparing to procreate.

One animal in particular, you could hear the concerned rumblings of on the wind. They were little more than murmurs loaded with equal parts despair and hope—a confusing mix that no one should have to experience—and a single name.

You rose from your slumber, draconic body having grown to fill the cave a tad more over your recent bout of rest. A few dozen more and you’d have to knock down the back wall, perhaps raise the ceiling a few feet.

Worries for another time, you thought. You arched your back like a twenty-ton cat, waiting for your vertebrae to crack back into alignment, and let out a pleased sigh when it happened.

The journey through your cave wasn’t full of much spectacle. Sure, you had your hoard of gold and jewels, but that was a mere pittance. Enough to buy out seventeen kingdoms, but not enough for you. There were skeletons strewn about, a pile of ivory twigs and toothpicks stashed among armor plates and steel weapons-turned-back scratchers.

With the opening to your cave in view, you stopped and waited. The humans, many years ago, had decided to build a door in the opening of your cave. It was a simple construct befitting simple creatures, but it served well enough to keep your home nice and warm in the more wintry months. It also added a touch of flair whenever they decided to “appease your appetite,” as the locals put it.

You sat there, lengthy tail curled around your paws, as you awaited your sacrifice. A few moments later, that distant murmur drew closer. Now, it was a clamor, more clearly a conflict as one person fought against many.

You licked your lips. Her voice sounded so lovely, you were sure her screams would be a delight as you devoured her. If only they could walk faster.

“Patience,” you rumbled to yourself. “It’s not their fault they have such stubby little legs.” You didn’t know how a creature could live without being able to cross an entire mountain with a few wingbeats or able to ford an entire river in a single step. Surely it had to be those “swords” so many of them tried to attack you with.

The door opened. You stopped slouching and rose to your full, terrifying height. Sharpened bone jutted forth along your spine, scraping along the ceiling, while your horns formed a glistening crown of bone in what little light filtered through the entrance of your cave. Scales as red as blood glistened.

It wasn’t your original form—you’d given it up decades ago at the behest of a blind friend called “Al,” something about “wearing red to hide the bloodstains”—but you had to admit, this one served its purpose quite well. Even if the word she’d referred to you with was “dumbass.”

“Oh, great beast.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stared down the man before you, fiery gaze blazing brightly in the darkness of your cave.

“Please accept this offering from us. She has remained pure for the sole purpose of this day.”

You watched as a young maiden was shoved in through the door. She stood there, trembling, dress mussed by the conflict that had no doubt arisen as she’d fought against her captors.

“Okay! Thank you, have a good meal, bye!”

And with that, the man darted from your cave and locked it shut.

You hmphed and rolled your eyes. You would’ve chased him for his impudence, but after a few months of eating nothing, you were feeling rather peckish.

I’ll deal with him later.

You stared down your meal, grinned wide to show off a set of razor-sharp teeth the size of her entire body, and raised a paw. You waited until you were certain that the other humans were gone, however.

And, apparently, so did the maiden. She stood up straight, back no longer hunched in fear. She rolled her shoulders a few times, stretched her arms out, and locked gazes with you. The sheer audacity to make such a swift change in demeanor was enough to throw you off balance.

“What are you …?”

The maiden took hold of her own chin and, with a surprising show of strength, managed to crack the bones in her neck as if in preparation for a coming brawl. Soon after, the bones in her knuckles followed suit.

“They bought it,” she said, a wicked grin plastered across her face.

Your expression shifted from confusion, then to a pleasantly surprised grin, and then, when the words sank in, to a horrified stare. “Oh, sh—”