Day 14
The egg was getting heavier.
Not physically, it still fit perfectly in the crook of my arm, warm and steady. But metaphorically? Yeah. The weight of responsibility was doing its best to crush me.
I'd spent the last two days in a state of mild panic, alternating between staring at the egg like it might explode and frantically gathering anything that might help when it hatched. Which, according to the increasingly frantic System notifications, was going to be soon.
[COMPANION STATUS: SHADOW DRAGON HATCHLING]
[INCUBATION: 94% COMPLETE]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO HATCHING: 12-36 HOURS]
[PARENTAL READINESS: QUESTIONABLE]
"Your confidence in me is inspiring," I muttered, carefully arranging a nest of moss and soft leaves in the hollow. "Really. I feel so prepared."
Through the bond, I felt amusement, which was deeply unfair, because the unhatched dragon apparently had a better sense of humor than I did.
The problem was, I had no idea what a baby dragon needed. The System was frustratingly vague ("Warmth, sustenance, protection, emotional stability"...thanks, that's super specific). The internet was several dimensions away and completely useless. And my only reference point for childcare was watching Emma's sister struggle with a human baby that one Thanksgiving, which had mostly taught me that babies were loud, leaked from multiple orifices, and required constant vigilance.
I was assuming dragons were similar, but with more fire and fewer diapers. Hopefully.
"Okay," I said to the egg, which pulsed warmly in response. "Food. You'll need food. Dragons eat meat, right? That's a thing?"
I got the wordless equivalent of Yes, obviously, what else would I eat?
"Great. Fantastic. I'll just go hunt something appropriate for a newborn apex predator. No problem."
The sarcasm was my defense mechanism. The bone-deep terror was everything else.
Because here's the thing: I'd barely managed to keep myself alive for two weeks. And now I was responsible for something that depended entirely on me. Something that trusted me, through that bond, with an absolute certainty I absolutely did not deserve.
I was the guy who'd spent a year slowly drowning in his own apartment, surviving on delivery food and spite. I couldn't keep a houseplant alive. Emma used to joke that I'd forget to feed myself if my stomach didn't remind me.
And now I had a dragon.
"We're both going to die," I told the egg seriously. "Just so you know. But I'm going to try really hard not to let that happen to you."
Warmth pulsed through the bond. Trust. Affection. Faith.
It made my chest ache in ways I'd forgotten were possible.
Day 15
The egg started cracking at dawn.
I woke to the sound, a soft tap tap tap from inside the shell, and my heart immediately tried to escape through my throat.
"Okay. Okay. This is happening. We're doing this." I scrambled upright, knocking my head on the hollow's roof. "Ow. Fuck. Okay."
The tapping continued, steady and determined. Through the bond, I felt focus, effort, and an overwhelming desire to be out.
I'd read somewhere, one of those isekai novels, probably, that you weren't supposed to help eggs hatch. That the baby needed to do it themselves to build strength. But watching the shell crack, seeing the little claws pushing through, feeling the exhaustion building through our bond,
"Screw it," I muttered, reaching out with my mana. Just a little. Just enough to weaken the shell where she was already breaking through.
The egg split with a sound like breaking glass.
Darkness exploded outward, living shadow that coiled and twisted before condensing into something small, wet, and utterly perfect.
A dragon.
She was barely the size of a cat, all midnight-black scales and wings too big for her body. Her eyes, ember orange, glowing like coals, blinked up at me with a mix of exhaustion and triumph. Her tail, already disproportionately long, lashed weakly.
[COMPANION HATCHED: SHADOW DRAGON] [BOND: ACTIVE]
[STATUS: HEALTHY BUT HUNGRY]
[CONGRATULATIONS: YOU'RE A PARENT NOW]
[GOOD LUCK]
"Hi," I said stupidly, staring at her. "You're... you're real."
She opened her mouth and let out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a growl. Then, with the determination of someone who'd just fought their way out of an egg, she tried to stand.
Her legs immediately went in four different directions. She face-planted into the moss.
Through the bond: Indignation. Determination. Try again.
She hauled herself up, wobbled dangerously, took one shaky step, and promptly tripped over her own tail.
Something in my chest cracked open. Not broke, that had happened a long time ago. But cracked in a way that let light in for the first time in over a year.
I laughed. Actually laughed, the sound surprising me with its warmth.
"You're perfect," I said, reaching out slowly. "And also a disaster. We're going to get along great."
She chirped, a tiny, fierce sound, and headbutted my hand. Her scales were smooth and warm, like sun-heated stone. When I scratched under her chin, she made a sound like a purr crossed with a rumble.
Then her stomach growled. Loudly.
"Right," I said. "Food. You need food. I knew that. I prepared for this."
I had not, in fact, adequately prepared for this.
The Great Feeding Disaster
The problem with feeding a newborn dragon, I quickly discovered, was that she had opinions about food. Strong opinions. Violently enforced opinions.
I'd caught a Scale Hare that morning, one of the multi-eyed rabbit things that tasted like existential crisis, thinking it would be perfect. Fresh meat, appropriate size, easy to eat.
I'd cut it into small pieces, arranged them carefully, and presented them to my new companion with what I hoped was parental confidence.
She sniffed the meat. Looked at me. Looked back at the meat.
Through the bond: This is... acceptable. But not what I want.
"It's meat," I said. "You said you eat meat."
This meat is wrong.
"It's literally the only meat I have!"
She turned her nose up, actually turned away, tail flicking in disdain, and started nosing around the hollow. Looking for something.
"You've been alive for ten minutes," I said, exasperated. "How do you already have standards?"
She ignored me, too busy investigating every corner. Her tiny claws scrabbled at the wood. Her tail knocked over my water pouch. She was chaos incarnate and approximately eight inches long.
Finally, she found what she was looking for: a patch of moss I'd harvested near one of those mana-rich crystal formations. Moss that glowed faintly blue, pulsing with energy.
She bit into it and made a sound of absolute contentment.
[DISCOVERY: SHADOW DRAGON HATCHLINGS REQUIRE MANA-INFUSED FOOD]
[NOTE: REGULAR MEAT INSUFFICIENT FOR DEVELOPMENT]
[RECOMMENDATION: FIND BETTER GROCERIES]
"You couldn't have mentioned this before she hatched?"
[WHERE'S THE FUN IN THAT?]
I watched her devour the mana moss, her scales brightening with each bite, and sighed. "Okay. New quest: find food that won't make my dragon daughter judge me."
She chirped happily, moss stuck to her snout, and I felt something dangerously close to love settle in my chest.
We were both disasters. But maybe, just maybe, we could be disasters together.
Day 16
Parenthood, I was learning, was mostly panic interspersed with moments of terror.
The dragon, I really needed to name her, but nothing felt right yet, was growing. Fast. By the second day post-hatching, she was noticeably bigger, her scales darkening to a deeper black, her eyes burning brighter.
She was also insatiably curious about everything.
She tried to eat my boot (only stopped when I caught her mid-bite). She attempted to fly off the hollow platform (I caught her three feet down, heart in my throat). She discovered that her baby dragon breath could produce small puffs of shadow-smoke (and immediately tried to eat that too).
"You," I told her seriously, "are going to give me a heart attack."
She chirped and tried to climb my leg, claws digging through my pants.
"Ow. Okay. Yes, I'll hold you."
I picked her up, and she immediately curled around my neck like a scaly, warm scarf. Through the bond, I felt contentment, safety, and bone-deep trust that made my throat tight.
She fell asleep there, her tiny snores vibrating against my collarbone, and I went about my daily routine with a dragon necklace.
It should have been inconvenient. It should have been dangerous, honestly, moving through Shadowfen with a sleeping hatchling was stupid on multiple levels.
But I couldn't bring myself to put her down. Not when she made that little contented sound every time I moved. Not when the bond between us hummed with warmth and belonging.
For the first time since Emma died, I had someone who needed me. Who chose me? Who didn't see the broken parts and decide I was too much work?
"We're going to be okay," I whispered to her sleeping form. "I don't know how yet. But we're going to figure it out."
She squeaked softly in her sleep, tiny claws flexing against my shoulder.
And for that moment, in a murder-swamp with a 12% survival rate, with a dragon baby who ate mana moss and tried to bite everything, I believed it.