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Prologue: Hunted

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The night began like every other.

When the orange, glowing sphere in the sky dipped beneath the horizon—when she no longer felt its warmth on her dark crimson scales, the dragoness and her family immediately broke off to do work for the night ahead. Papa would take flight and seek their evening meal, normally one of those large, tasty squealing pigs with tusks on their snouts. Mama, a dragon of the flames much like herself, would instruct her and her older brother to gather fallen branches and easily-combustible fuel while she dug a firepit in the ground. The three of them would then work tirelessly to create two burrows big enough to fit them all and connected them both to the open chamber where the fire would be lit and maintained until morning.

Papa would usually come back with his fresh kill dangling from his maw right when Mama was ready to light the fire. Nowadays, Mama had been leaving such a crucial task on her wings. She would have been alternating the task with her older brother, had he been able to breathe flames, but one couldn't fault how they were hatched. She looked forward to it every night, no matter how sore the back of her throat felt or how exhausted she was after each fiery breath.

When they were done, they would curl up into each other. Papa and Mama together, and she with her brother, and they would all see each other the next day. They would spend next mornings playing, mingling with the few other families in their lounge before the entire group moved on and her family with it.

Cracks of thunder interrupted an otherwise ordinary night. The dragoness groggily roused from dreams of soaring in the skies, the winds lifting her higher than any dragon had ever been before. Weakly, she opened her eyes. Smoldering embers had long replaced what was once lively flames in their firepit.

Her jaw rattled from the cold.

More cracks of thunder.

Strange, she thought. She didn't recall seeing any of the dark ominous clouds her lounge associated with rainfall earlier today. Tonight's weather should be clear and quiet.

The dragoness sleepily swept up the soil litter scattered around her body and clung to it. She needed to preserve the warmth in her blood, at least until the sun rose again. She yawned, licking her chops. Hopefully the thunderstorm would be gone by then—

“Tearry."

Oh, what now? The dragoness turned away from the guttural voice and curled further inward, digging her snout deeper into her flank. “Leave me alone," she mumbled.

“Tearry. Wake up."

Whoever it was refused to give up. She felt a paw touch her scales. The cold of its pads made her bristle. The dragoness reflexively slapped away the offending paw without looking, courtesy of her flexible tail…

“Tearry, you need to wake up. This is—

“CHANTEIRWEN!"

The booming snarl had Chanteirwen instantly springing outward. Immediately she went up onto her haunches. “Okay, Mama! I'm up, I'm up, I'm up!"

Her older brother stood beside her on all fours, the dark brown of his thick scale plating invisible in the darkness of their burrow. He huffed at her reaction. “Finally."

Mama crawled quickly into the chamber, sliding in like a snake. Chanteirwen looked up at her muzzle and studied her lips. Unlike the other dumb, inarticulate reptiles all over the land, dragons like her could make expressions signaling their state of mind. There would be a slight upward curve on their lips when they were happy. Stiff, with teeth bared, when angry. And when scared…

Chanteirwen wished she hadn't looked. Mama was absolutely terrified. “Mama, what's going on?"

“Chanteirwen, there's—

Fierce cracking noises cut off her growls. They were much closer to the burrow, occurring far too often and too quickly to be natural. The cacophony rained down on her ears, overwhelming Chanteirwen's sensitive hearing. Her earflaps sank down to cover the holes, but it was futile. “Mama, that doesn't sound like thunder."

Her brother looked at her. “It's worse."

“That's because—

Papa's slender form appeared in the firepit, the embers scattering beneath his paws. His dotted scales appeared in the dark for a brief moment. “Everybody out! We're leaving!"

“Papa!" Chanteirwen grunted. “What's happening—

“It's the Forgers! We have to go. NOW!"

Forgers.

That one word sent chills down her tail.

Every dragon had heard stories about them from their lounge's Patriarch. Bipeds covered in metal from top to bottom, carrying heavy, intensely sharp claws of polished metal. Each, capable of cutting right through their scales. Thousands of seasons ago Forgers used to hunt dragons by the hundreds, culling their numbers until a measly few were left hiding.

Chanteirwen wanted to know the reason why, like every whelp in her generation, but the Patriarch simply wasn't old enough to know any details beyond that. But the lesson was ingrained in all their heads.

The Forgers wanted them dead without exception.

Chanteirwen and her brother hastily followed Papa out the burrow, flying out of the firepit to the forest directly above it. Mama was the last to arrive. Her brother growled, “Which way, Papa?" He looked around. “Everybody else is… I don't know where they're going."

Papa's wings fluttered once. He raised a forepaw and pointed at a tree-covered mountain in the distance. A few other families were sprinting in that direction, too. “The Patriarch said we'll have to meet there, Verstein." He started to trot forward. “Come, we must leave before the Forgers arrive."

Bright lights suddenly appeared in front of them, illuminating the forest to such a degree Chanteirwen thought the sun had returned. But the night was still dark and the small crescent disc that came out was still high in the sky. Every dragon in Chanteirwen's family stopped, temporarily blinded.

Sharp popping barraged her ears. Several dragons closer to the mountain—closer to the lights—suddenly fell mid-step. Unmoving. They were dead.

Silhouettes of bipedal creatures flashed across the light, carrying strange things in their arms.

“Forgers!" roared Papa. “Back! Back! Circle around them!"

Chanteirwen turned around immediately and fled with Mama and Verstein beside her. Papa followed, but not before breathing a pillar of fire at the Forgers. The grass and shrubs caught fire and allowed the dragoness to see how they looked.

To her shock, none bore the metal skin mentioned in the Patriarch's tales. Instead they looked just like the foliage in the land. They could hide within the bushes and be imperceptible to anything that couldn't smell them. She glimpsed the black instruments in their arms. Those weren't the metal claws from the stories! Why were—

An adult dragon roared. He looked like a bigger, meaner version of her brother. Chanteirwen recognized him as she continued running. That was her friend's father. He must have thought the same thing she did and, dismissing the Forger as a threat, rushed him with the intent to kill. Dragons like him couldn't breathe fire or spit poison, but they were born with the toughest plates of armor.

The small weapon this Forger carried couldn't possibly—

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The metal thing in its furless paws released three bursts of light in the darkness. Chanteirwen looked back. Fear coursed through her veins. The dragon had collapsed mid-stride. Killed instantly.

“Run!" Papa screamed. “Tearry, don't look back. JUST RUN!"

The other dragons didn't know where they had to go. Many fanned outward, abandoning the lounge for total self-preservation. Several families followed Chanteirwen's family. They galloped past the trees, past the shrubs, sprinting along the clear paths they explored for hours yesterday.

Chanteirwen could hear her own heart pounding in her snout. She swore she could hear it echoing in the air as well. The Forgers couldn't possibly catch up to them now, could they? There weren't even any of those four-legged beasts they were said to ride into battle. Those animals didn't exist in this land. They had to be safe for now. They had to be.

“Mama, why aren't we flying?" she asked between breaths. “We're dragons. We have wings! We don't have to run, we—

“We can't," her brother answered for her. “Look up."

And look up she did. Chanteirwen saw that several dragons had also arrived at the same conclusion. At least two families took to the skies. Their silhouettes were clear and distinguishable. The colors of their scales, faint under the moonlight.

A festering weight filled her belly. It gnawed at her. She should be up there. They should be up there. All four of them. They wouldn't be fleeing from the Forgers like the very beasts they hunt for food everyday. Just a bit of time flapping their sinewy wings for dear life and they would be far beyond the reach of any Forger weapon.

Yes.

They would be safe. They would be free. They could easily reunite with the Patriarch from high up. They…

They were falling.

Chanteirwen couldn't believe her eyes. Her heart drummed even louder than before in her ears. Why? How? Three whelps her age were plummeting to the ground. It didn't make sense. The mother swooped down to rescue the closest one and—

She gasped. That's her playmate!

A deafening blare suddenly rumbled across the night sky. A high-pitched whine filled her ears as Chanteirwen ceased running and collapsed. She dug her head into the grass, whimpering. It hurt. Whatever it was, it hurt.

“Tearry!" she barely heard Papa cry out behind her.

Chanteirwen's heart continued to thrum, to beat in its endlessly steady rhythm, even as the vociferous noise exploded twice over. The withering roars that followed told her all she needed to know. They were dead. Her playmate and their entire family were all dead. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. She—

She then realized it wasn't her heart all along.

A roaring monstrosity of metal hovered in the sky, kept afloat by some means she couldn't comprehend. A pain deeply nestled in her breast bubbled at the realization as her hope slowly vanished into the ether. The Forgers controlled the skies too? She couldn't believe it. “We're doomed," she murmured.

Papa caught up to her. He bit down on the back of her neck and raised her up. “Don't just give up," he urged, his growls providing what little comfort they could. “We have to try."

“But—

Chanteirwen felt his paws reach under her breast. His scales were smooth, if a little slimy, like all the other venomous dragons. “Verstein and your Mama are waiting for us," Papa barked at her. “Get up. We don't have long."

“It's not like the stories, Papa." She sobbed. “These Forgers… they're, t-they're…"

She felt Papa's slick tongue glide across her muzzle. Once. Twice. Thrice. He nuzzled her. “I know, Little Wing. I know it looks hopeless, but you won't know unless you try."

Papa licked her again. Chanteirwen found comfort in his love. She leaned into the soothing feeling and sensed the weight in her heart ebbing away. Precious moments ticked away like this before the dragoness regained the energy to keep going.

The two of them sprinted as fast as they could until they caught up to the rest of the family, who had taken shelter behind some bushes. Verstein looked annoyed at her, while Mama nuzzled her and showered her with a quick gesture of love before all four resumed their escape. They could still hear the cracking noises the Forgers' weapons made, but nothing like the powerful blasts from before.

Every dragon that could still run was cautious of the flying Forger object and they were all effectively grounded. It made escape even harder than before. The family met and, with just eye contact, grouped up with five other dragons, two of whom had just become mates a few nights ago. Together they bolted across the forest, glided over a narrow river, and veered right.

No Forger in sight.

Chanteirwen discerned the faint outline of the mountain ridge ahead, barely. There wasn't much of a path at all, save for whatever the bush-eaters use to traverse the forest. She went through several spiderwebs in the process. While caught up in her panic she disregarded the faint sensation of the invisible strings falling to the ground and had no idea a spider as wide as her snout bounced off her scales.

The six of them galloped almost noiselessly, careful not to draw attention from the Forgers and their terrifying weaponry. That she could hear the roars and whimpers of the dying somewhere in the wilderness was unnerving. She hoped they would get there soon. The Patriarch will know what to do, she was sure of it. He always had a story for everything. That's why—

Sudden howling broke Chanteirwen's trail of thoughts.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-THUMP.

An orange dragon even larger than Papa abruptly burst into the path ahead of them, almost literally jumping out of the foliage. Chanteirwen recognized him as one of the Patriarch's close friends. He saw all nine dragons running toward him and thumped his tail on the ground. "Keep going! It's not safe here. The Forgers—

Thunderous buzzing filled the air. Blinding lights streamed from the side. Chanteirwen glanced to her right and, her earflaps wilting, immediately regretted the decision, for she saw metal monsters lumbering across the forest. Their eyes were as miniature suns, illuminating all that fell beneath their gaze.

Behind clear panes of solid something, she perceived the faint outlines of the creatures responsible for their plight. "¡Por alla, más dragones!" Chanteirwen heard one of them scream.

She didn't have to understand it to know what it said. "Papa," cried the dragoness.

"Stay with us, Tearry. No matter what happens, don't stop." Papa grunted his next command to her brother. "Verstein, take care of your sister."

"Yes, Papa."

The six of them darted past the large dragon, who chose to stay behind and confront the Forgers. Chanteirwen's heart clenched at the sight of the deep puncture wounds scattered across his body and the blood copiously oozing out from them.

"Thank you!" Chanteirwen cried out, "See you in the next life."

"In the next life, Little Wing," she heard the dragon's soft growl, seconds before his pained roars drowned even the rumbling of the metal monsters for a few moments.

Their galloping never ceased. It took a toll on Chanteirwen's paws; they began to hurt. Exerting every effort to keep up with her family, she pushed the pain aside and kept sprinting. A frightened gasp escaped her muzzle when the hideous roars from behind finally caught up to them.

Rapid pops resounded from the metal boxes. Tiny objects too fast for Chanteirwen to see plugged deep holes into everything around her. The ground. The trees. The leaves. The brush. Everything.

One of the dragons in their group suddenly tumbled, becoming a heap of scales and limbs. Screams followed. Then, panicked yowls urging the rest to keep going, to leave the fallen behind.

Chanteirwen and her family all went around the fallen reptile and continued onward.

A second fell. "Help!" the dragon growled, her terror-filled whine disturbing even Chanteirwen's resolve.

"I'm sorry," she muttered to herself. They'd understand. If someone else had fallen they would've kept going too.

The Forgers were relentless, chasing them to the point they were all halfway to the mountain. Chanteirwen quickly looked back and also saw a single light in the sky moving towards them. The flying monster was coming too. When it caught up, there would be no chance of escaping the Forgers. They'd just end up feeding the Patriarch and whatever remained of the lounge to them.

Chanteirwen wanted to say something to her family. They had to address this problem. Kill it before it could grow. Mama and brother were sprinting at her left side. Papa was ahead in front of them, running together with a dragon she didn't know. They were talking.

"Mama," Chanteirwen growled at her mother. "I think there's a problem."

"Tearry, what is it?"

"I-I think we're leading the Forgers to the Patriarch. We need to do something. We can't—

Tragedy struck.

The dragon beside Papa suddenly collapsed. He fell to the ground in an unmoving mass of flesh and scale. Somebody screamed just as Chanteirwen yowled. His body collided with her on the way down. They rolled together as one, and when the dust settled, the dragoness was trapped underneath a dead dragon.

"Help!" Chanteirwen shrieked. She couldn't move. The body was too heavy. "Heeeelp! Papa! Mama!" She was facing the metal boxes chasing after them. They were getting closer by the second.

"Papa!" she screeched. "Mama!" They wouldn't leave her behind, would they? They wouldn't just abandon her. Right? ...right?

Chanteirwen whined. She thrashed against the body. But there was no use.

"Tearry!" Verstein landed in front of her. "I'm here."

Seeing her brother calmed Chanteirwen a little. "Vers, I can't get out. Too heavy."

Verstein turned around and shoved at the body. It moved a little and gave Chanteirwen enough space to crawl forward, but it was still too heavy. "If only we have more time," he grumbled, glancing back.

She didn't want to even look at the Forgers. It might have made her panic again. "Papa and Mama, where are they?"

"Trying to get the others to help."

At that moment the metal boxes caught up to them. Their otherworldly groans had become the world to her. Both Chanteirwen and Verstein shut their eyes and whined, pushing their snouts to the ground. The ear-splitting noise rushed all around them. The earth shook in their wake.

She could hear two of the monsters stopping nearby. The Forgers spoke in their incomprehensible language. "Entendido. Nos quedaremos aquí y procesaremos a estos lagartos."

Chanteirwen heard static in her ears. "¡Cuidado! ¡Dos en camino!"

"¡Mierda! Deben ser sus padres."

"¡Preparense!" Commanded a third voice. It boomed with authority. "Flores, Perez y yo nos encargaremos de los niños."

By now her hearing had recovered. Chanteirwen ignored the high-pitched ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes and saw three Forgers walking in their direction. Two wielded their strange black weapons. The last carried a solid block of metal attached to an unnaturally straight stick.

She whimpered. None of them showed fear at Verstein snarling ferociously at them.

Instinctively the dragoness pushed back into the corpse as though hiding under it would save her from certain death.

One of them raised its strange weapon to its head and looked into some tube attached on top. Chanteirwen saw the long end sticking out, saw how it lined up perfectly with her brother…

She came to a horrifying epiphany.

"Vers! Jump left!"

"What?"

"Just do it!"

The urgency in her growls compelled him to do it. A sharp noise cracked in the air, and she felt something she couldn't see strike the corpse pinning her down. She knew how they worked!

"¡Maldición! No tan tonto después de todo."

Chanteirwen barked at her brother again, only to belatedly realize the Forger reacted far too quickly. Verstein had only just leaped to the side when a series of shots rang out and her brother's foreleg exploded in blood.

"Vers!" Chanteirwen shrieked, watching her brother screech in agony, writhing on the ground. She squirmed beneath the corpse and struggled to squeeze herself out. She had to help him somehow. She didn't want to see him dead.

"¡Cabron! Flores, noquea!"

The sight of one Forger running ahead of the other two and raising the block of metal above Verstein's head caused Chanteirwen to panic. Totally forgetting she could breathe fire, the dragoness screamed uncontrollably. "Papa! Mama!"

Her parents' loud roars erupted somewhere behind her. She was dismayed. They were too far to stop this. Chanteirwen could only shut her eyes at the instant before the Forger struck at Verstein's head.

Thunk!

The noise was loud, disturbing. She flinched. Chanteirwen braced herself for the worst and slowly reopened her eyes.

Verstein laid motionless on the ground. Several broken scales rested beside his snout. His head looked a bit caved in, and while she couldn't see it, she could smell his blood in the air. The fact it wasn't oozing out of him meant the injury wasn't as bad as she thought. This did not change the reality he was out of the fight and their situation just worsened.

"TEARRY! VERS!"

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!"

Hearing the roars of her parents relieved Chanteirwen. They saw everything. Papa and Mama descended from above, wings flared and bodies tensed up. Having seen their approach, the three Forgers had moved away from Verstein moments ago. The metal boxes birthed more Forgers like they were dragon eggs, catching Chanteirwen and her family by surprise.

Papa knew just what to do. "Split up and hit them from the sides!"

"Disparen! ¡Derríbenlos! ¡Ve! ¡Ve! ¡Ve!" barked one of the Forgers. Chanteirwen recognized the voice. Was that their leader? Her eyes sought for any distinguishing marks or features, but it was all for naught.

Papa and Mama went separate ways, befuddling the Forgers who'd been aiming their weapons at them. They circled around their opponents just as the air burst with the loud, popping sounds from before.

Papa growled in pain, blood seeping out of new holes on his beautiful green, dotted scales. In response to the attacks, he spat a colorless fluid from his maw at a random Forger. His target too slow to react, the biped was covered in transparent slime. “Apesta como—AGHH!" It screamed, flopping down on the grass and writhing in agony. “¡Quítenmelo! ¡Quítenmelo! ¡Me quema!"

When hunting, dragons of Papa's kind would cover their prey in corrosive venom and leave it to die while pursuing more food for their lounge. Forgers were no less edible than other prey animals, but they were a special kind of predator in their own right. Papa recognized this and stopped beside the fallen, squirming thing. He bent down and spread his jaws open, fully intent on putting the Forger's head entirely in his mouth and finishing it off.

“Perez!" another Forger screamed. He lifted his weapon and aimed at Papa, but Mama reacted fast. She had been busy herself. She took to the air and breathed a bright, powerful plume of fire at her side of the battle. The Forgers reacted quickly and spread themselves apart. None were hit, but Mama's attack gave her enough time to close the distance with a lone target.

Chanteirwen marveled at the difference in size. Mama stood eye-to-eye with the Forgers on all fours. As a full-grown adult, from snout to rump she was as long as they were tall. Her scales glowed a bright orange underneath their white lights. She swiped at the isolated hunter. He raised his weapon in time and parried her claws at the expense of his sole defense. Bent beyond recognition, it flew a distance away.

Mama turned to see a Forger train his weapon at Papa. She instantly jerked back her paw and bounded over to his assailant to help, narrowly eluding a number of the invisible shots as she moved. Her tail swiveled and slammed into her first Forger and sent him flying into the metal box behind him, head first. With no time to prepare another breath of fire Mama sprinted as fast as she could and, in the most urgent—the strongest pounce she could muster, dove for the Forger with her paws outstretched.

“Flores, agacharse!" warned the lead hunter.

“¿Por qué?"

Chanteirwen could tell it was a warning from the tone and urgency in its voice, but the Forger in Mama's sights was too dumb or too distracted to realize the danger it was in. Had it followed its leader's instructions, whatever they were, it might have lived and brought harm on both her parents. Instead she crashed into the Forger with the full force of her weight and speed, catching its upper ribs between her teeth, and bit down with every strength she had in her. Blood gushed out of the Forger and stained her maw.

“Puta madre," Chanteirwen heard the leader mutter. She finally found him, calmly watching the scene from the rear. It was difficult to tell which one led the pack of Forger hunters when they all looked the same to her, not until she realized it carried a stockier variant of whatever the Forgers toted. She watched it fish out something small from its waist and toss it at Papa and Mama. “Flash lanzado!"

All three dragons had their slit eyes on the thin cylindrical object, wary of anything the Forgers used. They watched it unceremoniously clatter on the ground. It rolled to a quick stop and, contrary to their expectations, did nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Chanteirwen's confidence buoyed. Three of the Forgers were dead and the remaining six or seven probably shook from seeing their fellows ravaged completely. Maybe their weapons were dangerous from a certain distance, but in close range Papa and Mama were too nimble to get hit. She'd live through this, Chanteirwen told herself, lips curving into a smile. Verstein was going to be okay. They'd make it to the mountain, escape this place with the Patriarch, and—

A blinding flash of light.

An unnatural, vociferous bang.

The world turned topsy-turvy. Her vision danced. Dizziness mauled Chanteirwen's senses and caused her to flop. She splayed her paws out to stop herself from falling flat. Trembling feverishly and resisting the urge to vomit the dragoness forced herself to look straight. Her parents had collapsed at the same time she did. Both dragons struggled to stand straight. They swayed and floundered around, growling and whimpering madly, unable to make sense of the world.

"¡Ha! Por un segundo ahí, pensé que tendría que lanzar una granada."

Chanteirwen recognized the leader of the Forger pack. She watched it walk slowly to her parents. It raised the long, thin weapon to its arms and pulled back on something. Chu-chak! Her earflaps rose. This was different from what the other Forgers carried. Saliva pooled in her throat as her heart began to pound.

"Disfruten perdigones, bestias." It raised the weapon to its waist—not to its eyes, to Chanteirwen's surprise—aimed one end right at Papa, and a single, weighty blast shattered the silence.

Papa slumped instantly. The drake went still. Craning his head to gaze at his daughter one last time was the last thing he did. "I-I love you," he weakly growled. Then his eyes turned still. Dead, like all the carcasses he'd hunted before.

Chanteirwen couldn't hold herself back any longer. She screeched at the sight of Papa's bloodied, mangled, and horrendously eviscerated muzzle. She lost her mind. "Papa! Papa!" Fighting against vertigo, she struggled against the cold corpse she was trapped beneath. She flapped her wings, raked the ground with her claws—anything to get out of this damn situation!—and shrieked. "PAPA!"

The leader barked another command, "¡Alguien calle a la niña!"

"En eso, jefe!" replied another Forger.

Mama yowled in agony. She writhed on the ground, fiercely struggling to get back on all fours and maul the Forger until it was unrecognizable from paste. Chanteirwen could barely imagine how it must feel for Mama, when the light and the noise exploded right next to her. The world continued to sway and tilt in her vision, yet Chanteirwen obstinately trained her gaze on the leader.

She whined when it approached Mama without fear. Even if Mama tried to breathe fire now, she'd end up broadcasting her intention to someone who had a deadly weapon aimed at her muzzle. Papa was dead. Verstein was out. Who knew what these Forgers planned for them all? It was up to her. She was the only one who could help her family now.

Paws wobbling unsteadily, Chanteirwen propped herself up as high as she could. She couldn't pinpoint the Forger's exact direction with her vision so blurry, but as long as her flames could be spread over a wide area she didn't care. The dragoness inhaled deeply and spread her maw wide open. She felt two glands deep in the back of her throat squelch open, then she spat.

Fire burst into existence in her maw. Her flames flew over Papa's corpse as it soared right at the Forger.

Perhaps, had Chanteirwen been a few seasons older, she might have saved her poor mother from certain death, if this situation happened at all in the first place.

As a young dragoness still getting used to her unique gift, there was no chance of her saving Mama. The flames stopped far short of the Forger, who murdered the only other adult dragon in their midst with one massive shot to her face.

Dead, Mama plopped down on the ground. Her eyes were all that was left of her beautiful curved muzzle. Chanteirwen heard her barely audible whimper. “Vers… Tearry…"

She didn't even have time to process what just happened when another Forger—the one she'd been ignoring all this time in her frenzy—arrived next to her head and slammed the bulky rear-end of its weapon right on her nose. Chanteirwen bawled. Getting hit on the snout was one of the most painful things a dragon could experience, and what the Forger did not only arrested her fire breath but also worsened the addled haze she was already suffering.

Death had finally come.

Chanteirwen stared defiantly at the Forger who would surely end her life. Their eyes met. A weak snarl rumbled out her throat. Instead of raising its weapon, it took out a small dome-shaped object from some square thing hanging on its waist and, kneeling next to her, fitted it right on top of the dragoness' muzzle, fiddling with it until it hummed in apparent satisfaction.

The Forger rose to its feet and turned to its pack leader. “Ya está hecho, jefe. Comenzamos el desmantelamiento?"

“Sí, hazlo antes de que llegue el equipo de limpieza," it replied. “¡No te olvides de hacerlo con cuidado! Los chinos son muy volubles con sus medicinas exóticas. Haz que Martínez y Guevara recojan a los niños y los mantengan bajo control."

“Entendido, jefe."

Chanteirwen was bewildered. Why didn't the Forgers kill her? Come to think of it, they didn't kill Verstein either. They only knocked him out. She trembled. They murdered Papa and Mama in cold blood, but left them alone? That didn't make sense! What were these monsters planning to do to them? Her body was quaking madly. The Forgers were truly a different breed of predator. No wonder all the tales about them emphasized extreme caution. They had that special kind of intellect, just like the dragons, but they applied it differently. To purposes that went far beyond her or any other dragon in her lounge. Even the Patriarch.

If only she knew what they were saying in their alien language. She was sure—she was absolutely certain they were discussing her fate.

The Forger's leader snapped at the one that put this stupid thing on her muzzle. “Recuerda, tienen estar vivos. Don Semyon quiere comenzar un nuevo negocio en Henrico y estas crías de dragón son clave." It raised its voice and yelled, “Si arruinas esto, ¡esos rusos nos matarán a todos! ¿Entendido?"

The other Forger nodded its head back at its leader. “Tendremos cuidado, señor. Mucho, MUCHO cuidado."

Helpless and unable to resist anything the Forgers did, Chanteirwen could only lay beneath the corpse that doomed her entire family and watch the biped monsters get to work. Three Forgers walked over to her brother, their weapons slung across their shoulders, and tied up all four of his limbs together along with his tail before bringing his wings together and doing the same to them. The position looked unquestionably miserable, and that was before they affixed the same object that clamped her snout shut onto his.

Chanteirwen was unfamiliar with the alien material used to restrain her brother, but whatever the Forgers used were sure to be secure and impossible to escape from. Her head hung low. This was all her fault. If only she wasn't clumsy enough to get knocked down earlier. There was no point in fighting against her captors. Not anymore.

The remaining Forgers gathered close to the Papa and Mama's bodies while their leader disappeared to do whatever it needed to do. One member of their group stood apart from the others. “Mientras el jefe cuida a nuestros muertos, nuestro trabajo es procesar los muertos. ¡Así que recuerda el procedimiento! Drene la sangre, los órganos reproductivos en plástico, luego apósito y desollado estándar. Todos los órganos internos se separan de la carne y los huesos.

“Hagamos esto antes de que lleguen los camiones. ¡Cada parte de su cuerpo es preciosa! ¡Cada kilogramo vale $ 10,000 en el puerto! Los testículos, el triple del precio! Obtendremos una gran bonificación si lo hacemos bien. Escúchenme, esto es lo que harán..."

All their words passed through Chanteirwen's ears. They slipped her comprehension, and even she couldn't speculate why the Forgers would waste time loitering around her parents' corpses. Normally predators ate their kills on the spot. If they had hatchlings, they would take the bodies in their mouths and carry it all the way to their nest. All she could do was stare back and dumbly watch them go about their incomprehensible work.

Until the metal claws from the Patriarch's stories finally came out.

Claws that they used to… to…

Chanteirwen screeched. She wormed, writhed, and squirmed as much as she could. How dare they? HOW DARE THEY? These freaks weren't even treating Papa and Mama's bodies with the dignity, the respect they deserved as prey! They were butchering their corpses into tiny pieces, putting their rich, red blood in useless transparent things, removing the skin and the scales and setting it all aside for whatever frivolous Forger reason. To her shock, none of the barbarians even touched the dragon meat.

Watching the Forgers slaughter Papa and Mama like easy prey was traumatizing enough, but the sheer disrespect they showed went against the natural order, wasting precious food, wasting EVERYTHING. Chanteirwen broke down as the Forgers dismantled her worldview as effortlessly as they disassembled her parents. She whimpered a long, painful yowl, fully knowing she'd be having nightmares over this, again and again, for as long as she lived. Bless Verstein he didn't have to see any of this.

One of the Forgers heard her crying. “¿Alguien puede callar a esa cosa?" it grumbled. “Es tan jodidamente molesto."

“Con gusto."

The dragoness didn't realize what they were planning until she noticed the block of metal descending straight onto her head. The world shook as a loud thunk overwhelmed her senses. Then everything went black.

And so began Chanteirwen's life in this new world.

A world where the unbreakable rules she'd known her entire life were merely playthings for the cruel, intelligent species that stood at the apex.

A world ruled by Man.

---

_ Author's note :_

- I'm not a native speaker of the Spanish language, so if there's anything wrong there, please let me know. (Feel free to have the Spanish dialogue translated on Google though!)

- Don't expect foreign language to be a thing for the rest of the story. The use of languages other than English will depend on the context (and whether it's appropriate), but the primary setting has English as its primary language due to its history, so readers shouldn't have a problem in future chapters. It's also quite exhausting to use.