The Night Fury's Point of View
The trees whispered behind me, their leaves trembling in the wind. The night was still, yet the world felt changed.
The human… was different.
I should have flown. Left this place. Vanished into the sky like smoke on the wind. But I didn't.
Instead, I followed.
Not him directly—he was long gone—but the scent he left behind. Old, fading, but still sharp enough for me to catch. A trail carved into the earth by skin, blood, fire… and something else.
Pine. Coal. Steel. Dragon blood.
The mix shouldn't have made sense, but it did. The dragon blood… it was strange. Not spilled in pain. Not soaked with death. It was laced with joy. With the energy of a challenge, a shared dance of tooth and claw. As if… the fight had been wanted.
By both sides.
Confusing.
I slipped through the trees without a sound, my wings tight against my back. The deeper I followed, the quieter the forest became. The path curved down through thick roots and old moss. Then the trees thinned, and I found it.
A cove.
Tucked away, surrounded by high stone cliffs. Hidden. Protected.
The scent led me straight to it.
And in the center, resting near a small stream, was the source.
A cabin.
It was… beautiful, in a human sort of way. Crafted from rough-cut stone, held together with wood that smelled of pine sap and ash. The door was thick, but smooth, carefully shaped. Someone had taken time to build this. It wasn't a war camp. It wasn't for defense.
This was a den.
His den.
I crept closer, nostrils flaring, senses sharp. No torches. No spears. No stink of fear or conquest.
Only silence.
And loneliness.
That was the first scent that hit me. It clung to the walls like dust. Old, deep, soaked into every stone. The kind of loneliness that didn't come from being alone—but from being abandoned.
Then came the blood.
Not fresh, but not forgotten either. It clung to a patch of dirt near a circle of scorched stone—a training ground.
His.
Wounds opened here. His own. Spilled again and again in a quiet ritual of pain and purpose.
But it wasn't the only scent.
I lifted my head, nose twitching.
Human blood. Others. Not his.
Older still, but different. The air around it was soaked in emotion, lingering like the last breath of a dying fire.
Fear. Despair. Pure, primal terror.
Not a warrior's end.
A prey's.
The thought stilled me. My claws dug into the ground.
He had hunted them. Humans. His own kind.
Why?
That shouldn't be. Dragons kill to survive. Humans kill for control. But he? His scent carried the mark of predator and prey. The dragon blood had been for challenge. The human blood… for something else.
Judgment?
Punishment?
Revenge?
My tail twitched low to the ground, wings flexing ever so slightly as I padded to the cabin window and peered inside.
It was dark, but the moonlight cast enough to see.
A forge sat cold in one corner, tools neatly hung on the wall. A table stood against another wall, maps and books scattered across it in careful disarray.
And along the far wall… trophies.
Animal heads mounted on carved wooden plaques. Deer. Boar. A wolf. Even a bear.
But not a single dragon.
Not one.
The weight of that realization settled in my chest.
He had killed—but not us.
I pulled back from the window, my ears twitching at the soft creak of the windchime above. Pieces of broken steel and claw. Not meant for beauty—but balance. A sound to keep intruders wary.
Smart.
This human… was more than strange.
He was broken.
Rebuilt.
Dangerous.
Interesting.
My eyes narrowed, drawn once more to the blood in the training grounds. I lowered my head, inhaled deeply.
The scent of dragonfire… mixed with discipline.
Of steel sharpened not for war… but for refinement.
This place was not just a den.
It was a crucible.
He was shaping himself into something new.
And now…
Now, I wanted to know why.
I stepped back into the shadows of the trees, my black scales melting into the dark. I perched low on a branch above the roof of his cabin, tail coiling beneath me.
And I waited.
Because I knew he would return.
And when he did…
I would be here.
Watching.
Learning.
Curious.
And nothing is more dangerous than a curious Night Fury.