Archive of Our Own ^beta

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I was absolutely thrilled—my long-awaited book had finally arrived! It was about dragon riders, embroiled in a war that devastated their kingdom, and I could already picture myself lost in the pages, escaping into a world of fire and flight. My heart raced as I held it in my hands, marveling at the intricate cover design and the beautiful foil stamping that shimmered under the light. I practically buzzed with excitement, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

You might think I'd tear open the pages and start reading right away, but no. Instead, I did what I always do: I calmly walked over to my shelf and placed it gently among my other treasures. This particular book, with its classic gold-sprayed edges, was a proud addition to my library. People often referred to me as a "book dragon" because of my love for collecting beautiful books, but I never minded the nickname. It made me smile.

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I know it might seem counterproductive to hoard books and not read them right away, but I always tell myself, “I’ll get to it eventually.” The idea of having these beautifully bound works of art sitting on my shelves, waiting for the perfect moment to be opened, somehow felt more satisfying than diving into them immediately.

Unfortunately, I had a job—just like everyone else. My life wasn't all books and treasures. My priorities were simple: sleep first, then food, and finally, my collection. My job as a dental hygienist—recently earned after finishing my university studies—wasn't something I was passionate about, but it paid the bills and allowed me to indulge in my little obsessions. I didn’t mind it, though I often daydreamed of a life where I could focus solely on the things I loved.

Aside from books, I had a weakness for other beautiful things—particularly jewelry. Silver was my true love, but I appreciated gold too, in small doses. And perfume bottles—oh, perfume bottles! The way they glistened in the sunlight, casting prismatic rainbows that danced across the walls, was something that always captivated me. I would often find myself lost in thought, imagining a life of luxury, a life where I could simply admire my precious things in peace.

With a dreamy sigh, I would often mimic one of my favorite characters, saying, “Who needs a boyfriend when I have my precious?” I wasn’t averse to relationships, but there was something so satisfying about having all these objects—things that I could control and appreciate without the complications of other people.

Despite all this, I maintained a fairly balanced social life—well, a façade of one. In reality, I preferred the company of my books, my jewelry, and my other collections to that of actual people. Not that I didn’t know how to hold a conversation when I needed to; I just found more joy in the things I cherished than in making small talk with strangers. Still, I didn’t mind attending gatherings or meeting new people. I had mastered the art of looking normal, of pretending to be just like everyone else. They didn’t need to know the quirky, whimsical creature that lived within me.

At 24, I had recently qualified for a job as a dental hygienist. It had been a surprise when they offered me the position—I had only just graduated. But it was a fortunate turn of events, and I accepted it with a mix of relief and excitement. People often commented on my mature vibe, like I had my life all figured out. They didn’t know how much I was still figuring out, or how much I preferred the comfort of my quiet, curated world to the demands of adult life.

But even though I had my routines and my little pleasures, something unexpected was about to shake everything up. I had no idea what was coming.

The next day, getting out of bed was a struggle. My body was heavy with the remnants of a long, restless night, and I groaned as I rolled around under the covers. My platinum hair was a mess, tangled in its usual wavy, straight chaos, strands falling into my face and blurring my vision. I squinted at the clock—it was already late. Great. Another rushed morning. I threw on clothes that made me look like an upstanding citizen—though deep down I knew I was far from it—and stepped outside, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue.

That's when I heard it.

“Watch out!”

The words barely registered before my instincts kicked in. But it was too late. I froze in place, my mind scrambling to process the situation. It’s true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes—but I wasn’t thinking about grand achievements or regrets. My thoughts, for some reason, were filled with images of my precious books and perfume bottles, my favorite pieces of jewelry. I didn't have time to think about much else.

The sound of screeching metal filled the air, and I barely had time to react before a long, heavy beam came crashing down toward me. It was all happening so fast—too fast for my human brain to catch up. I saw the beam just before it struck, the horrified realization that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a disastrous mistake—an error made by some incompetent construction worker, and I was the unfortunate victim.

Everything went black.

As the world disappeared into darkness, my last thought, strangely enough, wasn’t of my own life or the chaos of the moment. It was of my books, my precious collection. A silly thought, perhaps, but it made me hope—just for a second—that the person responsible for this mess would face the consequences of their actions. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of everyone who had ever been in the wrong place at the wrong time

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The first sensation I felt was a heaviness in my head, like someone had filled it with lead and then hit me with a hammer a couple hundred times. My vision was fuzzy and blurry, and I seemed to be surrounded by every shade of grey on the color spectrum. Everything was darker, shadowed—like I was trapped in some kind of dim cave. Maybe I just had to wait for my vision to clear.

I tried moving, but that's when I realized something was wrong. My fingers were moving, but my body felt too heavy. I also seemed to be laying face down for some reason. I tensed my fingers, trying to grip the ground, but then I heard a long, piercing scraping sound that was strangely offensive to my now-sensitive ears. It was weird—it almost sounded like claws scraping against stone. But... who would make that noise? The last time I was aware, I definitely didn’t have claws. I trimmed my nails regularly, and they never got that long.

This was confusing.

I relaxed my heavy body again and tried to think about where I was. The last thing I remembered was something falling from the sky, hitting me full force on my way to my first day of work. Could I have somehow survived and slipped into a coma? Did the nurses forget to trim my nails or something? That would explain the ridiculously long claws. But if I was in a coma, why would I be face down on a rocky ground? Shouldn’t I be in an uncomfortable hospital bed, waking up to my tear-filled father by my bedside?

I thought it was strange, but I tried not to panic, which, to my surprise, was easier than expected. I should be hyperventilating right now—shouldn't I? Not that anything in my life before had ever caused a reaction like that, but it still felt like an appropriate time to freak out.

But instead, I was calm.

I took another deep breath and tried to take in my surroundings again. Slowly, my vision started to clear, and I attempted to lift my head from the floor. But that, too, was harder than expected. My neck felt longer than I remembered, like it was stretching away from my body. When I finally managed to lift my head, I noticed that I could turn my neck in an unnatural way—much further than I should be able to.(

I inhaled deeply and expanded my lungs for a long moment, then let out a loud huff. The sound startled me. It didn’t sound human at all. It echoed around me, which made me realize I must be in an enormous cave. I was in some kind of cavern, and as I listened, I began making a strange, high-pitched, hollow clicking sound. I froze.

That was me.

Adrenaline kicked in. Without thinking, I pushed myself up on all fours. And that’s when I felt it. Three extra weights near my rump and back. I twisted around, trying to make sense of it. I had a long, spiked tail, swishing behind me, and as I stared harder, it slashed against the stone wall. My wings, too—what?—flapped frantically in panic. My mind couldn’t process this fast enough. I got down on all fours in an attempt to steady myself, but like a dumb beast, I slammed my head into the rock wall in a frenzy. The sound was deafening, a deep thud that vibrated the very ground beneath me.

I started screaming in my head, but all that came out was a loud, shrill screech. It echoed and echoed through the cavern, and I realized that, no matter how much I wanted to stop, I couldn’t.

At some point, I calmed down enough to think. As I tried to coordinate this new body, which was very much not my human form, it slowly dawned on me: I wasn’t in a coma. I wasn’t dead either.

No... I had to be reborn. As a dragon.

I let that thought settle. The idea felt... surreal, but it made sense. My senses were heightened, my body far too large, too powerful. I had scales, wings, claws. A tail. And though I wasn’t sure of the specifics, I could feel the rumble of the ground beneath me every time I took a step. That alone made it clear that I wasn’t a baby dragon. I was at least an adolescent, if not an adult-sized one.

You know... it could have been worse, I thought ruefully. I could have been reborn as something much less glamorous—like a fly or an ant. My life would’ve been short and sad, barely even a blip in the universe. So, maybe this wasn’t the worst outcome.

A small, awkward smile curled the edges of my lips—or what I assumed were lips. I could already imagine how terrifying I must look, but… well, being a dragon could be pretty cool, right?

I took another deep breath. In this new life, maybe I had a chance to do things differently. To live, even if it was as a creature so far removed from the life I once knew. There was no going back, no undoing what had happened. But at least I was alive again.
Maybe that’s all I could ask for.

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I started trying to find the exit of the cave, the air heavy with silence, broken only by the sound of my own footsteps. There was no light source, so I assumed I had excellent night vision—some sort of perk, I guess. As I ventured deeper, the darkness seemed to embrace me, but in an odd way, it felt… right. My senses felt sharper than ever before. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? I thought.

I left the vast, cavernous expanse behind—the same place that had once cradled my dragon body before my reincarnation. It had felt so familiar, yet so foreign. I ventured what I hoped was upwards, though I couldn’t be sure. My stomps were loud and heavy, echoing against the walls, reverberating in my chest. I cringed at the sound. I really need to practice walking more stealthily. I don't think I can keep stomping around like this with my own ears bleeding. I guess I’m officially a "fe fi fo fum" type of creature now. Speaking of which, will there be humans here?

I laughed quietly, though it was more a growl than a chuckle. What will I do if they try to kill me? I wondered. My body tensed, an instinctive growl rising from deep in my chest at the thought of someone ending my existence prematurely. The sensation was primal, raw, and powerful—something I never had to deal with as a human. But then again, I wasn’t human anymore, was I?

Something suddenly caught my eye—crystals. Glimmering faintly in the darkness, they seemed to pulse with a subtle, otherworldly light. Stars in my vision, I thought. As I drew closer, the clusters of crystals appeared to grow larger and more beautiful. Their colors ranged from deep blues and lush greens to a blinding white that made my breath catch. I let out an excited screech, and without thinking, I quickened my pace. My tail swished behind me, no longer graceful but excited and eager to reach the source of the strange beauty.

I let out a high-pitched squeal, a sound that both echoed through the cavern and resonated in my soul. My massive, dragon face loomed over the crystals as I stared at them in awe, my eyesight razor-sharp as I examined their faint glow. The sight almost made me forget myself, but then my breath puffed out, fogging the crystals in front of me.

This is amazing… I thought, but then I remembered. As much as I wanted to take some with me, I was no longer human. I couldn't harvest or carry them like I would have before. My frustration built up, but before I could dwell on it, my long black serpentine tongue flicked out and instinctively tasted the crystals.

Delicious.

I nearly moaned at the flavor—it was so sweet, so rich. My mind immediately shifted into survival mode, my instincts screaming to consume more, take everything in. I could feel every sensation in my body sharpen, every taste sensation exploding in my mouth. I had to have more.

I thought to myself, I can't carry them with me to appreciate them, but I can consume them to keep them with me. I reached out with one of my gigantic alabaster claws, scraping at the walls and ceiling wherever I could reach. The sound of my claws scraping across stone filled the air, but I barely noticed it as I brought my maw to the crystals. I devoured them hungrily, my appetite insatiable. I could feel my body growing stronger, more alive with each crystal I consumed. It felt like power itself was coursing through me.

I didn’t stop until the cavern was almost bare, the only remnants of the crystals the glowing dust particles that lingered in the air. When I finally paused, I felt completely energized—more alive than I had ever been. It was as though I could feel the energy of the crystals still flowing through me. At some point during the feast, I had felt two intense surges of energy, like waves of pure force rushing through my veins. I had no words for the sensation, only an overwhelming urge to keep feeding.

The cave was now quiet again, the faint glow of the dust all that remained of the crystals. I cast one last mournful glance at the empty walls, feeling a small twinge of regret. I had consumed them all, but the hunger inside me was momentarily sated. As I moved on, clusters of crystals that still lingered in my path were steadily devoured.

I climbed upwards for what felt like hours, but eventually, I felt it—a breeze. The air smelled fresh and clean, far different from the damp, musty cave. My nostrils flared as I took in a deep breath, and my pace quickened. Sunlight, grass, water—I needed all of them, needed to feel something real beyond this cave. I wanted to be outside, to see the world again.

My wings, which had been dormant until now, itched to stretch. But I was still far from the top. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but then, as the wind carried on a current, I felt a surge of excitement. I stopped and stood for a moment, looking up at the faint glimmer of light just beyond the cave’s entrance. I couldn't resist any longer.

I spread my wings wide, their span feeling vast against the stone walls. My mind buzzed with anticipation as I glanced down at the world below. I’m not human anymore. I can do this.

With a determined thought, I leapt from the edge. There was no sinking sensation in my stomach like I used to feel in my past life. Instead, I felt light—free. The wind rushed past me, and I realized I was gliding smoothly through the air. I’m flying.

It was exhilarating, overwhelming in the best way. I clicked my jaws in joy, my wings beating rhythmically, sending powerful gusts of air all around me. My tail instinctively adjusted to keep me balanced, the dragon within me guiding each movement. My wings beat with tremendous force, and I soared higher, enjoying the sensation of flight more than anything I’d ever known. The air was alive with energy.

But then, the ground was approaching far too quickly. Landing—that’s when it hit me. I wasn’t sure how to land.

I stretched my legs down, trying to brace myself. A massive boom echoed around me as I touched down, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. I smiled despite myself, looking around at the towering trees. They didn’t even reach my forelegs. Wow, I’m really a giant, I thought, or maybe these trees were just tiny.

I chuckled darkly, moving past them with ease, though I accidentally stomped on a few, crushing them underfoot. “Sorry,” I muttered absently, but what could I do? I was massive now, and no amount of care could stop the destruction my sheer size caused.

Eventually, I reached the edge of a serene lake, its water reflecting the now-setting sun. I stopped at the water’s edge, my immense thirst overwhelming me. I took several deep, greedy gulps from the lake when I suddenly caught my own reflection.

I paused. The image staring back at me was surreal, something that felt like a dream. My scales were smooth, a shining alabaster that seemed to glow faintly. My eyes—those deep amethyst eyes—pierced the surface of the water, staring back at me. There was power in them, something ancient. I looked into the reflection and saw not just a creature, but a force of nature, something that had always been within me, now awakened.

I felt a strange calm wash over me, as if I were finally whole.

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I stared in wonder at the depth of color in my pupils, the sharp slits contracting as a loud, continuous thumping echoed around me. The sound made the earth rumble beneath me. I reared my gigantic, horned head back, nostrils flaring as I caught an unfamiliar scent, and looked toward the source of the vibrations. In the distance, I saw a pack of creatures roughly grouped together, heading my way. The leader stood slightly taller than the surrounding trees, its scales a dark, mottled green streaked with jagged scars, while the others—smaller but no less fierce—moved with a raw, predatory energy. Their massive jaws snapped open and shut, revealing rows of jagged teeth designed to tear through flesh. My sharp eyes also caught sight of a black bird flying toward me, clutching something in its talons.

As they drew closer, I recognized the pack as dinosaurs—specifically, a group of T-rexes. Oddly, they seemed not to have noticed me earlier, despite my glowing alabaster scales and towering, majestically curved horns. I was practically a small mountain. Perhaps I blended into the terrain more than I thought.

The dinosaurs, now closer, began to slow and hesitate, their movements betraying an unusual mix of curiosity and unease. It was as though they could sense the oppressive aura radiating from me, their predatory instincts tempered by an instinctive wariness. Perhaps it was my towering form or the ethereal glow of my alabaster scales that unsettled them, a stark reminder of a force beyond their comprehension. The bird veered away, heading toward the mountain I had recently vacated. The T-rexes roared angrily, their guttural cries echoing through the valley, but they did not dare to approach further. Their presence annoyed me, and a deep hunger surged within. With a mighty charge, I lunged at them, my jaws swiftly closing around one of their torsos. The coppery taste of blood filled my senses, igniting a primal satisfaction as I crushed through bone and sinew, the creature’s agonized roar cut short as I flung its mangled body aside. The rest of the pack, realizing their grave mistake, began to retreat in panic.

But it was too late. My claws ripped through scaly hides, spraying blood in crimson arcs across the terrain. I tore through their flesh with savage precision, each swipe of my claws leaving deep, gaping wounds. One dinosaur’s head was severed cleanly from its neck, the massive body collapsing with a thundering crash. Another’s ribcage caved beneath my stomping feet, the sickening crunch of bone mingling with its dying screams. Blood splattered across the ground as I devoured them one by one, leaving only broken bodies in my wake. A deep, satisfied growl escaped me as I finished my feast, my hunger finally sated. A few smaller dinosaurs managed to flee, their tails tucked between their legs, too insignificant to bother chasing. With each bite, I felt a surge of energy coursing through my body.

As the carnage subsided, I stood amidst the carnage and an unfamiliar, heavy feeling settled in my chest. The rush of battle faded, replaced by a swirl of emotions. Horror mingled with satisfaction as I stood amidst the aftermath, the raw brutality of my actions etched into the blood-soaked earth. Guilt gnawed at me, a bitter counterpoint to the primal triumph that coursed through my veins. The predator in me reveled in the victory, yet the faint echoes of my humanity cried out against the carnage, leaving me torn between who I was and what I had become. The bloodied bodies of the dinosaurs lay strewn about like discarded toys, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. I was human once—wasn’t I? The thought whispered in the back of my mind, faint and fragile against the overwhelming reality of what I had done.

My claws trembled as I stared at the crimson stains on them. What kind of creature had I become? A part of me recoiled at the violence, but another part—the dragon in me—felt no remorse. They were prey, and I was the predator. It was nature’s way, wasn’t it? My instincts screamed this truth, but my human memories whispered a different story. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if there was still a part of my humanity left, or if I had truly become the beast I now embodied.

I licked the blood from my chops, savoring the lingering taste even as my human mind recoiled. I must have consumed nearly a fifth of my body weight. My dragon instincts told me I was full, but my human heart told me I had gone too far. Exhausted, I lay down a few paces away from the carnage and began cleaning my bloodied claws with my tongue. My alabaster scales glimmered as the crimson stains faded, but the blood splattered across my body was another matter. A low hiss of disapproval escaped me. I hated being dirty.

Turning my gaze to the now blue sky, I spotted a nearby lake and let out a curious hum, the sound low and resonant like a dragon’s purr. Rising to my feet, I trudged toward the water, immersing myself as deeply as possible. Even in the lake’s depths, the water only reached my belly. Frustrated, I splashed about, attempting to cleanse myself. I must have looked ridiculous, creating tidal waves in the process. Amused by the sheer magnitude of my movements, I marveled at how different everything felt at this size.

With my mind clearer, I began to wonder how dragons like me could sustain themselves. Surely, we couldn’t consume this much food regularly. Perhaps, like snakes, dragons could go for months without eating. My thoughts wandered to my warm-blooded nature, a curious heat emanating from my chest.

Looking down at my reflection in the water, I longed for my human form. Memories of warm baths after long days at university filled my mind. I sighed inwardly, wishing I could shrink back to my former self. Suddenly, a strange sensation coursed through me. My body began to morph and shrink, eliciting a startled screech. Moments later, I found myself paddling neck-deep in the lake, my pale skin glowing faintly beneath the water. I swam to shore, feeling the unfamiliar weight of my new form.

Standing on solid ground, I gazed at my rippling reflection in shock. Silver hair, long and curved at the tips, clung to my naked body. My eyes, a vivid purple, stared back at me, framed by curved white lashes. Horns, dark gray at the roots and fading to a lighter gradient, rested naturally on my head. My ears tapered to points like an elf’s, and my face—otherworldly yet humanoid—exuded an ethereal beauty.

My eyes traveled down my long torso and athletic frame. My wide hips, toned legs, and trim waist hinted at strength and grace. Behind me, my tail swayed curiously, its scales shimmering silver and white, adorned with ferocious spikes. My wings, though folded neatly, were still immense, their leathery texture a testament to their power. I grinned, baring sharp fangs. Even in this humanoid form, I was unmistakably a dragon—beautiful, yet dangerous.

Realizing I was still bloodstained, I waded back into the water to wash. The sensation of wind on my exposed skin felt strangely pleasant. With clawed hands, I scrubbed my hair and body, marveling at my new form’s strength and flexibility. Submerging myself completely, I discovered I could see clearly underwater and hold my breath effortlessly. My scales gleamed brilliantly as I cleaned between the spikes on my tail and horns.

Emerging from the lake, I climbed onto a sunlit rock to dry, feeling the warmth of the sun against my scales as droplets of water evaporated in delicate trails of steam. The sensation was oddly soothing, each lingering bead of water catching the light and reflecting tiny rainbows before it disappeared. My wings stretched slightly, catching the gentle breeze, which carried with it the faint aroma of the surrounding forest, mingled with the earthy scent of the wet rock beneath me. Settling awkwardly to accommodate my wings, I basked in the warmth, my tail curling contentedly. For the first time since awakening in this body, I felt truly at peace. The sun’s rays bathed me in light, and I gave a low, satisfied rumble, embracing the strange and wonderful life that lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Muir POV


Clutching the barely conscious female in my talons, I tore through the oppressive, humid air, my wings slicing through the thick atmosphere with desperate precision. Her fragile grip on my neck feathers was weakening, her breaths faint and uneven—a fragile rhythm that stoked my growing dread. Yet, there was no time to falter. Behind us, a guttural roar split the skies, reverberating like thunder and sending an icy jolt through my core.

That cursed snake wasn’t giving up.

But this was no ordinary snake—it bore the tetra mark, a cunning predator that thrived on patience and ruthlessness. Had I gambled her life by intervening? Perhaps my reckless choice had bought her a chance to survive, or perhaps it had only prolonged the inevitable. Snake-marked beasts were infamous for their possessiveness—they would rather destroy than lose. But this one chose something different. The uncertainty coiled around my thoughts like a vice, driving me faster. She had saved me from the snake’s venom—intentionally or not—and now I owed her this: the fight for her survival.

My wings burned as I pushed harder, every sinew stretched to its limit. The air howled in my ears as I wove through the jagged canopy below, but the roars behind us only grew louder, more feral. Risking a glance back, my heart plummeted. The predators surged forward in relentless pursuit, their colossal forms a grotesque symphony of muscle and hunger. They were titans, towering over the trees, their movements shaking the earth itself. Each one an apex beast, marked and maddened by the snake's claim.

I cursed under my breath, the bitter taste of regret sharp on my tongue. My plan had seemed brilliant in its simplicity: bait the horde by stealing an egg,only to drop it on the female's head to force the snake to surrender her to me or face the beast's wrath. But the execution had been reckless, and now these monsters were hunting us with primal fury. My gamble had ignited their wrath, and I was running out of options.

The Spiraling Mountains loomed ahead, their pale peaks jagged and foreboding, promising sanctuary through treacherous ascent. These beasts weren’t climbers, and the sharp, unpredictable terrain might break their pursuit. If I could reach the mountains, there was hope—but the path ahead was fraught with peril. My eyes darted desperately, searching for an opening, a shadowed crevice, anything that could offer shelter.

And then, I saw it.

At first, it was nothing more than a vague silhouette against the pale stone—a monstrous shape so massive it seemed part of the mountain itself. My mind hesitated to comprehend it, dismissing it as a trick of light or shadow. But as I drew closer, the truth crystallized, brutal and undeniable.

It moved. It breathed.

The Colossus.

The creature towered above the world, a living monolith draped in alabaster scales that gleamed like ghostly fire. Its immense horns spiraled upward like ancient, unyielding banners, and each breath it exhaled rippled through the air with tangible weight. Wings folded against its back, so vast they could blot out the sun if unfurled. Its mere presence was suffocating, an embodiment of dominance that bent the world to its will.

Panic gripped me, nearly causing me to lose my hold on the female. My heart thundered in my chest as my mind screamed at me to flee, but then an idea struck—a reckless, desperate spark of hope. The beasts chasing me were driven by rage and hunger, their focus too narrow to recognize their own doom. If I could lure them into The Colossus's territory, they might become its prey instead of mine.

Adjusting my flight, I veered toward the titan. The horde followed, oblivious to the danger ahead. The dragon’s head turned, its glowing, ancient eyes locking onto the chaos below. Its gaze pierced through me, freezing my breath in my throat. Behind me, the ferals faltered, their roars diminishing into uncertain growls. They had finally seen it.

But it was too late.

With a deafening roar that tore through the skies, The Colossus moved. The ground trembled under its charge, each step a quake of annihilation. Blood sprayed in violent arcs as it tore into the horde, its claws rending flesh and bone with horrifying precision. Heads were ripped from bodies, torsos crushed under its gargantuan weight. What had once been apex predators were now nothing more than fodder, their strength meaningless before this ancient god.

I landed on a narrow ledge, trembling as I watched the slaughter unfold. The battle was swift, brutal, and devastatingly one-sided. The Colossus moved with a terrifying grace, its strikes deliberate and calculated. This was no mere beast—it was a being of profound power, a remnant of a world that had long since faded into legend.

As the last predator fell, the dragon stood amidst the carnage, its alabaster scales streaked crimson. For a moment, it was still, surveying the devastation with an almost meditative calm. Then, with deliberate ease, it strode toward a nearby lake, its massive form shrinking into the shadows.

What I saw next defied belief. At the water’s edge, the colossal beast began to shift. Its alabaster scales receded, revealing pale, luminous skin. Horns remained, curling elegantly over a figure now unmistakably human in shape. From the depths of the water, a woman emerged, her flowing white hair shimmering like silk in the moonlight. Wings folded tightly against her back, and her glowing eyes held the same ancient, unyielding power.

My breath hitched, and a chill raced down my spine. The creature was no mere beast. She was something far more dangerous—far more like us. A beastwoman. And the world I thought I understood had just become a far darker, far more dangerous place.

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The dragon beastwoman lay stretched out in serene satisfaction, basking in the warmth of the morning sun as it climbed higher into the sky. Her colossal frame, now shifted into a humanoid form, radiated an aura of effortless dominance. She had fed well, her violent carnage securing a brutal victory, and the cool waters of the lake had refreshed her. With her hunger sated and her body cleansed, she sought only the comfort of a sunny spot to dry her alabaster skin and gleaming wings. Relaxed and unbothered, she let the world pass her by, an island of calm in a sea of chaos.

Not far away, a group of onlookers stood frozen, their faces pale with shock. Their wide eyes remained fixed on the beastwoman, unable to look away. Silence hung heavy in the air as their minds grappled with what they had just witnessed—the terrifying ferocity of the dragon juxtaposed with the unsettling grace of the woman now lying before them. The scene felt surreal, as though they were caught in a dream they could not wake from.

Every movement she made was tracked and scrutinized, each observer reacting with a tumultuous storm of emotions. Lust, envy, devotion, hopelessness, trepidation... and something that felt dangerously like hope. These conflicting feelings mirrored the uncertainty swirling in their minds: Was she a threat or a savior?

Parker, hidden in his beastman form, remained frozen, paralyzed by a potent mix of fear and awe. His wary gaze stayed locked on the beastwoman. A profound and unbearable curiosity gnawed at him. The females he had known were small, delicate, and utterly defenseless. They held power through their nature—the promise of family, the potential for love. It was a soft, persuasive power that commanded worship and adoration from beastmen.

But this female? She shattered every expectation, every preconceived notion Parker had ever held. Her strength and beauty were overwhelming, almost incomprehensible. As his thoughts raced, he began to grasp the magnitude of what she represented. A female of her power could reshape the beast world entirely. She was a force of nature—catastrophe incarnate. Those who had not witnessed her carnage would fall helplessly under her spell, enchanted by her commanding presence, her luscious, sculpted form that promised strong offspring and protective arms, or by her face, which seemed to radiate an otherworldly allure.

Yet, even as Parker marveled at her, an unsettling truth settled over him. In her presence, he felt powerless, small, and inadequate. He hadn’t even spoken a word to her, and already, she loomed over his spirit like a mountain over a shadowed valley. Her strength challenged the very foundations of his identity.

Curtis, meanwhile, was equally transfixed but for entirely different reasons. The snake beastman—still pursuing his intended female and that accursed hawk—found himself derailed by the brutal interference of this bloodthirsty creature. What had once been apex predators, the rulers of the wilds, now lay in mangled pieces. The majority of their flesh had been devoured by this enigma of a woman—a being who had shifted effortlessly from a ferocious, evil beast to an innocent yet regal figure, basking contentedly in the sunlight.

Where did she fit in the hierarchy of their world? Curtis’s mind churned with possibilities. Could she be classified as a feral beast? She ticked many of the boxes: reptilian traits, possibly cold-blooded, and a scaled form that shimmered like polished armor. Yet, she was far more like a colossus than a typical beastman. There were no other beastwomen to compare her to, and that thought alone opened a floodgate of speculation. If she represented a new kind of beastwoman—one capable of bearing offspring with feral instincts and lifestyles—it could herald a promising future for the detested minority of ferals living in the dark wilds. Her existence could potentially shift the balance of the beast world.

But Curtis couldn’t ignore the unknowns. Did she truly possess the violent, primal instincts of a feral? Or would she exhibit the temperament of a male snake—craving solitude, favoring cool and shadowed places, with a loose and morally ambiguous perception of what was good or bad? The questions lingered, heavy with the weight of uncertainty and the tantalizing possibility of change.

Meanwhile, Bai Qingqing stood at the edge of the scene, trembling as she tried to process what she had just witnessed. Her legs felt weak, barely holding her upright, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. Watching destruction in movies like Godzilla was one thing; witnessing it unfold in real life and on such a monstrous scale was something else entirely. Tears burned in her eyes as she grappled with a rising sense of dread. Was this the end? The dragon—or whatever it was—could easily find them and devour them alive.

The past few weeks had been nothing short of traumatic for Bai. Parker’s relentless pursuit and declarations of love had overwhelmed her, and Curtis’s cold-blooded nature had offered little solace. Now, faced with this terrifying new presence, she felt her sense of identity crumble. The beast woman's ethereal beauty and overwhelming power made her feel small, insignificant. Yet, despite her fear, she couldn’t deny her curiosity. If this creature had a human form, could she really be that bad? Perhaps there was a chance to approach her, to understand her.

Bai’s thoughts were interrupted as Muir stepped closer, his wings twitching nervously. The hawk beastman’s gaze was fixed on the beastwoman, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. She hadn’t hurt anyone beyond defending herself, yet her ferocity was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Now, with her humanoid form revealed, she was a temptress, an enigma that threatened to consume his thoughts.

She was strong, unlike any female seen before, and she represented countless possibilities, both good and bad. It all depended on her choices. One thing was certain, though—now that she was known, she would never be left alone again. She could hold sway over the beast city or claim a vast expanse of territory, protecting it with her unmatched strength. Under her guardianship, no feral or rootless beast would dare challenge her domain. It could become a sanctuary, a guaranteed safe haven for those under her protection.

Muir’s thoughts shifted uneasily to the future. If she were receptive to mates, she would undoubtedly become the most sought-after female in the beast world. The prospect of children inheriting her strength was irresistible. Yet, a chilling question crept into his mind: Was she truly the only one of her kind—or were there others like her, hidden somewhere in the vast unknown?

As the sun continued to climb, its rays illuminating the serene figure of the dragon beastwoman, the onlookers—each gripped by their own fears, hopes, and questions—found themselves bound by a common realization. The world they knew had changed irrevocably, and she was at the center of it all.

Chapter Text

Movement and sharp noises, as if deliberately made, pull me from my nap. The warmth of the sun against my scales is soothing, but the sounds persist, breaking through the haze of sleep. I huff a breath and crack one eye open. Above me, perched in the shadowed branches of a tree, is a large black bird.

Disbelief floods my senses as I take it in. First, I likely died. Then, I became a dragon. And now this? The biggest bird I’ve ever seen is staring down at me with blue eyes. Blue. Eyes. My mind stumbles over the details—I’ve never seen, let alone heard of, a bird with blue eyes.

Narrowing my gaze playfully, I smirk, my lips curling just enough to expose a hint of sharp teeth. “Now, what business do you have with me?” I say, amusement lacing my voice.

Closing my eyes again, I stretch languidly, savoring the remnants of my peaceful nap. My tail undulates behind me, stirring dust and small pebbles, while my wings extend to their full span, blotting out patches of sunlight before folding neatly against my back.

Propping myself up on my arms, I arch my back and roll my shoulders, a contented sigh escaping my lips. I don’t immediately notice the view I’m giving—the smooth expanse of my chest still bare, exposed to both the hawk and the woman on the distant mountain ledge.

A loud squawk pierces the air, breaking the tranquility. My gaze snaps to the bird, which flutters in place, clearly startled. It squawks again, its movements erratic and panicked, before finally calming, though it's piercing blue eyes remain fixed on me.

This time, the bird descends, hopping down from the ledge to the ground below. As it approaches, I get a better look at it. Its sheer size is astounding—far larger than any bird I’ve ever encountered. It's dark gray feathers fluff out as it moves closer, as if it’s attempting to appear even larger than it already is.

Still seated, I tilt my head, watching it with bemused interest. The corners of my mouth twitch upward in a faint smile.

Then, it happens. One moment, the bird stands before me, all feathers and claws. Next, its form begins to ripple and shift. Feathers give way to flesh, talons to hands and feet. In its place now stands a man.

A very naked man.

Shock roots me in place, my breath catching as he drops to his knees, bowing his head low to the ground. Sunlight glints off his ash-black hair as it falls forward, casting shadows across his face.

I instinctively spread my wings wide, the motion creating a gust of wind that sends leaves scattering. The gesture is protective, though I’m unsure whether it’s for myself or to create some distance from this stranger. An annoying thought creeps into my mind: How long was he up there, staring down at me while I was sprawled out on this rock? Heat rises to my cheeks, though I force the thought away.

My gaze flickers back to him. He remains kneeling, his entire form exposed, and—well, everything is on display. I suppress a giggle, biting my lip to maintain composure. A twinkle of amusement sneaks into my eyes despite myself. Men always look a bit ridiculous completely naked—especially when one part of them is just... hanging there.

The silence drags on, and when he doesn’t speak, I decide to break it.

“So, what is it you want, bird?” I ask, my voice light, though a faint edge of curiosity creeps into my tone.

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Were you staring at me for long like that? You know, that’s impolite.”

His head snaps up slightly, and I catch the nervous gulp he tries to hide. “I’m sorry for spying on you,” he says, his voice shaky but sincere. “I didn’t mean any harm or disrespect.” He glances at me briefly, his gaze darting away as quickly as it meets mine.

Then something shifts in him. His hesitation melts away, replaced by a steady intensity. His sharp blue eyes lock onto mine, and his voice grows firmer. “I couldn’t help but notice your magnificent presence,” he says. His gaze shifts to my wings and horns, lingering there with a reverent sort of wonder before returning to meet my eyes. “We’ve never seen your kind here. I came to ask about you—what are you? Where did you come from?”

I keep my expression calm, the slight smile on my face unchanged, but my mind churns. What do I even say to that? The truth? That I was reborn after dying in a past life, and now I’m this enormous dragon who recently devoured a pack of dinosaurs on instinct?

The thought makes me cringe internally, a sweatdrop forming in my imagination. If he’s already this nervous, he probably saw... all of that.

I let out a breath, keeping my voice light as I responded. “Well, I think it would be more proper if you introduced yourself first—and maybe mentioned where you come from.”

I tilt my head slightly, the amusement in my gaze unshaken. “After all, you’re the one who approached me. It’s only proper, don’t you think?”

Casually, I sweep my hair over my shoulders, letting it fall to better cover my chest. Though the gesture seems nonchalant, my sharp eyes remain trained on him, curious to see his reaction.

With a deliberate movement, he rises to his feet. He brings a fist to his muscular chest and bows deeply, his ash-black hair falling dramatically forward. “My name is Muir, and I come from the Hawk Clan,” he declares, his voice steady and reverent.

Pausing briefly, he straightens, his gaze meeting mine with just a flicker of uncertainty. “I reside in the Great Beast City,” he continues, then hesitates again before softly adding, “If I may, could I ask for your name as well?”

A full-blown smile stretches across my face, exposing my sharp canines. “But of course, Muir. There’s no need to be so formal—you can relax. I won’t bite,” I tease, a glint of mischief lighting up my eyes.

As I begin to stand, I try to keep most of my figure a mystery. It’s harder than I anticipated, with my cascading hair, expansive wings, and sheer size betraying any attempt at subtlety. Still, I make the effort, brushing my long hair forward to drape over my shoulders and shifting my wings to form a partial shield around me. The sunlight filtering through the trees dances across my scales, giving me away more than I’d like.

As I rise to my full height, I become acutely aware of the stark difference between us. Is he unusually short, or am I just that massive? Standing straight, I tower over him by at least two heads—and if I include my horns, it’s closer to three.

Mirroring his earlier gesture, I incline my head slightly, the motion deliberate, and place a hand lightly on my chest. The gesture feels oddly formal, but I sense it’s appropriate given the moment. Looking down, I met his wide, startled eyes. He’s frozen, staring up at me as though I’ve just breathed fire.

“If you truly wish to know, Muir,” I say, my voice steady and tinged with an air of authority, “my name is Ophelia. I am of the Dragon Clan, and my most recent residence was that mountain behind you—where, until you arrived, I was peacefully sleeping.”

The words seem to hit him like a physical force. His body stiffens, and panic flits across his face as he stammers out a response. “I—I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep! We didn’t mean to disrupt you.” His voice wavers, and he bows his head even lower, practically trembling under my gaze.

A light, melodic laugh escapes my lips, softening the tension in the air. “I’m teasing you,” I say, my smile widening slightly as I let the humor in my tone shine through. “I woke up before any of that happened, so it’s not your fault.”

I pause, letting my smirk grow as I add, “Besides, you brought my meal straight to me. I’m quite pleasantly full now, so perhaps I should thank you instead.”

Tilting my head slightly, I let my curiosity show, my gaze sharpening. “But I am curious, Muir—how does one find themselves in a situation like this? Mind telling me?”

The forest around us seems to hold its breath. A gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling faintly. The sunlight filtering through the canopy casts shifting patterns of light and shadow over us, and somewhere in the distance, the faint call of a bird echoes, as if urging him to speak.

Chapter Text

The distant call of a bird is soon joined by another, and then another, until the sound multiplies into a chaotic symphony. I glance upward, my sharp eyes narrowing as I spot the source: a flock of massive birds, their dark forms cutting through the sky with unsettling precision. The riders perched on their backs grow clearer with every passing second.

My gaze flickers to Muir, and I arch an eyebrow. “Company?”

He’s already looking their way, his posture stiff, and tension carving deep lines into his face. He turns to me, his expression a mix of panic and urgency. “I didn’t call for reinforcements,” he says quickly, almost tripping over the words. “We come in peace. I swear, I only wanted to talk to you.”

I study him for a moment, my instincts running wild. He looks sincere, the panic in his voice ringing true, but people can lie—and some are remarkably good at it. I sigh, though, the sound heavy with resignation. “We’ll find out soon enough,” I mutter, my gaze snapping back to the sky.

The flock is fast—too fast. The way their wings cut through the air, the sheer size of their approaching shadows, sends a ripple of unease through me. Still, I hold my ground, unwilling to show a trace of doubt. I tear my eyes away only when Muir speaks again, his voice trembling at first, then steadier.

“Ophelia, please, you have to believe me.” There’s a pleading in his tone now, raw and almost childlike. “What we were about to discuss... it’s connected to why they’re here. They came to rescue the female. And I succeeded—partly because of your help.”

My brow furrows as I look at him. “My help?”

He meets my gaze, blue eyes swimming with a strange mix of gratitude and desperation. “I was carrying her—flying with the abducted female in my grip,” he explains, his words tumbling out faster now. “But my plan didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped. The horde caught her scent, and they chased us relentlessly. We barely escaped.”

He bows deeply, the motion full of sincerity. “You have my gratitude, whether you meant to help or not. You got rid of them—the ones who were pursuing us. Without you, I’m not sure we would’ve made it.”

His words hang in the air, carried by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant beat of approaching wings. I fold my arms and hum thoughtfully. “So,” I say, tilting my head, “you were rescuing a female. Who abducted her?”

At that, his expression darkens. His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow with barely restrained anger. “A feral,” he says, the word dripping with venom. “A snake beastman. He took her from her village, intending to make her his mate—and succeeded, in part. But for some reason, the mating mark came out faint and incomplete.”

My fists clench at his explanation, a storm of emotions crashing through me. Kidnapping. Rape. The sheer violation of it makes my blood boil. My tail lashes behind me, betraying the anger I fight to suppress.

“What’s a feral, Muir?” I ask, tilting my head in what I hope is a curious, innocent gesture.

His reaction is immediate—his eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, he looks as though I’ve just asked him what the sky is made of. Clearly, it’s common knowledge among his kind. I quickly plaster a smile onto my face and offer a light laugh. “Well, I was asleep in that mountain for who knows how long. I seem to have forgotten quite a bit. Mind catching me up?”

Understanding flickers across his face, and he nods. Still, his tone turns darker, heavier, as he begins. “Ferals are undesirable beastmen—those from species no female would willingly mate with. The snake beastman we’re dealing with is an example. But it could just as easily be crocodiles, spiders... creatures with traits that most females find repulsive. Because they can’t find mates naturally, they resort to... other means, like this.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words. “Are there not enough females to go around?” I ask, forcing a note of curiosity into my voice despite the disgust bubbling beneath. “It sounds like there’s a serious population imbalance. You went to great lengths to rescue one female.”

He gives me a strange look but seems to accept my earlier excuse about memory loss. He sighs deeply, his shoulders sagging. “The ratio of males to females is... disproportionate. The competition for mates is intense. It’s why females are allowed to take multiple partners, while males are only permitted one.”

The question escapes my lips before I can catch it, my brows furrowing as I speak. “But aren’t your females beastwomen too? Why can’t they transform and defend themselves?”

Muir’s eyes lock onto mine, his expression sharpening with intensity. The way he looks at me, unwavering, feels as though he’s baring the weight of an unspoken truth. His voice is low but deliberate as he answers, each word heavy with resignation. “Our females cannot shift,” he says, the sorrow in his tone unmistakable. “They’re much weaker than the males and lack any beast traits at all. They rely entirely on us for their protection.”

My eyes widen as the implications sink in. Multiple partners. My mind races, imagining what life must be like for a woman in this world—truly powerless. A life dictated by biology and circumstance, where survival might mean yielding to the expectations of men or, worse, being forced into a union against one’s will.

I press my lips into a thin line, fighting to keep my expression neutral. In this cruel world, where beastmen dominate the skies and land, the burden placed on the women here seems unimaginable. While I may have once been human, I’m no longer one of them. Perhaps that’s a blessing after all.

The weight of his words settles over me like a suffocating blanket. I feel a pang of sadness, sharp and consuming. Outnumbered, painfully human, utterly vulnerable. The sheer imbalance strikes me with an ache I wasn’t prepared for. These women—trapped in a world of claws and fangs, with no wings to soar or fire to burn—forced to rely on others, their survival not their own.

I exhale softly, my voice quiet yet steady as realization dawns. “That’s why you said there weren’t any of my kind here,” I murmur, my wings shifting slightly as I glance down at them. “Not just because I transformed into a dragon—but because I can.”

Muir nods, a subtle movement, yet the weight behind it feels immense. His gaze holds mine, steady and searching. Something flickers in his expression—hope, determination, maybe even desperation. The wind stirs between us, carrying the faint scent of earth and leaves, and the world seems to hold its breath.

He steps forward, the shift in his posture drawing my attention. His broad shoulders square as though bracing himself, his hands tightening into loose fists at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice carries a quiet but resolute strength. “Would you please hear out our leaders at Beast City?” he asks, his words deliberate, measured. Then, softer but no less firm, he adds, “Come with us.”

The forest seems to grow quieter as his request lingers in the air. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling the ground in shifting patterns. Muir’s gaze never wavers, his confidence like an anchor in the uncertainty surrounding us.

I tilt my head slightly, my claws grazing the soft earth beneath me as I study him. His stance is firm, yet there’s an undeniable vulnerability in his eyes, as though my answer carries more weight than he dares to admit.

A breeze rustles the leaves above, cool against my scales, but it does little to temper the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. His plea isn’t just an invitation—it’s layered with meaning, a gamble with stakes I don’t fully understand.

I shift my wings, their edges catching the light as I fold them neatly against my back. My gaze flicks to the trees beyond him, their towering forms offering no answers. For a moment, I am silent, feeling the tug of the unknown pulling me in two directions.

The crossroads looms before me, and the weight of the choice is undeniable. To stay, to remain in solitude, is tempting. But to go—to face this Beast City, their leaders, and whatever fate might await—feels like a leap into a vast, uncertain abyss.

I met his gaze once more, the intensity in his eyes mirrored faintly in my own. And as the wind carries the faint cry of the nearing beastmen, I find myself standing at the edge of something far greater than I can yet comprehend.

Chapter Text

Here I thought that in this fantasy paradise, my introverted, dragon-like self would finally be left alone. The forest around me hums with life—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirp of some birdlike creature—but none of it feels intrusive. It’s peaceful here. Free. You’d think that the sheer audacity of a dragon carving out their space in the wild would dissuade these beastmen from bothering me.

I let my claws rake lightly across the mossy ground, the soft crunch grounding me as I imagine it: living off the land, needing nothing and no one. No people, no houses, no stores stocked with pre-packaged food. Just me, my strength, and the bounty of the wild.

A flicker of excitement bubbles in my chest as my thoughts wander. Sparkling crystals waiting to be unearthed, glinting in hidden caverns. The rush of diving into the ocean, the waves cool against my scales as I glide through the water with newfound ease. My breath hitches as I imagine the freedom—clear sight in the murky depths, lungs never straining, every movement unhindered.

I fold my wings tightly against my back, the faint brush of their leathery edges against my shoulders like a comforting reminder of my power. Who needs a community when you can soar above it all, untouchable? Nothing ties me down. Nothing keeps me here.

But then my gaze drifts toward Muir, and the weight of his proposal creeps back in. Beast City. Other shifters. A tangled web of politics, alliances, and expectations I’ve left far behind. My tail flicks behind me, the motion betraying my irritation. Where there are people, there’s mess. And with my abilities—abilities they’ve never seen before—they’d undoubtedly want something from me. Or worse, they’d fear me.

Still, the nagging tug of curiosity refuses to let go. My lips press into a thin line as my claws sink deeper into the soil beneath me. How long will I live now? I don’t even know. Their lifespans, their aging—do beastmen live differently by clan? My wings twitch at the thought. Dragons, at least in my hazy human memories, were immortal—or close enough.

My mind whirls, imagining decades—or centuries—alone. And yet…

I glance up, the sunlight filtering through the treetops in golden streams. A soft breeze rustles my hair, carrying the earthy scent of leaves and damp moss. No matter how much I long for solitude, I know myself. At some point, my curiosity will win. It always does.

I let out a slow, measured breath, tilting my head as though weighing my options. Establishing myself now, under the watchful eyes of their leaders, might be safer than being viewed as a rogue monster. A quiet laugh escapes me, humorless and sharp. As if they could hunt me down. My kind—and theirs—are leagues apart. The thought sends a ripple of amusement through my chest, but the undercurrent of tension lingers.

Finally, I turn my gaze fully to Muir. He’s been watching me the entire time, his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid. His blue eyes are locked onto my profile, scanning my face as though my expression alone might reveal my answer. His intensity borders on desperate, like a thread stretched too thin, ready to snap.

The corner of my lips curls into a faint smile. “All right,” I say, tilting my head slightly, my voice tinged with amusement. “I’ll see what your leaders have to say. After all, I’m curious myself.”

Muir’s shoulders slump with visible relief, and his face brightens in gratitude. He bows his head deeply, his long hair falling forward as he speaks. “Thank you for considering my suggestion,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

The moment stretches, and my own relief fades as I glance down at myself. A rush of heat creeps up my neck, though my draconic features shield me better than most. Still, there’s no getting around the fact that I’m completely naked, my wings and tail doing a poor job of concealing me.

Clearing my throat, I shift my stance, digging my claws into the earth for a moment before glancing back at Muir. “Do you have anything I could wear?” I ask, keeping my voice light, though the awkwardness slips through. “I’m not exactly keen on meeting these supposed leaders while completely bare.”

Muir freezes for a heartbeat, his gaze flicking downward before jerking back up, his face burning crimson. He stumbles over his words, the flustered motion of his hands like he’s searching for something—anything—to fix the situation. “I—uh—yes! I’ll find something,” he blurts out, voice strained.

Without waiting for my response, he shifts into his hawk form in a blur of feathers, his movements so quick and determined it almost makes me laugh. He launches into the sky, the wind from his wings stirring the air around us as he takes off toward a nearby mountain crevice.

I watch him disappear into the distance, the faint smile lingering on my lips. For a moment, the forest feels quieter, the tension draining like the receding tide. My claws relax, and I tilt my head back, letting the sunlight kiss my scales as I prepare for the next step—whatever that might be.

Chapter Text

I stand there, unmoving, as the storm of responsibilities and social obligations comes barreling toward me. The sound of wings slicing through the air grows louder, and then, too soon, they’re upon me. The bulk of the group lands in a flurry of feathers and dust, their expressions shifting into mild confusion—as though this wasn’t the scene they’d been expecting.

I can only assume they thought they’d be assisting Muir in rescuing that female from the colossus. But surprise, surprise—it turns out I was the one who dealt with that mess.

Among the gathering figures, one stands out immediately. Unlike the others, whose hair ranges from inky black to a deep, almost blue sheen, this man’s hair glows with a golden hue. He dismounts his hawk with practiced ease, and as his feet touch the ground, the hawk shifts into its beastman form—a transformation so fluid and natural it’s almost poetic.

The golden-haired man holds himself with a presence that’s hard to ignore. Authority radiates from him, as though years of leadership have etched responsibility into his very being. Yet, there’s something else—a sense of curiosity or fascination that dances in his sharp eyes. My gaze flicks to his ears—fluffy, feline-like—and a long tail swaying behind him, patterned like that of a fishing leopard. Interesting. That’s new.

I notice four stripes etched across his face, their meaning unclear. Power? Social rank? A mark of his clan? Whatever they signify, they make him even harder to look away from.

Our eyes meet, locking across the space between us. His widened in shock, his jaw falling slack as if I’m the last thing he expected to see. A strangled, undignified noise escapes him—a sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp.

The sight sends a faint laugh bubbling up in my throat. I let it escape, light and airy, even as the group’s collective focus swivels toward me. Their gazes are heavy, laden with questions, tension, and, perhaps, a flicker of awe.

Right on cue, Muir returns, soaring down from the sky with something clutched tightly in his talons. He lands beside me, quickly shifting into his human form, and holds out the bundle with an urgency that belies the situation. His gaze flickers to the group, then back to me, as though searching my face for a reaction.

I offer him a small, reassuring smile, taking the bundle from his hands. Whatever comes next, I’ll handle it. But for now, I relish the flicker of relief that crosses his face—and the growing curiosity from the crowd gathered before me.

Muir steps aside, engaging the golden-haired leopard leader in what appears to be a private discussion. I glance down at the clothing he brought me, letting out a faint hum as I inspect the offerings. The first piece I hold up is a tribal skirt—simple but striking. It’s made of dark leather, adorned with a few ash-black feathers that sway lightly in the breeze. My gaze flicks suspiciously toward Muir, who’s deep in conversation with the leopard leader. Their voices carry faintly on the air, but I don’t bother to listen. Whatever they’re discussing, I’ll hear about it soon enough.

Unfurling my wings slightly, I hear audible intakes of breath from those nearby. The movement reveals more of my form—enough for the swell of my chest and hips to peek through. My eyes dart up, catching several of the bird beastmen shifting uncomfortably. Some remain perched in the surrounding trees, their gazes sharp and lingering.

An annoyance zips through me, though I suppress it with only a faint, irritated growl—too quiet for most to hear. Perhaps only those closest to me catch it.

Focusing back on the skirt, I note its simple design with a side knot. Loosening the knot, I wrap the material around my waist and tie it hastily. It doesn’t do much to shield me from the cold—or the many watchful eyes—but the thin barrier provides a small measure of comfort. It’s snug, barely covering what it needs to, but it will suffice for now.

Curious, I glance back at Muir and the leopard leader. Their conversation seems to have grown more intense. The leopard’s expression hardens, his gaze darting toward me in disbelief and something close to awe. His eyes linger on my draconic features, as do many others’. I force myself to look away, shifting my attention to the second piece of clothing—a dark blue cape.

Its design is elegant, flowing with feathered cuffs matching the black ones on the skirt. The circular collar is meant to fit over the head, but as I examine it, I realize my wings will complicate things. Sighing, I improvise. Draping the cape backward, I wrap the material around my chest and torso like a makeshift toga. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do.

Pulling my long, white hair free, I let it cascade down my back in soft waves. I glance down at myself, noting how the outfit barely fits my larger frame. The skirt feels like it’s on the verge of slipping, and the cape-turned-toga exposes my midriff. The fashion gods would likely curse me for this transgression, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Finally adjusting my tail, which sways beneath the skirt with a curious flick, I lift my head. A wave of silence washes over the clearing, and I realize everyone is staring at me. My wings fold neatly behind me as I deadpan, irritation flickering in my gaze.

“Muir,” I call out, breaking the tension. “Is this who you want me to have a discussion with?”

Muir turns, his sharp features softening slightly as he takes me in. A faint blush creeps across his otherwise stoic face, though he tries to play it off. His composure doesn’t fool me. I catch the brief flicker of embarrassment and amusement in his golden eyes.

Motioning to the leopard leader, Muir steps closer, beckoning him forward. The leopard obeys, his movements deliberate yet respectful. As he approaches, I take in his form—broad-shouldered, regal, and brimming with authority.

Now face-to-face, or rather face-to-my-chest given the height difference, the leopard leader meets my gaze with determination. His golden eyes glint as he speaks, his voice steady and commanding.

“Greetings. My official title is the Leopard King. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Ophelia of the Dragon Clan.” He bows his head slightly, a gesture that strikes me as genuine. “It is my privilege to meet the first beastwoman recorded to have been.”

A smile plays on my lips at his formal tone. “The honor is mutual,” I reply smoothly. “I assume Muir has filled you in on what transpired here?”

The Leopard King nods, though his gaze remains fixed on mine, as if searching for answers.

“He has,” he confirms, his tone respectful. “We’ve requested your presence to speak with the leaders of the Beast City. There are matters we wish to discuss.”

I tilt my head, curiosity piqued. “Would you prefer to discuss them here, or should I accompany you to the city? I assume there is more than one leader.”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of the moment settling between us.

The Leopard King studies me closely, his gaze sharp and unyielding. I can feel the weight of his scrutiny, as if he’s peeling back the layers of my personality to assess what lies beneath. Is he determining whether I’m volatile, reasonable, or a looming danger to his home? Perhaps he’s wondering if I might unleash the same destruction upon the Beast City that I left here, in this remote corner of the world.

The faint, metallic tang of blood still lingers in the air, mingling with the scents of earth and ash. Large, sloshing pools of crimson stain the ground where the colossal beast fell, its lifeless carcass lying in dismembered pieces. The parts I didn’t consume remain as grim reminders of the battle.

I don’t blame him for his caution. His people have likely never encountered anyone like me. I may be female, but I’ve already proven myself a force to be reckoned with—a being of power and unpredictability. It makes sense he’d want to understand me, gauge my temperament, and perhaps, in the best-case scenario, secure an alliance with me.

After a moment of consideration, he finally speaks, his tone deliberate and even. “Your presence holds the potential to shape the future—either for great promise or irreversible doom. I believe it’s vital to have a figure like you at the Beast City, if you’re willing.” His golden eyes gleam with resolve. “It would be my honor, as the Leopard King, to host you in my kingdom while you reside there for the meeting.”

I smile faintly, my sharp fangs glinting in the light. His gaze tracks the subtle shift in my expression, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he watches with a measured calm, his curiosity evident.

“Thank you for the offer,” I reply, my voice steady but edged with warmth. “I accept.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Muir’s reaction. A breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes, and his tense shoulders relax. Relief washes over his features, though he tries to mask it.

The Leopard King reclaims my attention, his voice once again commanding but tinged with practicality. “I will make preparations for our departure. The Beast City is a day and a half’s flight from here on hawk-back. With the rescued female joining us, it will likely take two days. Thank you for agreeing to speak with us. We’ll leave shortly.”

He bows slightly, a gesture of respect, before turning away.

As he strides off, his movements are swift and purposeful. He pulls aside the nearest hawk beastman, whispering instructions to them. The hawk nods sharply, casting one last awed glance my way before taking off into the sky with a powerful beat of their wings.

I shift my attention to Muir, who has been quietly standing by my side. Offering him an easy smile, I say, “Muir, thank you for the clothes. I assume they’re yours?”

He nods, his expression softening. “Yes. I apologize for the fit. It was the closest thing I could grab with the group approaching. I thought you’d want to be covered quickly.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at me slightly. I chuckle lightly, adjusting the makeshift toga top with a flick of my hand. “They’re fine, Muir. Better than standing here completely exposed.”

His blush deepens, but he hides it by turning his gaze to the ground, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

We were interrupted by a disgruntled leopard beastman emerging from the forest. His golden-amber fur caught the sunlight filtering through the trees, the sleek coat marred with streaks of dirt and dried blood. Clinging desperately to his back was the first female I’d encountered in this world—a sight that immediately caught my attention.

She looked like she’d been through hell. Mud smeared her skin and hair, the latter tangled and clinging to her face in damp strands. Her clothes, a strange snakeskin-like material dyed a faint, unnatural pink, stuck to her slender frame. She was small—almost fragile-looking—barely a woman, likely in her late teens.

Her dark brown eyes, wide and innocent, were underscored by deep circles, betraying countless sleepless nights. As she scanned the scene before her, her gaze landed on me, and she froze, her expression one of sheer disbelief. Her trembling hands clutched tighter to the leopard beneath her as though he were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

I couldn’t help but feel a surge of protective anger. The state she was in made it easy to imagine the horrors she might have endured—harassment, violence, perhaps worse. My fists clenched at my sides, and a low growl rumbled in my chest, too faint for her to hear but strong enough to convey my feelings to those nearby.

Her eyes never left me as she gaped, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. I shifted my gaze to the leopard she clung to, his features sharp yet curiously feminine. His expression, however, was unreadable, a mask of stoic intensity that didn’t betray his thoughts.

Breaking the silence, I turned to Muir, who stood beside me. “Is this the female you mentioned?” I asked, keeping my voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

He nodded, his usual calm demeanor unshaken. “Yes,” he replied. “The reason the Leopard King came was because of the one carrying her. That’s his son. It seems he sought his father’s help to rescue his intended mate from the feral.”

I raised a brow at that. “His mate?”

Muir gave a small nod, his tone laced with respect. “It’s likely. The Leopard King’s son wouldn’t have gone to such lengths otherwise.”

My gaze flicked back to the girl, who was now staring at me with something akin to awe, her lips slightly parted. I couldn’t blame her; my dragonic form wasn’t exactly subtle.

Then my attention returned to the Leopard King, who was observing me with quiet intensity, his golden eyes assessing every detail. He seemed far too young to be the father of the leopard beastman now standing before me—barely older than 26 by my estimate. But this world had its mysteries. Perhaps they aged differently, or perhaps their long lifespans disguised their true years. Either way, it wasn’t the most surprising thing I’d encountered.

The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of exhaustion, curiosity, and underlying distrust. This wasn’t just a meeting of strangers—it was the convergence of wildly different lives, each carrying its own weight of expectations and unknowns.

Chapter Text

At this point, I was getting sick of just standing there, waiting for the group to depart. It was becoming clear that we weren’t leaving anytime soon. The Leopard King seemed thoroughly preoccupied in conversation with his son and the young female, who hadn’t shifted her wide-eyed gaze off me since she’d arrived. I let out a weary sigh.

If we weren’t leaving soon, I might as well make use of the time. Someone would call for me when it was time to go, right? Besides, there was no way I’d let anyone fly me to the beast city. I had my own wings—two magnificent sets, at that—and I trusted them far more than I trusted any of these males.

I nodded resolutely to myself.

The subtle yet constant stares were beginning to wear on me. These hawk beastmen did a decent job of pretending to mind their own business, but I wasn’t fooled. Every time I glanced around, I locked eyes with at least a few of them. It was irritating.

Huffing in agitation, I scraped my tail against the ground and decided to escape. I made my way toward the lake, seeking solitude and a bit of peace before the chaos of the beast city descended upon me. It was later in the day now, with the sun still blazing proudly in the sky.

The lake’s surface shimmered like a silver mirror, and the air carried a faint scent of pine and wildflowers. This would do. Besides, I needed to practice flying in this form—my humanoid one—since my full dragon form would undoubtedly cause a spectacle in the city. The stares I already received would pale in comparison to the reaction I’d get if I revealed my true size and power.

I spread my wings wide, feeling their sheer weight and strength as I visualized my ascent. A single powerful flap sent me soaring skyward, the ground shrinking rapidly below me. My wings cut through the air effortlessly, and I marveled at how something so large could carry me. The wind rushed through my hair as I climbed higher, the sensation exhilarating.

As I dove toward the lake, the water’s surface sparkled under the sunlight. I could see fish darting below in the crystalline depths. The lake was so clear that the bottom was visible when the light hit just right. I glided over the water, my reflection rippling beneath me. A smile tugged at my lips.

I veered toward the mountains next, pushing higher against a stronger current. My smaller form required more effort, but it was nothing compared to the power of my full dragon self, which could cleave through any wind with ease. Higher and higher I climbed until the landscape below appeared tiny, insignificant.

For a moment, I hovered at the peak of my ascent, looking down at the vast world beneath me. A thrill coursed through me—this was my perspective now, as a dragon, for the rest of my long life. I felt invincible, powerful, and utterly free.

With a sharp dive, I descended swiftly, smoothing out into a graceful glide. My wings moved in lazy, rhythmic beats as I enjoyed the sheer freedom of flight.

A loud squawk interrupted my peace. Turning toward the noise, I spotted the flock of hawk beastmen taking to the skies. So much for solitude. I sighed, casting a longing glance at the clouds before folding myself back into the group.

The Leopard King’s golden gaze found mine. He motioned with a tilt of his chin that it was time to leave. I gave a small, reluctant nod, joining the gathering cluster of beastmen.

As the winds picked up, his voice carried to me. “Ophelia, do you want to ride on the back of one of the hawks?”

I raised an eyebrow, letting a smile curve my lips. “I have two fully functional wings on my back,” I replied firmly. “I think I’ll manage just fine.”

The King gave a short laugh, his voice faint over the breeze. “Just a suggestion,” he said.

The flight was long, but I relished every moment of it. I experimented with my wings, testing new angles and speeds. At one point, I climbed high enough to touch the clouds. Their fluffiness felt damp and cold against my skin, and when I emerged, droplets clung to my hair and face. A grin spread across my lips as I rejoined the group, savoring the memory.

Eventually, we paused for a break—for the young female, I assumed. I, on the other hand, was far from tired. Surprisingly so. I chalked it up to my dragon perks and smirked at the thought. Flying for hours without exhaustion? I could get used to this.

I landed with a far more graceful thud than my earlier attempts. It seemed all I needed was to let my instincts take over; they did the job better than overthinking ever could. Satisfied, I stretched my wings and folded them neatly against my back.

As the others busied themselves, I decided to take a moment of solitude. Spotting a sturdy tree nearby, I flew up to one of its branches, settling there with ease. The broad branch held my weight without protest. I lay back, letting my tail dangle lazily, and closed my eyes. The wind played with my hair, its soft tug and tangle soothing. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to simply exist, free from stares, expectations, and the ever-looming responsibility of the drama waiting in the beast city.

The sound of soft, hesitant footsteps pattering toward my tree pulled me from my reverie. I cracked one eye open, glancing down. There, at the base of the tree, stood the small female, clutching a plate of food in her trembling hands.

She looked up nervously, her dark eyes darting between me and the plate. Her clothes, still mud-streaked and damp, clung to her slight frame, making her look even younger and more fragile than before.

I sighed internally. Socializing was the last thing I wanted to do right now. I needed to conserve my energy for the storm of politics and intrigue that awaited me in the city. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to outright dismiss her.

She cleared her throat softly and called out, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “Excuse me, miss. Would you like to have some of the food? Maybe you’re hungry?”

Her kindness was sincere, though I suspected it was also laced with nervous obligation.

I leaned around the branch lazily, letting my smirk take on a teasing edge as I replied, “Little female, I already ate my fill. I’m sure you saw.” My voice was gentler than my words, an acknowledgment of her effort. “But thank you for asking.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot, still holding the plate.

“What’s your name?” I asked, tilting my head to the side, genuinely curious now.

She stammered, “My name is Bai Qingqing, but you can call me Bai.”

“Alright then, Bai,” I said, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You may call me Ophelia”

She seemed to relax a fraction at my response, though her eyes still held that mix of awe and trepidation.

As the sky deepened into twilight, it became clear we would be settling here for the night. Campfires flickered to life around the clearing, their orange glow a comforting contrast to the encroaching darkness. Guards were already taking their posts, scanning the shadows for any sign of wild animals or ferals.

The sound of crickets filled the air, their rhythmic chirping blending with the soft rustle of the breeze. The temperature dropped slightly, enough to cause the young female, Bai, to huddle deeper into her furs. I, however, remained unaffected, my body surprisingly resistant to the cold. If anything, I seemed to radiate warmth, a trait I’d noticed more keenly since my transformation.

As the others prepared to sleep, I found myself staring up at the moon. Its silver glow bathed the clearing, casting long, delicate shadows. It was a familiar sight, a tether to my past life that offered comfort amidst the alien world I now inhabited. But even this, I realized, had changed. My night vision was so sharp that true darkness was now a memory. The thought saddened me—a small sacrifice for the power I’d gained.

The voice that broke my thoughts was quiet, almost hesitant.

“Are you not going to sleep?”

I turned, my violet eyes meeting the piercing blue gaze of Muir. He stood beneath the tree, his expression calm yet inquisitive.

“I don’t feel tired,” I replied softly, my voice steady. “I think I’ll stay up and keep watch until morning.”

He tilted his head slightly, then gestured to the branch beside me. I raised an eyebrow but shifted my wings and tail to make room. Without a word, he partially shifted, his arms transforming into powerful hawk wings, and with a few beats, he joined me. He landed gracefully, his wings reverting to flesh as he settled on the branch, a little higher up the trunk than me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes turned upward, locking onto the moon as it hung heavy in the sky.

“I can’t help but feel,” he began, his voice thoughtful, “that you’re going to change everything I know.”

His words hung in the air, soft yet laden with meaning.

I tilted my head, the movement catching the moonlight and illuminating my pale hair. The glow framed my features, giving me an ethereal quality. “How so?” I asked, curiosity lacing my tone.

His gaze shifted to me, lingering. For a moment, he looked utterly captivated, his sapphire eyes reflecting the moon’s light like gemstones. A faint blush crept across his face, betraying his thoughts, and spread down his neck.

I raised a hand to my lips, hiding a small smile. His reaction was endearing, and his sudden shyness intrigued me.

“You could change the beast world if you so choose,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with awe. “I feel honored just to witness it. And... I’m glad we’ve become familiar like this.” His eyes darted away, as though he were trying to collect himself, but the faint redness in his cheeks persisted.

A mischievous smile tugged at my lips as I leaned forward, closing the space between us. My face hovered inches from his, my breath brushing against his skin.

“And why is that, Muir?” I teased, my voice low and soft, each word wrapped in playful curiosity.

His body stiffened slightly, his pupils dilating as his breath quickened. His nostrils flared, betraying his effort to maintain composure.

I let my smile widen, savoring his reaction. Whatever the answer to my question, I already enjoyed the effect my presence had on him.

I deemed it right to save the poor male from further torment, leaning back and allowing a playful chuckle to escape my lips. "Muir," I teased softly, "don’t answer if it makes you uncomfortable."

Relief flickered across his face, and the tension in his shoulders eased. The blush lingering on his cheeks began to fade as an unexpected, companionable silence settled between us.

The quiet wasn’t awkward but rather serene, a kind of shared peace under the watchful gaze of the moon. Time seemed to stretch as we both sat in the tree, the only sounds coming from the distant crackle of the campfires and the soft whisper of the breeze through the leaves.

At some point, Muir shifted, his human form melting into the sleek, avian silhouette of his hawk form. He nestled against the branch, his feathers ruffling slightly before he tucked his head into his wing.

I watched as his breathing slowed, his body relaxing into sleep. Just before his eyes fully closed, he turned his gaze toward me one last time. The gentle gleam in his sapphire eyes met mine, and I offered him a reassuring smile.

It was the last thing he saw before his world slipped into darkness.

Chapter Text

The night passed swiftly, the world bathed in the soft interplay of light and sound. The hoots of owls and the rhythmic chirping of crickets blended with the crackling of dying embers from the campfire, creating an ambiance that was both serene and hauntingly beautiful. The earthy scent of damp leaves and moss mingled with the smoky tang of the fire, grounding me in the stillness of the forest. Shadows danced across the trees, their gnarled branches swaying gently in the night breeze like clawed fingers stretching toward the sky.

Perched high on a thick branch, my tail swayed lazily below, the faint flick of its tip a testament to my restless thoughts. The scales along my arms and shoulders glimmered faintly in the moonlight as I shifted, adjusting my balance effortlessly. There was something inherently satisfying about the feel of rough bark beneath my claws, grounding me in this moment of quiet vigilance.

I didn’t grow bored; how could I, when the night offered so much to observe? The purpose of watching for potential danger kept my senses sharp. I flexed my taloned hands absentmindedly, the faint scrape of claw against bark cutting through the gentle murmur of the forest. Not everyone is as strong as I am, I mused. The others could easily fall prey to an ambush, and while I might intervene in time, my speed isn’t infinite—or at least, I don’t think it is.

Most of the night passed in thought, the memory of recent events playing over and over in my mind. I visualized every interaction and mulled over the new knowledge I’d gained about this world.

How should I approach the leaders of Beast City? Should I be friendly or firm? If I’m too friendly, they might see me as someone to manipulate. The idea made my tail lash with irritation, its sharp tip slicing through the air. Not a chance, I thought, a low growl rumbling in my chest. Perhaps I should give them a demonstration of why crossing me would be unwise. Or should I let them underestimate me? Letting them push my buttons could reveal the manipulators among them—perfect for keeping an extra eye on the drama-makers.

I shifted on the branch again, wings unfurling slightly as I stretched, their membrane catching the faintest glow of the rising sun. The world was waking, the chirping of crickets giving way to the soft hum of early-morning birds.

I wondered what other shifters might exist in this world. Were there more feline or avian types? Reptilian and arachnid shifters seemed likely. But what about the sea? Could there be aquatic shifters? The thought of merfolk crossed my mind, and I couldn’t help but smile at the image of them gliding through the water—beautiful and dangerous.

Muir slept peacefully beside me, still in his bird form. The sunlight caught the glossy black of his ash-like feathers, making them shimmer with a subtle iridescence. A few of those feathers clung to my outfit, and I idly picked one off. It was so soft, lighter than air. I brought it to my nose without thinking, inhaling a scent that was purely Muir—a mix of bark, pine cones, and something wild that was unmistakably him.

He stirred slightly, his feathers ruffling, and the rest of the flock began to shift in their sleep as well. Flock. The word felt strange, referring to those who sometimes looked human but now clustered like birds of a feather.

The guards stationed nearby were still awake, though their exhaustion was evident. Their postures sagged, and their eyes blinked more than they should, but a subtle rustle from me had them snapping to attention. I chuckled softly under my breath, a sound that carried a slight guttural rasp, and let my wings fold neatly against my back.

Scanning the piles of sleeping forms below, I spotted the small female curled up next to a leopard, whom I assumed was the Leopard King’s son. She looked better rested but still unkempt, dirt smudging her skin. She hadn’t had a chance to bathe, but she might once we reached the city. Then again, perhaps not. It might still be dangerous to stop, and besides, I barely knew her. She could fend for herself. The journey was nearly over—just half a day more.

Deciding it was time to stir some movement, I leapt gracefully from the branch, the impact of my landing softened by a controlled crouch. My wings extended briefly for balance, their shadow sweeping over the guards. They started, eyes wide and hands instinctively going for their weapons.

I straightened slowly, tilting my head in a way that made the light catch my sharp, scaled features. Smiling keenly, I said, “Perhaps it’s time we got moving—it’s morning.”

Their reactions were amusing. One blushed and nodded quickly, stammering, “Y-yes, I’ll wake everyone and prepare to head out.”

I couldn’t help but smirk as they tried to maintain their composure, failing miserably. It made me wonder if core personality traits ran strong within the Beast Clans. From what I’d seen, Hawk Beastmen seemed to pride themselves on being stoic and straightforward—though it was clear they didn’t always succeed.

Last night, we stopped to camp near a flowing river. We’re following this river as it apparently connects to some of the waterways leading to Beast City. Plus, Bai Qingqing requires a constant supply of fresh water due to her more delicate constitution. It seems customary to stay near food and water sources when females travel, ensuring they’re as comfortable as possible.

I make my way to the river and crouch down. While I’m not particularly thirsty, old habits die hard. Back in my old life, I always drank a glass of water first thing in the morning, and now I mimic that ritual. Cupping my hands, I scoop up the cool, clear water and bring it to my lips. A serpentine black tongue flicks out instinctively, swiping away the droplets that escaped back into my mouth. Hmm. Satisfying.

Behind me, I start to hear the faint rustle of movement. Finally, I think. They’re waking up. Good. I want to get back to the skies, stretching my wings and feeling the wind again. Yet, even as I yearn to take off, there’s a bittersweet weight to it. The more we fly, the closer we get to the city. A sigh of exasperation escapes my lips. Is it too late to turn back?

A wry smile tugs at my mouth as I imagine the rumors: The flaky dragon beastwoman chickened out and disappeared in the daylight. The thought almost makes me laugh. No, I’ll keep moving forward.

After quenching my thirst, I head back toward the group. Most of them are already awake and preparing to leave, even Bai. She’s rubbing her eyes, smearing dirt on her face in the process, while a disgruntled leopard Beastman stretches beside her. He opens his jaws wide in a lazy yawn, flashing sharp teeth.

As I approach my tree, I walk past them, my towering figure casting a long shadow. I glance down at the group, their smaller forms bustling about, and the image strikes me as almost absurd. I look like a mother duck surrounded by her ducklings, I think with amusement. Might as well play the part.

It’ll be a while before I get used to towering over everyone. My height draws attention whether I want it to or not, but for now, I embrace the role. After all, someone has to keep these chicks in line.

In no time, we are ready to depart. The hawks transform, their sharp cries echoing as they take to the skies, their wings slicing through the morning air with effortless grace. The Leopard King, his son, and Bai are mounted, their forms steady atop the hawks' backs as they prepare for flight. With a powerful sweep of my wings, I push off from the ground, the air rippling under the force of my ascent.

Returning to the skies feels like slipping back into my true element. The ground falls away beneath me, and the wind rushes past, tugging at my hair and clothing. My wings stretch wide, catching the currents with precision, each beat sending a pleasant ache through my muscles. The sun breaks through the scattered clouds, its golden rays reflecting off the shimmering edges of my scales, casting faint glints of light onto the hawks below.

This time, I choose to fly closer to the hawks, weaving through their formation. The air feels alive here, filled with the synchronized beats of wings and the occasional sharp cry. Yet I can feel their eyes on me—lingering, curious, perhaps even cautious. Some glance my way from a distance, while others tail me more closely, their sleek forms cutting through the sky.

When one of the hawks—a striking figure with ash-black feathers—draws up beside me, I tilt my head slightly, my sharp horns catching the sunlight. I meet his gaze and flash a deliberate smile, letting my canines show. His wings falter just slightly, but he recovers quickly, leveling out as he watches me intently.

Deciding to have a bit of fun, I beat my wings harder and surge forward, feeling the rush of the wind against my scales. As expected, he follows. I smirk to myself—he’s in for a show.

I roll my shoulders and shift my body, my tail streaming behind me like a living rudder. With a precise adjustment of my wings, I begin to roll, tipping until I’m flying with my belly facing the sky. The movement is as much instinct as practice, my wings maintaining the perfect rhythm to hold me aloft in the reversed position.

From this angle, I see him flying above me, his dark form stark against the blue expanse. His blue eyes meet my amethyst ones, wide with surprise, and I can see his pupils dilate as he takes me in. The thrill of the moment makes me grin, my sharp teeth gleaming.

Laughter bubbles in my throat, carried away by the wind, as I twist again, flipping back to a normal position. I pump my wings harder, the powerful strokes sending me surging ahead. The air feels electrified, and I savor the freedom, the sheer joy of cutting through the sky.

When I glance back, the group is a collection of distant figures, scattered and far behind. Muir—the ash-feathered hawk—is pushing himself to catch up, his wings straining against the wind.

Hovering midair, I allow myself to slow, my wings beating steadily to hold me aloft. When he finally reaches me, his feathers ruffled and his breathing uneven, I tilt my head and offer a teasing smile.

“Nice try,” I say, my voice light but edged with playful challenge.

The sunlight glints off his feathers, and for a moment, I catch the faintest twitch of what might be a smile in his sharp gaze. The air around us carries the fresh, crisp scent of the morning, mingled with the earthy aroma of the forests far below. The sky feels vast and endless, and I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead as we press on.

Chapter Text

We continue flying for several hours, the endless expanse of forest stretching beneath us like a rolling sea of green. The dense canopy sways gently in the wind, broken only by the occasional glimmer of a river cutting through the wilderness. After what feels like an eternity of unbroken nature, I finally spot signs of civilization.

At first, the structures are sparse and humble, small stone buildings scattered across the landscape like forgotten relics. But as we fly further, the density increases. The buildings cluster closer together, their shapes and designs becoming more intricate. Soon, the scene below is bustling with life, and in the heart of it all, I glimpse what I assume is their version of a town square.

The square is a large, open space teeming with activity. Beastmen of all shapes and sizes move between stalls, selling and trading goods. Brightly colored fabrics flutter in the breeze, and the murmur of voices reaches faintly even to my elevated position. It’s a brief, fascinating glimpse of their lives before we soar onward, leaving the lively scene behind.

As we continue, the structures grow even more elaborate, culminating in what I assume is the Leopard King’s territory. True to his word, he said he would host me, and it seems we are headed straight there.

As if on cue, the hawk carrying the Leopard King glides to my side, his movements fluid and practiced. I glance toward him, meeting his gaze directly.

“We’ll be separating from the others soon,” he calls out, his voice firm but cordial. “Follow me; we’re heading to the castle.”

I give a curt nod in agreement, signaling my understanding.

This, I suppose, is where Muir and I part ways for now. Turning my gaze toward him, I catch his attention and call out, “See you later, Muir. Come and find me, okay?”

For a moment, his expression is frozen in surprise. Then, as if to hide his reaction, he gives an exaggerated flap of his wings, the motion almost smug, like he’s won some unspoken challenge.

With our goodbye done, I shift my focus back to the hawk carrying the Leopard King, following him closely. The hawk carrying Bai and the Leopard King’s son stays with us, trailing just behind. As we fly, I glance downward, observing the city below.

For a place that feels so rustic and outdated, there’s something intriguing about it. The smaller huts and scattered homes are modest, but as we approach the heart of the city, I notice more impressive structures. What surprises me most is the presence of what appears to be concrete—smooth, uniform surfaces that contrast sharply with the natural, hand-hewn look of the surrounding buildings.

Then, I see it. The castle. It’s not nearly as grand as the ones from my old world, but it stands out against the city’s simpler architecture. Tall and imposing, it looms over the surrounding area like a silent sentinel, its stone walls weathered but sturdy. Compared to the smaller huts dotting the city, it’s a clear symbol of power and authority.

I can’t help but wonder about the lives of those below as we begin our descent. Their world may lack the sophistication I once knew, but there’s something captivating about its raw simplicity, its blend of nature and community.

We land in a courtyard that spreads out before the castle’s grand entrance. The space is oval and open to the sky, surrounded by towering stone walls that seem to hum with age and authority. The ground beneath us is laid with carefully arranged bricks, their rough texture visible even from a distance. My claws tap lightly against them as I step forward, the sound sharp and distinct in the quiet that follows our arrival. I glance down at the bricks, noticing faint cracks and discolorations—marks of time and use. So, cement exists here? I wonder. It’s an odd blend of sophistication and simplicity, a juxtaposition that keeps me on edge.

The air is thick with the mingling scents of stone, earth, and faint traces of animal musk. Above, the sky is a pale blue canvas, streaked with wisps of white clouds. The distant call of birds echoes faintly, blending with the rustling leaves from nearby trees.

The Leopard King dismounts his hawk with fluid grace, his movements precise and commanding. He nods at the bird, a silent gesture of gratitude, and it responds by taking to the sky with a powerful beat of its wings. Dust kicks up briefly as it ascends, swirling in the air before settling back onto the courtyard.

The hawk carrying Bai and the young man—now in his human form—lands next. As the bird departs, I catch my first full look at the Leopard King’s son. His resemblance to his father is striking, almost uncanny. If not for the slightly lighter hue of his hair and the two red stripes slashing across his face, where his father bears four, I might have assumed him to be a perfect copy. His presence carries a quiet intensity, his movements deliberate as he helps Bai dismount.

My attention shifts to Bai as she steadies herself on the ground. Despite her delicate appearance, there’s a resilience in the way she holds herself. Her small frame contrasts sharply with the towering presence of both men beside her—and even more so with mine.

I take a step forward, my tail curling lightly behind me, brushing against the air with an unconscious rhythm. The scales along my arms glint faintly in the sunlight, their metallic sheen catching the eye. My wings remain folded against my back, but the faint rustle of membrane against scale as I move is a reminder of their presence.

The sound of my claws clicking against the brick draws their attention, and I see Bai glance up—far up—to meet my gaze. She’s so small compared to me, not even reaching my chest. From her perspective, I must look like a towering force of nature. Her nervousness is clear in the way her eyes dart briefly before locking onto mine again.

“Bai,” I began, my voice low and even as I turned my gaze to her. My wings shifted slightly, the leathery membranes catching the faint breeze, adding a soft rustling sound to the quiet courtyard. “How was the flight? Comfortable?”

She stammered, her voice tinged with exhaustion yet polite. “It was okay, but I’m glad to be on my feet again.”

I let out a soft hum in response, the sound resonating deeply in my chest, signaling I was listening.

“This is my first time in Beast City—or any city, really,” I added casually, glancing around the stone courtyard. The bricks beneath us were warm from the sun, and the scent of earth and stone mixed with the faint tang of animal musk in the air.

Bai’s voice quickened as if trying to fill the silence. “Yes, it’s my first time too. I’ve only ever been to Camel Hump Valley. That’s where I met Parker.”

My attention shifted to the man beside her—the now-named Parker. He stood tall, his posture guarded, yet there was a softness in the way his eyes followed Bai.

“Is this your mate?” I asked, my tone calm but edged with curiosity.

Bai’s reaction was immediate. A deep flush spread across her cheeks, her embarrassment vivid against her pale complexion. She fidgeted, her hands clutching at the folds of her clothes as though they could ground her.

“Yes… I mean, no,” she stammered, her voice flustered and uneven. “This is Parker, but he’s not my mate.”

Parker’s expression hardened. His jaw tightened, and a flicker of pain crossed his features before he quickly masked it. As I shifted my amethyst gaze to him, he visibly straightened, his shoulders squaring as though determined to meet the weight of my scrutiny.

I tilted my head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. Sunlight caught the sharp curves of my horns, casting faint shadows along the stone. My tail swayed behind me, its tip tracing lazy arcs against the bricks as I inhaled deeply. The mingling scents of unease, sadness, and determination were palpable, hanging thick in the air.

“May I ask why?” My voice was measured, but there was a teasing edge to my words. “He went to all this trouble to rescue you. I’d assume he’s already your mate.”

The atmosphere grew heavier, tension rippling through the courtyard like an invisible current. The faint rustle of leaves and distant calls of birds seemed muffled, as though the world itself had quieted to listen.

Bai finally spoke, her voice trembling. “I only want one mate, but…” She hesitated, her eyes darting to Parker before falling to the ground. “Since Curtis marked me, I don’t know what that means.”

At her words, Parker’s eyes widened in shock. Without hesitation, he grabbed her shoulders, his grip firm but not rough, and looked deeply into her eyes. His voice cracked with emotion as he asked, “You mated with him? I thought I was going to be your only mate.”

Bai’s face twisted with frustration and sorrow. Her voice trembled as she answered, “I only wanted one mate, Parker, but he… he put his mark on me. I didn’t want this. I don’t want two.”

The conflict in her voice was raw, and her small frame seemed to shrink under the weight of her own words. The pain in her tone was tangible, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Bai’s face crumpled at his words, her hands gripping his arms as though trying to steady herself. “I didn’t let him!” she cried, her voice rising, cracking under the strain of her emotions. “I didn’t have a choice!” Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell, her expression one of raw vulnerability.

She suddenly seemed to remember my presence. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, wide with embarrassment. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. It must be… annoying.”

I let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating deeply within my chest, and gave Bai a reassuring smile, revealing just a hint of my sharp canines. “No need to apologize,” I said, my tone warm but firm. My tail flicked lazily behind me, brushing the ground in a rhythmic sweep. “Life is full of complexities. This is nothing new to me.”

But as the words left my mouth, unease began to coil within me, as sharp and biting as the edge of my claws. My mind was racing, piecing together the implications of what Bai had said. Curtis. Even the name felt venomous. What kind of beastman forces a mark on someone without consent? My claws flexed instinctively, scraping faint lines into the brickwork beneath me. My wings shifted slightly, catching the sunlight in a way that cast a shimmering pattern of shadow and light across the courtyard.

Bai shifted under the weight of Parker’s intense gaze. He looked as though he were battling an internal storm, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack, his hands twitching as though unsure whether to reach for Bai or to clench into fists.

The tension between them was suffocating, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from dropping to her ankle, where the faint red snake mark spiraled like a cruel brand. The sight of it ignited something primal in me, a surge of protective fury that made my wings twitch and spread slightly, casting a shadow over them both. My tail thumped against the ground, the force of it sending a small puff of dust into the air.

In an attempt to break the heavy silence, Bai suddenly said, her voice brittle, “At least one good thing came out of it. I’m skinnier than I was before.” She let out a strained laugh, the sound hollow.

My frown deepened, unbidden. Why would she think that’s a good thing? This isn’t healthy. But I swallowed my immediate response, forcing myself to remain composed.

A throat clearing broke the tension, and all three of us turned to see the Leopard King watching us with a composed but commanding expression. His golden eyes lingered on Bai and Parker first. “Parker,” he began, his tone steady and authoritative, “take your female to your quarters and ensure she is properly treated.”

“Yes, Father,” Parker replied, his voice subdued but obedient.

Parker cast one last glance at me, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, with Bai beside him, he turned toward the castle. Bai, though clearly tired, glanced back at me, offering a small wave.

“I hope to see you again, Ophelia,” she said softly, her tone tinged with sincerity and a hint of guilt.

I tilted my head in acknowledgment, the motion slow and deliberate. “I’m sure we will,” I replied, my voice calm but firm. My wings shifted slightly, folding closer to my back as I watched them disappear into the castle.

Turning back to the Leopard King, I found his golden eyes fixed on me, studying me as though weighing my every move and word. His expression was neutral, though a faint crease at the corner of his mouth hinted at some inner thought.

“I’ll lead you to where you’ll be staying for the day,” he said finally, his voice carrying a faint undertone of caution. “Feel free to explore the castle, but please refrain from leaving the grounds for now.”

The words made my tail flick sharply, betraying my irritation. My wings shifted slightly, the soft rustle of their movement filling the silence as I narrowed my eyes. “Explain why I’m not allowed to leave,” I said, my tone measured but tinged with challenge.

He met my gaze evenly, a flicker of understanding softening the sharpness of his features. “You might cause an uproar among the city’s population,” he said. “You must remember, we have never seen a beastwoman before. They might be... startled.”

The corners of his mouth quirked upward slightly before he continued. “It would be best to formally introduce you while all the kings are present. Afterward, we’ll move to a more private sector for discussions. If that’s agreeable to you?”

I tilted my head, my sharp horns catching the light as a playful smirk spread across my face. “Didn’t the messenger bird you sent when we first met already warn them about me?” I asked, my voice lilting with coy amusement.

His expression shifted to one of faint amusement, his lips twitching upward. “Yes,” he admitted, “but formally, it needs to come from my mouth.”

“Alright then,” I said with a shrug, my wings fluttering slightly as I adjusted them against my back. “I’ll wait.”

The Leopard King nodded, satisfied, and gestured for me to follow. As I walked beside him, my claws scraped lightly against the brick with each step, a rhythmic sound that seemed to echo faintly in the courtyard. Around us, the castle’s life continued—a distant hum of voices, the occasional clatter of armor, and the subtle rustle of the wind through the trees.

The sun hung lower in the sky now, casting a warm, golden glow over the stone walls. I allowed myself a moment to take it all in, my tail swaying behind me as I followed the Leopard King toward what would undoubtedly be another chapter in this strange new life.

Chapter Text

Bai Qingqing’s POV


The air up here was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth from the forest below. The wind tugged at my hair and clothes, its constant whisper almost drowning out the soft rustle of wings around me. Clouds rolled lazily across the sky, their shapes shifting like restless spirits. High above the world, everything felt distant—except her.

Even from afar, the dragon beastwoman dominated the scene. Her presence was magnetic, as though the very air around her bent to her will. I felt it—a mixture of awe and unease—settling in my chest. She was something otherworldly, something vast.

Compared to her, I was small. Insignificant. The realization made my stomach twist, though I wasn’t sure if it was fear, envy, or something else entirely.

When Muir, bold as ever, decided to disturb her slumber, I found myself leaning forward instinctively, gripping the edge of the ledge beneath me. The stone was cold against my palms, grounding me as I strained to see what would happen next.

“She’s going to eat him,” I murmured under my breath, half-hoping someone would confirm or deny it.

Beside me, Parker’s gaze remained locked on her. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. There was no mockery in his tone, only a strange sense of reverence.

Muir, still in his bird form, gave an exaggerated call, the sound echoing through the sky like a challenge. The dragoness stirred, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator waking from a long nap.

I held my breath as her eyes opened, glinting like polished amethyst even from this distance. For a moment, she was still, her gaze sweeping the surroundings before settling on Muir. Then, a coy smile curved her lips.

She stretched, her movements fluid and unhurried, and I felt the breath leave my lungs. Her torso arched gracefully, her wings unfurling like banners, their membranes catching the sunlight in a dazzling display. Her tail curled and swayed, the scales catching the light with each subtle motion. She was radiant and terrifying all at once—a living, breathing contradiction.

“She’s… beautiful,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

To my surprise, Parker nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he admitted after a pause. “She is.”

His answer startled me, a pang of jealousy flaring in my chest. Parker had always reserved his compliments for me, his words carrying a warmth I’d grown to treasure. Now, hearing him admire the dragon beastwoman—a creature of otherworldly beauty and power—I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of insecurity. Yet, as I glanced at her, standing regal and breathtaking in the sunlight, I couldn’t deny she deserved his praise. She was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and even I couldn’t look away.

The dragoness shifted again, her body language transforming in an instant as Muir landed and shifted back into his human form. His nakedness didn’t seem to faze her, though her wings flared slightly, and her shoulders squared, her posture brimming with restrained tension.

From where I stood, I couldn’t hear their words, but the exchange was intense. Muir knelt before her, his head bowed, a gesture of submission I’d never seen from him before. Her expression softened just a fraction, though her eyes remained sharp, watching him as if she were deciding whether he was worth her time.

“What do you think they’re saying?” I asked, unable to tear my gaze away.

“Probably something about how she shouldn’t fry him where he stands,” Parker replied, though there was a strange warmth in his tone now, almost as if he admired her audacity.

As the conversation continued, the dragoness relaxed slightly, though the tension never fully left her frame. When Muir finally stood, the disparity in their sizes became glaringly apparent. He barely reached her chest.

“She’s massive,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the wind.

“And naked,” Parker added, though his words carried none of the teasing I expected. Instead, his gaze lingered on her, his brow furrowing as if trying to unravel some mystery.

I felt my cheeks flame as I realized he was right. The dragoness was completely bare, her scaled limbs glinting in the sunlight. Yet she carried herself with such poise, such confidence, that it felt almost blasphemous to think of her as anything but majestic.

“She doesn’t care,” I said softly, more to myself than anyone else. “She doesn’t need to.”

Parker tilted his head, studying me with a mixture of curiosity and understanding. “I get it,” he said finally. “She’s… not just a beastwoman. She’s something else entirely.”

Below, the dragoness turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping upward as if she knew we were watching. I froze, my heart hammering in my chest as those piercing eyes seemed to lock onto mine.

“Did she see us?” I whispered, gripping Parker’s arm without thinking.

“She definitely saw us,” he muttered, his body tensing beside me.

The dragoness didn’t linger. She turned her attention back to Muir, her expression unreadable as they continued their conversation.

“She’s more than I imagined,” I said finally, my voice barely audible over the wind. “Strong, beautiful, dangerous… It’s like she’s everything we’re not.”

Parker didn’t reply immediately. When he did, his voice was low, almost contemplative. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s just what we all wish we could be.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I could.

Instead, I watched as the dragoness shifted again, her body language changing like the wind. She was a mystery—a force of nature neither of us could begin to understand. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, neither of us could look away.

A little time had passed since Parker had arrived, just moments before Muir departed to descend. Now, Parker and I sat together on a cool patch of grass, surrounded by the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of birds. The sunlight was beginning to soften, casting long shadows across the mountainside. We watched how the dialogue between Muir and the dragoness unfolded.

Muir was bowing low again, his body language steeped in deference, when a sudden chorus of bird calls echoed from the distance. The sound pierced the tranquil air, sharp and urgent.

The dragoness’s head snapped up, her lips curling in distaste, and her amethyst eyes narrowed like a blade ready to strike. Her gaze locked accusingly on Muir, whose shoulders hunched further as he bowed even deeper.

I leaned closer to Parker, whispering, “What’s she thinking?”

“She thinks he called for reinforcements,” Parker replied, his voice quiet but tense.

The dragoness's tail lashed behind her, stirring up loose dust and pebbles. My heart pounded in my chest. I could almost feel the air vibrating with the raw energy she emanated.

Muir began to speak softly, his words too low for me to catch. Whatever he said, it seemed to placate her. Her tense posture eased slightly, and after a moment, the edges of her lips lifted into a faint, almost reluctant smile.

Then, with a single beat of his wings, Muir took off toward us. I watched him land, retrieve his clothing with his beak, and return just as quickly.

When I turned back, the other group of beastmen and a golden-haired man astride a large beast had landed nearby. My breath hitched as they approached.

The dragoness regarded them with the same icy intensity, her expression unreadable. Yet, there was no immediate attack—just a long, weighted silence as they took her in.

As Muir handed her the clothes, the dragoness began to dress without the slightest hesitation, even as countless eyes lingered on her. I found myself averting my gaze, the idea of standing naked in such a situation unimaginable to me. Yet, she seemed utterly unaffected.

“Doesn’t she care that everyone’s watching?” I asked aloud, more to myself than anyone.

“She doesn’t care about things like that,” Parker said, his gaze unwavering. “She’s beyond it.”

Muir began speaking to the golden-haired man. His striking resemblance to Parker didn’t escape me.

“That’s my father—the Leopard King,” Parker said, answering my unspoken question.

The revelation startled me, but before I could dwell on it, the Leopard King stepped forward to address the dragoness. Their exchange was brief, but whatever they discussed ended with the dragoness nodding in agreement.

“She’s coming back with us,” Parker said, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

He stood abruptly, pulling me to my feet. “Come on, we’re going down there.”

Before I could protest, he shifted into his leopard form, and I climbed onto his back. The wiry muscles beneath his fur rippled as he leapt down the steep mountain path, the wind whistling past us.

When we reached the forest below, the earthy scent of pine and damp moss filled my senses. The trees loomed high above, their branches weaving together like a protective canopy. We weaved through the dense underbrush until we finally saw her up close.

Her presence was even more overwhelming than before. Her eyes, a deep and hypnotic purple, seemed to pierce right through me. Her slit pupils marked her as a predator, a reminder of her otherworldly nature.

She glanced at us briefly, her expression unreadable, before looking away. For some reason, the dismissal stung more than I cared to admit.

As the journey continued, I found myself searching for her in the skies. When I finally caught sight of her, soaring with effortless grace, it was like watching a piece of the heavens come alive. Her alabaster skin gleamed in the sunlight, her silver hair shimmering as if kissed by the stars. She belonged to the sky, powerful and regal, a force of nature that seemed almost untouchable.

The sun dipped lower, painting the horizon in hues of gold and amber. By the time we landed, I was grateful to feel solid ground beneath my feet again. My legs, numb from the long journey, gave out, but Parker caught me before I could fall, his grip steady and reassuring.

The camp came alive quickly. Fires were lit, casting a warm glow against the encroaching darkness. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their silhouettes sharp against the flickering flames. Parker handed me a bowl of food, but my appetite was absent.

The fire crackled behind me, sending occasional embers floating into the night sky. The forest had grown quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. The air smelled of damp earth and burning wood, grounding me in the moment as I stared at her.

Her tail swayed rhythmically, brushing against the ground with a faint swish, a reminder of the raw power coiled within her frame. Even in slumber—or what seemed like it—she exuded an aura of command. She leaned against the thick trunk of a tree. The firelight caught the silvery strands of her hair, making them shimmer like molten metal.

Her tail swayed rhythmically, brushing the ground with soft, deliberate movements that seemed almost hypnotic. Even as she leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, her head tilted as though in repose, her presence was impossible to ignore. The firelight danced along the silvery strands of her hair, making them shimmer like molten metal, each flicker emphasizing her otherworldly beauty.

I hesitated, clutching the warm bowl of food Parker had given me. My legs felt heavier with every step I took closer to her, but a strange mix of curiosity and determination pushed me forward.

“I’m going to talk to her,” I murmured under my breath, barely audible over the soft crackle of the campfire.

Parker turned to look at me, his amber eyes steady but unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might tell me not to. Instead, he nodded. “Be careful,” he said simply, though his gaze lingered on me as if unsure I’d heed his warning.

The ground beneath my feet crunched softly with each step as I approached her. Shadows from the surrounding trees stretched and swayed in the firelight, casting shifting patterns on her alabaster skin. Her tail’s lazy movements stirred the air, a subtle reminder of her untamed power.

Standing a few feet away, I cleared my throat, the sound small and meek compared to the quiet strength she exuded. “Excuse me, miss,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “Would you like some food? Maybe you’re hungry?”

Her eyes, vivid and predatory, flicked open, locking onto mine with an intensity that made me instinctively tighten my grip on the bowl. She didn’t move immediately, but her lips curled into a teasing smirk as she shifted slightly to face me, her movements fluid and deliberate.

“Little female,” she said, her voice a low, rich melody that sent a shiver down my spine. “I already ate my fill. I’m sure you saw.” Her words were edged with teasing, but there was a surprising gentleness beneath them, as though she acknowledged my nervous effort. “But thank you for asking.”

I felt my cheeks heat, embarrassed at the memory of watching her earlier. “I—I just thought… maybe you’d want something else,” I stammered, my words tripping over themselves as I struggled to recover.

She regarded me for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before tilting her head slightly. “What’s your name?” she asked, her tone lighter, almost curious.

I swallowed hard, clutching the bowl like a lifeline. “My name is Bai Qingqing,” I said quickly, then added awkwardly, “But you can call me Bai.”

Her smirk softened into something akin to a smile. “Alright then, Bai,” she replied, her voice laced with a quiet amusement that made my name sound more like a melody. “You may call me Ophelia.”

The tension in my shoulders eased ever so slightly at her response. For a moment, I felt less like I was standing before an untouchable force of nature and more like I was speaking to someone—someone extraordinary, yes, but still someone.

“Thank you,” I managed, offering her a hesitant smile. Though my heart was still pounding in my chest, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief.

As I settled down for the night, the soft glow of the burning embers from the fire flickered gently, casting a warm, orange hue over everything. The crackle of the flames seemed to whisper a calming lullaby, and for a moment, I thought about the day we’d had, and the strange connection I was starting to feel. Could I really become friends with someone so... otherworldly, so fierce? The thought made me smile, and I found myself easing closer to Parker's warm leopard form, wrapping myself in the comforting embrace of his fur.

Parker’s breathing was slow, steady, and I felt safe, like nothing could touch us. It was a rare feeling. A smile tugged at my lips.

Suddenly, I woke up, disoriented and groggy. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the world outside was bathed in the soft light of dawn. I dragged myself through my morning routine, my limbs stiff, but determined. Parker stirred beside me, his warmth still pressed against my side, and I couldn’t help but feel a little more awake now that we were back in the sky. The wind whipped at my hair as we ascended higher, following the final stretch toward the beast city.

"We’ll be there soon," Parker’s voice was a low murmur, still thick with sleep.

I nodded, too tired to say much, but my eyes were fixed on the horizon. The excitement bubbled beneath my skin—soon, we’d be at the heart of it all, in the city that was like nothing I’d ever seen. I was ready for it, but at the same time, a part of me wondered what the next few days would hold. The tension between the beasts—Leopard King, Dragoness, Muire—was thick, and I wasn’t sure where I stood in all of it.

And then, just as we flew higher, a flash of movement caught my eye, pulling my attention from the growing city below.

I gasped, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched in awe. The dragoness and Muire were soaring through the sky, darting around each other like two stars chasing in a cosmic dance. For a moment, I lost track of where I was, lost in the sheer beauty of it. Then, as if the dragoness sensed my wonder, she flipped midair, twisting with a grace that took my breath away. Her belly turned toward the sky, her wings spread wide, and she glided effortlessly.

"Look," I whispered, nudging Parker, my voice full of awe.
v Parker’s eyes narrowed as he followed my gaze, his grip tightening around my waist. "That’s not just a show, you know," he murmured, his voice low, laced with anticipation. "It’s a challenge."

I watched, transfixed, as Muire swooped in, dark wings cutting through the air like a shadow over her. He flew closer to her, close enough that I could almost hear the wind rushing past his wings. There was something almost predatory in the way he moved, but there was also respect in the way he followed her every twist and turn.

"What do you mean?" I asked, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the two of them.

Parker’s lips pressed into a thin line. "They’re not just playing. This is part of their... dynamic. It’s a power struggle. A display. Who leads, who follows.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized what Parker was saying. This wasn’t just some beautiful aerial display; this was a battle for dominance, a silent war fought in the skies. I shuddered, feeling the weight of it in the air around me.

As the two continued their aerial dance, the tension between them was palpable.

We were flying into the heart of a city ruled by power struggles, where beasts that could tear through anything lived side by side. The thought sent a shiver through me.

We descended into the beast city as the dragoness and Muire broke off their chase. Muirs figure disappeared into the distance, and the city below grew clearer. The buildings were massive, towering structures, each one built with a purpose I could barely begin to comprehend. There was a certain elegance to the way they were designed, yet an underlying strength—these weren’t buildings of soft stone and mortar. They were fortresses, each one a testament to the beasts who lived there.

The town square came into view, bustling with life. Beasts of every shape and size moved through the streets, some glancing up at us as we flew overhead. There was an energy here—an unspoken pulse that seemed to beat in time with the city’s rhythm. But still, I could only make out shadows and movement. My eyes darted to the skies, where the remaining eagles had flown off at some point. I hadn’t even noticed their departure.

"We’re here," Parker said, his tone shifting as we made our final descent. "And it looks like the Leopard King’s territory is just ahead."

I looked around, trying to find something familiar in the landscape below. But it was foreign, and the uncertainty that had been gnawing at me all morning was back in full force.

Before I could say anything, Parker stiffened, his sharp eyes catching something. I turned, following his gaze, and there she was again—her sleek form gliding through the air, as though the long journey had barely touched her. She seemed to glide effortlessly, unbothered by the time spent flying.

Chapter Text

Bai Qingqing’s POV


The Leopard King dismounted his hawk with fluid grace, each movement precise and commanding. Bai Qingqing watched as he inclined his head toward the great bird, a silent gesture of gratitude. With a powerful beat of its wings, the hawk ascended, stirring a brief swirl of dust in the courtyard before vanishing into the sky.

Bai tightened her grip on the feathers of the hawk carrying her and Parker, the Leopard King’s son. Her heart raced as the bird began its descent, its sharp talons finding purchase on the stone courtyard. When the hawk finally settled, she exhaled quietly, her relief masked by a composed expression. With Parker’s steadying hand, she slid down, her feet meeting the warm bricks of the ground.

Standing now, Bai surveyed her surroundings, her gaze inevitably drawn to the towering figure dominating the courtyard. The dragon shifter. From this close, Bai felt dwarfed. The shifter’s folded wings cast shadows like sails, and the sunlight reflected off her scaled arms like molten metal.

Steeling herself, Bai brushed the dust from her snakeskin dress. She looked up again, her attention snagged by the rhythmic click of claws against stone. The dragon shifter approached, her tail curling fluidly behind her. Bai struggled to maintain a neutral expression, though her gaze betrayed her fascination with the sharp curve of the shifter’s horns and the faint rustle of her wings.

“How was the flight? Comfortable?” the dragon shifter asked, her deep voice calm yet commanding.

Bai’s mouth felt dry. She swallowed hard before replying, her tone polite but small. “It was fine, but I’m glad to be back on solid ground.” She attempted a composed tone, though the faint tremor in her voice hinted at her exhaustion.

The dragon shifter hummed in acknowledgment, a sound that resonated deeply. Despite her intimidating presence, there was something oddly soothing about it.

“This is my first time in Beast City—or any city, really,” the dragon shifter said, her amethyst eyes sweeping the courtyard. Bai suddenly felt self-conscious under that penetrating gaze.

Bai nodded quickly, eager to fill the silence. “It’s my first time too. I’ve only ever been to Camel Hump Valley. That’s where I met Parker.” She gestured toward the Leopard King’s son, who stood silently beside her.

At the mention of his name, Parker’s posture shifted slightly. His quiet presence was steadying, a stark contrast to the dragon shifter’s intensity. But the shifter’s next question caught Bai off guard.

“Is this your mate?”

The question hung heavily in the air. Bai flushed, her fingers twisting nervously in her dress. “Yes… I mean, no,” she stammered. “This is Parker, but he’s not my mate.”

Beside her, Parker’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he masked it. Bai’s heart ached at the sight, but she didn’t know how to ease his hurt.

The dragon shifter tilted her head, her movements deliberate and measured. The sunlight glinted off her horns, casting sharp shadows. Bai felt exposed under her gaze, as though her every secret was being laid bare.

“May I ask why?” the shifter said, her tone calm yet teasing. “He went through so much trouble to rescue you. I assumed he was already your mate.”

The weight of the question pressed on Bai. Her gaze flicked to Parker, who stared back with an intensity that made her throat tighten.

“I only want one mate, but…” Her voice faltered. The words felt heavy, laden with guilt. “Since Curtis marked me, I don’t know what that means.”

She felt the ripple of shock from Parker before she even looked at him. His hands gripped her shoulders, firm but not harsh, as he turned her to face him. “You mated with him?” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “I thought I was going to be your only mate.”

Tears blurred Bai’s vision. “I only wanted one mate, Parker, but he… he put his mark on me. I didn’t want this. I don’t want two.” Her voice trembled, each word a plea for understanding.

Parker’s grip loosened, but the anguish in his eyes remained. Bai clung to his arms, as though anchoring herself to something solid. “I didn’t let him!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I didn’t have a choice!”

Bai’s outburst hung in the air, raw and unguarded. The tension between her and Parker was palpable, a fragile thread stretched too tight. She cast a quick glance toward the dragon shifter, who remained silent, her expression inscrutable. Bai felt her cheeks burn, a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Bai said, her voice strained. “This must be… annoying.”

To her surprise, the shifter chuckled softly, the sound low and resonant. “No need to apologize,” she replied, her tone warm yet firm. “Life is never simple. Believe me, I’ve seen far messier entanglements.”

Bai tries to make the conversation lighter by talking about losing weight but she didn't get the reaction she was hoping for. With Ophelia’s disproving gaze.

The dragon shifter’s gaze lingered on Bai, her amethyst eyes glinting like polished gemstones in the sunlight. There was something disarming in her calmness, as though she could see through Bai’s defenses and yet chose not to press further.

A faint breeze stirred the courtyard, carrying with it the faint scent of sun-warmed stone and the musk of the hawks that perched on high ledges nearby. Bai’s gaze drifted downward, landing on the faint red mark spiraling around her ankle—a cruel reminder of Curtis’s claim. Shame and anger churned within her. She fought the urge to flee, her emotions a tangled mess.

“Parker,” the Leopard King’s voice broke through the charged silence. Bai turned to see him standing at the edge of the courtyard, his golden eyes sharp and commanding. “Take your female to your quarters and ensure she is properly treated.”

Parker’s tail flicked in acknowledgment, though his voice was subdued when he replied, “Yes, Father.”

As they turned toward the castle, Bai glanced back at the dragon shifter. “I hope to see you again, Ophelia,” she said softly, her voice carrying a thread of vulnerability.

Ophelia’s gaze held hers, steady and unyielding. “I’m sure we will,” she replied. There was a quiet promise in her words, an unspoken assurance that this was far from over.

The weight of the shifter’s gaze lingered on Bai’s back as she and Parker stepped into the cool shadows of the castle. The stone walls loomed high around them, the narrow corridors lined with torches flickering in their brackets. Their footsteps echoed faintly, each step a reminder of the tension still crackling between them.

Parker led her to a modest room tucked away in one of the castle’s quieter wings. A small window near the ceiling let in a sliver of sunlight, illuminating a plain bed and a chest pushed against the wall. The room smelled faintly of leather and wood, comforting yet austere.

“This is your room?” Bai asked, her tone tinged with disbelief despite her best efforts to sound neutral.

Parker nodded, his tail swishing with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

Bai managed a playful smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “I bet your father gave the best room to his favorite son.”

Parker beamed, completely oblivious to her teasing. “Well, I am his favorite son.”

Bai was about to respond when a voice rang out from the corridor. “Cub!”

A striking woman burst into the room, breathless and gripping the door frame for support. Her long, golden hair tumbled in loose waves, and her clear gray eyes sparkled with warmth. She wore a flowing purple dress with a high slit, one strap slipping from her shoulder. A green gem tied to her forehead glinted in the dim light, giving her an almost ethereal air.

Bai started, stunned. She looks so young... This must be Parker’s sister.

“Mum!” Parker exclaimed, his voice filled with both excitement and affection.

Bai blinked, her shock deepening. This is his mother?

The woman’s lips curved into a teasing smile as she turned her attention to Bai. “You must think I’m far too young to be his mother, don’t you?” she said, touching her cheeks playfully.

Bai nodded mutely, still taken aback.

“It’s all thanks to his father,” she continued with a laugh. “In the future, Parker will be just as strong. He’ll be able to hunt a Colossus on his own.”

At the mention of a Colossus, Bai’s stomach churned. She shuddered, memories of the monstrous, dinosaur-like beasts surfacing. Is that what Beastmen must do to prove their strength?

Her unease must have shown, for Parker’s mother suddenly frowned. “Why is your face so muddy?” she asked, concern lacing her tone. “Let me fetch some water.”

Bai raised her hands quickly. “No, it’s fine. I… I need the mud. It’s intentional.”

An awkward silence followed before Bai hesitated, her gaze shifting to the faint snake mark on her ankle. “Do you know how to cancel a spousal bond?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The playful light in Parker’s mother’s eyes dimmed, replaced by a serious intensity. “I do,” she said, her voice steady. “But are you certain that’s what you want?”

Bai nodded, though her heart felt heavy with conflicting emotions. Memories of Curtis flickered in her mind—his charm, his strength, the moments when she’d almost believed he cared. But then came the darker memories: the bite, the mark, the loss of her choice. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“You shouldn’t hesitate,” Parker said softly, stepping closer. “He forced the mark on you. That isn’t love.”

His words struck a chord deep within her. She straightened, drawing strength from the resolve she saw in his eyes. I won’t let Curtis control my fate, she thought. I deserve to choose.

Chapter Text

The Leopard King had left me quite a while ago, leaving an unsettling quiet that seemed to coil around me like smoke. I flexed my claws absentmindedly, the sharp tips glinting faintly in the dim light. My wings, folded tight against my back, twitched with restless energy. With a sigh, I flopped onto the animal-skin-covered bed, the texture rough but grounding against my scaled arms.

I stretched, the movement causing my tail to curl and uncurl languidly across the bed. The faint metallic sheen of my scales caught the light, a reminder of the dragon within me. Closing my eyes, I willed sleep to take me, to pull me into a dreamland where the weight of my thoughts couldn’t reach. But the minutes dragged on, and my dreams refused to come.

Frustration bubbled up, and I exhaled sharply, a trace of heat escaping my lips. My horns brushed lightly against the headboard as I shifted, their smooth curve a comforting weight. Why won’t the dreams come? Just one more escape, that’s all I wanted. One more retreat into the sanctuary of my fantasies before I had to face the sharp reality waiting outside this room.

If sleep wouldn’t cooperate, then I’d settle for the next best thing. I let myself drift, slipping into the vivid embrace of my daydreams—or, more honestly, maladaptive dreaming.

It wasn’t a new habit. In my past life, I’d been all too familiar with the pull of these all-consuming fantasies. Hours would vanish, swallowed by the stories I spun in my mind, leaving me with nothing accomplished but a nagging guilt as night fell. My tail flicked once, betraying my agitation at the memory.

But now? Now, I didn’t care. The soft glow of my breath lit the edges of the dim room as I inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm brewing within me. If I couldn’t sleep—if reality refused to offer a reprieve—then I’d let the imaginary worlds swallow me whole. My wings shifted restlessly as I curled up, scales shimmering faintly. At least there, I could still feel free.

All of a sudden, a voice called out to me from behind the heavy wooden door. It was sharp and clear, slicing through the quiet. My ears twitched, catching the sound, and with a burst of energy, I rolled off the furs strewn on the floor. My movements were fluid, my clawed toes digging into the cold stone as I sprang to my feet.

"Guess it's time to shine," I muttered to myself, sarcasm lacing my words as I smoothed out my disheveled appearance. Running clawed fingers through the wild, porciline strands of my hair, I marveled at how easy it was. The sharp claws should’ve snagged, but they didn’t. The locks cascaded neatly down my shoulders and back once more.

Opening the door, I met the piercing gaze of the Leopard King. His eyes, golden and sharp as a predator's, bore into me.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of expectation.

I grinned, baring my teeth—a glimpse of fangs glinting in the light. "I think the real question is, are you ready?"

His ears twitched, amused, though he said nothing. Turning on his heel, he gestured for me to follow.

The hallway stretched before us, dimly lit by flickering sconces. Shadows danced along the walls, giving the illusion of creeping figures. I kept my steps light, tail swishing lazily behind me, the faint thud of my clawed feet echoing in the silence.

As we exited, the cool breeze brushed against my scales—a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room. My gaze swept over the empty streets, my brow furrowing. "Strange," I murmured. The city, once alive with bustling activity, now stood eerily still.

The Leopard King’s ears twitched, but he didn’t comment. I sniffed the air, catching faint traces of sweat, fur, and tension. Turning a corner, the silence broke like a dam. The noise hit us—a cacophony of chatter, movement, and the unmistakable hum of nervous energy.

We stepped into the square, and my breath caught. The city’s entire population seemed crammed into the space. Circles of males surrounded clusters of females, some perched on shoulders, others encircled protectively. My sharp eyes caught a flash of fur darting by—a wolf pup chasing a butterfly. I shifted slightly to avoid stepping on him, irritation flickering in my mind. "Irresponsible," I thought.

The chatter faltered as we approached, our figures cutting through the sea of beastfolk. I towered over them, my draconic features impossible to ignore. My horns, curved and glinting, caught the sunlight, while the subtle sheen of scales across my arms and cheeks shimmered. The Leopard King, though formidable in his own right, seemed dwarfed beside me.

The crowd parted reluctantly, hushed whispers rippling through like wind in the trees. Their gazes clung to me, wide-eyed and awestruck, as though they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

We reached the podium—a raised stone platform etched with claw marks and worn smooth from time. Three figures awaited us, their postures tense, expressions shifting between wariness and outright astonishment. Beside one of them stood a female, her mouth slightly agape. Judging by the pointed canine ears on her companion, I assumed this was the Wolf King.

Another figure, a hulking tiger of a man, loomed nearby. His stripes gleamed in the sunlight, and his mate, standing close, mirrored his disbelief. His narrowed amber eyes fixed on me, betraying both curiosity and caution.

The silence stretched unbearably, pressing against my patience. I flexed my claws, the sharp, ebony tips catching the light, and flicked my tail in deliberate laziness. My smirk widened as my gaze lifted to the transformed birds perched high in the trees, their glowing eyes trained on me like sentinels.

Finally, the smallest of the kings—a peculiar man with a bald crown and long gray hair flowing to his shoulders—stepped forward. Despite his unassuming frame, his movements carried an air of ceremony. His voice, trembling with reverence, broke the silence: "You, my dear, are magnificent."

The Leopard King moved to stand beside his mate, who seemed frozen, struggling to find her voice. Meanwhile, the gray-haired king circled me, his gaze devouring every detail—the curve of my horns, the shimmer of scales along my jawline, the strength in my wings folded neatly behind me.

He stopped in front of me, tilting his head back to meet my gaze. "I didn’t think it was true," he whispered, almost to himself. "Truly, a miracle."

I tilted my head in return, curiosity flickering in my purple eyes, as he turned to address the crowd. "A beastwoman has appeared!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the square.

The crowd erupted, a chaotic roar of gasps and exclamations. Above, the birds shifted uneasily, their wings rustling the leaves. I stood tall, the smirk never leaving my lips, letting the weight of their awe and disbelief drape over me like a crown. Inside, though, a flicker of annoyance stirred. "This could get old fast," I thought, the edges of a frown threatening my expression.

The small king stood beside me, far too close for comfort. His sideways glances and reverent gaze grated against my nerves. I flared my wings suddenly, the motion sharp and deliberate, forcing him to retreat. My lips curled in displeasure, and I shot him a pointed look.

He stepped back, though his awe remained undiminished. "The beast god has blessed us with a brighter future!" he proclaimed, his voice swelling with self-importance.

As his words droned on, I tuned him out, my attention shifting to the crowd. The males stared at me with unabashed longing, their eyes shimmering with admiration—or was it lust? The females, however, wore a mix of emotions: envy, awe, and in some cases, thinly veiled hostility. A sharp comment reached my ears:

"She’s so big and tall. She’ll bear strong cubs."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "How bold," I thought, irritated by their blunt objectification.

The small king’s voice snapped me back to the podium. "Tell me, female, what kind of beastwoman are you? And what is your name?"

Straightening, I held my head high, my horns gleaming in the sunlight. "My name is Ophelia," I declared, my voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "I am a dragon beastwoman."

Gasps rippled through the assembly. Fragments of conversations floated to my ears:

"What’s a dragon? Never heard of them before."

"She’s incredible. Look at her face—it’s so different from the females in Beast City."

Overwhelmingly, the males focused on my potential as a mate. Their eagerness grated against my pride, but I kept my expression neutral, a smirk barely tugging at my lips.

The small king introduced himself with a dramatic flourish. "My name is Wilbur, the Ape King." He reclined his head slightly, and I suppressed a chuckle. His frail appearance was almost comical beside the more imposing kings.

The introductions continued. The tiger beastman, towering and broad-shouldered, stepped forward. His voice was a deep rumble. "I am the Tiger King," he said simply, his sharp amber gaze meeting mine.

Finally, the Wolf King approached. His tiger-skin cape, dyed blue, fluttered in the breeze. His ash-gray hair and fur gave him an air of calm authority. Bowing slightly, he said, "It’s an honor to meet the first beastwoman to grace our lands. I am the Wolf King."

Last was the Leopard King, the only one I had already met. His grin was uncharacteristically wide. "And I," he said, his tone playful, "am the Leopard King."

Wilbur, ever eager for the spotlight, addressed the crowd again. "Now that our guest is introduced, we shall retire to the castle for a private meeting to discuss her role—should she agree—in Beast City."

The crowd murmured in discontent, their dissatisfaction audible.

"I want to hear more about her!" one voice shouted.

"What does her beast form look like? It must be formidable!"

"Will she take a mate?"

Their questions came rapid-fire, their curiosity palpable. My smirk widened, but inside, I bristled. "I’m not a spectacle," I thought, my wings twitching with irritation as we prepared to leave.

Chapter Text

The kings paved the way forward and out of the crowded square. I nearly sighed with relief but maintained my calm, almost lazy façade—a composed expression accompanied by my tail flicking languidly and the occasional glint of sharp, silver claws at my fingertips. My leathery wings folded neatly against my back, but the faint rustle of their movement seemed to catch the crowd’s attention.

The crowd, however, was far from content with my demeanor, and their displeasure was painfully obvious. Hushed whispers and curious glances lingered on me like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

The kings’ supposed mates were shielded by protective hands from each of their partners. Each of the women was adorned in fine silks and jewels, their elegance making their status clear. Wilbur, the ape king, was the sole exception. If I’m being honest, he wasn’t the most attractive—broad but awkward, with none of the grace of the others. I could see why he lacked a mate, despite his kingly status.

As I finally stepped down from the podium, the crowd began to disperse, though their eyes still followed my every move. The path carved by the kings' entrance widened significantly to accommodate my presence, a gesture that felt both reverent and uneasy. My appearance—a dragon-woman—was clearly still a shock to them.

A few braver beastmen crept closer, their steps hesitant but filled with curious intent. The amused expression on my face vanished as I turned my fierce, slit-pupil gaze toward them. A low growl rumbled from my throat, reverberating like a small earthquake. They leapt back, their wide eyes betraying both fear and admiration.

“She looked at me!” one whispered, his ears twitching in excitement.

“No, it was me!” another argued, his tail wagging like an overeager pup.

“She’s… fearsome,” a third murmured, a dreamy sparkle practically radiating from him.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My growl was enough to keep most of them at bay—for now.

As we left the square, the single beastmen maintained a careful distance but continued to follow us down the wide, stone-paved pathway. Their footsteps echoed faintly, mingling with the distant hum of life in the bustling city. Tall trees with crimson leaves lined the path, their branches arching overhead like a natural cathedral. The air smelled of damp earth, woodsmoke.

Damn. Even the female groups with their males are following us. They’re certainly eager, I thought.

I side-eyed the onlookers for a moment, debating whether to confront them, but ultimately decided to let it go. Curiosity was natural, and in their position, I’d likely be curious too.

My gaze caught the attention of the kings’ mates. They were all looking at me, each with a distinct expression—curiosity, caution, and something bordering on awe. Their postures were poised, but the glances they exchanged revealed subtle tension. They averted their eyes the moment I looked back, returning their focus to the path ahead. An amused smirk tugged at my lips, but I held it back.

The walk was awkward. The kings seemed to be holding off on any significant discussion, perhaps waiting for a more formal setting. Still, with the crowd trailing behind us, I doubted we’d have much privacy. These beastmen’s sharp ears weren’t just for decoration. Their supernatural abilities set them leagues apart from humans—and made secrecy here a near impossibility.

Eventually, we reached a grand, castle-like structure. Though not as imposing as the leopard king’s individual fortress, it was still impressive. Carved from dark stone and adorned with ornate carvings of beasts mid-roar, it exuded an ancient authority.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior. Shafts of sunlight poured in from high windows. The air was cool and carried a faint scent of aged parchment and incense.

Finally, we reached another set of doors, guarded by a tiger and a wolf. Their expressions were stoic but betrayed a flicker of astonishment as I approached. They didn’t speak, only opened the massive doors to reveal a spacious meeting chamber.

A large, round stone table dominated the center of the room, its surface scarred with age and use. The kings and their mates took their seats, leaving a larger, ornately carved chair for me. I approached, noting how it seemed custom-made for my size.

Huh. Quick work, I thought, though the backrest posed a problem for my wings. The chair’s exaggerated size felt almost comical, and I debated whether I should be flattered or offended.

I cleared my throat, drawing their attention. “Do you mind if I make some adjustments to my chair?” I asked, gesturing to the backrest. My wings twitched, as if to emphasize the issue.

The ape king was the first to respond, nearly jumping from his seat. “Of course! Do as you please. Shall I call someone to bring you another chair?”

I smiled, baring my sharp teeth in the process. “No need. I’ll handle it myself.”

He stammered, sitting down hurriedly, clearly embarrassed by his eagerness. I turned my attention back to the chair. Wrapping my claws around the backrest, I applied a bit of force, snapping the offending piece clean off.

The broken chunk of stone thudded heavily against the floor as I tossed it aside. A few gulps echoed in the room, but I ignored them, settling into the now-wing-friendly seat. My tail swayed behind me, the spaded tip flicking lazily as I assessed the kings and their mates before me.

“Now then,” I said, my voice carrying a low, rumbling edge. “Shall we get to the matter at hand?”

Chapter Text

The Leopard King was the first to break the tense silence. His voice, calm and measured, betrayed none of the curiosity flickering in his golden eyes. “Ophelia, we wish to discuss the role you might play here in Beast City—if you choose to stay.”

The Tiger King, seated to his right, folded his arms across his broad chest. His deep, rumbling voice carried authority, but his words were cautious. “We also have questions about your beast form—what you are and where you come from. You’ve left us with more questions than answers.”

Before I could respond, the Ape King leaned forward abruptly, his large hands gripping the edge of the table. His expression was unguarded—curious, eager, and almost childlike in its intensity. “Yes, your beast form! I’ve never heard anything like it before. Muir’s report said you didn’t even know what Ferals were or the gender disparities in our world. If you weren’t asleep for centuries like we thought, then what were you doing before you appeared here?”

His bluntness sent a ripple of tension through the room. The Tiger King’s jaw tightened, and the Wolf King leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening. Only the Leopard King remained calm, though his golden eyes flicked to me with curiosity.

I hesitated for the briefest moment before allowing a slow, confident smile to spread across my lips. My voice, low and steady, betrayed none of the unease coiled beneath the surface. “I’ll admit, my awakening was… abrupt. I don’t remember much before it. One moment, I was asleep. Next, I was here.”

I spread my hands slightly, gesturing to myself. “As for what I am—this form is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I know only that it’s mine and that it demands I use it wisely.”

The Ape King’s eyes widened, his curiosity only growing. “So you don’t remember anything? How can you not? What about the colossus? Did you devour it purely on instinct?”

I tilted my head, considering him with a faint, sardonic smile. “Instinct, perhaps. Or hunger. Or self-preservation. It was in my way, and it was powerful enough to be dangerous. I did what I had to do.”

The Tiger King frowned deeply, his sharp amber eyes filled with suspicion. “Convenient,” he muttered, though his voice was just loud enough for me to catch.

I turned my gaze to him, my slit pupils narrowing slightly. “Convenience has nothing to do with it. I didn’t choose to wake. I didn’t choose this form. But I am awake now, and this form is mine. What matters is what we do moving forward, doesn’t it?”

The Leopard King inclined his head slightly, his voice calm but probing. “And what is it you seek, Ophelia? Surely you have some intention, some purpose, for coming here.”

I straightened in my seat, letting my wings shift slightly as I spoke. “I came to introduce myself. To make my presence known before I wander too far afield. A dragon, no matter how peaceful, tends to draw attention. I’d rather avoid unnecessary panic or… complications.”

The Wolf King’s mate whispered something to him, her wide eyes betraying unease. He didn’t respond, his focus locked on me, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The Ape King leaned in again, undeterred by the tension in the room. “But you could do so much more! Your power—it’s unlike anything we’ve seen before. You could protect the city, lead it, reshape it. You could—”

I raised a hand, silencing him with a calm but firm gesture. “I don’t want to lead or reshape anything. I want coexistence—peaceful, mutual understanding. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The Tiger King growled softly, his expression darkening. “And if your presence stirs unrest instead of peace?”

I met his gaze evenly, my voice steady despite the flicker of doubt I felt. “Then I’ll do my part to ease that unrest. But I won’t hide who I am. I won’t cower or pretend to be something I’m not.”

The Leopard King’s mate, who had remained silent until now, spoke hesitantly. “But… but how can we be sure you won’t become a threat? What if you… lose control?”

I turned to her, my expression softening slightly. “Fear is natural, but it can blind you to possibility. I don’t seek to dominate or destroy. I seek a place where I can exist without fear or conflict. Surely, that’s not too much to ask.”

Her gaze wavered, and she looked down, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

The Ape King, however, remained undeterred. “But what if we offered you more? What if Beast City became your home—a place to settle, to build something greater than coexistence?”

I chuckled softly, the sound rich and resonant. “You speak as though you’re offering me something I don’t already have. Freedom is mine, wherever I go. Your city is no exception.”

The Wolf King growled low in his throat, his unease palpable. The Tiger King’s mate shrank slightly into her seat, her gaze flicking nervously between me and her husband.

The Leopard King raised a hand, silencing the growing tension with a calm but authoritative gesture. “Ophelia has made her position clear. For now, let us focus on understanding her, not forcing her hand.”

I inclined my head toward him, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Wise words.”

The Ape King leaned back reluctantly, his expression a mix of disappointment and intrigue. The other kings exchanged glances, their wariness evident despite their efforts to hide it.

I let my gaze sweep over the room, my tail flicking lazily behind me. “Now then,” I said, my voice carrying a low, rumbling edge. “Shall we get to the heart of the matter?”

The Ape King leaned forward, his eagerness unrestrained as he asked, “Just how big is this dragon form of yours? I can’t even imagine it. I’d have to see it to believe it.”

I tilted my head slightly, a small smile playing on my lips. “Do you truly want to see me transform here?” My voice carried a subtle note of amusement, but also a warning. “If I were to shift on the ground, I’d crush this city underfoot. While I am large, I lack the grace of smaller, light-footed creatures. But I could demonstrate in the air—transforming as I soar rather than landing. Still, don’t you think forcing such a display might cause… unease among your people?”

The Wolf King’s voice broke the growing tension. It was curious but laced with caution. “Yes, I think it would be wise to consider another location—perhaps farther from the city center. Not to underestimate you,” he added quickly, “but from what we’ve heard, you woke from an unexplained slumber of unknown length. You may not be at your full strength or… entirely in control of your beast form. Any misstep could harm someone unintentionally.”

He hesitated, his sharp eyes flicking to his mate and then back to me. “I can see you don’t wish to cause harm,” he continued. “But you must understand, your power is… unprecedented. And while your female nature gives us reason to trust you more than we might a male, even regular females don’t hold the kind of power you do. You’re—different.” His tone faltered as though unsure of how to phrase it delicately.

I laughed lightly, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a soft rumble of thunder. “Different indeed,” I said with a faint grin. “But tell me, why would I need to start chaos? I don’t desire my own territory—at least, not yet. I’m quite content with coexistence. Besides,” I added with a subtle edge to my voice, “I doubt there are many adversaries capable of standing against me.”

My gaze swept over the room, noting the ripple of unease that passed through the kings and their mates. They exchanged glances, clearly weighing the truth of my words.

I leaned back in my chair, my tail swaying lazily behind me. “To be honest, I was torn about whether to even come here in the first place. All I truly want is to explore this world, to learn its wonders and its people. But I decided it would be wiser to establish myself here first—to ensure my presence doesn’t cause unnecessary panic. Perhaps spread the word to other cities, so they’ll know who and what I am.”

The Leopard King, who had remained silent thus far, nodded thoughtfully. “A prudent decision. Word of your presence will travel far regardless. Better to control the narrative than let rumors fester.”

I inclined my head slightly in agreement. “Exactly. I’m not in any rush—I have time. I suspect my kind lives quite a long time.”

At this, the kings exchanged a glance, curiosity sparking in their eyes. The Tiger King couldn’t seem to hold back. “How long do you mean, exactly?”

I shrugged lightly, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “As much as I don’t know about myself, I can say this: I’m fairly certain I’ll outlive you. It’s just a feeling.”

The room fell silent as they digested this, their expressions a mixture of amazement and unease. Even the Ape King, who had been brimming with questions, seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, but I let it linger, my gaze steady and unwavering. Finally, I broke the silence. “Now, shall we continue, or are there more curiosities you’d like to satisfy before we move on?”

The Leopard King’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I believe we’re just beginning to scratch the surface.”

Chapter Text

The Wolf King, his piercing blue eyes narrowing with interest, leaned forward slightly, his large, powerful frame cutting a commanding presence. His dark fur shimmered in the dim light of the room, and his pointed ears twitched as he spoke. “I think the most pressing matter is whether you will stay. The four of us have discussed it before your arrival—the potential protection you could offer and the safety it would bring. Beast City is large, and many strong beasts flock here. While attacks from ferals and rootless beasts are relatively rare, if you made your protection and regular residence known, I see a brighter future for this place. More beastmen would come, seeking your safety. If your feats of battle are true—and you devoured the carnivorous colossus like they were nothing—then I see an amazing paradise forming here.”

The Ape King, a smaller figure with a lighter, almost patchy coat of fur and a slightly balding head, looked up at me with wide, curious eyes. His small stature made him seem less imposing than the others, but his eagerness was clear. Despite his size, his hands gripped the edge of the table, his fingers almost trembling with excitement. “Of course, you would receive payment for your continued protection,” he added, his voice slightly high-pitched but filled with an undeniable enthusiasm.

I tilted my head, considering the words carefully before responding. “I have a few questions. First, what exactly are rootless beasts? And what kind of currency do you use here?”

The Leopard King’s female spoke up, her presence striking and regal. Her golden hair gleamed like a halo, catching the light from the high windows that framed the room. Her eyes, a soft grey, never wavered from mine, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, as if she were measuring my every word. She sat with her back straight, her posture proud, though there was a slight tension in her shoulders, the only sign of discomfort. “Rootless beasts are not unlike ferals, but their origins are different. A feral is born into that title, but a rootless beast was once bonded to a female. If the female severs the bond, the male is consumed by madness and despair. Males can only pair bonds once. If that bond is broken, they go mad, developing a deep hatred for females. It’s necessary to chase them out to prevent further harm.”

Her words were heavy, and I noticed the discomfort in the other females’ faces. Some glanced at their mates, their expressions uncertain, while others fidgeted slightly in their seats, their bodies shifting with unease. I could sense that this wasn’t a topic often discussed openly.

I crossed my arms, leaning back slightly in my seat. The chair groaned under my weight, but I didn’t mind. "Are females regulated? Are there conditions that govern when and how they can sever a male’s bond?"

I could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. The room seemed to shrink as I continued. “If females truly hold such power over your lives, isn’t there a danger of corruption? Innocents could be hurt. Do you have systems in place to protect the males?”

The kings exchanged uneasy glances. A few of the females shifted in their seats, some looking at the table as if avoiding eye contact, others briefly glancing at the men beside them. The atmosphere grew even heavier, the silence thick with unspoken words.

The Wolf King’s shoulders tightened as he leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. He rubbed the back of his neck in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I see that you’re concerned. This is a delicate topic.”

I couldn’t hide my disbelief. Delicate? I thought. “You really have nothing in place?” My tone was sharp, laced with skepticism.

I muttered under my breath, “Maybe I can do some good for this city after all…”

The Leopard King, sensing the growing discomfort, quickly intervened, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “This is an important topic, but it hasn’t been discussed before. We’ll need to address it later.”

I tilted my head, unsure of where this was heading. They expect me to represent my own faction and give my opinion on these matters?

The Ape King, still perched forward on his seat, his partially bald head catching the light as he scratched at his scalp nervously, spoke again, trying to add some clarity. “To answer your other question, we use crystals as currency. We either find them underground or harvest them from beasts like the colossus you consumed. The most common is a clear crystal, used for everyday trading. The bigger the beast, the bigger the crystal. When consumed, the crystal gives you energy and can sometimes help level up a beast’s marks. We also have emerald crystals—green in color. Only the strongest beasts get these, as they can only be acquired by fighting herbivorous colossus. These are much larger and more fearsome. Generally, beasts keep the emeralds for their females or for emergencies, as they are used to heal and keep one's youth if consumed regularly.”

I hummed thoughtfully. So, there are even bigger creatures than the ones I devoured? My mind briefly flashed to the cave where I had found those crystals—blue and whitish ones. I felt a bit sheepish. No wonder I felt so energized. More disturbing though... I just ate money.

Shaking my head, I couldn’t help but speak up. “When I woke up in the cave, I came across a cavern filled with crystals—white and blue in color. And before you ask, no, you can’t find them. I ate them all.”

The kings' eyes widened in disbelief. The Tiger King’s mate, a striking figure with sharp features and a stoic expression, raised a brow. “You… ate all of them?” Her voice was tinged with disbelief, though there was a spark of amusement in her eyes.

The Ape King let out a soft chuckle, scratching his bald head awkwardly. “I... never would’ve guessed you’d eat all the crystals. That’s... a first.” His eyes twinkled with amusement despite his surprise.

I gave them a sheepish smile, feeling a bit embarrassed but also strangely amused by their reactions. “I guess instincts took over. How silly of me.”

The Tiger King, who had been quiet until now, muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief, “She was sleeping on a vein of crystal, and now they’re all gone…”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I wonder how much that was worth, but they were really delicious. I just couldn’t help myself.”

The Wolf King, now visibly more at ease, smiled with some relief. “Ah, no, the blue crystals are usually used as light sources. Rare, but a good gift for a female.”

“Noted,” I said, nodding with a smile.

The conversation shifted again, and I tilted my head, intrigued by the next topic. “Next question: How much would you pay me for hired protection?”

The kings exchanged glances before the Ape King responded, his voice still high but now with a touch of excitement. “We were thinking, at the start of every season, you would receive 50 clear crystals of medium size.”

I considered this, tapping my claws on the table, making the wood creak slightly. “How exactly do you want me to protect the city? Are you asking me to protect each individual citizen? Because if so, I’d say the payment should be higher, as it would require more work.”

I gave a small grin, already picturing the effort. “But if it’s more about being called in to deal with colossus, ferals, or rootless beasts causing trouble, then that seems fair for that amount.”

The Wolf King nodded approvingly. “Yes, that would be acceptable. As leaders, we are responsible for our own species. We are four separate kingdoms that all make up Beast City. You would deal with the bigger issues—things that are too much for us to handle.”

I crossed my arms, considering their proposal. The table in front of me creaked under the weight of my arm, but I wasn’t bothered. Hmm, that doesn’t sound too bad. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Perhaps this arrangement would work after all.

Chapter Text

The ape king, Wilbur, sat quietly, admiring the towering, awe-inspiring dragon-woman before him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, stirring a pang of guilt—his mate, Qin. She was his world, with her rich blue hair cascading down her shoulders, light blue eyes that gleamed like gemstones, and her lithe, pale form. Yet, in Ophelia’s presence, Qin’s beauty seemed almost diminished, her existence momentarily overshadowed by the sheer presence of this extraordinary female. Ophelia wasn’t just beautiful—she was something else entirely. Astronomically strong and commanding, she embodied qualities that Wilbur had never imagined in a female.

Still, Wilbur reminded himself of reality. Qin was his mate, demanding and high-maintenance, but breathtaking all the same. He couldn’t afford to falter, not even in thought. Qin’s desires for emeralds—coveted treasures of immense value—often tested his patience. As an ape beastman, Wilbur’s kind were not renowned for their strength or agility. They weren’t the alphas of the beast world, but they compensated with cunning. Apes were the strategists, the healers, the manipulators. They climbed the social ladder with wit and careful alliances.

Beast City was vital to ape beastmen like him—a haven where connections could be forged, favors traded, and power amassed. It wasn’t brute strength that earned him the crown; it was his intellect and a bit of luck. But Ophelia… Wilbur doubted she would ever need to barter for emeralds. If her claims were true—that she was long-lived and nearly invincible—she had no need for the tricks and schemes that kept lesser beings afloat. Her future mates would be incomprehensibly fortunate, he mused.

Still, Ophelia’s free-spirited nature concerned him. She wanted to explore the world, not anchor herself to Beast City. Wilbur’s sharp mind raced. Perhaps establishing her here as the city’s protector would serve both parties. She would gain purpose and compensation, and the city would gain a guardian unlike any other. But how long could such an arrangement last?

Across the table, the Wolf King studied Ophelia with equal intensity. His keen blue eyes caught the subtle smile on her lips as she responded to their inquiries. She seemed interested in the role of protector—a promising sign. Yet he knew this would only be a temporary solution unless they tethered her to the city in some way.

The Wolf King shifted in his seat, glancing at his mate. His petite, elegant companion had blessed him with many pups, each a testament to her strength and his legacy. His gaze returned to Ophelia, and an idea sparked. Perhaps introducing her to their children could create a bond. The city needed her, and his offspring might one day inherit her protection.

A flicker of irritation crossed his mind as he thought of Bart, his son, who has 3 stripes of strength, who had been claimed by the reckless Tiger Princess Rosa. Rosa, with her immature demeanor, had always grated on him. She wasn’t the most responsible of females, nor the most considerate. Trouble followed her like a shadow. Yet, for all her flaws, she was still part of the intricate web of beast hierarchy.

Ophelia, however, was a different entity entirely. She wasn’t part of the web. She stood above it, untethered. The question now was how to weave her into their world without suffocating her freedom.

The Leopard King, in contrast to his peers, remained noticeably relaxed throughout the meeting. After spending just two days traveling with Ophelia, he had already formed a favorable opinion of her. She exuded a rationality and control rarely seen in the females of their world. Unlike the more abrasive and capricious tendencies common among females, Ophelia carried herself with a sense of purpose that set her apart. There was something balanced about her demeanor—an intriguing mix of male assertiveness and female grace.

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander, imagining what the beastworld might be like if more females carried themselves as she did. His gaze drifted to his mate, her radiant golden hair glinting in the light, and he imagined her with the swishing tail and alert ears of a leopardess. The thought brought a small smile to his lips, though he quickly stifled it.

Deep down, he suspected Ophelia would accept their offer. Call it intuition or simply a gut feeling, but she seemed inclined toward taking on the protector role, even if it wasn’t permanent. The possibilities her presence would bring were nearly overwhelming. A beast city protected by a being of her strength could grow into something truly extraordinary. Just her mere existence could deter outside threats and draw others to their gates.

But his thoughts didn’t stop there. The Leopard King’s mind turned toward the inevitable—what would happen once word spread? It wouldn’t just be their city benefiting from her presence. Other beast kings would surely be drawn by curiosity, wanting to meet her, study her, or even forge alliances. Tighter connections with the other major beast cities—north, south, west, and east—seemed not just possible but likely.

He could already feel the dull throb of an impending headache at the thought. Messengers would no doubt begin arriving soon, requesting audiences with this dragon-woman. Some would be respectful, others bold, and a few might even be reckless enough to provoke her. He sighed inwardly, knowing that managing these interactions would become a significant part of their future.

Still, the Leopard King couldn’t deny the opportunity standing before them. If Ophelia truly committed to this role, the beast city and its surrounding lands might enter an era of unprecedented prosperity. For now, though, they needed to secure her agreement. Everything else would come later.

The Tiger King leaned back slightly in his chair, his sharp amber eyes fixed on Ophelia as he awaited her response. His striped tail flicked lazily behind him, a telltale sign of his anticipation. His mate, a female with brown hair and piercing green eyes, sat beside him, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her goblet as she observed the dragon-woman with wary curiosity.

Ophelia's confident expression didn’t waver as she finally spoke. “Well,” she began, her tone measured, “I suppose I could try it out. It would solve what I want to achieve here—recognition. And I suppose the word will spread at some point regardless.” Her lips curled into a faint smirk as she added, “Besides, I’m curious about the beast cities. It seems like a good way to meet all kinds of beastmen.”

Her purple eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity as she scanned the room, gauging the reactions of the gathered kings. The Tiger King straightened slightly at her words, a spark of approval flashing across his face. His broad shoulders relaxed just a fraction, though the faint twitch of his tail betrayed his underlying tension.

“Interesting,” he said at last, his voice a deep rumble. “It seems you’ve already given this some thought. A wise decision, I’d say.”

His mate glanced at him sideways, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her husband was rarely so quick to show approval, but then again, Ophelia was no ordinary beastwoman.

Around the table, the other kings exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of relief and intrigue. The Wolf King, seated to Ophelia’s right, leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers as he studied her intently. The Leopard King allowed himself a satisfied smile, his earlier assumptions confirmed. Meanwhile, the Ape King, seated on the far end, couldn’t hide the spark of excitement in his small, sharp eyes as he fidgeted with the hem of his ornate robe.

The room seemed to hum with renewed energy as Ophelia’s words settled over them, each king already envisioning what her presence might mean for the beast city’s future.

Chapter Text

The room settled into a contemplative silence after Ophelia’s declaration of intent to protect the city. The kings exchanged glances, clearly ready to broach the next pressing matter. It was the Wolf King who leaned forward first, his hands steepled under his chin.

"Now that we've come to an agreement regarding your role, Ophelia, there's the question of where you will make your home," he said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of importance. "The city spans vast territories, divided amongst the four of us. Each territory has its advantages, and we should consider what would best suit your needs."

Ophelia tilted her head, her amethyst eyes narrowing thoughtfully, a soft growl escaping her throat as she pondered. Her dark wings, unfurled just slightly behind her, twitched at the thought of freedom and open space. “Hmm. I hadn’t thought much about it yet. I assumed I’d be able to roam freely and settle wherever felt natural. Is there a need to designate one area?”

The Tiger King crossed his arms, his amber eyes watching her closely, his tail flicking in slight irritation as he glanced towards his mate, who was quietly seated at his side. Her posture was one of quiet strength, but her hand resting on the table, her nails lightly tapping the wood, betrayed a subtle unease.

“It’s more about practicality and safety,” the Tiger King said, breaking the silence, his deep voice low and controlled. “Living near the city center means closer proximity to resources and quicker responses to threats. However, it might feel... restrictive for someone like you.”

Ophelia’s tail, hidden behind her, flicked restlessly at the mention of restriction. She flexed her claws, sharp and black as night. “I can see that,” she murmured, eyes flickering toward the window. The light streaming in caught the scales on her arms, casting a soft glow as they shifted beneath her skin. “I’ve spent enough time underground to know I prefer open spaces now.”

The Leopard King, noticing her discomfort, leaned forward slightly. His golden eyes gleamed, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His mate, ever poised beside him, was a quiet presence—her posture elegant, her gaze often drawn inward as though contemplating the flow of the conversation from within.

“And then there’s the outskirts. Quieter, less populated. You’d have more space to move freely, especially if you plan to transform often,” the Leopard King said, his voice rich with the allure of his own territory. He casually brushed his hand through his golden hair, his claws gleaming in the dim light. “My territory, for instance, has sprawling woodlands—plenty of room for a dragon’s wingspan.”

Ophelia’s dragon-like eyes glinted in thought, her lips parting slightly, revealing the sharpness of her teeth. “Your woodlands sound intriguing. But I’ve always been more inclined toward the open sky. I need room to soar.”

The Ape King, Wilbur, shifted nervously in his seat, his small stature contrasting with the weight of the conversation. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his ornate robe, though his sharp eyes gleamed with a quiet enthusiasm.

“Of course, living inward has its perks too,” Wilbur said, his voice more eager than the others. “The heart of the city has access to the markets, healers, and trade hubs. Plus, you’d have more exposure to our people—let them see you as a protector, not just a distant figure they hear stories about.”

The Wolf King’s blue eyes gleamed as he added, his deep voice calm but insistent, “My lands are along the northern plains, where the grass stretches far and wide. Open skies, plenty of room for flight, and fewer settlements to worry about disturbing. There’s also a large forest on my southern border that connects to the Leopard King’s territory. It offers the seclusion of the woods while still being close enough to the city to respond to emergencies quickly.”

Ophelia chuckled softly, crossing her arms, a small but sharp intake of air indicating her amusement. Her wings fluttered slightly as she adjusted herself in her seat, her clawed fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. “You all make interesting points. But if I’m honest, I’m not keen on staying somewhere too crowded. I’ve spent enough time underground to know I prefer open spaces now.”

The Wolf King nodded thoughtfully, his expression softening with understanding. “The outskirts would suit you, then. But whose territory? Each of us has a border along the outskirts.”

Wilbur glanced nervously at his peers before chiming in again, his tone more measured. “Well, my territory borders a river and has access to the old trade routes. It’s secluded but strategically placed. You’d have easy access to the city without being too close to the hustle.”

The Tiger King’s tail flicked as he straightened in his chair. “My lands include the eastern cliffs. High vantage points, plenty of open skies—ideal for someone with wings. Plus, the winds from the cliffs would carry your presence far and wide, reinforcing the city’s security.”

The Leopard King leaned back with a sly smile, his claws tapping lightly on the armrest. “True, but it’s hard to beat the tranquility of a forest. My territory offers privacy and a chance to interact with nature—something that seems fitting for a creature of your... caliber.”

Ophelia let out a thoughtful hum, her gaze flicking between them. Her sharp dragon eyes seemed to catch the light in a way that made her almost ethereal. “You all make compelling arguments. But what happens if I choose one of your territories? Won’t that cause tension among you? Or worse, make me seem partial?”

The Wolf King spoke quickly, his tone firm. His mate’s hand subtly brushed his arm in reassurance as he continued. “No. This is about what best suits you and the city’s needs. We’ll support whichever decision you make.”

Her eyes softened slightly at his sincerity, her tail flicking behind her in gentle appreciation. “I’ll consider the outskirts then. But I want a place where I can transform freely without worrying about crushing someone’s roof. Somewhere peaceful, but close enough to help if the need arises.”

Wilbur’s small grin widened, his excitement almost palpable. “Sounds like my riverlands might be perfect for you, Ophelia.”

The Leopard King rolled his eyes, a low chuckle escaping him. “Or my forests.”

The Tiger King’s lips curled into a half-smile, glancing at his mate, who raised an eyebrow as if daring him to respond. “Let her decide, boys.”

The Wolf King’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he added, “And don’t forget the northern plains and our forest border.”

Ophelia chuckled again, the sound low and rich, her wings fluttering slightly in response to the banter. “You’re all very persuasive. Give me a little time to see these areas for myself. I’ll decide once I’ve explored them.”

The kings exchanged looks but nodded in unison. The decision, as always, was hers.

The Leopard King leaned forward, his golden eyes keen. “Now, about communication—how we’ll notify you of emergencies. The Hawk tribe is our best choice. They’re unmatched in speed and precision, making them ideal for the task.”

Ophelia tilted her head, her amethyst eyes thoughtful. “I’ve interacted with Hawks before, and we seem to get along well enough. They’re straightforward and focused, which I appreciate. Though I made it here on my own wings, I can see how their talents would be invaluable for keeping me informed.”

The Wolf King nodded, his piercing blue eyes glinting with interest. “It’s not surprising that you’d get along with them. After all, you’re a sky beast yourself—a rarity in our world. Beyond the bird species, there are no other known beastmen of the skies. Your presence here is... unique.”

The Ape King adjusted the hem of his ornate robe, his sharp eyes twinkling with excitement. “Unique and exciting,” he chimed in. “The Hawks are already a remarkable species, but to have another flying beastman in the city—especially one of your formidable power—is something entirely new. I imagine the Hawks find your presence fascinating.”

Ophelia’s lips quirked into a small smile. “They haven’t said as much, but I didn’t sense any hostility from them. They’re analytical and aloof, sure, but they’re also reasonable. I respect that.”

The Tiger King rested his chin on his hand, his expression contemplative. His mate beside him, ever silent, reached out with a delicate finger, tapping once on the edge of the table as if signaling her own understanding of the situation. “The Hawks don’t show much outward excitement, but I’m sure they’re as intrigued by you as we are. Their king would likely find it fascinating to meet another sky beast with your strength. Their analytical nature makes them drawn to anything extraordinary.”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “Their king? You mentioned earlier that the Hawks have one. I didn’t realize that—they always seemed more like an independent network.”

The Leopard King smiled faintly. “Their king exists, though his territory is hidden, known only to the Hawks themselves. They’re a secretive species, even with us. But make no mistake—their king is very real and commands immense respect among his people. His leadership is what keeps their operations so seamless.”

The Wolf King added, “The Hawks are mysterious, yes, but their intellect and dedication make them unparalleled allies. Their analytical minds and physical prowess allow them to operate beyond the limitations of most beastmen.”

The Ape King leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. “With the Hawks acting as your messengers, you’ll always be informed, no matter where you are. Their ability to navigate the skies quickly and efficiently will be critical to your role.”

Ophelia nodded, filing the information away, the light glinting off the edges of her dragon-like scales. “It’s a solid plan. If they’re willing, I see no issue relying on them for communication. It’s practical.”

The Leopard King inclined his head. “They’ll agree. They’ve always taken their duty to the city seriously. And with you being one of the only other sky beastmen, it’s fitting that you’d collaborate closely with them.”

The Tiger King’s tail swished as he glanced at Ophelia. His mate, her hands lightly curled in her lap, gave him a small, affectionate look before returning her gaze to Ophelia. “It’s not just fitting—it’s historic. To have another flying beastman, especially one as powerful as you, in the city is monumental. The Hawks will understand that.”

Ophelia’s expression softened, a flicker of curiosity about the Hawk King sparking in her mind. She didn’t voice it, choosing instead to focus on the discussion at hand. “Then it’s settled. Hawks for communication, and we’ll see how this partnership develops.”

The kings exchanged approving glances, the excitement of what this alliance could mean subtly reflected in their expressions. Though the mysteries of the Hawk tribe loomed, the beast city was undoubtedly stepping into a new era—with Ophelia at its center.

Chapter Text

“Yes, I suppose the meeting should be over. I think we’ve talked enough,” I said with a resolute flourish, my talons curling slightly against the polished stone table. Then I added, “We’ll see how the protector role goes for a couple of days and how the collaboration unfolds.” My tail flicked behind me, a subtle echo of my restrained impatience.

The Leopard King stands up next, his fur gleaming under the golden light filtering through the high windows. His mate, her posture less certain and her eyes darting briefly toward the other Kings before settling on me, follows closely. “Yes,” he rumbles, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “I’ll go inform the Hawks. They’ll discuss who will lead the operation and then come to you to talk about your preferences and how they will convey messages. By the end of the day, we’ll also gather your first payment—50 medium-sized clear crystals. You can return here to collect it.”

I inclined my head slightly, my horns catching the light. “Good. I think I’ll head over to the outskirts now,” I said, my gaze drifting briefly to the expansive map spread across the table. “I’ll circle the perimeter and look at potential spots where I could live. I think I’ve already made up my mind, but we’ll see.” My wings twitched slightly, brushing against the back of my chair as I spoke.

The Tiger King’s deep chuckle filled the room. “Always the pragmatist,” he said, leaning back in his seat. His mate, sitting close by, fidgeted with her fingers, her uncertain gaze flickering between me and the Tiger King. “But tell me, dragon, is there ever a time when you act on impulse?”

I gave him a sharp grin, baring teeth that gleamed like polished ivory. “Perhaps. But I’ll leave that for you to ponder.”

Just one more question lingered in my mind. “Can I dig a den big enough to fit my beast form? The hole will be immense. I just wanted to inform you.” My claws tapped lightly against the table, leaving faint marks in the polished surface.

The Kings exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from curiosity to mild concern. Finally, the Tiger King nodded, his massive frame shifting in his chair. His mate hesitated before nodding as well, her movements cautious and her expression uncertain. “Yes, you may,” he said. “It will be a sight to see, that’s for certain. Just don’t frighten the villagers too much.”

“The city will have to get used to my beast form if I’m going to patrol regularly,” I said, rising from my seat with a ripple of movement. My scales shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the arched windows, a cascade of iridescent hues. “If you want to use me as a deterrent to other dangerous beastmen, I’ll have to make my presence known. I did say I wasn’t going to hide who I was. I won’t land in populated areas, only the outskirts. I’m sure your curiosity will be sated—just make sure to look up,” I added with a smirk, my tail curling slightly in amusement.

The Leopard King’s mate stepped forward, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully but with hesitation in her voice. “You’re quite the spectacle, aren’t you? Just remember, not all eyes that watch you will do so with goodwill.”

I met her gaze steadily. “I’m used to it.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for some Hawks, then,” I said, giving them a small flourish of my hand. The faint sound of my talons clicking against the floor echoed as I turned around and headed out, my tail swishing languidly behind me.

The grand doors creaked open, revealing the two beastmen still standing at attention on the other side. Their eyes widened slightly as I gave them a smirk, the tips of my wings unfurling slightly in a deliberate display. Without another word, I trudged off, the sound of my footsteps resonating through the stone halls, blending with the soft rustle of my scales and the faint crackle of energy that always seemed to linger in my presence.

The air outside was crisp, the scent of pine and earth filling my senses as I stepped into the courtyard. The sunlight warmed my skin, and I stretched briefly, unfurling my wings fully for a moment before setting off toward the outskirts.

My thoughts spiraled as I reflected on what the Leopard Queen had said. “Hm, I think she was referring to the females in the beast city. They might enjoy my glorious presence the least.” Hah, something to look forward to, I suppose. In my past life, I was never known for my patience when dealing with others’ disrespect of my character. I always put them in their place right at that moment—don’t let the weed take root, take it out by the root before it’s a problem. A saying I think holds true.

The wind was a refreshing balm as I flew high and then higher, until I could see the outlays of the city and the stone walls that surrounded it. The beast city was big, but I wouldn’t count it as a city by the standards of my old world. Gathering this many beasts willing to collaborate must have been difficult, so this is the standard of a city here—maybe a couple thousand. In my world, it was millions per major city. Well, I suppose this is the new archaic standard, and you never know, they could expand and become like my world as time goes by. Well, not in a thousand years maybe, but eventually.

I headed toward the Leopard Tribe where I came from originally. Soon passing the castle and heading to the fenced forest I saw, lush rolling green greeted my eyes. The forest seemed to stretch outwards for miles, all-encompassing. I bet the Leopard Tribe has easy access to food as they are so close to the forest. I flew along the forest perimeter and followed the wall that connected the beast city as a whole. I’m sure if I landed closer to the wall, there might be guards patrolling. Not too bad security, I thought with a smirk.

The forest ebbed out to eventual lush plains and grassland that sloped up and down in soft hills. Hmmm, that looks relaxing. I think I’m in wolf territory now. I kept up with the wall to see what I supposed was the biggest river in the beast city—ape territory. I could see a wooden bridge crossing to what I assumed were old trading paths. But I’ve got to wonder, who are they trading with? The ape territory seemed to have their walls open, unlike the other enclosed territories. I suppose the river gives them enough cover and natural barriers. You would have to cross it, so someone could easily spot you. I see this is where traders come through from outside the beast city. Good to know. I suppose it suits the apes’ unique characteristics—they are the humans of this world, it seems. They have to use their cunning and smarts instead, and I suppose their main business is trading.

I curved about the wall as I followed the territory to see the distant glorious mountains. Hmm, yes, I think this will suit my needs perfectly. There are more distant mountains where I could dig a den for myself so I could stay in my dragon form. The thought of an enclosed, nice, dark space to call my own sent a coo of contentment coming out of my throat. There were billowing clouds covering the mountain, nice and green. I could see why the Tiger Clan has the most radius of the outside territory. I’m sure for land beasts, the mountains aren’t the best; they probably got the short end of the stick. The thought made me laugh. But in exchange, they have the protection of the mountain looming over as a natural physical barrier. Ha, now I will join these mountains. Aren’t these tigers lucky? Well, we’ll be neighbors.

There were zero to no houses at the foot of the mountain, and if there were, they were too small to worry about. I want my privacy, thank you very much. This will do perfectly.

With that thought, as I finally rose above the mountains, I transformed. The shift was seamless, an almost liquid-like ripple through my being as my dragon form emerged. My scales gleamed in the sunlight like molten silver, each one catching the light and scattering it in dazzling patterns across the ground. My wings unfurled, stretching impossibly wide until they seemed to merge with the horizon itself. Shadows cascaded below, plunging the mountains into a twilight as my form blotted out the sun entirely. My claws, obsidian and razor-sharp, flexed as I adjusted to the sheer magnitude of my being.

I let out a low rumble, the sound resonating through the mountains and sending flocks of birds scattering into the sky. The wind roared against my wings as I ascended, every beat of them stirring whirlwinds in my wake. The peaks below seemed to shrink as I climbed higher, surveying my potential home with a piercing gaze. Valleys dipped into lush greenery, rivers snaked their way through rugged terrain, and cliffs jutted out like ancient sentinels guarding the secrets of the land.

I tilted my massive head, sharp eyes catching sight of a hidden alcove nestled between two towering cliffs. The shadows there were deep, the entrance wide enough to accommodate even my colossal form. Perfect. I banked sharply, the tips of my wings skimming the mountain air as I descended. The ground below rushed to meet me, but I was in control, every motion precise as I hovered before the alcove, examining it closely.

The cavern opened into darkness, the cool air whispering of untouched depths. It would take work to carve it into a den befitting my majesty, but the thought only thrilled me further. This place, this mountain—it would be mine. I let out another rumbling growl of satisfaction, the sound rolling like thunder through the peaks. Yes, this was perfect. My sanctuary. My domain.

I landed with a ground-shaking thud, my massive claws digging into the rocky terrain. Dust and pebbles scattered as my wings folded neatly against my sides. The entrance to the alcove loomed before me, and I stepped inside with deliberate care. The air within was cool and still, untouched by the world outside. My draconic night vision passivly took in the flood of darkness with shades of silver and blue. Every crack and crevice became clear as I surveyed my new domain.

The ceiling was high, but not high enough. With a calculated swipe of my claws, I tore into the rock above, sending shards raining down as I widened the space. My strength made the task easy, the stone yielding to my will. Deeper and deeper I carved, extending the cavern’s height and width until it matched the grandeur I required. Each movement was precise, my claws slicing through the rock as if it were soft clay.

Satisfied with the initial space, I moved deeper into the cavern. The floor sloped slightly downward, and I decided to take advantage of it. Digging into the rock, I created a descending tunnel that spiraled into the mountain’s depths. The sound of my labor echoed around me, a rhythmic symphony of power and purpose. As the tunnel deepened, it opened into a large subterranean chamber. This would be the heart of my lair, a vast cavern where I could store the treasures I would undoubtedly collect.

The walls sparkled faintly with embedded minerals, catching the light of my glowing eyes. As I moved further, my claws struck something different—clear crystals that gleamed with an inner light. I gathered a few in my claws, examining their purity. There were also faint hints of blue crystals further in. A treasure trove in its infancy. These crystals would serve a purpose. Once back in my human form, I would harvest the clear ones and use them for currency to buy what I needed. The thought brought a satisfied curl to my lips.

Stepping back to the main entrance, I gazed out at the mountain range bathed in the warm hues of a setting sun. The air was cool against my scales, and I felt a deep satisfaction settle in my chest. This was more than a home; it was a fortress, a sanctuary, a symbol of my power. My wings stretched one final time as I let out a roar that echoed through the peaks, a declaration to the world that this mountain now belonged to me. Ophelia, the dragon, had claimed her domain.

Chapter Text

It took everyone by surprise—an all-consuming presence that seemed to seize the very air around them. Beastmen of all kinds turned their eyes toward the Tiger King’s territory, their instincts prickling with unease. No matter where they stood, from dense forests to open plains, they could all see it: the calamity soaring through the heavens. One moment the skies were clear, and the next, an immense behemoth blotted out the sun, casting a shadow so vast it seemed to stretch for miles. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the beast moved on, its colossal form gliding closer to the mountains.

For a brief moment, they all shared the same thought: Is this the end?

And yet, the monstrosity was not directly above them. It flew in the distance, its trajectory aimed toward the foot of the mountains. Relief rippled through the beastfolk as they realized the creature was heading away, but that relief was thin, fragile, and tinged with dread.

This beast was like nothing they had ever seen. Its onyx claws gleamed menacingly in the fading sunlight, sharp and unrelenting. Ebony horns spiraled from its massive head, curling in a display of deadly elegance. The silvery-white sheen of its robust body reflected the light, giving it an almost celestial, yet terrifying, presence. It was a creature of both beauty and destruction, a force of nature given form. Its sheer size dwarfed anything they had ever encountered, as though a small mountain had been granted wings and life.

The most horrifying realization was that something so enormous could fly at all. Those massive, outstretched wings seemed to defy the very laws of nature, each powerful beat resonating like a thunderclap that reverberated in their chests.

What calamity could such a beast unleash with merely a step, a breath, or a glance?

Whispers and murmurs spread among the beastfolk like wildfire. Most of them pieced together what this creature must be: the beastform of the rumored beastwoman. Their previous impressions of her had been clouded with admiration, anticipation, and even lust. But now, all those emotions were swallowed by a singular, all-encompassing fear.

Was this titanic being destined to attack, or would it serve as a shield against some greater threat? The uncertainty clawed at them. The idea that a beastwoman could transform at all was already astounding, a rarity spoken of in myths and legends. But this—this was beyond their comprehension. This wasn’t just a transformation; it was a revelation of pure, unbridled power.

For those who had dismissed the rumors as mere exaggeration, the sight of her dragon form delivered a shock that struck deeper than anything they had ever experienced. Some fell to their knees, overcome by awe and terror. Others clutched their females tightly, as though that would offer any defense against such a force. The beastfolk had just witnessed something far greater than they could have prepared for.

The sky roared with her presence as she ascended the mountain, her form slowly disappearing into the distance. The silence she left behind was deafening, a stark contrast to the pounding of hearts and the shallow breaths of those who had seen her. One question lingered on all their minds:

Would this calamity bring ruin, or salvation?

In the midst of this chaos, the kings of the beastfolk convened, each burdened with their own thoughts about what they had witnessed. The Tiger King, whose territory bore the brunt of the dragon's flight, stood at the center of the gathering, his amber eyes narrowed in contemplative anger. A towering figure of muscle and stripes, he exuded authority, though his mind churned with doubt. "What did we just see?" he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "Is this the beastwoman’s true form?"

The Leopard King, more familiar with Ophelia after traveling with her for two days, leaned against a stone pillar, his relaxed posture betraying his cautious optimism. Slender and cunning, his sharp golden eyes glinted with a mix of fear and understanding. "We already knew she was powerful," he said, his tone measured. "But seeing it like that... It's different, isn’t it? She’s already agreed to be our protector, but what does that really mean when someone like her decides to act?"

"Whatever it is," the Wolf King interjected, his dark hair catching the dim light as he paced restlessly, "it’s no ordinary beast. That thing… that calamity could crush us all without a second thought. We’ve employed her, yes, but what stops her from deciding we’re more trouble than we’re worth?" His tone was edged with both frustration and unease. The Wolf King, a figure of fierce loyalty and tactical prowess, rarely showed fear, but the sight of the dragon had shaken even him. His thoughts strayed to his mate and offspring, their safety suddenly feeling fragile in the face of such overwhelming power.

The Ape King, smallest among the assembled rulers, sat cross-legged, his wiry frame a stark contrast to the more imposing figures around him. His sharp eyes glimmered with intellect as he spoke, his tone calm but deliberate. "We’ve already approached her, and she accepted our offer. But let’s not delude ourselves—if she wanted to destroy us, there’s nothing we could do to stop her. Our only choice now is to ensure that she remains invested in the city and its people."

"Approach her further?" the Tiger King growled, his tail lashing. "And risk provoking her? You saw what she is! One wrong word, and she could wipe us from existence."

"And yet," the Ape King replied, his tone steady, "doing nothing may be an even greater risk. That power must be understood. We cannot afford to act blindly. We must continue to learn who she is, what she values, and how we can ensure her loyalty."

The room fell into uneasy silence, each king grappling with their own doubts and fears. None of them had ever seen a dragon, and their understanding of such a creature came only from the fragmented tales of travelers and ancient texts. But now, faced with the undeniable reality of its existence, they were left with more questions than answers.

The Leopard King finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with dark humor. "Well, at least we know one thing. If she’s our enemy, we won’t have long to regret it." He smirked faintly, masking his unease with levity, though his mind churned with thoughts of potential alliances or leverage.

A grim chuckle passed through the room, but the tension remained thick. The kings knew that the appearance of the dragon—of the beastwoman’s true form—was a harbinger of change. Whether it heralded destruction or salvation, none of them could yet say. But one thing was certain: the era of the beastfolk was about to be rewritten, and none of them would escape its consequences.

The kings had gathered in the Tiger King’s territory, a meeting prompted by their shared estimation that this would be the place she’d most likely call home. They had no certainty in their guess, but the mountainous region, combined with the sprawling wilderness surrounding it, seemed a fitting domain for a creature of her magnitude. The implications of her presence weighed heavily on them, each king acutely aware that their future now hinged on the whim of a being they could neither control nor oppose.

This gathering also marked the first of their planned meetings with the hawks, whose role as messengers would soon need to be formalized. Communication between territories would be crucial now, especially with Ophelia’s presence adding a volatile new element to their lives. Ensuring swift and secure transmission of news would be essential in navigating the uncertainties ahead.

Chapter Text

Ophelia basked in the glow of the setting sun, the fiery hues dancing across her iridescent scales. She stretched luxuriously, her massive form outlined against the vibrant sky, savoring the warmth seeping into her. But then, a thought jolted her out of her reverie: her first payment.

Her sharp eyes widened, and she reared her enormous head back with a low rumble. How could she forget? The crystals she was owed danced in her mind's eye, gleaming temptations. She huffed, amused at her own absentmindedness, before a surge of energy rushed through her. With a powerful beat of her wings, she launched herself into the air, slicing through the cool breeze.

The sky was alive with color—bold oranges and golds melting into dusky blues, streaked with the occasional lavender cloud. It was a raw, untamed beauty that made her heart soar. Life here was exhilarating, free of the constraints she’d once known. In moments like these, she truly felt on top of the world.

As she soared over the tiger territory, her colossal shadow draped over the ground below like a moving eclipse, drawing curious eyes upward. Her destination loomed ahead—the heart of the beast city, what she had come to dub the city hall. Impulsively, she let the familiar warmth of her transformation take over, her massive draconic body contracting, reshaping.

Her scales shimmered briefly before melting into smooth, moon-kissed skin, her wings folding into their smaller size, her humanoid form took shape mid-air. But as the shift completed, an icy realization struck her: she was stark naked.

Hovering in the sky, Ophelia glanced down at herself, a bead of sweat trailing down her temple. She sighed, folding her arms and contemplating her options. She hadn’t thought to remove Muir’s borrowed clothes before transforming—those poor garments were now nothing more than shredded memories.

"Well, that’s unfortunate," she muttered, her lips curling into a rueful smile. The thought of her hoard-to-be bolstered her spirits, and with a dragon’s innate confidence, she dismissed the notion of modesty. She was a dragon, after all, a creature of power and beauty. What need had she for mortal concerns like clothing?

Still, as she descended gracefully towards the building, her white hair streaming behind her like a comet’s tail, she steeled herself for the reactions to come. Her bare feet touched down with a soft thud, and the imposing wooden double doors of the hall greeted her once more.

With a push, the doors swung open, and she strode inside, her steps echoing faintly against the polished stone floor. The two guards stationed before the meeting room froze as she approached, their slack jaws and wide eyes betraying their shock.

She arched a brow, her sharp senses picking up a distinctly muskier scent wafting from them. It seemed her unexpected entrance had caused quite a stir. Amused, she smirked and continued forward.

Before she could address them, the doors to the meeting room creaked open, revealing Muir and a cluster of his clansmen, their vibrant feathers shimmering in the dim light. They looked as though they had just been preparing to leave, but the sight of her brought them to an abrupt halt.

Muir’s blue eyes went wide, his usual composure slipping. His lips parted, but no words came as his gaze flitted over her, and Ophelia could see his neck flush a deep red. Behind him, his clansmen mirrored his reaction, their feathers ruffling in agitation.

“Muir,” she began with a wry smile, but before she could finish, he moved.

Without hesitation, he shrugged off his skirt and cape, the motion hurried and almost frantic. “Here,” he said, cheeks blazing as he thrust the garments towards her. “Take these.”

Surprised, Ophelia blinked before her lips curved into a teasing smile. “Muir, it seems you’re always giving me your clothes,” she mused, her voice lilting. She took the offered garments, her fingers brushing his in a way that made him stiffen.

She slipped the skirt on first, tying it deftly at her hip, then wrapped the cape around her chest, tucking it securely. “I may have forgotten to take off the ones I borrowed before transforming,” she admitted, a touch sheepish. “So they were... likely destroyed. My apologies, and thank you for your generosity.”

Muir averted his gaze, now stripped to nothing but his feathers and an unmistakable air of embarrassment. His clansmen coughed awkwardly, shuffling behind him, but Ophelia’s eyes had already begun to wander.

She let her gaze rake over him, noting the definition of his muscles, the way his chest rose and fell with his steadying breaths. Even his feathers seemed to glisten with vitality, and her dragon instincts purred at the sight.

Muir noticed her lingering look, his cheeks somehow growing redder. He cleared his throat, desperate to divert her attention. “We... we thought you weren’t coming back,” he stammered. “My clansmen and I were just about to head out.”

Ophelia chuckled softly, her purple eyes twinkling. “Well, I’m here now,” she said, taking a deliberate step closer. “And it seems I’ve caught you at an... interesting moment.”

Muir’s breath hitched, but he held her gaze, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a blade.

Muir cleared his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. "Right. Well, let's head back in. There's still some business to attend to." He gestured for his clansmen to follow, but his gaze lingered on Ophelia, betraying a mix of nervousness and something deeper.

Ophelia raised a brow, her lips curling into a faint, amused smirk. "Lead the way," she said, her voice low and rich, with a resonant quality that sent a shiver through the room.

As she moved, the soft clinking of her talon-like claws on the stone floor echoed faintly. Her purple, slitted eyes glinted in the dim light, catching even the smallest flicker of movement. Though her humanoid form was slender and elegant, the subtle curve of scales along her collarbone and the faint shimmer of silver along her forearms betrayed her draconic nature.

She towered over them all, her statuesque frame commanding every bit of space in the room. Most of their heads barely reached her chest, forcing them to tilt their faces upward to meet her gaze. The height difference wasn’t just physical—it was a reminder of her otherworldly power, the presence of a predator among smaller beasts.

The group re-entered the meeting room, the heavy doors closing with a low groan behind them. Inside, the chamber was quiet save for the steady crackle of a fire in the hearth. A single figure remained seated at the far end of the polished stone table—the Leopard King.

He didn’t rise at their entrance, nor did his expression shift much beyond a faintly raised brow. His piercing golden eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the group before settling on Ophelia. He leaned back in his chair, his spotted tail flicking lazily behind him, exuding an air of effortless control.

"The dragon herself," he said at last, his voice smooth and low, with an undercurrent of dry amusement. "Making quite an impression today, aren’t we?"

Ophelia inclined her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. "I take it you saw my flight earlier," she replied, her voice carrying a confident warmth that made the others in the room sit a little straighter.

"I did," the Leopard King confirmed, his tone calm, almost dismissive. He gestured absently toward the window. "Hard to miss a creature of your size soaring over the city. Quite the sight, really. And it answers the question of where you've decided to make your home—out in the mountains at the Tiger Clan's edge, isn’t it?" His sharp eyes studied her closely. "A good choice. Remote, secure. Perfect for a dragon... and inconvenient for most of us. Except, of course, for the Hawks."

His gaze flicked to Muir, who shifted slightly under the Leopard King's steady stare. Ophelia straightened, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulders like molten light.

"Exactly," she said, her deep voice cutting through the room like a blade. "The mountains suit my needs—privacy, defensibility, and a clear vantage point over the surrounding territory. Few can reach me easily, save for the Hawks."

Muir stepped forward then, clearing his throat. "That’s what we wanted to discuss today, Your Grace. A collaboration between Ophelia and the Hawks to ensure her role as protector is efficient and beneficial for all clans. Given her location, we’ll be her primary point of contact."

The Leopard King tapped a claw lightly against the table, his expression unreadable. His tail flicked again, curling slightly before settling. "Efficient and straightforward. I’d expect nothing less from you, Muir." He gestured for everyone to take a seat, though his gaze lingered on Ophelia.

"You’re taller than I expected," he remarked, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. "Even in this form, you dwarf most of us. I imagine it makes things... interesting, being surrounded by people forced to crane their necks just to speak to you."

Ophelia chuckled softly, a sound that rumbled in her chest like distant thunder. "It’s nothing new," she replied, lowering herself gracefully into a chair that groaned faintly under her weight. "Dragons have always been larger than life. But it does remind everyone exactly what they’re dealing with, doesn’t it?"

The Leopard King allowed himself a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Indeed. A constant reminder of power is a useful thing—when wielded wisely."

Muir broke the brief silence that followed, his voice regaining its usual strength. "The Hawks are prepared to act as Ophelia's network. We'll deliver information, assist in communication, and serve as her first line of support when needed. In return, Ophelia will prioritize the safety of Hawk territory and provide her... unique brand of protection for the city as a whole."

The Leopard King nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "A practical arrangement. But what about the other clans? The Tigers, the Wolves, even the Apes—how will they be assured their interests won’t be neglected?"

Ophelia’s sharp eyes flashed, her slitted pupils narrowing as she leaned forward slightly. Even seated, she still loomed over them, her presence an almost tangible force. "I am not here to play favorites," she said, her voice a low rumble. "My role is to protect the city and its inhabitants, all of them. While the Hawks will be my primary link, I will respond to any threat against any clan. My lair is strategically positioned to reach most regions quickly, and I do not take my responsibilities lightly. Trust me, and you will see results."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy cloak. The Leopard King regarded her for a long moment, his expression impassive save for the faintest hint of approval in his eyes.

"Well said," he murmured at last, his voice almost a purr. "I believe you, Dragon. And I look forward to seeing how you handle this role."

Muir nodded firmly, his gaze flicking to Ophelia. "The Hawks will ensure you have everything you need to succeed."

As the discussion turned to the finer details—emergency protocols, communication methods, and the distribution of responsibilities—Ophelia noticed the Leopard King’s subtle glances, his sharp eyes always watching. He was stoic, yes, but there was a glimmer of something else in his demeanor, a quiet amusement that suggested he found this all vaguely entertaining.

Through it all, Ophelia couldn’t help but notice Muir’s unwavering focus on her, his expression a mixture of admiration and determination. And though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she found herself watching him too, a quiet curiosity stirring in her chest.

The Leopard King leaned back in his chair as the discussion wrapped up, his sharp gaze turning toward Ophelia. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gestured to a nearby attendant waiting by the door.

"Now, onto more immediate matters," he said, his voice as smooth as silk. "Your first payment, as promised."

At his signal, the attendant stepped forward, struggling slightly under the weight of a large fur-lined tray. On it rested fifty medium-sized clear crystals, each one glinting brilliantly under the flickering firelight. The room seemed to brighten with their presence, their pristine facets casting dancing reflections across the walls.

Ophelia’s purple eyes widened, her pupils narrowing into slits as she locked onto the tray. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her body seemed to go entirely still, as though caught in a trance. She rose slowly from her chair, the movement deliberate and almost predatory, her gaze fixed on the sparkling trove.

"Fascinating, aren’t they?" the Leopard King murmured, watching her reaction with mild amusement.

Ophelia barely registered his words. She stepped closer, her movements fluid, her sharp claws clicking faintly against the stone floor. Her fingers twitched slightly, her instincts warring with her composed demeanor. Finally, she exhaled, her voice a low, reverent murmur.

"They’re beautiful," she said, her words tinged with awe. "I’ve always loved pretty, shiny things... the way they catch the light, the way they seem alive with their brilliance."

Her hand reached out hesitantly, but she stopped just short of touching the crystals, as though savoring the anticipation of claiming them.

The Leopard King tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine amusement. "Then it seems we’ve chosen well. These crystals are yours, Ophelia. A small token of the city’s trust in you."

With careful precision, Ophelia finally picked up one of the crystals, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She turned it slowly, the firelight dancing across its surface. A low rumble of satisfaction emanated from her chest, more felt than heard, a sound that sent a shiver through everyone present.

She glanced at the Leopard King, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. "You’ve chosen very well," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of deep appreciation.

Muir, who had been watching silently, noted the way her demeanor shifted around the crystals—how her normally composed and commanding presence gave way to something almost primal. His sharp eyes flicked between her and the tray, and he stored the moment away in his mind.

She loves shiny things... beautiful things, he thought, his expression thoughtful.

Ophelia straightened, cradling the crystal in her palm as though it were the most precious thing in the world. She turned back to the table, her gaze sweeping across those gathered.

"Thank you," she said simply, her tone steady once more, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her excitement. "I’ll ensure your trust is well-placed."

The Leopard King chuckled, his tail swishing lazily behind him. "I’m sure you will. Consider this payment a start, Dragon. There will be more, so long as you continue to deliver."

Ophelia inclined her head, her white hair shimmering in the firelight as she returned to her seat. The crystals remained on the table, their gleam ever-present in her peripheral vision, a reminder of the promise of her growing hoard.

Muir’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his thoughts swirling with the image of her enraptured by the crystals. As the meeting moved forward, he couldn’t help but consider how that knowledge might prove useful in the future.

As Ophelia admired the glittering crystals, the room wasn’t just silent in reverence for her imposing presence—it was alive with unspoken tension. The male Hawks, who had followed Muir into the chamber, couldn’t help but steal lingering glances at her. Though some of them were already mated, their eyes betrayed a mix of curiosity and admiration that they couldn’t suppress.

Her towering frame, the shimmer of her silver-scaled accents, and the raw magnetism that radiated from her draconic features left a deep impression on them. They shifted subtly where they stood, some straightening their posture, others tilting their heads in a way that might be mistaken for a casual movement, but it was instinctual—avian pride, trying to appear taller or more refined in her presence.

Among them, Muir was perhaps the most aware of this sudden shift. He caught the sidelong glances his comrades exchanged and the faint, speculative looks they cast in Ophelia's direction. His jaw tightened, and a muscle in his cheek twitches.

They’re drawn to her, he thought, his feathers bristling slightly. They can’t help it. She’s not just beautiful; she’s magnetic, powerful... larger than life. But they’re too late.

Despite his mounting unease, Muir couldn’t help but feel a flicker of confidence as he noted Ophelia’s behavior. Though she was polite to the others, her eyes often found him, lingering just a little longer than necessary. The way her lips twitched into a faint smile when he spoke, the warmth in her voice when addressing him directly—it was subtle, but it was there.

The Hawks, however, didn’t miss this dynamic either.

She favors him already, one of the older males thought with a slight frown. His sharp clear golden eyes darted between Ophelia and Muir, noting the ease in their interactions. But that doesn’t mean she’s untouchable. We’ll be working closely with her as messengers... It’s a brilliant opportunity to form our own connections.

Another Hawk, younger and brash, leaned slightly toward his companion and whispered just loud enough for Muir to hear, "She’s something else, isn’t she? I wouldn’t mind taking a few trips up to her mountain lair if it means seeing her again."

Muir’s sharp hearing caught the remark, and his wings shifted slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture of annoyance. He turned his head just enough to shoot the younger Hawk a pointed look, one that clearly said don’t push your luck.

The others, however, were undeterred. They exchanged glances, subtle smiles forming as they considered the potential. Working as part of her messenger team meant proximity to Ophelia, frequent visits to her lair, and, perhaps, the chance to form their own bonds with the powerful dragoness.

For their part, they weren’t blind to the reality of her favoritism toward Muir. It was clear she trusted him already, and there was a faint fondness in the way her gaze softened when she looked at him. But fondness wasn’t exclusive, and they saw an opening—a chance to carve out their own place in her growing circle.

"She’s incredible," one of them murmured under his breath, his tone almost reverent. "I’ve never seen anything like her. Imagine the stories we’ll have to tell our children."

"Stories?" another scoffed softly, though there was no malice in his tone. "I’m thinking bigger than that. She loves shiny things—what if I bring her something rare on one of my visits? I bet she’d remember me for it."

Muir’s feathers flared slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. The quiet murmurings were starting to grate on his nerves.

They think they can win her over with trinkets and flattery, he thought, his jaw tightening. But they don’t understand her like I do. She’s not just a dragon obsessed with hoarding pretty things. She’s strong, sharp, and far more discerning than they realize.

Still, Muir couldn’t deny the nagging thought that their frequent visits might eventually wear down her resolve—or worse, spark a genuine interest. He needed to solidify his connection with her, to ensure that he remained the one she turned to above all others.

Meanwhile, Ophelia, seemingly oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of competition in the room, continued to admire her new treasures. She ran her fingers along the edges of the crystals, her expression one of deep satisfaction.

"I’ll need to start arranging my lair properly," she murmured, half to herself, her voice low and smooth. "A place to keep my hoard... it’ll be quite the centerpiece."

Her words sparked another round of speculative glances among the Hawks. If she’s building a lair, they thought, it’s a chance to visit... a chance to bring offerings... a chance to make an impression.

The Leopard King, ever perceptive, watched the subtle dynamics unfold with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, one hand idly tracing a claw along the polished surface of the table.

"Careful now," he said, his tone deceptively light but carrying an unmistakable edge. His green eyes gleamed as he glanced at the Hawks. "Too much competition might scare her off. Or worse, make her lose interest entirely."

The Hawks stiffened slightly, their posturing faltering for just a moment under the Leopard King’s sharp gaze. Muir’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, grateful for the unintentional support.

Ophelia, catching the Leopard King’s remark, chuckled softly. "I’m not so easily frightened," she said, her voice rich with amusement. "But I do enjoy seeing such... enthusiasm. It’s flattering, really."

Her gleaming eyes flicked to Muir, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, and he felt a rush of warmth in his chest. The Hawks might have their aspirations, but it was clear to him—and to her—that he already held the advantage.

Still, as the meeting wound down and the group began to disperse, Muir couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much larger game. One where his rivals weren’t just the dangers outside the city walls, but the very men he called his allies.

Chapter Text

All of a sudden, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder until the doors burst open. A panting man with messy brown hair and bear ears stumbled in, gasping for air. His wide eyes first locked on her, then shifted with urgency to the Leopard King.

“Leopard King!” he wheezed, clutching his knees. “Your territory—by the small river on the outskirts—a feral snake has wandered too close. It… it seems to have its sights set on the newest little female.”

The Leopard King’s gaze slid to Ophelia, his expression calm but calculating. “Ophelia,” he said thoughtfully, “would you mind dealing with this tetra-marked feral?”

Ophelia’s blood already simmered at the mention of the delicate young female. That girl had shown nothing but kindness on their journey, and now she was in danger. A low growl escaped Ophelia’s throat as her hands curled into fists. “Where are they?” she demanded, her voice sharp with restrained fury.

The bear stammered, his words a barely coherent jumble. Before he could gather himself, Muir stepped forward, his tone steady. “I know where it is. I’ll guide you, Ophelia.”

With a curt nod to the King, Ophelia turned and strode out of the room, Muir falling in step beside her. As soon as they stepped outside and the open sky stretched above them, Ophelia launched into the air with a powerful leap, wings unfurling as she took flight. Her sharp eyes scanned the horizon as she pushed forward, her mind focused and determined.

Muir joined her in the air, followed by a squadron of hawks, their flapping wings a steady rhythm of support. Though Muir led the way, Ophelia’s keen sight quickly picked out the scene ahead—a small river marking the border between the forest and plains. The crimson body of the serpent stood out starkly against the landscape like a slash of blood. On the far side of the river, two figures—likely Bai and Parker—stood frozen in fear.

Without hesitation, Ophelia dove, her powerful wings slicing through the air. She landed with a thunderous impact between the serpent and Bai, dust billowing around her. Rising to her full height, she locked eyes with the snake. Its crimson gaze met her amethyst glare, but Ophelia’s presence radiated fury and dominance, making the air around her heavy and oppressive.

The hawks circled behind her, their sharp eyes observing the scene intently. Muir landed a few steps back, his wings folding as he remained still, watching the tension build. The very air seemed to ripple with heat, growing stifling under the sheer pressure Ophelia exuded. Some of the hawks shifted uncomfortably, their instincts screaming at them to flee. Even Muir’s calm demeanor faltered slightly as beads of sweat appeared on his brow. Curtis, despite his calm façade, struggled to hold his ground. His serpentine body subtly coiled tighter as he resisted the invisible force pressing down on him.

The snake had long crimson hair matching its eyes, a lithe yet muscular frame, and sharp, almost feminine features. He recoiled slightly, slithering back as if caught off guard by the sheer force of her arrival. But there was something else—Bai’s ankle, once marked with the dark, curling sigil of a claim, was now bare. Only a faint slash remained, somewhat healed, as if Curtis’s hold had been severed.

Ophelia’s sharp gaze flickered down, catching the bare skin. “Her mark,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous, a tendril of smoke curling from her nostrils. “It’s gone.” Her amethyst eyes snapped back to Curtis, narrowing further. “Why?”

Curtis’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a strange, unsettling calm in his demeanor. “Why indeed,” he said smoothly, his voice barely wavering under the oppressive weight of her presence. “It seems… irrelevant now.”

That answer only fueled Ophelia’s growing fury. Her claws seem to extend longer unconsciously, her fingers curling into fists. The scales on her arms shimmered, spreading further up her skin as though her body were responding to the primal instincts coursing through her. Heat pulsed in her chest, a glowing ember deep in her core that flared with every beat of her heart. With each exhalation, smoke curled from her mouth, and her teeth elongated, razor-sharp.

“You dare speak of irrelevance?” she snarled, her voice carrying a guttural edge. The air around her seemed to shimmer, waves of heat radiating outward. “You mark her by force, and hold her captive? You come here, threatening her safety? And now you think to slither away?” Her wings flared, the shadows they cast stretching long over the ground.

Curtis tilted his head, his crimson hair spilling over one shoulder. He didn’t back away this time, though his body remained poised, ready to strike or retreat if needed. “You’re quick to judge. I find that… unfortunate.” His gaze lingered on her, studying her every movement. “You see, I’m not here for her.” He gestured lazily toward Bai, his tone shifting, growing softer yet more dangerous. “My interests lie elsewhere now.”

Ophelia’s lip curled, revealing sharp teeth. A low, rumbling growl rolled from her chest, and with it came a rush of hot air that swept outward. “You disgust me,” she spat, her voice thick with venom. “State your business before I end this here and now.”

Curtis’s faint smile widened, though it still lacked sincerity. “Business?” he echoed. “I merely wish to coexist. To… observe.” His words dripped with feigned innocence, but his eyes betrayed the calculating mind behind them.

Ophelia’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Observe?” she repeated, her voice rising with incredulity. “You think I’d let you linger here, near her?” She took another step forward, the ground beneath her feet cracking slightly from the force of her presence. Her claws flexed, and a faint glow began to emanate from her chest, a heat that seared the air around her.

Curtis’s gaze flicked briefly to the hawks behind her, some of whom had taken a few hesitant steps back. Even Muir, steadfast as he was, looked uneasy. “I see you’re still adjusting to your instincts,” Curtis said smoothly, though a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Perhaps you’re not ready to make such decisions yet.”

Ophelia snarled, her wings snapping open fully, casting an imposing shadow. “You’ve made your choice, snake,” she hissed. “Leave now, while you still can.” Smoke billowed from her nostrils as she spoke, the glowing heat in her chest threatening to ignite.

Curtis’s calm façade faltered slightly, his body tensing. But he managed a faint smile. “Very well,” he said, stepping back slowly. “For now.”

As he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder, his crimson eyes meeting hers one last time. “We’ll meet again, Ophelia. And perhaps then, you’ll see the value in what I offer.”

Ophelia didn’t respond, her glare following him until he disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Only then did she turn to Bai, her expression softening.

“Are you hurt?” she asked gently, kneeling to meet the young girl’s wide, tearful eyes.

Bai shook her head, her voice trembling. “No… but… thank you, Ophelia.”

Ophelia placed a reassuring hand on Bai’s shoulder, her resolve hardening. Whatever Curtis’s true intentions were, she would be ready for him. He would not get another chance to harm those under her protection.

She wasn't entirely comfortable in this role, unsure of how to provide the kind of comfort Bai seemed to need. Her usual calm confidence was nowhere to be found, replaced by a quiet uncertainty.

“I... I’m here for you, Bai,” Ophelia said, her voice soft and almost apologetic. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Bai met Ophelia’s gaze, the vulnerability in her eyes clear. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with the weight of emotions she couldn’t quite express. "Just... having you here, it means a lot to me."

Ophelia nodded awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. Her hand gently squeezed Bai’s shoulder, but she felt the distance between them. She was here to offer strength, but her own discomfort made it difficult to bridge the gap. “I’m glad I could be here for you. Really. But you’re strong, Bai.

Bai gave a soft, knowing smile, appreciating the gesture despite the awkwardness. “It’s because of you that I’m strong enough to make this choice,” she said softly, her gaze shifting to Ophelia. “You made it possible for me to sever the bond. You made me believe I could be free.”

Ophelia was caught off guard by Bai’s words. She hadn’t realized the impact her presence had on the other woman. “I didn’t do much, Bai. You were the one who found the strength. I’m just glad I could be there.”

Bai leaned into Ophelia’s touch for a brief moment, savoring the comfort before pulling back and giving a small but genuine smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Ophelia. But now... now I’ve made my choice.”

Ophelia tilted her head slightly, unsure where this was leading. “What do you mean, Bai?”

Bai turned to Parker, her eyes softening with affection. “It’s Parker... He’s the one I want. I’ve always known it. But I had to be free of that bond first. You gave me the strength to make that decision.”

She smiled. “I’m happy for you, Bai. You deserve to choose who makes you happy.”

Just then, Parker, who had been standing quietly, processing the moment, couldn’t hold back his enthusiasm. His eyes widened, and a wide grin spread across his face as he stepped toward Bai. “You mean... you really choose me?” His voice was filled with excitement and disbelief. “Bai, I—” He nearly laughed in joy, his hands reaching out to gently hold hers. “You’ve made me the happiest male alive!

Bai’s smile widened at his enthusiasm, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “I’ve always known it was you, Parker. But now, I’m finally free to make that choice. I want you, only you.”

Parker’s eyes sparkled as he took a step closer, his expression more radiant than ever. “I’ve always been here for you, Bai. I’m honored. I swear, I won’t ever let you down. You’re the only one for me.”

Bai’s heart swelled with affection for him, her voice soft but filled with certainty. “You’ve been there for me from the beginning, Parker. I’ve always known... you’re the one I want.”

Muir, standing off to the side, watched the exchange with a quiet nod of approval. “You’ve made your choice, Bai. That’s all that matters.”

Bai turned her gaze toward Muir, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Muir. Your steadiness has meant more to me than you know.”

Muir nodded in return, his usual reserve still intact. “It’s my duty.”

As Bai took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past lift, she turned back to Ophelia. “Thank you, Ophelia. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. You gave me the strength to find my way.”

Ophelia gave a somewhat awkward nod, though her smile was warm. “I’m happy I could help, Bai. And I’m glad you’ve found your path.”

Bai turned back to Parker, her smile wide and filled with love. "I couldn’t have done it without you, Parker. Thank you for always being there."

Parker beamed, practically glowing with joy. "I’ll always be here, Bai. Always."

As the final words were spoken, Bai and Ophelia stood facing each other, the weight of their shared history hanging between them. Ophelia's gaze softened, and she stepped forward, offering a brief, heartfelt embrace. "Take care, Bai," she said softly. "May your path be clear and your heart at peace."

Bai nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you, Ophelia. For everything."

With a final, lingering look, Ophelia turned away, her wings unfurling as she rose into the air. The hawks began to follow her, forming a line behind her, but Ophelia signaled them to break off.

“Return to the skies,” she commanded softly, her voice carrying an unspoken authority. “I won’t need you for this.”

The hawks peeled away gracefully, soaring higher into the air as Ophelia flew on, alone, her wings cutting through the cool evening air. Her thoughts turned to the task at hand—the payment she needed to collect from the grand meeting room at the center of Beast City.

Ophelia headed directly for the city, descending toward the heart of it, the buildings below glowing in the dim light. She landed silently in the courtyard of the grand meeting hall, her wings folding neatly against her back. Her footsteps echoed softly as she entered the building, moving toward the center where her payment had been secured.

The hall was quiet, its vastness echoing her presence as she retrieved the agreed-upon payment. She tucked the package into her satchel, the weight of it a quiet reminder of the task accomplished. Ophelia took a moment to pause, feeling the weight of everything that had happened, but also the calm of the present moment.

As she turned to leave, she caught sight of Muir at the far end of the hall. Their eyes met briefly, and Ophelia offered a small, acknowledging nod. Their connection was silent, but deeply understood. She spoke without turning back, her voice soft but clear.
"I’ll see you tomorrow, or whenever I’m needed."

Ophelia stepped back into the night air, her wings unfolding again as she took flight. With the payment safely secured, she turned her course toward the mountains, her final destination. The sky above was a deepening navy, the last traces of sunlight fading into the horizon as she soared through the cool evening air.

The mountains loomed ahead, their peaks sharp against the dimming sky. As she neared the entrance to her cave, Ophelia slowed her descent, the quiet of the mountains surrounding her as she landed gracefully at the mouth of the cave.

The pulse of the crystals she had retrieved earlier was steady in her hands, glowing faintly as she stepped into the cave, the familiar darkness and solitude embracing her. She took a deep breath, feeling the day’s weight fall away as she moved deeper into her retreat.

Chapter Text

At the break of dawn, a colossal eye flickered open, its iris a deep amethyst hue with a sharp, contracting slit that pulsed as she focused, stirring from her brief slumber. Her immense, scaled body shifted, each movement accompanied by the faint rustle of her wings and the scraping of talons against stone. The cavern around her, carved into the heart of the mountain, glimmered faintly in the dim light. Shimmering stalactites adorned the ceiling like natural chandeliers, and her breath, heavy and warm, created a soft mist in the cool, damp air.

She raised her head, her massive horns brushing against the high arches of her sanctuary, and scanned her surroundings. Her eyes fell upon a steep recess she had clawed into the cavern floor—a treasure hoard of gleaming crystals. Clear shards and cerulean clusters caught the faint glow of the bioluminescent fungi lining the walls, reflecting a prismatic dance of light. Among them were newer additions: pristine clear gems earned from her first season of labor, fifty in total, her payment for her first-ever job.

Lowering her enormous head, she examined the hoard with a critical eye, her pupils narrowing in discontent. How small it looks now… As a beastwoman, the collection had seemed vast and awe-inspiring. But now, with her body grown to its full majestic size, the stash appeared meager, almost insignificant. The thought grated on her pride.

"Perhaps I should expand it," she muttered, her deep, resonant voice echoing off the cavern walls. The notion of digging deeper into the mountain crossed her mind, but the idea of hunting something more substantial, more challenging, was far more enticing. Her tongue flicked across her fangs unconsciously. "Maybe I’ll hunt one of those herbivorous colossals,” she mused aloud, her voice carrying a tinge of excitement. They’re said to carry emeralds within their hides, she thought, her eyes sparkling at the imagined sight of the vivid green gemstones blending with her collection.

With a deep, rumbling sigh, she turned her gaze toward the crystals embedded in the cavern walls. She had left them in place deliberately, their faint, soothing blue glow giving the space a homely ambiance. It reminded her of the comforts of her human past, a life she had long since shed. Back then, she had lived in a fragile, man-made structure filled with all the artificial necessities humanity had deemed essential. How delicate and detached they were, she thought. In that life, people were insufficient, lazy, and far removed from their primal instincts. That wasn’t living, she concluded.

She shook off the memory, her wings stretching slightly, brushing against the cavern’s jagged edges. Turning her attention back to her hoard one last time, she considered her next move. The day waits for no one—dragon or otherwise. Perhaps she would patrol the city below, making her presence known to the beastmen. A regular circuit would not only reassure the residents but also serve as a warning to any lurking threats that this land was under her protection.

Her gaze fell on the satchel nestled near the edge of her hoard. A simple leather bag that went along with her payment of crystals, contained carefully folded clothing for when she resumed her humanoid form, gifted by Muir.

With a low chuckle, she reached out with her front foreleg, claws flexing delicately to grasp the fur satchel. The task required precision; even the slightest misstep could shred it. She tucked it against her chest, the leather bag secured within, and began her ascent toward the surface. Each step sent faint tremors through the stone, her powerful limbs propelling her massive frame upward.

The sunlight awaited above, and with it, the world she had claimed as her own.

With the satchels’ contents securely held in my claws, I lifted off into the sky, the sunrise spilling its golden hues across the horizon to greet me. My wings unfurled wide, the leathery membranes catching the cool morning breeze as I rose higher. Opening my maw, a tired yawn escaped, exposing rows of gleaming fangs. The sound wasn’t harsh or menacing but resonated like a deep, echoing coo, reverberating off the distant mountains.

Flapping my wings with a blend of precision and laziness, I charted my path around the sprawling Beast City territory. Below, the world stirred with life. My sharp dragon eyes caught the movement of early risers mulling about the city streets, their morning routines just beginning. A few beastmen, fully transformed into their feral forms, prowled the edges of the city, their powerful strides betraying a sense of vigilance. Even in this enormous form, I could distinguish fine details—every flick of a tail, every tilt of a head.

As I glided above the heart of the city, I turned my focus outward to the outskirts and beyond, where potential threats could linger. This land was mine to protect, and I intended to remind everyone, friend or foe, of that fact. With a deep rumble in my chest, I released an occasional growl, the vibrations rolling across the landscape like distant thunder. At one point, I threw my head back and unleashed a deafening roar, the sound carrying far and wide. It was a deliberate display of power, and I couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through me. Being this big, this commanding—it’s intoxicating.

Two hours seemed to pass in no time as I patrolled the skies. Eventually, I made my way back toward the city center. From above, I could see the bustling activity below—the streets now alive with movement and purpose. Merchants set up stalls, young beasts darted between buildings, and beastmen gathered in small groups to chat or work. But as my massive shadow fell over them, the entire city seemed to freeze.

From my vantage point, it looked almost comical. They scrambled like ants whose nest had been disturbed, some running for cover while others pointed upward with wide eyes. I blinked lazily, amused by their reaction, and began my descent.

Mid-flight, I transformed. My body shrank rapidly, scales retreating into smooth skin, and my dragon wings dissolved into their smaller size. Gravity pulled at me, and for a moment, the fur-lined satchel slipped from my grasp. With a deft motion, I caught it mid-fall, clutching it tightly against me as I completed my shift.

Changing in mid-air wasn’t easy, especially while holding onto belongings, all the while I had to change into the clothes I had. Not to mention, if anyone dared to look up, they might catch a glimpse of my unclothed human form. But I refused to dwell on that thought. Why bother with unnecessary shame? I reassured myself, running a clawed hand through my cascading hair as I adjusted the satchel.

The bag was lighter than before—only a few crystals remained within, but they were more than enough for what I had planned. I landed gracefully in a bustling area, the heart of the trading district. Stalls stretched out as far as the eye could see, their colorful awnings flapping gently in the breeze. The air buzzed with the chatter of merchants hawking their wares and customers haggling for better deals.

Excitement bubbled within me. Shopping! I squealed internally, barely containing my glee. It reminded me so much of my old life—the thrill of finding treasures both online and in physical stores. Oh, how my lack of impulse control had led to many late-night shopping sprees. My human self had spent more money than I care to admit, but the joy of acquiring something new never failed to make me giddy.

Adjusting the satchel on my shoulder, I stepped forward with purpose, my eyes scanning the stalls. Today promised to be wonderful, and I was eager to indulge in the simple delight of trade and treasure hunting.

The dragon beastwoman strode through the marketplace with a commanding grace, her imposing figure turning every head. Though the beastmen of the city had been informed that she was their new protector, the announcement had done little to fully dispel their unease. Her immense power was undeniable, and though gratitude stirred in some hearts, others couldn’t help but regard her with lingering wariness.

Whispers rippled through the crowd as she moved.

“She’s supposed to protect us, isn’t she?”

“Protect, yes—but at what cost? Did you see how massive her dragon form is?”

“I don’t think anyone could stand against her… not even a colossus.”

Despite the unease, a thread of cautious admiration wove through the crowd. Her strength was unquestionable; she had flown over the city in her dragon form, roaring a declaration of her dominance that no beast could ignore. Some beastmen were already beginning to feel safer under her watch, recognizing the sheer deterrence her presence brought to potential threats.

A wolf beastman with sharp amber eyes leaned against a stall, his ears swiveling as he listened to the murmurs around him. He watched her with a mix of awe and apprehension, the primal instinct to submit to a stronger predator battling against an almost foolish desire to approach her. “She’s incredible,” he muttered under his breath, his claws drumming anxiously on the wooden counter. “But how do you even talk to someone like that?”

Not far away, a hawk beastman perched on a high beam, his talons gripping the wood tightly as he observed her every move. His keen eyes flickered with curiosity—and something more. “A protector, yes,” he mused to himself, his sharp beak clicking softly, “but maybe she’s more than that. Someone like her... she could elevate anyone who earned her favor.”

The tiger beastman from earlier stood straighter as she passed near his stall, his stripes rippling as his muscles tensed. He had no words, just a low rumble of acknowledgment in his chest, a subconscious display of his own strength. Yet even he, broad and powerful as he was, didn’t dare to meet her eyes directly.

Among the crowd, single beastmen exchanged uncertain glances, each silently weighing their courage—or lack thereof. She was the only female beastwoman in the city, and the prospect of approaching her as a potential mate was tantalizing. But her towering form, her commanding aura, and the raw power she had displayed made such thoughts seem laughable.

One young leopard beastman, barely out of his adolescence, whispered to his older brother. “Do you think she’d even look at someone like me?”

The older leopard snorted softly, cuffing the younger one on the shoulder. “You’d better pray she doesn’t step on you, cub. Someone like her wouldn’t waste her time with the likes of us.”

Unaware—or perhaps unconcerned—with the tumultuous thoughts she inspired, Ophelia moved through the marketplace with a quiet hum, her attention wholly absorbed in the wares before her. A table filled with vibrant fabrics caught her eye, and she paused, running her clawed fingers lightly over the textures. The merchant, a raccoon beastman, bowed his head nervously, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted a corner of cloth that didn’t need straightening.

Further along, at a weapons stall, a bear beastman muttered to a fox companion. “She’s the strongest in the city—probably in the whole region. I don’t care what anyone says; I’m glad she’s on our side.” His words carried a weight of conviction that made the fox nod hesitantly, though his wide eyes remained fixed on her.

Everywhere she went, the atmosphere shifted. Fear mingled with gratitude, awe with desire. And though no one dared to approach her, the unspoken hope lingered among the single beastmen. They dreamed of what it might mean to earn her favor—not only as their protector but perhaps as something more.

Ophelia paused before a stall displaying an assortment of stones, her sharp eyes narrowing with interest as one piece caught her attention—a rough, unassuming rock with a glimmer of purple geode peeking through its surface. Just as she opened her mouth to ask the price, a shout from further down the marketplace interrupted her.

“The salt caravan is back!”

Murmurs broke out like ripples on a pond. Several beastmen abandoned their stalls and began heading toward the city’s central podium, their expressions ranging from curiosity to excitement. Ophelia glanced in that direction, her curiosity piqued, but she returned her focus to the stone.

“How much for this one?” she asked, pointing a midnight-black claw at the geode.

The wolf beastman behind the stall, with a single stripe marking his cheek, visibly stiffened under her attention. His scent, a musky mix of earth and pine, intensified as he straightened his posture. “Two clear crystals... of small size,” he managed, his voice trembling slightly.

Ophelia tilted her head, her purple gaze meeting his brown eyes. She could see the nervous sweat beading on his forehead and the slight twitch of his ears. The wolf hesitated before blurting, “But you can just take it! For free!”

She smiled softly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. Reaching into her satchel, she retrieved a medium-sized clear crystal. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pay for this,” she said, her tone kind but firm.

The wolf stared, entranced, as she placed the crystal in his hand. His mocha eyes were wide, his heart pounding in his chest as he thought, She’s nothing like I expected. I thought someone so powerful would be... harsher. But she’s perfect.

“Hello?” Ophelia waved the crystal slightly to get his attention. With a start, the wolf stammered, “Y-yes! Thank you!”

She placed the geode in her satchel, but before she could leave, the wolf hastily grabbed two more stones from his collection—a palm-sized aquamarine and a naturally formed tower of pink quartz. “Wait! Please, take these too,” he said, practically shoving them into her arms.

Ophelia blinked in surprise, her clawed fingers instinctively wrapping around the stones. “You don’t have to—”

“I insist!” The wolf’s exaggerated gestures and frantic waving left no room for argument.

With a bemused smile, she relented. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm as she secured the gifts in her satchel.

The wolf watched her go, his tail wagging furiously behind him, a dreamy expression softening his features. Around him, other beastmen growled low with jealousy, their eyes following Ophelia’s retreating figure. Despite their envy, a grudging respect for her character began to grow. She had shown kindness even to a weaker beastman, one with only a single power mark.

Ophelia walked on, her tall figure calm and composed as the commotion ahead grew louder. With her new treasures in tow, she approached the crowd gathering at the city podium, where the salt caravan had arrived. The voices grew louder, and a distant roar echoed through the air, reverberating with intensity.

“What’s all this about?” she murmured to herself, stepping closer. Whatever awaited her at the podium, she had a feeling it was going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

As I approached the commotion, the crowd grew so thick I could barely see the source of the chaos. Irritated, I moved to a clear space where I could spread my wings. With a powerful beat, my leathery, scaled wings propelled me into the air. A few startled gasps rose from the crowd below as I soared over them. "Fools," I thought with a smirk, relishing the freedom they lacked.

From the air, I spotted the familiar city-center platform where the kings had first introduced me. The crowd around it was packed tightly, shoulder to shoulder, their excitement palpable in the humid air. I flew to a nearby rooftop and landed with a soft thud, the impact of my clawed feet cracking the tiles slightly.

Perched atop the roof, my horns gleamed in the sunlight, curling majestically back from my temples. My scales shimmered with a pearlescent, white sheen that faded into a metallic silver, razor-sharp talons caught the light. Towering over most males, I cast a long shadow over the scene below, my tail curling and uncurling in agitation.

Looking across the rooftops, I noticed several hawks had settled on other buildings, their sharp eyes trained on the commotion. One of them caught my gaze and nodded in recognition before returning to his watch. Turning my attention to the platform, I spotted the four kings standing in their ceremonial robes. Beside them was a massive white tiger, his fur gleaming like snow under the sun. Surrounding them were five females, looking ragged and out of place.

The ape king, with his bald head shining like a polished stone, stepped forward. He stretched his arms wide in a theatrical gesture and addressed the crowd, his booming voice cutting through the noise.

“Winston! Thank you for bringing back five females. A banquet will be held in their honor. Please, join us!”

The tiger roared in response, a powerful, earth-shaking sound that silenced the crowd for a moment.

The ape king continued, his voice dripping with grandeur. “The new females will select their mates on the first day!”

I tilted my head, my pointed ears flicking as I regarded the ape king’s announcement. “Salt caravan?” I murmured under my breath, unfamiliar with the term. My amethyst eyes swept over the group of females on the platform. Their appearance was striking—not in beauty, but in their disheveled state. Their clothes hung loosely from their frames, torn and travel-worn, while their faces bore the shadows of exhaustion. Their wide eyes darted around nervously, and their stiff postures reminded me of cornered prey.

Curiosity prickled at the back of my mind. Who were these women, and why did they seem so out of place? They were clearly not from the city, and their wary glances made it clear they didn’t feel safe here. I leaned forward slightly, the claws on my toes digging into the roof tiles as I studied them more intently.

“Why do they look so afraid?” I wondered aloud, my tail flicking absently behind me. The stark contrast between their haggard forms and the celebratory air of the crowd below only deepened my confusion. My gaze lingered on a fox-like female who seemed to shrink into herself, trembling as though she wanted to disappear. Something about the scene gnawed at me, a quiet unease building in my chest.

The ape king raised his voice once more, commanding attention. “Everyone may compete on the stage! Good luck to those who wish to earn their favor!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, the single males bellowing in excitement. Yet, the scene only deepened my distaste. The females were treated like prizes, their drawn, pale faces betraying their despair. I caught the faint sound of one sniffle and saw the tears of a fox-like female at the edge of the group. A deep growl rumbled in my chest, a sound low and ominous, but it was swallowed by the cacophony of the crowd.

Then, the ape king added with a flourish, “This fox female and her partner were kidnapped by scorpion ferals. Her partner did not survive, but Winston saved her. She will, therefore, become Winston’s partner!”

A murmur swept through the crowd. “Winston’s lucky; she’s beautiful,” someone whispered.

The white tiger shifted, his massive form shrinking into that of a man. Standing tall, his white hair fell in harmony to his pale skin. Long tiger ears twitched atop his head, and his striped tail swayed lazily behind him. Four dark blue stripes adorned his broad chest—a mark of immense power, rarely seen except among the kings and the strongest ferals. His physique was commanding: thick muscles rippled with every movement, his height rivaling most beastmen.

He strode forward, his silver eyes locking onto the fox female. His scarred face held a fierce intensity, but it only seemed to frighten her further.

“May I become your male?” he asked, his voice low and resonant.

The fox female recoiled, trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face as she bolted behind another female, this one freckled and equally terrified. “No,” she sobbed, her small voice cracking with despair. “Don’t come closer!”

I arched a brow, my sharp, reptilian gaze fixed on Winston. “What could he have done to provoke such fear?” I thought. My tail lashed behind me, and my claws flexed involuntarily. If he had harmed her or forced her into this situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to intervene.

Winston stood there, his face blank as laughter erupted from the crowd. He muttered, “Forget it, then,” and turned away.

I’d seen enough. With a mighty leap, I pushed off the roof and spread my wings. A rush of wind scattered debris as I descended, landing behind Winston with a thunderous thud.

The laughter died instantly. Winston spun around, his silver eyes wide with shock as he craned his neck to look up at me. I towered over him, my scaled arms crossed and my wings partially unfurled, casting an imposing shadow.

“Close your mouth, Winston,” I said coolly, “or a fly will wander in.”

His jaw snapped shut, but his gaze remained locked on me, his awe unmistakable. Behind him, the kings stared, their expressions a mix of surprise and unease. The females huddled together, their tired faces now alight with curiosity and a flicker of hope as they took in my appearance.

I strode past Winston, my talons clicking against the stone platform, and addressed the ape king directly. “Why are these females being forced to choose mates today? And why do they look terrified?” My voice was calm but carried a sharp edge, my draconic pupils narrowing as I fixed him with a piercing stare.

The ape king smiled, though it faltered slightly under my scrutiny. “Ophelia, there’s nothing to worry about,” he said, his tone placating. “These females come from poorer villages. They’re willing to join the Beast City for better lives. The villages, in turn, receive salt in trade.”

“Trade?” I echoed, my voice dropping an octave as my tail lashed behind me. “Were they given a choice, or were they taken by force?”

He hesitated, but one of the females looked me directly in the eye and gave a small nod. Her silent confirmation softened my posture slightly, but my frown remained.

“Even so,” I said, my voice firm, “forcing them to choose a mate today strips them of real choice. Look at them—they’re exhausted, frightened, and overwhelmed.”

The ape king’s smile returned, though it was more nervous. “It’s for their benefit, Ophelia. They need strong males to provide for them, and this competition allows them to choose the best.”

I sighed deeply, my wings twitching with irritation. ‘The city won’t change overnight,’ I thought. ‘But I’ll bring this up at the next council meeting. Females deserve real choices, not coercion under the guise of tradition.’

The ape king seized the opportunity to declare, “Let the games begin!”

The kings left the platform, and the fighting began. I took to the air again, landing on a rooftop to observe from above. Below, the females seemed slightly more at ease as leopard beastmen brought them food and water.

Meanwhile, Winston’s silver eyes never left me. He flagged down a wolf beastman and asked, “Who is she?”

The wolf sighed dreamily. “You’ve been gone too long, Winston. That’s Ophelia—a dragon beastwoman. She’s bigger than life, and she’s... extraordinary.”

Winston turned back to me, his silver gaze meeting my amethyst one for a fleeting moment. My gaze lingered before I looked away, but his stayed fixed on me, a newfound awe in his expression.

Chapter Text

At some point, I grew bored of the endless dick-measuring contest. From what I observed, only two females actually chose a mate from the fights. However, I noticed a few of them glance up at me on the roof, almost seeking reassurance that I was watching before they continued their scraps. Some fought in their beastman forms, while others transformed. I particularly enjoyed watching the wolf transformations. They reminded me of my childhood obsession with werewolves. These beasts, much larger than their wild counterparts, were almost comparable in size to the wolves from Twilight. Majestic creatures—they’ve always fascinated me.

After about an hour of indulging in my free entertainment, I couldn’t say I minded these males fighting. There was something primal and satisfying about watching them try so hard. Eventually, I stood, stretched, and launched myself into the skies without another glance back. According to the ape king, there would be a bonfire later tonight. Maybe I’d check it out. It sounded cozy. I’d always found fire hypnotic—its warmth and flickering glow had a calming effect on me. With that thought in mind, I flew back to my domain.

What I didn’t realize was that most of the beastmen had looked up as I departed, disappointment written on their faces. Many had been fighting with the hope of impressing me. Among them was a white tiger, his gaze fixed on me for most of the evening. Winston, as he was called, had never spoken to a female who addressed him so fearlessly. Perhaps it was because of what I was, but he found himself intrigued. He wanted to know more about me.

Landing in the abyss of my cave was, as always, a comforting experience. Today had been eventful, but at least one good thing had come out of it. I sighed in contentment, my eyes sparkling as I descended into the main cavern, navigating through what looked to any outsider like complete darkness.

Reaching into my fur-lined satchel, I retrieved my new treasures, holding them close for inspection as I approached my hoard. The dug-out space in the ground housed a pile of jewels, their glimmering blue and white hues looking perfect against the dark surroundings. I placed my latest additions—vibrant turquoise, pink quartz, and a purple geode—onto the pile. My tail swished happily as I sat back, admiring the fresh pops of color. I could already imagine my hoard expanding, filling the entire cavern until I could one day bask in it, perhaps even bathe in its brilliance. The thought sent a gleeful shiver down my spine.

It reminded me of Smaug from The Hobbit. As I envisioned his immense golden hoard in the Lonely Mountain, an intense wave of jealousy swept over me, nearly blurring my vision. I also pictured Smaug himself—not a dragon like me with four legs, but a wyvern, with two legs and wings that doubled as forelimbs. We’re both dragons, just different types. Strangely, the image of him and his treasure brought a blush to my cheeks.

Huh. I surprised myself with that reaction. Is my dragon brain starting to influence who I find attractive? Smaug’s voice was undeniably enticing, but back when I was human, I only ever admired him as a character. Now, as a dragon beastwoman, I suppose it’s normal for my perspective to shift. Before, the thought would’ve been bizarre, but now I’m giving myself a pass—we’re technically the same species. Well... kind of.

The thought makes me pause. If just imagining another dragon can stir this kind of reaction, what would I do if I met one in the wild? I’m realizing more and more that my instincts—and my new biology—are subtly changing me. Hypothetically speaking, if male dragons did exist, I bet one of their tactics to attract a mate would be showing off their hoard.

The thought makes me sweatdrop. Knowing my personality, I can admit it—yeah, that might actually work on me. Ayyy.

Anyway, moving on from my self-discoveries, I glanced down at myself and sweatdropped as I realized the clothes Muir gave me definitely needed an upgrade. I couldn’t just keep wearing this all the time. At the market, I saw some beastmen selling strips of fur and basic clothing options, but as I looked at my... well, endowments—my chest and wide, athletic hips—I doubted any of the standard options would fit me.

The only reason I managed to wear Muir’s skirt was that it tied on one side, allowing me to adjust it around my hips. But let’s be real—it’s ridiculously short. Making a skirt of my own shouldn’t be too hard with some fur or tanned skin, but as I crossed my arms and thought it over, I realized I wasn’t skilled enough to craft a proper top. Sure, I could manage a simple tube top, but I wasn’t sure I wanted that. It wasn’t very refined. Honestly, the makeshift wrap I had on now—basically like wrapping a towel around yourself after a shower and tucking it in—wasn’t exactly secure.

Thankfully, my chest didn’t need much support, which was a blessing I could chalk up to winning the dragon genetics lottery. Still, a new outfit was going on my bucket list for tomorrow: buy some fur and a sewing kit—if they even sell those—and try to make a proper outfit myself.

I also considered making a human-sized bed for when I wanted to stay in this form and roll around comfortably. The thought made my eyes widen as I imagined the cost of all these plans. I could almost feel my precious crystals slipping away with every imagined purchase. I really needed to go colossus hunting soon; I didn’t feel nearly rich enough to splurge like I had billions in my pocket. If I wasn’t careful, my precious hoard would shrink to nothing.

I sighed as I gazed mournfully at my gems before turning away. To clear my head, I decided to patrol the territory, fulfilling my role as protector. The thought amused me—I felt like an ancient guardian dragon from a game, protecting a secret artifact.

I left my home, swiftly transforming into my dragon form and soaring into the sky. First, I flew along the outskirts of the territory, then circled over the city. In this form, the distance was nothing to me. My gigantic wings allowed me to cover the entire territory quickly. With my elevated vantage point, I realized just how suited I was for this job. Everything looked clear, so I decided to explore a little while I still had daylight.

The thought of hunting a colossus brought a predatory grin to my face. If I could snag a crystal from one, it would be worth the effort. Feeling motivated, I flew toward the mountains that bordered my home, then beyond them. The crisp air lashed against my scales as I soared higher, the forest below an endless sea of green interspersed with jagged rock formations. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, casting long shadows that made the landscape seem alive and foreboding.

My massive wings, leathery and lined with faint, glowing veins, beat the air with immense power, creating gusts that sent birds fleeing and rustled the canopy far below. Jagged horns curled back from my head, their tips sharp and glinting like polished obsidian. My tail, adorned with cruel, spiked ridges, swayed behind me, slicing through the air with a low, menacing hum. My claws, flexed in anticipation, leaving faint scratches on my underbellys’s scales as I prepared myself for what lay ahead. The ridges along my back glimmered faintly, their serrated edges glowing with an ethereal light as if channeling the fire that burned within me. My breath came hot and steady, little tendrils of smoke curling from my nostrils with each exhale.

Then I heard it: a faint, eerie clicking sound, like the ominous chittering of ancient predators. My ears, sensitive, twitched toward the sound, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through me. My keen, slit-pupiled eyes scanned the horizon, and there they were.

The colossi were monstrous in every sense of the word, towering far above the last one I’d encountered. Triple the height of the treetops, their bodies were massive and muscular, covered in scales that shimmered with an oily sheen of deep greens and earthy browns. Their heads were adorned with twisted horns, each unique in shape and size, some spiraling like corkscrews, others jagged and cruel. Their glowing yellow eyes burned with a primal intensity, and their elongated jaws bristled with serrated teeth that seemed designed for tearing through flesh and bone. Long claws, thick as tree trunks, raked the ground with each step, leaving deep gouges in the earth. Their whip-like tails lashed the air, emitting cracks that echoed through the forest like thunderclaps, unsettling flocks of birds that took to the skies in panic.

Despite their intimidating appearance, I felt no fear—only bloodthirsty determination. These were the guardians of the emeralds I craved, and the very thought of claiming those gems made my chest swell with greedy anticipation. My instincts roared to life, drowning out rational thought. I wasn’t just a dragon—I was a predator.

The elder of the herd lifted its massive head, sensing my presence. Its scarred hide bore the marks of countless battles, and its horns were chipped and worn, yet no less imposing. It let out a deafening bellow, a sound that shook the trees and sent the smaller creatures of the forest scurrying for cover. The ground trembled as it reared onto its hind legs, slamming back down with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the earth. The herd reacted instantly, breaking into a chaotic stampede, their massive bodies crashing through the forest with an ear-splitting cacophony of snapping trees and pounding footsteps.

A dark thrill coursed through me as I watched the scene unfold. The chaos, the fear, the raw display of power—it was intoxicating. I felt the corners of my maw curl into a savage jagged grin as I dove toward the fleeing colossi. My massive wings beat the air, stirring whirlwinds of leaves and debris as I descended like death incarnate.

I landed with a resounding thud, the impact shaking the earth beneath me. My talons gouged deep furrows into the soil as I steadied myself. The elder stood its ground, glaring at me with a defiant snarl. Its hot breath billowed from its nostrils, the scent of crushed foliage and blood filling the air. My heart pounded in my chest, not with fear but with exhilaration. This was what I was made for.

I lunged forward, jaws snapping shut around the elder’s thick neck. Its scales resisted at first, but I bit down harder, my teeth—serrated and as strong as tempered steel—sinking into its flesh. The taste of its blood—thick, metallic, and hot—flooded my mouth. The elder let out a gurgling roar, thrashing wildly in an attempt to shake me off. Its claws scraped against my front leg, leaving shallow indentations in my scales that only fueled my frenzy. With a powerful twist of my neck, I tore its head clean off. Blood spurted from the severed arteries in violent jets, pooling around its fallen body. The sight, the smell, the sheer brutality of it sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

The rest of the herd was in disarray, their leader’s death throwing them into blind panic. I reveled in their fear, a dark, twisted joy bubbling within me as I pursued them. One by one, I tore through their ranks. My claws ripped through their tough hides with ease, and my spiked tail lashed out, impaling those foolish enough to stray too close. The air was filled with the sounds of their anguished cries, the wet tearing of flesh, and the sickening crunch of bones breaking beneath my weight.

The smaller ones tried to escape, darting through the trees in desperate bids for freedom. But there was no escape from me. I pounced on one, crushing its body beneath my claws. Its shrill scream was cut short as my jaws closed around its skull, the satisfying crack of bone echoing in my ears as I swallowed it whole. Another attempted to slink away, but I whipped my tail, the sharp spikes slicing through its legs. It collapsed with a pitiful wail, and I ended its suffering with a swift bite.

The forest was a battlefield, the ground littered with the mangled bodies of the colossi. Blood soaked the soil, painting the scene in grotesque shades of red. My own body was splattered with it, a testament to the carnage I’d wrought. My chest heaved as I stood amidst the devastation, my eyes gleaming with primal satisfaction. I felt alive, more alive than I’d ever felt before.

And then there were the emeralds. My gaze snapped to the bodies, the promise of those precious gems reigniting the fire within me. I approached the elder’s corpse first, tearing through its thick hide with my claws to reach the treasure within. My talons ripped apart the layers of flesh, exposing the gleaming emeralds nestled among its innards. The sight of the radiant gems, their green glow stark against the bloodied viscera, sent a shiver of greedy satisfaction through me.

I meticulously tore into the other colossi, my claws slick with blood as I dug through their bodies. Each time I uncovered a gem, I placed the fleshy, blood-soaked bits containing the emeralds into a pile nearby, savoring the glint of light they reflected even through the gore. The task was gruesome but exhilarating—a primal, twisted pleasure in claiming my spoils.

Once I had gathered all the potential gems, I stood back, surveying the carnage and my prize. The smell of blood and death was heavy in the air, a sharp contrast to the mesmerizing glow of the emeralds. Taking a deep breath, I let out a triumphant roar, the sound echoing through the forest like thunder, a declaration of my dominance and victory.

Satisfied, I began to shift. My massive frame started to shrink, bones cracking and reshaping, scales receding into a more compact form. I transformed into my humanoid draconic form, my wings folding against my back, my claws narrowing but still deadly, and my tail swaying behind me, its spikes glinting faintly in the fading light. My horns remained, elegant yet menacing, and my purple eyes burned with a mix of triumph and bloodlust.

Now in my smaller, more dexterous form, I approached the pile of flesh and gems. My hands worked quickly, picking through the gore to clean the emeralds as best as I could. Blood smeared across my scales and skin, the sticky warmth clinging to me as I carefully separated the gems from the remains. The process was messy, and by the time I finished, my body was bloodied, a stark reminder of the violence that had earned me these treasures.

Gathering the cleaned emeralds into a satchel crafted from the elder’s hide, I slung it over my shoulder. The weight of the gems was a comforting reminder of my conquest. With one last glance at the battlefield, I spread my wings and took to the sky, the cool night air biting at my blood-streaked skin. Below me, the forest lay silent, a testament to the chaos I had unleashed.

As I soared back toward my mountain home, the emeralds glowed faintly against my side, their radiance a fitting trophy for my ferocity. This was the life of a dragon—a life of power, greed, and undeniable dominance. And I relished every moment of it.

Chapter Text

The mountains stood tall and unforgiving beneath the full moon’s glow, their jagged peaks etched sharply against a navy sky scattered with stars. A chilling wind howled through the narrow passes, whipping against the rocky terrain and carrying the crisp, mineral scent of stone and water. Loose gravel shifted underfoot, and the occasional tumble of a pebble echoed faintly against the cliffs. The air was alive with subtle sounds: the murmur of the stream winding through the valley, the whisper of the wind, and the rhythmic thrum of life in the wild.

Ophelia landed softly, her taloned feet crunching against the uneven ground as her silver scales gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Her body, smeared with the dried blood of her earlier conquest, exuded power and primal grace. She felt no guilt for the slaughter—only a deep satisfaction as the weight of the emeralds on her shoulder reminded her of the reward she had claimed. The breeze teased her moonlit hair, which cascaded down her back like a shimmering veil, and her slitted pupils narrowed further as she scanned the stream.

She knelt by the water, its crystal-clear surface rippling over smooth stones, and set down her satchel with deliberate care. The faint clink of emeralds shifting within the bag was barely audible over the soft gurgle of the stream. Opening the satchel, she sighed, her gaze alighting on the glimmering green jewels. Reaching in, she pulled out the largest emerald—a massive gem that refracted the moonlight into shards of emerald fire. A low rumble of contentment escaped her throat, the sound more dragon than human, as she cradled the stone in her clawed hands.

From the shadows, Curtis watched, his serpentine body coiled tightly against the cold, rocky ground. He had waited all day by the stream, his patience stretched thin, and now that she was here, he felt his instincts clawing at him. The moment she had landed, naked and bloodied, his body had reacted involuntarily. His forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and he shuddered as her scent flooded his senses. It was coppery from the blood, layered with the primal musk of her dragon form, and beneath it all was something uniquely her—a scent that stirred a deep, feral hunger within him.

His coils shifted restlessly, the smooth scales rasping faintly against the stones. As his tongue darted out again, the scent grew stronger, his arousal spiking uncontrollably. The muscles of his lower half tensed, and with a soft, wet sound, his twin members began to emerge from the protective slit in his lower body. The cool air of the mountain night struck him, and he hissed softly, his lips parting as he tried to suppress the surge of desire coursing through him.

She moved with a deliberate elegance, each motion a study in power and grace. Curtis’s gaze followed her every movement as she washed the emeralds, her clawed fingers moving with precision over their blood-slicked surfaces. The soft splashes of water as she worked seemed deafening to him, each sound heightening his awareness of her presence. When she finally laid the cleaned gems out on the hide of the colossus, she paused, admiring them with a possessiveness that made his scales ripple involuntarily.

As she stepped into the stream, the cold water lapping at her calves, Curtis’s breath caught. Her silver scales shimmered in the moonlight, her tail swaying lazily behind her as she bent to scoop water. The curve of her posterior, the way her hair spilled forward, exposing the delicate arch of her back—it was too much. His tongue flicked again, tasting her scent more intensely now that the blood was washing away. His body reacted instinctively, his twin members fully erect now, pressing uncomfortably against his own coils.

He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but the movement caused his scales to rasp against the stones with a faint hiss. Panic flashed through him as her head tilted slightly, her slitted eyes scanning the darkness. He froze, his tongue flicking out once more as he tested the air for any hint of alarm in her scent. When she returned to washing herself, he exhaled shakily, his body trembling with the effort to remain still.

The stream ran red as the blood lifted from her skin and scales, the water swirling around her legs before turning clear again. She worked methodically, her claws scraping lightly against her flesh to remove the crusted remnants of the day’s battle. Each movement was slow and deliberate, almost sensual, as though she were savoring the ritual of cleansing herself. Curtis’s gaze was locked on her hands as they traveled over her body, lingering on the curves of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts, and the powerful musculature of her tail.

The cool night air only heightened his sensitivity, his twin members throbbing painfully as they brushed against his smooth scales. He shifted again, this time more carefully, curling his coils to create friction that sent a jolt of pleasure through him. His tongue flicked rapidly now, each taste of her scent pushing him closer to the edge of his restraint.

She finished washing her body, turning her attention to her dragon appendages. Her claws moved with careful precision, scraping away the last traces of blood from her tail and the delicate scales along her spine. The moonlight caught the iridescence of her scales, making her glow with an otherworldly radiance. Curtis bit back a groan, his jaw tightening as he watched her, utterly entranced.

The wind howled again, carrying her scent more strongly toward him, and he felt his control fraying. His forked tongue flicked out one last time, his mind awash with conflicting urges: the primal desire to approach her, to claim her, and the stark fear of what she might do if she discovered him.

For now, he remained hidden, his serpentine body coiled tightly, his members pulsing with unspent desire as he watched the dragoness in the stream, glowing and untouchable.

Chapter Text

Ophelia finally finished bathing, the last drops of water sliding down her silver-scaled skin as she straightened to her full height. With precise care, she gathered her precious emeralds, checking the satchel to ensure none had been left behind. Satisfied, she stretched her iridescent wings wide, the moonlight catching the delicate webbing, and with a powerful flap, lifted off into the cool night air.

Unseen and unnoticed, a crimson serpent writhed in the shadows downwind, his glowing eyes narrowing as he watched her vanish into the sky. Curtis remained hidden, his coils tensing with the lingering scent of her and the sight of her disappearing form.

Ophelia soon spotted the yawning abyss of her cave, it's dark mouth stark against the rugged mountainside. A thrill coursed through her as she descended swiftly, wings folding tightly as she glided into the labyrinth of tunnels. The blue crystals embedded in the walls shimmered softly, their faint glow lighting her path like guiding stars. She landed gracefully in her concave chamber, where the beginnings of her hoard lay waiting.

Her tail swished excitedly as she knelt, setting her satchel beside her with reverence. One by one, she began to arrange her treasures, her movements careful and deliberate. The smaller green crystals were placed around the edges, their raw, unpolished forms gleaming faintly in the crystal light. Next came the medium-sized emeralds, spaced to create a frame for the centerpiece—the grand emerald.

Magnificent and uncut, the largest emerald she had ever owned took its place at the center. Its sheer size, nearly as large as her fist, radiated an otherworldly brilliance. Ophelia stood back to admire her work, her chest puffing with pride as a satisfied rumble escaped her throat.

"Two days, and I already have ninety-eight crystals," she thought, her pride evident in her smirk. Her hoard might have been small compared to the great dragons of legend, but it was hers, and she couldn’t wait to expand it further.

Her satisfaction was short-lived as she remembered the bonfire she had planned to attend. The night was still young, and she predicted the festivities were already well underway. "Fashionably late," she mused, though her gaze flicked to the humble pile of clothes she had borrowed from Muir. A bead of sweat formed as she grimaced at the lack of style.

"I need to find proper clothes," she muttered to herself, making a mental note to either shop or commission something worthy of her status. "This is practically a fashion emergency."

Resolute, she dressed swiftly, her thoughts lingering on her hoard. With a final, fond glance at her treasures, she whispered, "I’ll see you later, my babies."

With a powerful flap of her wings, Ophelia took to the skies once more. The cooling winds greeted her as she ascended, the endless navy expanse of the night sky stretching out before her. She soared higher, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon for signs of the bonfires.

It didn’t take long to spot the distant flicker of flames scattered like fireflies near the heart of Beast City. From her vantage point, she could see the layout clearly—one fire for each family, surrounded by green patches of land suitable for camping and gatherings.

Satisfied, she adjusted her course, her wings slicing through the cool night air as she made her way toward the lively glow of the campfires below.

As Ophelia descended toward the heart of Beast City, the central grassland came into view—a vast, flat meadow that stretched wide and open under the soft illumination of countless campfires. The fires formed a sprawling, irregular pattern, each representing a family unit gathered in their own pocket of light amid the darkness.

Each campfire was a hive of activity, with females seated comfortably at the center. These women were far from glamorous; their appearances were plain, with worn and practical clothing, hair usually short, and expressions hardened by life’s demands. Yet, they were unmistakably the focus of their surroundings. Around them circled beastmen of remarkable stature and beauty, their imposing forms a stark contrast to the scruffiness of their matriarchs.

The beastmen radiated primal strength and elegance, their features a seamless blend of human and animal traits. Fur glistened in the firelight, feathers shimmered, and horns or tails moved with unconscious grace. Their devotion to the women at the fires’ centers was almost worshipful, every action tailored to please.

At one fire, a tiger-striped beastman crouched low, his sharp claws deftly preparing a freshly caught game. He arranged the meat with precision, skewering it over the flames and turning it slowly to ensure it cooked evenly. When the food was ready, he offered it to the female with both hands, his head slightly bowed in reverence. She accepted the meal with an indifferent nod, barely glancing at him before biting into the tender meat.

Another campfire revealed a leopard beastman sitting behind his matron, his powerful hands massaging her shoulders with delicate care. The woman let out a small sigh, leaning back into his ministrations while another of her beastmen ran a comb through her tangled hair, meticulously undoing the knots with surprising tenderness. The men took turns vying for her favor, each gesture designed to earn even the smallest smile or word of approval.

Nearby, small transformed beastmen darted between the fires, their laughter a bright contrast to the quiet hum of the adults’ activity. While the women relaxed, the beastmen kept a vigilant eye on the little ones, their animalistic instincts ready to leap into action at any sign of danger.

Ophelia touched down softly at the edge of the meadow, her wings folding neatly against her back. The scene before her was both strange and humbling. She had always known that beastmen revered females, but this display of servitude and care was far beyond anything she had imagined.

Her gaze lingered on the interactions, trying to reconcile what she saw with her limited experience. As the newly appointed protector of Beast City, she was still adjusting to her role and the peculiar dynamics of its inhabitants. The beastmen clearly respected her—they had no choice, given her strength and status—but she had always felt a certain distance, an undercurrent of awe mixed with caution in their interactions. Here, however, the atmosphere was entirely different.

The women were queens of their domains, surrounded by attentive beastmen who lavished them with care and devotion. It was unlike anything Ophelia had encountered before, and the stark contrast left her momentarily stunned. Though she was desired by many—she could feel the hungry stares of some even now—she had yet to experience such intimacy or connection. These interactions were a world apart from the formal respect and wary glances she was used to.

Ophelia shifted uneasily as she observed, unsure how to navigate this new understanding of life in Beast City. Was this typical? Was she supposed to find a place in such dynamics, or was she destined to remain an outsider, a protector and nothing more? The questions gnawed at her as she stood there, an observer to a life she hadn’t yet begun to comprehend.

As she approached closer, the crackle of flames, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional splash of laughter filled the air. The smoky scent of roasting meat mingled with the earthy aroma of hawk beastman with ash-black hair that seemed to blend into the night and piercing blue eyes that could cut through shadows. His handsome, serious face was as composed as ever, though she caught the faintest flicker of unease in his gaze.

“Ophelia,” he greeted her with his usual reserved tone. “Would you care to join me at a fire?”

Ophelia arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Muir,” she drawled, crossing her arms. “Are you inviting me to sit by your fire? Didn’t think you had it in you to ask so nicely.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but he met her gaze unwaveringly. “I thought it might be… preferable to sitting alone,” he replied, his voice calm but edged with a hint of vulnerability. “You’ve had a long day.”

She chuckled softly, savoring the rare opportunity to see him even slightly flustered. “Well, since you asked so politely, how can I refuse?” She leaned in just enough to watch his composure waver before straightening. “Lead the way, Hawk.”

Muir inclined his head and turned, his movements as measured and deliberate as always. Ophelia followed, her tail swishing idly behind her, enjoying the faint tension in the air. As they wove through the grassy expanse dotted with fires, heads turned to watch them pass.

The single beastmen seated at solitary fires regarded Muir with obvious jealousy, their eyes flicking between him and Ophelia. She didn’t miss the murmurs or the longing stares, though none dared approach.

Among those watching was Winston, the white tiger beastman, seated with his elder brother, the Tiger King. His snowy white hair gleamed in the firelight, and his piercing blue eyes narrowed as he observed the pair. His tail flicked irritably against the ground, a faint growl rumbling in his throat.

“Do you see that?” Winston muttered to his brother, his claws tapping restlessly against the log he sat on.

The Tiger King gave a low grunt, glancing briefly at Muir and Ophelia. “I see,” he replied, his tone measured. “Let him have his moment.”

Winston’s growl deepened, but he said no more, his gaze locked on Ophelia as she disappeared into the distance with Muir.

Muir gave her a level look, though she didn’t miss the faint pink tinge to his cheeks. “I didn’t expect you to come,” he admitted, his tone as steady as ever.

She laughed, sitting down gracefully and stretching her legs out in front of her. “Lucky for you, I’m not picky,” she said, her teasing lilt softening slightly. “Let’s see if your fire lives up to the hype.”

As the night deepened, the glow of the fire illuminated their faces, and the quiet murmurs of the surrounding fires continued. For now, Ophelia allowed herself to relax, curious about what more the evening—and Muir—might bring.

As they reached Muir’s fire, the setting took Ophelia by surprise. It was humble but undeniably thoughtful. The fire itself was freshly stoked, its warm light flickering over an array of neatly arranged items. A plate of raw meat, expertly cut and prepared, sat to one side, ready for cooking. Beside it was a platter of fruits, an abundant and colorful display of the season’s best: plump berries, ripe figs, golden apples, and even rare citrus fruits, their vibrant hues glowing softly in the firelight.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow as she scanned the spread, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises, Muir,” she teased, her tone light but tinged with curiosity. “This doesn’t seem like something you threw together on a whim.”

Muir hesitated, the flicker of a deeper emotion flashing through his piercing blue eyes before he schooled his expression back into its usual calm. “It’s nothing extravagant,” he said, his voice steady. “I wanted it to be... suitable.”

Ophelia smirked, her gaze darting between him and the meticulous setup. “Suitable, huh? For someone who didn’t expect me to show up, you sure went all out.” She plucked a berry from the platter, popping it into her mouth and savoring the burst of sweetness. “You even got the good fruit.”

Muir’s composure almost cracked as he watched her with rapt attention, his hands momentarily tightening into fists before he forced them to relax. He had planned this carefully, but he hadn’t dared to believe she would actually accept his invitation—or that she would appear at all.

For days, he’d harbored feelings for her that grew from admiration into something far deeper, something almost consuming. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met—strong, untamed, and unapologetically herself. But he knew better than to show the full extent of his emotions. Not yet.

“You deserve the best,” he replied quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Ophelia pause.

She blinked, the teasing remark she had prepared faltering on her tongue. Instead, she leaned back slightly, studying him with narrowed eyes. “You’re being awfully serious tonight, Hawk. Don’t tell me you’re trying to woo me.”

Her playful tone didn’t hide the sharp edge of her words, and she watched him closely, expecting him to flinch or stammer. Instead, he met her gaze head-on, his expression unreadable.

“And if I am?” he asked, his tone low and steady.

The fire crackled between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Ophelia’s tail swished again, a sign of her inner tension despite her outward calm. She was no stranger to being admired—she’d seen the longing stares, felt the weight of desire from others. But this? This was different. Muir wasn’t fawning over her like the others, nor was he intimidated. His intent felt... deliberate.

“Well,” she said finally, her smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ll have to do more than fancy fruit to win me over.”

Muir allowed himself a small smile, a rare softness breaking through his serious demeanor. “Then I’ll just have to try harder.”

He reached for the skewers and began to prepare the fire for cooking, his movements precise and methodical. Ophelia watched him, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite pin down. She didn’t know what to make of him—of this—but for now, she stayed, curious to see how far he was willing to go.

The fire crackled softly as Ophelia eased herself down onto the soft grass near the flames. Unlike Muir, who sat stiffly with his legs crossed and his back ramrod straight, she sprawled out in a casual, almost feline manner. Her arms stretched behind her, supporting her as she leaned back. Her wings, gleaming faintly in the firelight, unfurled slightly as she stretched, arching her back in a way that emphasized her toned form.

Muir froze mid-motion as he reached for a skewer, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward her before darting away. He tried to focus on the task at hand, meticulously threading raw meat onto the skewer, but the sight of her lounging so carelessly made his hands tremble. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to concentrate, though his mind betrayed him with every stolen glance.

Ophelia smirked, her sharp instincts not missing the subtle tension radiating from him. “You look awfully stiff over there, Muir,” she teased, her tail flicking lazily against the ground. “Are you always this uptight, or is it just because of me?”

“I’m not stiff,” he replied a little too quickly, his voice betraying the effort it took to sound calm. “I’m just... focused.”

“Focused, huh?” She chuckled, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as she leaned back even further, her wings shifting slightly to accommodate her movements. The way her silvery scales caught the firelight made her look ethereal, almost otherworldly, and it was not lost on Muir.

She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back again with a contented sigh. “Ah, much better. Traveling takes its toll, you know. Nothing like a good stretch to loosen up.”

Muir swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. He kept his gaze firmly on the skewer in his hands, determined not to let his eyes wander again. But her movements were impossible to ignore—the languid way she moved, the glint of her scales, the soft curve of her smile. She wasn’t trying to be provocative, but her sheer confidence and ease made it all the more maddening.

“You’re... comfortable, I see,” he managed to say, his voice strained but even.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she replied with a shrug, her wings folding back slightly as she shifted to sit cross-legged. She plucked a piece of fruit from the platter and bit into it, the juice glistening on her lips as she chewed leisurely. “It’s a nice setup. You did well.”

Her casual praise sent a flicker of warmth through Muir, though he tried not to let it show. “I’m glad you approve,” he said quietly, carefully turning the skewer over the fire.

Ophelia’s gaze lingered on him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands moved with just a bit too much precision. She couldn’t help but smirk. “Relax, Muir. You’re acting like this is some sort of interview.”

He huffed softly, a hint of amusement breaking through his nerves. “It’s not every day I share a fire with the protector of Beast City.”

“And yet here you are,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her tone playful but with an edge of challenge. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

His eyes flicked to hers, the firelight reflecting in their piercing blue depths. “No,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the flush creeping up his neck. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Good,” she said, leaning back again with a satisfied smirk. “Fear is such a turnoff.”

Muir’s hands stilled for a moment before he resumed his work, the faintest twitch of a smile ghosting across his lips. She had a way of keeping him on edge, of making him feel both exhilarated and utterly exposed. And yet, despite his nerves, he couldn’t help but feel grateful for this moment—for the chance to sit with her, to share this fire, to be near her.

As the meat began to sizzle over the flames, the air filled with the rich aroma, mingling with the sweetness of the fruit and the earthy scent of the grass. Muir took a steadying breath, determined to keep his composure, even as Ophelia continued to stretch, lounge, and tease him without a care in the world.

Ophelia shifted her gaze toward another campfire nearby. There, a female lounged languidly in one of her male's laps. Her head rested against his thigh, her body relaxed as he fed her pieces of fresh fruit and tender meat. The tenderness in his actions and the woman's comfortable demeanor struck Ophelia, causing her to pause and tilt her head in contemplation. The scene seemed so foreign to her—this dynamic of care and devotion.

Her purple eyes flicked back to Muir, who sat rigidly, his piercing blue eyes occasionally darting to her but quickly looking away when caught. A mischievous smile crept onto her lips. She decided to test him, see how he might react to a touch of closeness. Slowly, deliberately, she got onto all fours and began to crawl toward him, her movements unhurried and feline-like, her silver hair cascading down like a shimmering waterfall.

Muir froze, his face instantly flushed as he watched her approach, the sensuality of her movements undeniable. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his serious demeanor struggling against the storm of emotions welling up inside him.

Ophelia stopped just in front of him, her face mere inches from his. "Muir," she murmured, her voice low and teasing, "may I come closer?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Y-yes," he stammered, his usual composure cracking under the weight of her proximity.

Smiling, she eased herself onto her back and spread her magnificent wings across the grass, the silver-edged scales catching the firelight. Her head tilted to rest in his lap, her silken hair spilling over his legs. She gazed up at him, her smoldering eyes catching the flickering light of the fire. "Is this okay?" she asked, her tone almost playful, yet soft.

Muir nodded wordlessly, his face a deep shade of crimson. His hands rested stiffly at his sides as though he were afraid to move.

Muir’s heart pounded in his chest as Ophelia sprawled across his lap, her wings spreading out like a shimmering silver cape. She looked utterly at ease, her regal eyes gleaming with playful intent as she peered up at him. Every movement of hers, deliberate and unhurried, sent his pulse skyrocketing.

As her head settled against his thigh, he could feel the soft weight of her presence, the silk of her hair brushing his skin. His body betrayed him almost instantly. Heat flared low in his abdomen, a primal response he couldn’t control. Beneath his simple skirt, he hardened painfully, his shaft stirring with an urgency that made his thighs tense.

Muir gritted his teeth, his serious face struggling to mask the turmoil within. She doesn’t know. She can’t know, he thought desperately, willing his body to calm itself. Yet the scent of her—fresh, wild, and undeniably alluring—only fueled his arousal.

When she spoke, her teasing words wrapped around his mind like a vice.

"If you want to prove yourself to me, Muir, then feed me," she said, her voice sultry and low.

Muir’s hands trembled as he reached for the plate. Prove myself to her? I want more than that. I want to claim her, make her mine. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him, and he cursed his own weakness. As he picked up a ripe berry, his fingers were unsteady, the slight tremor betraying how deeply she affected him.

He brought the berry to her lips, his gaze locked onto hers as she bit into it. Her purple eyes studied him with an intensity that made his throat dry. The slow, deliberate way she chewed, her lips parting slightly, was mesmerizing.

And then she said it.

"You can touch me."

The words were both an invitation and a challenge. Muir froze for a heartbeat, his blue eyes widening. Touch her? His mind raced with the possibilities, but he forced himself to proceed with caution. If he let his desires take over, he could ruin everything.

Tentatively, he reached for her horn, his fingertips brushing the smooth ridges. He marveled at the texture, his touch reverent, as though he were handling the most precious treasure in the world. His other hand hovered uncertainly before trailing down her face, tracing the elegant lines of her cheek and jaw.

But it was when his hand slid into her hair that he lost himself. Her soft, pleased groan sent a jolt straight through him. His body reacted instinctively, his arousal straining harder against the fabric of his skirt. He shifted subtly, trying to conceal the evidence of his desire, but the musky scent of him thickened in the air, impossible to hide.

Ophelia’s nose twitched, her sharp senses catching the change in his scent. A knowing smile tugged at her lips. She didn’t comment, but her tail lashed against the ground, her enjoyment evident.

"You’re good at this," she murmured, her voice husky with contentment.

Muir swallowed hard, his fingers threading through her hair more confidently now. He kneaded her scalp gently, savoring the way her eyes fluttered closed and the soft, delighted noises she made. I could do this forever, he thought, his gaze tracing her serene expression.

But the ache in his body was becoming unbearable. His erection throbbed, pressing insistently against the fabric of his skirt, and he clenched his jaw, desperate to maintain control. Don’t ruin this. Don’t scare her away.

Ophelia, however, seemed far more aware of his struggle than he realized. Her purple eyes flicked open, and she looked up at him with an unreadable expression. "Muir," she said softly, her voice like honey, "you’re holding back."

His breath caught. He didn’t know how to respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of desire and restraint.

"You don’t have to," she added, her tone gentle but laced with challenge.

Her words undid him. For a moment, he considered leaning down, pressing his lips to hers, showing her exactly what she did to him. But he stopped himself, his self-discipline winning out, though just barely. Instead, he poured his focus into the simple, intimate act of touching her, his hands tracing her features as if memorizing every detail.

Ophelia’s expression softened as she watched him, her tail swishing lazily. She could feel the weight of his desire, see the tension in his body. And though she wasn’t ready to give him everything, she enjoyed the power she held in this moment—the way she could make him unravel with just a glance or a word.

The fire crackled softly beside them, the scent of roasted meat and ripe fruit mingling with the unmistakable musk of his arousal. Around them, the campfires of Beast City flickered, but for Muir, the world had narrowed to just this moment—her warmth in his lap, her hair beneath his fingers, and the tantalizing possibility of something more.

Muir’s sharp eyes flickered with confusion and awe as he continued to trace Ophelia’s relaxed features. Yet, something about her scent made his stomach churn with disbelief. He couldn’t ignore the tang of blood, sharp and distinct, lingering around her.

“You smell like... colossus,” he murmured, his voice heavy with curiosity and hesitation. “Why?”

Ophelia’s sharp eyes opened, a spark of amusement lighting them up. Her lips curled into a smirk as she lazily stretched her wings, basking in his bewildered expression. “Oh, that. Yeah, I went hunting earlier.”

“Hunting?” Muir repeated, his voice rising slightly.

“For colossi,” she said casually, as if discussing the weather.

Muir froze, his chest tightening. “You went hunting colossi?”

“Mmhm,” she replied, sitting up slightly, her tail swishing behind her with excitement. “First time seeing herbivorous ones, too! They’re... well, they’re massive, but honestly not as scary as I imagined.”

Muir’s mind raced, his usual calm facade cracking. “How many?”

“Oh, around forty. Honestly, I wasn’t counting. There were just so many of them,” Ophelia said, gesturing vaguely with her hand.

“Forty?” Muir’s voice was a mix of shock and alarm.

“Oh, it gets better,” Ophelia continued, leaning in slightly, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “The first one I went for? Huge. Biggest one of the herd. Got a clean look at its neck and—well, let’s just say it wasn’t too hard to take it down once I got close.”

Muir blinked, his breathing shallow. “You... killed an elder?”

Ophelia tilted her head, confusion flickering across her features. “Elder? What’s that?”

His hands clenched slightly, and he sat back, staring at her in utter disbelief. “Elders are the oldest, largest, and most dangerous of the colossi. Their hides are practically impenetrable, and no beastman has ever been able to take one down. They’re walking legends.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Well, I guess I’m the first, then. Honestly, the neck wasn’t that tough. Once I got under it and clamped down with my jaws, it came clean off.”

“You’re serious,” Muir said faintly, his heart pounding.

“Completely.” Ophelia leaned back again, her tail flicking with satisfaction. “After the elder, the rest of the herd scattered. Took my time picking off a few adults and adolescents. They were big, sure, but not as tough as I thought they’d be. Guess it helps when you’re used to taking down predators.”

Muir’s mind reeled as he tried to process her words. Taking down an elder was something that existed in myths. Even the strongest beastmen avoided adult colossi, focusing only on adolescents if they dared to hunt them at all.

“When did you do this?” he asked finally, his voice unsteady.

“A couple of hours ago,” Ophelia replied, shrugging. “After patrols, I thought I’d try my hand at colossus hunting. Found a herd and went for it. Then I stopped to take a bath before heading here.”

Muir stared at her, the weight of her words pressing down on him. She’d taken down a herd of colossi, including an elder, casually arrived at the bonfire, and now rested comfortably in his lap as if it were all in a day’s work.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe and inadequacy.

Ophelia chuckled, her purple eyes softening as she met his gaze. “Thanks, Muir. That means a lot coming from you.”

Muir swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he rested them on his knees. She didn’t even realize the magnitude of her feat, the sheer impossibility of what she’d accomplished. And here she was, relaxed and carefree, trusting him enough to let down her guard.

It filled him with an overwhelming mix of admiration, pride, and the burning desire to prove himself worthy of her.

Chapter Text

Those gathered near Ophelia’s campfire could hardly believe what they were hearing. Even the mated males, for their extraordinary hearing, found themselves drawn to the conversation, their curiosity piqued by the first beastwoman and protector of their city. The hawk’s bold attempt to woo her only heightened their intrigue.

The beastmen were captivated as they watched Ophelia’s confident, sensual movements—so unlike anything they had ever witnessed before. Her demeanor exuded power and grace, every motion deliberate and self-assured. Her words struck a nerve, especially when she casually mentioned harvesting forty-five emeralds.

Emeralds, a coveted treasure among the beastmen, were more than just a sign of wealth—they symbolized strength and capability. To claim even a single emerald meant you had defeated a colossus, an achievement that could easily earn the admiration of females and bolster a male’s status as a capable and desirable mate. The idea of possessing forty-five emeralds was unfathomable, a feat that elevated Ophelia to an almost mythical level.

Jealousy simmered beneath the surface as the unmated males realized the implications. Ophelia’s unmatched power meant she could easily acquire as many emeralds as she desired, leaving them questioning what they could possibly offer her in return. As they observed Muir touching her so freely—his hand lingering in her hair, her relaxed posture as she lay in his lap—it was as though they were witnessing a dream come to life. The sight of her allowing such closeness without resistance was both surreal and awe-inspiring.

Rumors of Ophelia’s feats spread through Beast City like wildfire. Tales of her killing colossi and amassing emeralds became the talk of every campfire, igniting both admiration and envy among the beastmen. Unmated males felt an even stronger desire to pursue her, though her immense power left them questioning whether they could ever measure up.

Far beyond Beast City, deep in the northern reaches of the land, lay another powerful beast city, shrouded in mystery and nestled within an unforgiving terrain. The territory was surrounded by towering, dark pine-like trees that reached skyward like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching over the landscape. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and evergreen resin, and the winters here were known to be brutally cold, with snow that blanketed the ground for months at a time. The rolling hills and dense forests provided a natural fortress, making it a formidable and secluded stronghold. This city, known as Evergreen, was home to rulers who watched over their land with calculated vigilance.

It was to this place that the hawk emissary traveled, soaring across vast distances to deliver the astonishing news. His wings sliced through the chill wind as he neared the great city, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain below. He descended upon the watchful guards stationed at the outer borders—large, imposing figures who immediately stiffened at his presence. Without hesitation, the hawk landed before them, his feathers ruffled from the long journey. "I bring word from the southern Beast City," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of urgency and importance.

The guards exchanged wary glances but did not delay in escorting the hawk deeper into the city. Through the maze of ancient trees and winding paths, they led him to the heart of the settlement where the kings resided. The city itself was a marvel of nature and strength, seamlessly blending into the rugged environment. Thick wooden structures built from the massive trees stood proudly, their surfaces worn by time but sturdy as ever.

In the grand hall, illuminated by flickering torchlight, the rulers of Evergreen gathered. The Fox King was the first to listen, his golden eyes gleaming with intrigue as he leaned back, his silver fur shimmering under the dim glow. Known for his beauty and cunning, he was a creature of charm and manipulation, always calculating his next move. He saw alliances as stepping stones to greater power, and the news of Ophelia—a female capable of slaying colossi—was an opportunity he could not ignore.

Beside him, the Bear King loomed like a mountain of muscle and fur, his amber eyes thoughtful. Despite his immense strength, he was no fool; his rule was built on careful diplomacy and balance. He recognized the threat that such a powerful female could pose but also acknowledged the potential she brought to their delicate hierarchy.

The Cougar King, sleek and ever-watchful, listened in silence, his green eyes studying the hawk with a mixture of interest and skepticism. He preferred to stay in the shadows, moving only when the time was right. Unlike the others, he did not rush to conclusions, but Ophelia's emergence intrigued him. Power like hers could upset the fragile equilibrium he had carefully maintained.

The Owl King, the oldest and wisest of them all, sat in quiet contemplation. His snowy feathers gleamed softly in the firelight, his large, round eyes unblinking as he absorbed every word. He was a creature of patience and wisdom, and his voice carried a weight that none dared ignore. "Tread lightly," he cautioned, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. "If what we hear is true, Ophelia could bring great fortune to Evergreen... or ruin beyond our imagining. We must be careful in our approach."

The kings exchanged glances, pondering his words. The discussion turned to the prospect of visiting the southern Beast City to meet Ophelia in person. "We shall bring offerings," the Bear King rumbled, "as a gesture of goodwill and respect."

"It will take four days on foot," the Cougar King remarked, his gaze calculating. "But with the Owl King’s aid, perhaps three. His kin can bear the weight of our supplies and offerings, but it will slow them."

The Owl King nodded solemnly. "I will do what I can, but haste must not compromise our purpose."

As the hawk finished his report, detailing Ophelia’s astonishing feats—her effortless slaughter of colossi, her rise as a protector, and the growing reverence surrounding her name—the kings exchanged knowing glances. The air in the hall grew thick with tension and possibilities. Each ruler, in their own way, began to weigh their options.

In the end, the decision was clear. They could not ignore this development. They would travel south, to the Beast City, to see this marvel with their own eyes and determine whether Ophelia was a threat to their rule, an asset to be acquired, or a force best left undisturbed. Plans were set into motion, offerings were prepared, and the kings—each driven by their own motives—began their journey to the southern lands.

Meanwhile, another hawk emissary set off in the opposite direction, his journey leading him south towards the sea. This journey was longer—a grueling three days of constant flight with only a few breaks. Determined to complete his mission swiftly, he pressed on, eager to return to Beast City and catch another glimpse of the enigmatic Ophelia. His curiosity about her burned stronger with each beat of his wings.

Upon reaching the vast coastline, the hawk shifted into his half-beast form, his powerful wings still stretched wide as he skimmed the water’s surface, calling out in a clear voice that echoed across the waves. He flew in tight circles, his sharp eyes scanning the depths below. The sun was high, its rays piercing the clear waters, and soon enough, a merman surfaced.

The merman gazed at him with astonishment before swiftly diving back beneath the waves to alert his king.

When he returned, it was with the King—a golden merman of unparalleled beauty, his hair, eyes, and tail shimmering with a radiant gold hue. His fins, delicate yet strong, framed his face like regal adornments. Though the mer king had assumed the land beastmen sought a new salt trade agreement, he was taken aback by the hawk’s message.

"Ophelia?" King Iron mused aloud, his melodic voice tinged with intrigue. The merfolk, known for their reclusive ways, had seldom involved themselves in land affairs. However, even he could not deny his curiosity about the first female beastwoman.

Despite the recent loss of their own only female, a deep sorrow that weighed heavily on his people, the mer king decided they could not ignore such a revelation. "We will come," he finally declared, his golden eyes shimmering with interest. "Prepare the envoy. Let us witness this spectacle for ourselves."

And so, the elusive mer clan, draped in mystery and legend, agreed to journey to the Beast City, drawn by the allure of the unknown force that was Ophelia.

Chapter Text

Ophelia’s head rested comfortably on Muir’s thigh, the warm sensation of his hand running through her hair making her feel unusually peaceful. She allowed herself to relax into the moment, soaking in the quiet stillness around them. His hand was deft and gentle, a stark contrast to the image of the fierce warrior she knew him to be. Meanwhile, his other hand kept the meat roasting on the fire with a calm, practiced motion.

She could hear the steady rhythm of his breath, the way it rose and fell, deeper than usual. As she peered up at him, her eyes traced the sharp planes of his face—the way his dark hair framed his features and the pale sheen of his skin. The three blue marks etched on his jawline caught her attention, and she wondered if they were a form of identification, or perhaps a reminder of something important. She let her fingers roam, lightly tracing the ridges of his jaw and the distinct shape of the marks.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft but teasing, “I never noticed how perfectly your features fit together. Not only is your jaw sharp, but these marks…” She traced one of the blue slashes with the tip of her finger, her eyes locked on his. “They’re not just any marks, are they?”

Muir’s breath hitched, and she caught the flicker of a flush creeping up his neck. His heart was pounding a little faster now, his chest rising and falling with a noticeable quickness. His voice was low as he spoke, his gaze steady but clearly affected. “They’re a part of me. A reminder of my strength.

Ophelia smiled slightly as her fingers traced the length of his jaw, moving up toward his hairline. Her gaze softened, but a playful glint remained. She felt the undeniable pull of his presence, the way his breath was shallow, and the slight flush that was creeping across his skin. His reaction was unmistakable. She hummed in thought, her hand moving from his jaw down to his neck.

“I think you’ve left your chest bare for a reason,” she teased. “Are you hoping I’ll notice?”

Muir’s gaze dropped to her hand as she traced the line of his collarbone, his breath coming a little quicker. He wanted to speak, but the words failed him for a moment. She could feel the heat of his body radiating against her hand, and she knew what he was thinking. The pulsing strain of his desire was unmistakable. Her fingers brushed just under the edge of his skirt, and his breath caught.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if to compose himself, but his chest rose and fell unevenly under her touch. What is she doing to me? he thought, his pulse racing in a mixture of desire and awe. I can’t think straight. Not when she touches me like that.

Ophelia smirked at his reaction, her sharp nails grazing his skin just enough to make his muscles twitch. Her touch was slow, deliberate, tracing patterns over his skin. The way his chest tightened and the quickening of his breath were too satisfying for her not to notice. She watched his lips part as if he were struggling to breathe, and the sight made her smile inwardly.

“Do you feel that, Muir?” she whispered, her voice low and teasing, her eyes never leaving his. “Your heart’s racing. You can’t hide it, can you?”

Muir swallowed hard, his body taut as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. “You… you can touch me whenever you want, Ophelia,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly.

She leaned in closer, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered softly, “Oh, can I now?” Her fingers lingered near his waist, tracing his abs with gentle pressure.

Muir shuddered, his body betraying him as her touch moved lower. His mind raced. Is this what I’ve wanted? To have her see me like this? To feel her hands on me? His breath quickened even more, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “You can have whatever you want.”

Ophelia’s gaze flickered to his face, his flushed expression so endearing yet so vulnerable. Her hand paused just above his waistband, leaving a tantalizing distance between them. Her eyes met his, locking with a teasing glint. “I think we’ll need to find a more private place before this escalates, Muir,” she said with a smirk, pulling her hand away as if it were nothing.

Muir’s body reacted to the sudden loss of contact. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and yearning. “Ophelia…” he began, but his words trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“Don’t worry, Muir,” she said with a knowing smile. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene here. But I think you’ve made your feelings quite clear.” She leaned up and out of his lap, moving to sit beside him. As she shifted, she gazed into his eyes with playful intensity. “But just so you know, if you truly want me, there’s more to it than just… this.” She whispered softly, her lips brushing his ear once again. “You’ll have to work for it. But I do like the idea of flying together, exploring the world with you. You and me, wherever the wind takes us.”

Muir’s breath faltered at her words, his chest swelling with pride. She wants to fly with me. She wants to explore the world. And I’ll be the one to make that happen. He smiled softly, his voice steady now but full of emotion. “Ophelia, I would be honored to court you. I want to see the world with you—fly beside you, just like you said. I’ve never met anyone as strong and unshakable as you. Your spirit… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” He paused, gazing at her with a sincerity that made his words all the more powerful. “I’ll work for the rest of my life to be by your side. Whatever it takes.”

Ophelia’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t used to hearing such earnest declarations. In her past world, promises of forever had often been hollow, made only to win affection for fleeting moments. But there was something in Muir’s eyes, something in the way he held her gaze, that told her he was sincere.

She softened, her own feelings shifting as she smiled at him. “Well, Muir, I’ll look forward to seeing what you can offer. But there are some things I expect, you know? Romantic midnight flights, the thrill of seeing new places. And of course, plenty of gifts. I like my treasures.” She grinned playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Muir’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Anything. We’ll have our entire lives to explore. You and I, side by side, flying through the skies…” He trailed off, clearly lost in the thought of the future they could share.

But before they could continue, the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted the moment. Ophelia’s tail flicked curiously as she propped herself up on her elbows, observing the newcomers. Two tigers—shifted and imposing—were flanking a small, determined-looking female. She rode one of the tigers, and her gaze was fixed on Ophelia with an unsettling intensity.

As the female drew closer, Ophelia noted the subtle tension in the air. The female finally spoke, her tone sharp and laced with a subtle superiority. “Hello, my name is Rosa, the tiger princess.”

Her dark ash-purple hair was cut unevenly, and her pale amber eyes were narrowed slightly as she regarded Ophelia with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I thought it only proper to introduce myself.”

Ophelia’s gaze was steady, her eyes unreadable as she met Rosa’s challenge with a calm smile. “Ophelia,” she replied smoothly, her voice unwavering. “It’s a pleasure.”

Rosa’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile, through her eyes betrayed the frustration simmering beneath the surface. She was sizing Ophelia up, clearly noticing the way the males in the area gravitated toward the beastwoman. “I’ve never seen a female like you—with your strength and your looks.” Her words were veiled with a hint of jealousy, though it was expertly concealed. “You certainly seem to have the attention of every male in the city.”

Ophelia’s eyes flickered with knowing amusement. She saw through the subtle edge in Rosa’s words. “Well, I can’t help that they’re smitten. But you,” she added, her tone lightly teasing, “seem like someone who knows how to command attention. Don’t you?”

Rosa’s expression faltered just for a moment before she regained her composure, but Ophelia had already seen through the mask. The princess was envious, conflicted even, yet drawn to Ophelia’s strength. She wished, perhaps, that she could be as beautiful and commanding, but there was something else there, too—something that made her wary of the newcomer.
Rosa’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile never left her lips. “Well, we’ll see how long that lasts,” she said, her tone just faintly threatening, before she turned, nodding to her tigers and dismounting herself.

Ophelia watched her, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. She could feel the tension Rosa was creating, but she wasn’t concerned. After all, she was Ophelia. And no one—not even a princess—could overshadow her.

Ophelia’s purple eyes followed Rosa’s every move as the tiger princess dismounted gracefully from one of the massive shifted tigers and took a step forward. The princess’s pale amber eyes burned with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled jealousy, her dark ash-purple hair framing her youthful, defiant face. She wasn’t an intimidating sight—not to Ophelia—but there was something sharp and petty in her gaze.

Rosa offered a tight smile, though her voice carried a cool edge. “I must admit, Ophelia, you’ve certainly caused a stir since arriving here. It’s not every day someone so… unusual catches the attention of every male in the city.” She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve got them quite distracted.”

Ophelia raised a single brow, unimpressed. “Is that so?” she replied evenly, her tone calm but laced with subtle challenge. “It seems I’ve made an impression.”

Rosa’s lips twitched, clearly trying to maintain her composure. “An impression indeed,” she said lightly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her. “Tell me, Ophelia, which males do you plan to court? Surely you’ve already chosen. You wouldn’t want to… monopolize them all, would you?”

Ophelia’s sharp, draconic pupils flickered with amusement as she watched Rosa. The princess’s tone was trying to sound casual, but it was obvious she was fishing for answers—perhaps even trying to establish some sort of dominance.

“I don’t see why it’s any of your concern,” Ophelia replied coolly, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “But since you’re so curious… yes, there are a few I’ve taken an interest in. Why?” Her voice was smooth, but there was a glint in her eye that dared Rosa to say something more.

The tiger princess’s expression hardened. “You’re not allowed to just take the males,” Rosa snapped, her composure starting to crumble. Her voice rose slightly, a petulant edge creeping in. “They aren’t yours for the taking, and you’ll be sorry if you think you can just waltz in here and—”

A low, rumbling growl escaped Ophelia’s throat, cutting Rosa off mid-sentence. The sound was deep and guttural, reverberating through the air like a warning bell. Rosa faltered, her eyes widening slightly at the sudden shift in Ophelia’s demeanor.

“Careful, princess,” Ophelia said, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. She rose to her feet with fluid grace, towering over Rosa with an imposing presence that radiated power. Her draconic features became more pronounced—the sharp curve of her horns glinted in the light, her claws flexed slightly at her sides, and her tail swayed with a predator’s patience. “Do you really think it’s wise to challenge me?” Her voice was quiet, but there was a lethal undertone that sent a shiver through the air.

Rosa instinctively took a step back, but she tried to mask it with a sharp glare. “You can’t just—”

“You do realize who you’re speaking to, don’t you?” Ophelia interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. Her sharp teeth glinted as she bared them slightly in a half-smile, half-snarl. “Tell me, Rosa… did you miss the part where I’m the protector of Beast City? Or did you conveniently forget what I look like in my dragon form?” She leaned down slightly, her purple eyes glowing as she locked her gaze with the smaller female. “You don’t want to make me angry. Trust me.”

The two massive tigers flanking Rosa growled low, stepping forward to shield their princess. Ophelia’s gaze snapped to them, and she let out a sharp, guttural growl that made the air vibrate. The tigers froze, their ears flattening in submission as they backed away slightly, clearly recognizing the immense power before them.

Rosa’s heart pounded in her chest, and she tried to keep her expression defiant, but her pale amber eyes betrayed her fear. She’s not just strong—she’s something else entirely, Rosa thought, her hands curling into fists at her sides. How could someone like me ever compare to that?

Before the tension could escalate further, a new voice cut through the air. “Please wait!” A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped forward, his ash-blue hair glinting in the firelight. Three dark stripes adorned his face, and his blue eyes were filled with urgency. “Forgive Rosa’s behavior,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “She’s young and… impulsive. I assure you, she meant no true disrespect.”

Ophelia straightened, her purple eyes narrowing as she regarded the wolf beastman. “And you are?” she asked curtly.

“Bart,” he replied, his tone steady but respectful. “One of her males. Please, allow me to take her away before this gets out of hand.”

Ophelia’s gaze shifted back to Rosa, who now stood stiffly, her face flushed with embarrassment and anger. “See that she learns her place, Bart,” Ophelia said coldly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I don’t take kindly to disrespect. Next time, she won’t get off so easily.”

“Understood,” Bart said, his tone earnest as he took Rosa by the arm and began to lead her away. Rosa cast one last glare over her shoulder, but there was no mistaking the fear that lingered in her eyes.

Before the situation could fully disperse, another figure approached, his broad shoulders cutting a formidable silhouette against the fading light. Winston, the white tiger beastman, strode forward with an air of quiet authority, though there was an unmistakable awkwardness in his posture. His snow-white hair gleamed faintly in the evening glow, framing a face marked by a deep scar that ran through his right eye, which remained pale and cloudy. His icy blue gaze flicked to Rosa briefly—disapproval evident in his stern expression—before landing on Ophelia. For a moment, something softened in his gaze, though his demeanor remained stiff and guarded.

“Ophelia,” Winston began, his voice deep but carrying a slightly hesitant edge, as though unaccustomed to speaking with ease. “I hope my niece hasn’t… caused you too much trouble.”

Ophelia turned her piercing eyes toward him, her sharp gaze assessing. She noted the tension in his shoulders, the way he stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. There was no charm in his approach—no fawning, no flirtation—but rather a quiet earnestness that set him apart. Her irritation from the earlier confrontation lingered as she replied, “Not too much trouble. But I suggest she be careful in the future. My patience has limits.”

Winston’s jaw tightened, his cold expression not quite masking the awkward flicker of guilt in his gaze. “I’ll make sure of it. Rosa has a way of overstepping boundaries, but I’ll speak to her father about this. She’ll learn.” His voice was firm, but Ophelia caught the faint sigh of resignation in his tone.

Rosa bristled beside him, her pale amber eyes narrowing. “Uncle—”

“Enough,” Winston interrupted, his tone sharper now. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Ophelia’s gaze shifted between the two of them, her tail flicking behind her lazily as she observed the interaction. Winston’s authority wasn’t loud or domineering, but it was clear that even Rosa—a fiery and stubborn personality—respected his word enough to hold her tongue, albeit begrudgingly.

Winston turned back to Ophelia, his gaze steady despite the faint flush creeping up his neck. “I also wanted to say… It's reassuring to have someone like you as the city’s protector. The ferals would be… smart to stay far away with you here. Beast City has needed strength like yours for a long time.”

The words were spoken with an awkward sincerity, and for a moment, Ophelia saw past the cold expression and into the man behind it—a protective uncle, a dedicated warrior, and someone who carried his insecurities like a heavy cloak. Her purple eyes softened slightly as she replied, “Thank you, Winston. Beast City deserves peace, and I intend to make sure it stays that way.”

Winston gave a curt nod, his icy grey eyes briefly flicking toward Muir, who stood just behind Ophelia. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, and though his expression remained unreadable, his thoughts betrayed him: Of course, she already has someone courting her. Any male would be lucky to have her—beautiful, powerful, fearless… She doesn’t even flinch at my scar. No one else has ever looked at me like that.

Unaware of Winston’s inner turmoil, Ophelia studied him with curiosity. There was something different about him—an honesty that, while clumsy, felt refreshing. He didn’t try to flatter her or win her favor, yet his respect was clear.

Winston cleared his throat, his stoic mask slipping back into place. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll take Rosa off your hands. Again, I apologize for her behavior.” He shot Rosa a sharp look, his disapproval palpable. “We’ll be having a word when we return.”

Rosa scowled, looking ready to argue, but Winston’s cold stare silenced her. She cast a final glance at Ophelia, her face a mixture of lingering jealousy and reluctant awe. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen… So strong, so beautiful. I wish… I wish I could be like her. But I’ll never admit that.

As Rosa turned to leave, Winston lingered for a moment, his expression softening just slightly. “You’ve set a standard no one can ignore, Ophelia. Keep them in line. The city’s better for it.”

Ophelia smirked faintly, her purple eyes gleaming. “I intend to.”

With a stiff nod, Winston turned and began to lead Rosa and her guards away. Rosa shot one last glare over her shoulder, but it lacked its earlier venom. Ophelia watched them go, her sharp gaze lingering on Winston’s retreating form. There was something about him—a quiet strength, an awkward sincerity—that intrigued her.

Muir stepped closer, brushing a hand against her shoulder. “He’s an odd one,” he said softly, his voice tinged with amusement.

Ophelia chuckled lowly. “He’s not so bad. At least he knows how to show respect. The scarred ones tend to have the most to offer.”

Muir raised a brow, watching as Winston disappeared into the distance. “I hope you’re not too impressed.”

She smirked at him, her tail flicking against his leg playfully. “Jealous already? I wouldn’t worry, Muir. You’ve still got your work cut out for you.”

Muir huffed, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Good to know.”

Ophelia let out a soft laugh, turning her gaze back to the horizon. Beast City is shaping up to be far more interesting than I expected.

As Winston and Rosa disappeared into the distance, Ophelia let out a long sigh, her shoulders relaxing now that the tense confrontation was over. She turned her gaze to Muir, who had settled back near the fire, his piercing blue eyes watching her intently.

“You handled that well,” Muir said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Not many could put someone like Rosa in her place. She’s… notorious, to say the least.”

Ophelia quirked a brow and moved to sit beside him, her purple eyes flickering toward the fire. She reached for the piece of cooked meat he offered, tearing off a bite and savoring the smoky flavor. “Notorious?” she echoed, her tone curious but casual.

Muir nodded, leaning back slightly, though his posture remained attentive, as if every moment spent near her was precious. “She’s spoiled, dramatic, and loves to stir up trouble—especially with other females. Most can’t do much about it since she’s the niece of the tiger king. No male would dare retaliate; it’s forbidden to harm or insult females. And other females? Well, they’re usually too scared to risk angering her family.” He shrugged, a flicker of amusement in his expression. “But you… you don’t play by those rules, do you?”

Ophelia smirked, her sharp canines glinting faintly in the firelight. “I have no problem with Rosa as long as she stays far away from me. If she doesn’t, well… she’ll have to learn the hard way.”

Muir chuckled, his voice warm and low. “I believe she already has. I think that’s the first time I’ve seen her back down so quickly.” He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I like that about you. You don’t let anyone push you around. It’s… refreshing.”

Ophelia tore off another piece of meat, chewing thoughtfully. She wasn’t particularly interested in talking about Rosa—or any other females, for that matter. So, she shifted the subject with ease, her tone light. “Well, enough about her. I’ve got other things to worry about—like finding the best furs for a proper bed.”

Muir blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in topic. “A bed?”

Ophelia nodded, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “Yes. The one I have now is fine, but it’s not exactly made for someone like me. I want something bigger, softer, more fitting for a beastwoman.” She glanced at him, her purple eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “Do you know where I can find the best furs? Or should I ask someone else?”

Muir straightened, a spark of excitement lighting up his expression. “No need to ask anyone else. I’ll take you to the market tomorrow. I know all the best places to get good deals. You’ll have the finest furs in the city.”

Ophelia tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Hmm, you sound confident. I hope you’re right. I don’t like wasting time.”

“I won’t let you down,” Muir said quickly, his voice firm. In truth, his heart was racing at the thought of spending the day with her. Even more so at the idea of helping her furnish her den. Does this mean she’ll invite me inside? Maybe I can prove I’d make a good mate… show her I can provide for her.

He swallowed hard, trying to calm the excitement bubbling in his chest. “You’ll have the best furs,” he added, his voice steady despite the racing of his thoughts. “I promise.”

Ophelia raised a brow, clearly amused by his eagerness. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.” She leaned back slightly, stretching her long legs out in front of her. “And don’t let anyone try to overcharge me. I want the best deals.”

Muir grinned, his teeth flashing. “Leave that to me. I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

What he didn’t tell her, however, was that he planned to pay for everything himself. He already knew which traders accepted clear crystals, the rare currency he’d been saving. It wasn’t just about impressing her; it was about proving that he could provide for her—showing her that he was serious about courting her.

For now, he kept that thought to himself, content to sit beside her as the fire crackled softly. Her presence was enough to make his heart race, and as he watched her relax, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Tomorrow, he’d show her the best of Beast City. And maybe, just maybe, he’d earn her favor.

As Ophelia rested beside Muir, nibbling on the last piece of cooked meat, she glanced toward the firelight and then up at the night sky. The stars shimmered brightly, a peaceful contrast to the earlier commotion. After a moment of silence, she turned her purple gaze back to Muir, her tone thoughtful.

“Can I ask you something, Muir?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, sitting up a little straighter. His attention was fully on her, as though nothing else in the world existed.

She hesitated briefly before speaking. “It’s only been a few days since I officially took on the role of Beast City’s protector. I’ve been circling the skies in my dragon form every morning, making sure I’m visible to everyone. But… Do you think that’s effective? Is it really making a difference, or should I be doing more? Patrolling at different times, maybe?”

Muir studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You’re worried you’re not doing enough?”

Ophelia shrugged, leaning back slightly and resting her elbow on her knee. “It’s not that I’m worried. I just want to make sure I’m doing it right. I didn’t take on this role to just sit around and look intimidating. I want to actually make a difference. But… I don’t know if my approach is the most effective.”

Muir shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ophelia, just your presence is enough to send a message. When you’re up there, circling the skies in your dragon form, it’s not just about patrolling—it’s about what you represent. You’re a living, breathing symbol of strength. The Beast City has never had anything like you before, and trust me, it’s working.”

She raised a brow, curious. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve seen it myself,” he replied earnestly. “Word has already spread. Ferals and rootless beastmen have been steering clear of the area. The number of sightings outside the city has dropped drastically. And it’s not just that—they’re scared. They’ve heard about you, Ophelia. About the ‘mythical protector’ who can turn into a giant dragon and crush anyone who dares to threaten the city.”

Ophelia’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Mythical protector, huh? Sounds a bit dramatic.”

Muir chuckled. “Dramatic, but true. You’ve done more in a few days than anyone else could have done in years. And it’s not just about keeping the troublemakers away. Beastmen are flocking to the city in large numbers now. They see it as a safe haven—a place where they can live without fear, because you’re here. I’d bet the population is only going to keep growing.”

Ophelia tilted her head, her tail flicking lazily behind her as she processed his words. “So you think just flying around in the morning is enough?”

“I think it’s more than enough,” he said firmly. “You’re setting the tone. No one wants to mess with a city that has you watching over it. And the fact that you’re visible, that everyone knows you’re here… that’s what matters. You don’t need to change anything.”

She hummed in thought, leaning forward slightly. “I suppose it’s good to hear it’s working. But what about the city itself? With so many beastmen arriving, will the city even be able to handle the growth?”

“It won’t be easy,” Muir admitted. “But the city’s never had this kind of opportunity before. With more beastmen comes more skills, more resources, more strength. And it’s all because of you. You’ve given them hope, Ophelia. That’s something no one else could have done.”

Ophelia glanced at him, her expression softening. “You seem pretty confident in me, Muir.”

He met her gaze, his piercing blue eyes unwavering. “I am. You’ve already proven yourself. And I think you’re only going to keep proving it.”

She smirked, her sharp canines glinting faintly in the firelight. “You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?”

Muir rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. “I’m just saying what I see. You’re doing good, Ophelia. Better than good.”

She leaned back again, her gaze turning back to the sky. “Well, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing, then. But if you ever think I’m slacking, you better tell me.”

“I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” Muir said with a grin. “But if it does, you’ll be the first to know.”

Ophelia chuckled softly, finishing the last bite of her food. The fire crackled between them, the warmth of it matching the ease that had settled between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the comfortable silence stretching on as the stars above continued to shine.

But in the back of Muir’s mind, he couldn’t help but feel a growing excitement. The thought of showing her around the market tomorrow, of helping her pick out furs, of proving that he could be a worthy companion—it was enough to make his heart race. He was determined to make the most of every moment with her, to show her that he could be more than just an admirer.

And as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but think how lucky Beast City was to have her. And, perhaps, how lucky he might be to have a chance to stay by her side.

The stars twinkled brighter as the campfire burned low, its embers glowing faintly in the cool night air. Many of the beastmen who had gathered earlier were now dispersing. Single males, who had been watching Ophelia from afar all evening, reluctantly shuffled off, stealing lingering glances her way before retreating into the shadows of the night. Female beastwomen, accompanied by their protective mates, whispered amongst themselves, some casting curious or jealous looks at Ophelia as they disappeared into their dens.

Ophelia, still seated by the fire, plucked a soft piece of fruit from the plate beside her. She leaned back casually, taking slow bites as she spoke with Muir, who hadn’t moved from his spot. His piercing blue eyes stayed fixed on her, his posture relaxed but his focus unwavering.

“I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten,” she said, popping the last piece of fruit into her mouth and brushing her hands off. “The fire’s barely going now.”

Muir glanced around and then back at her, offering a small smile. “Time does tend to slip away when the company’s good.”

Ophelia smirked. “You’re laying it on a little thick tonight, Muir. But I’ll allow it.”

He chuckled softly, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment in his expression. “I’m just being honest.”

She shook her head, her amusement evident. Rising to her feet, she stretched her arms high above her head, her wings unfurling slightly from her back as her muscles extended. Her tail flicked lazily behind her, cutting through the cool air. With a deliberate motion, she stretched further, her massive wings spreading wide, their sheer size casting long shadows in the faint firelight. Her tail coiled and uncoiled as her posture shifted, giving her the appearance of a powerful predator shaking off the day’s tension.

Muir stood as well, his eyes tracing her movements with admiration that he didn’t even bother to hide. The way her wings caught the faint glow of the fire, the strength in her frame, and the effortless grace with which she moved—it was utterly captivating. His gaze lingered on her, noting the ripple of power beneath her skin as she flexed and adjusted her posture.

Ophelia caught his stare and raised a brow. “Something on your mind?”

He blinked, quickly clearing his throat. “Just... observing. You looked like you needed a good stretch after sitting all evening.”

“Hmm.” She smirked knowingly and folded her wings back neatly against her back, her tail swaying as she glanced at him. “I think it’s time to get some shut-eye. A dragon needs her beauty sleep, after all.”

Muir gave a short nod, though he felt a pang of disappointment that the evening was coming to an end. “That’s probably a good idea. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

Ophelia turned to leave but paused, stepping closer to him. Her eyes locked onto his, holding his gaze as she leaned down slightly. The distance between them shrank, and her intense stare made his breath hitch.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Muir,” she said casually, her tone soft but firm. There was an almost playful edge to her words, as if she knew exactly the effect she had on him.

Muir swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to maintain his composure. “I… I look forward to it,” he managed to say, his voice steady despite the rapid thrum of his pulse.

A faint smile curled her lips before she straightened up. With one final flick of her tail, she turned and walked off into the night, her movements as graceful as ever. Muir stood there, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared into the shadows.

As the last of the night’s quiet murmurs faded, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A faint grin tugged at his lips as he replayed the way she had looked at him, the way her voice had carried a weight that felt almost personal. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

As Ophelia walked a fair distance away from the dwindling campfire and the murmurs of those who remained, she stopped and gazed up at the sky. The moon hung high, its pale light illuminating the world below. The mountains in the distance, her sanctuary, called to her. With a powerful leap, her wings unfurled, catching the night air.

In one smooth motion, she launched herself into the sky, her massive wings flapping rhythmically as she soared higher. The cool wind rushed past her, a familiar and comforting sensation. She felt the tension of the evening melt away as the world below grew smaller. From above, the Beast City was a patchwork of flickering firelight and quiet shadows.

As she flew, her eyes scanned the vast, open expanse below, ensuring that everything was in its rightful place. Her role as protector was never far from her mind, even in moments of peace. The mountains, her towering home, grew nearer with each beat of her wings.

Far below, unseen to her, a figure lingered at the edge of the gathering, hidden within the shadows of the trees. A pair of sharp, piercing eyes followed her ascent, glowing faintly under the moonlight.

The wolf’s fur was a striking blue-grey, his form strong and commanding even in his quiet stillness. His gaze held no malice, only quiet admiration, as he watched the powerful dragoness disappear into the night sky. A faint breeze rustled the trees around him, and yet he remained unmoving, his focus entirely on her.

Winston let out a low, thoughtful breath, his expression unreadable as his tail swayed slowly behind him. "Magnificent," he murmured softly, almost to himself. And as the last trace of her silhouette vanished into the mountain's shadow, he turned and slipped back into the woods, a faint, lingering warmth in his chest.

Chapter Text

The sun began to rise, and with it, the dragon hidden among the mountains stirred. Emerging from the abyss-like cave, she cast a vast shadow over the first rays of daylight as she spread her wings in preparation for flight. Her heavy body lifted off the ground, a sight witnessed by the early risers—those who now recognized her as their protector. It was a title the beastmen had given her themselves, yet it was still difficult to grasp that this colossal being was also a striking female.

As the sun climbed higher, Ophelia soared over Beast City, her wings cutting through the crisp morning air. The wind rushed past her, ruffling the sleek scales along her arms as she descended toward the bustling market below. The streets were already alive with movement, beastmen bartering, calling out their wares, and carrying armfuls of goods wrapped in cloth and woven baskets. The scent of roasted meat, freshly tanned leather, and herbs thickened the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil and the musky scent of the gathered beastmen.

As Ophelia approached, heads turned upward. Whispers rippled through the crowd as the city’s protector glided in. She landed with a practiced ease, the impact of her descent stirring faint dust plumes around her clawed feet. Folding her wings neatly behind her, she straightened, her purple eyes scanning the throng of beastmen for a familiar figure.

Muir was nowhere in sight.

She exhaled, arms crossed as she surveyed the lively marketplace. Stalls constructed from sturdy wooden beams and covered with thick animal hides lined the streets, their owners loudly advertising their wares—handcrafted jewelry, dried meats, herbs bundled together with twine, and thick woven fabrics. Beasts of all kinds mingled, their voices overlapping in an endless chorus of trade and conversation. But still, no Muir.

Then, movement in the crowd caught her eye. A familiar figure stepped through the throng with effortless grace—Muir. His sharp blue eyes locked onto hers as he approached, his dark, wind-tousled hair shifting slightly with his steps. Dressed in a simple skirt, the leather across his narrow waist hinting at his preference for flight-ready attire, he wore an expression that was both confident and eager.

"You're early," Ophelia noted, a teasing lilt in her voice.

"You're later than me, which means I win," Muir countered smoothly, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "Come, let’s find you the best furs. You want big ones, right?"

She nodded, falling in step beside him as they wove through the crowd. "For my den. Something thick and warm. I can hunt for my own, of course, but tanning the hides properly takes skill and time."

"True," Muir admitted, glancing at her with keen interest. "Skinning Isn't too difficult, but if you want something soft and long-lasting, the hide has to be treated right. That’s where most struggle. It can take days just to prepare one pelt."

Ophelia hummed thoughtfully, brushing her fingers along a stall displaying bundles of dried plants and thick beeswax. "And you? Have you tanned your own hides before?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "I’ve hunted and skinned more than my fair share. And if you want the best, I can go out and bring you as many furs as you need."

She smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Trying to impress me, hawk?"

Muir huffed, feigning indifference, though the way his feathers along his nape twitched betrayed his pride. "I don’t need to try. But if you end up warm and comfortable because of me, I won’t complain."

Before Ophelia could respond, they arrived at a fur merchant’s stall. Large pelts hung from wooden beams, their thick coats ranging from snowy white to deep, earthy browns and blacks. The vendor, a burly lion beastman, perked up at their approach, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

"Ah, a fine selection here, protector!" he boomed, flashing a toothy grin. "Strong, warm, and treated with care. Only the best."

Ophelia stepped closer, running a hand over a pelt so thick her fingers practically disappeared into it. It was soft, well-tanned, and undoubtedly warm.

"Not bad," she admitted, glancing at Muir. "What do you think?"

He reached out, testing the quality himself. "It’s good, but I’ve seen better. Let’s check the weight."

The merchant watched as Muir assessed the pelt’s thickness and stretch. "A pickler of the fine details, are you?" he asked, amusement in his tone.

"Something like that," Muir replied, unimpressed by the man's attempt to size him up. "She needs the best, and I won’t let her settle for less."

Ophelia raised a brow at his confidence but said nothing, enjoying his determination. Muir was making it clear—he wanted to be seen as capable, as someone she could rely on.

After careful selection, they settled on six large, high-quality furs of varying natural colors to layer for added comfort. Ophelia hesitated when Muir insisted on paying with clear crystals, knowing it was a considerable amount. She expected gifts but felt uncomfortable when the exchange of money was visible. Despite her reluctance, she accepted his offer with a quiet "thank you."

The vendor grinned, rolling up the furs. "I'll set them aside for you, protector. Your mountainous home is too far for delivery."

She nodded in agreement, knowing it would be easier to collect them later.

As they continued browsing, Muir glanced at her thoughtfully, his sharp blue eyes flicking over her form. "You should get clothes made for yourself. You're taller than most females, and right now, you're wearing my clothes."

Ophelia followed his gaze downward, noting how the fabric of his tunic clung to her frame, the layers of fabric a touch too short to cover her stomach and the fit a bit awkward. She had never minded—clothes were clothes—but she had to admit, his point was valid. "You have a point," she conceded, brushing a hand over the fabric.

Muir smirked slightly, satisfied with her agreement. "Then let's get you something that actually fits."

The market around them gradually shifted from open-air stalls to sturdier, more permanent stone shops. The air here smelled of fresh dyes, leather, and the bony tang of sewing needles and tailoring tools. Fine fabrics draped over wooden displays, showcasing intricate embroidery and vibrant colors. The atmosphere felt different—more refined, quieter, save for the occasional chatter of customers haggling over customized garments.

They stopped in front of a particular shop, its entrance framed by dyed fur banners that swayed gently with the breeze. Inside, the air was cool and carried a hint of something floral—perhaps a scented sachet tucked away somewhere to keep the fabric fresh. As they stepped through the threshold, Ophelia’s gaze fell upon the tailor, and she instantly understood why this shop stood out from the rest.

The beastman before them was striking. A peacock beastman. A faint flush dusted his sharp cheekbones, his posture straightening as he composed himself.

"Oh my," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "What a striking customer."

Ophelia smirked at his obvious admiration, tilting her head slightly. "I need clothes tailored to my size. You’re the one who specializes in this, right?"

The peacock beastman recovered quickly, his lips curling into a self-assured smile. "Indeed," he said, preening slightly as he smoothed out his tunic. "And I’m quite popular for a reason."

Muir, who had been standing just beside Ophelia, suddenly tensed. His sharp eyes flicked between the tailor and Ophelia, his usual composed demeanor shifting as his feathers bristled ever so slightly. Ophelia, distracted by the tailor's vibrant presence, didn't seem to notice the way Muir crossed his arms, his jaw tightening ever so subtly.

The peacock beastman’s gaze roved over Ophelia with genuine admiration, his chocolate-brown eyes gleaming with intrigue. His sharp, striking features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips that curled into a charming smile—were framed by the cascade of his emerald-green hair, a few long peacock feathers tucked tastefully within the strands. Each subtle movement he made was accompanied by the faint shimmer of iridescent hues, the way his deep-blue tunic hugged his slender yet well-proportioned frame only emphasizing his natural elegance.

Esko, as he later introduced himself, was a vision of refinement. From the way his long fingers danced over fabrics to the way he carried himself with effortless grace, it was clear that vanity was not merely a trait of his kind—it was a well-practiced art. Yet, unlike the usual arrogance expected of peacock beastmen, there was something undeniably earnest in his curiosity about Ophelia.

His gaze lingered on the sharp curvature of her horns, the sleek sinuousness of her tail, and the vast expanse of her wings, each membrane casting shifting shadows under the shop’s dim lighting. “Your coloration is exquisite,” Esko murmured, stepping closer, his voice carrying a genuine appreciation rather than empty flattery. “A perfect harmony of power and allure. And these…” He gestured toward her horns and wings. “Truly striking. Do you retract your wings?”

Ophelia shook her head, her expression indifferent. “No, I can’t.”

Esko hummed, nodding as he folded his arms in contemplation. “Then I’ll need to design your clothes with that in mind—no unnecessary weight on the back, reinforced seams to accommodate movement.” He tapped his chin, already envisioning the patterns. “And your tail—long and muscular. Hmm… I’ll have to make allowances there as well.”

Muir, who had been standing at Ophelia’s side the entire time, narrowed his eyes at Esko, his feathers bristling ever so slightly. The peacock beastman had inched closer, clearly reveling in the opportunity to study Ophelia under the guise of professionalism. Muir’s arms remained tightly crossed, his sharp blue eyes darkening as he observed the exchange.

As if sensing his agitation, Esko turned slightly, smirking as he continued. “And your preference?” he asked, his warm brown eyes flicking back to Ophelia. “What kind of clothing suits you best?”

“A dress that’s easy to slip off,” Ophelia answered casually. “I shift often, so I need something practical.”

At this, Esko blinked, as though reminded all over again of what she truly was—not just a tall, striking female, but a beastwoman. A towering, powerful presence that loomed over them both with effortless dominance.

Still, rather than recoil, Esko’s expression brightened with what could only be admiration. Peacock beastmen were notoriously selective about their tastes—vain, meticulous, and prone to dismissing anything they did not deem exceptional. Yet as Esko looked at Ophelia, he seemed utterly captivated. “A practical beauty,” he mused, his smirk deepening. “How refreshing.”

Muir, who had remained rigidly silent, suddenly exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping forward as his shoulders squared. “She needs something durable,” he corrected, his voice firm. “Not flimsy fabric that will tear at the slightest strain.”

Esko’s smirk widened. “Oh, but durability and elegance can go hand in hand, can’t they?” He tilted his head, peacock feathers shifting ever so slightly as he met Muir’s gaze with challenge. “Surely she deserves the best of both?”

Tension crackled between them. Though both were avian beastmen, their approaches could not have been more different—Esko exuded effortless charm and sophistication, while Muir stood solid and unwavering, all sharp angles and restrained intensity. And yet, the rivalry between them was clear as day.

Subtly, both beastmen shifted, puffing up just a bit in their own ways—Esko straightening his posture, subtly angling his feathers for maximum effect, while Muir’s stance grew more imposing, muscles tensing as he squared his shoulders. It was an amusing sight, watching two otherwise graceful creatures attempt to make themselves appear larger before her, as if it would make any difference.

Ophelia, observing the silent competition with mild amusement, simply raised an eyebrow. “You two done?” she asked dryly.

Neither answered, but the tension lingered.

Esko finally turned away first, his smirk never fading. “Very well,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward the various bolts of fabric lining the shop’s shelves. “Let’s begin. I promise, Lady Ophelia, I’ll craft you something as breathtaking as you are.”

Muir scoffed under his breath, but said nothing more as Ophelia followed Esko toward the fabrics, leaving him standing there, still bristling.

One thing was clear—this tailor was going to be trouble.

Chapter Text

Esko let out a soft hum, tapping his chin as he examined the bolts of fabric lining the walls of his shop. "Leather, you say?" His voice was smooth as silk, though a flicker of intrigue danced in his brown eyes. "Practical, durable... but it will need to be supple, not stiff. Otherwise, it will restrict movement."

Ophelia nodded, her gaze drifting over the various materials. "Something loose but sturdy. Tight-fitting clothes will be a hassle when I shift."

The peacock beastman exhaled dramatically. "A challenge, but an exciting one. However..." He trailed off, his gaze trailing over her towering frame with an apologetic grimace. She was massive compared to him, to both of them. Where his head barely reached her chest, her sheer presence dwarfed him, making him feel frustratingly small despite his natural elegance. "I don't have anything pre-made in my shop that would fit you. Which means I'll need to take your measurements."

He hesitated before adding, "Personally."

A faint flush dusted his sharp cheekbones as he retrieved an archaic measuring tool—a wooden caliper-like device used for tailors who valued precision over ease. Despite his usual self-assured demeanor, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he turned back to her, clearly both thrilled and intimidated by the prospect.

Ophelia raised a brow, arms loosely crossed beneath her chest. The movement only emphasized the fullness of her perky breasts, their curves just visible beneath the loose folds of her cape. "Do I need to undress for more accurate measurements?"

Esko, who had been mid-step toward her, choked on his own spit. He staggered slightly, hastily clearing his throat as his face darkened into a deep, mortified red. "W-Well, I—" His voice cracked, and he pressed a fist to his lips to steady himself. His elegant posture crumbled for the briefest moment as he visibly struggled to compose himself.

Muir, who had been standing off to the side with his arms crossed, suddenly stiffened. His blue eyes sharpened, narrowing into something dangerously close to a glare as he shot a look at the flustered peacock. His feathers bristled subtly, his shoulders squaring, his body tensing in an instinctual attempt to make himself look bigger. Like Esko, he only reached Ophelia’s chest, but that didn’t stop his possessiveness from flaring at the thought of another male touching her—seeing her. His fingers twitched at his sides. "You don't have to," he said quickly, his voice lower than before, edged with something territorial.

Esko, still trying to recover, coughed. "N-No, but..." He exhaled, rubbing his temple before straightening up. "For the best accuracy, I—I mean, I would, ideally, need unobstructed access to—" He gestured vaguely toward her frame, his voice growing fainter with each word.

Ophelia, unfazed, smirked. "Then it's fine."

Without a hint of hesitation, she unfastened the bulky, haphazardly draped cape from her shoulders and let it slip off, pooling onto the floor in a heap of dark fabric.

The air in the shop shifted instantly.

Both beastmen went rigid.

Esko sucked in a breath through his teeth, his grip tightening around the measuring tool. His brown eyes widened, drinking in the sight before him with barely concealed reverence. He had thought her beautiful before, but this? This was something else entirely.

Her long, blinding white-silver hair cascaded down her back, the tips curling in soft waves, framing her enchanting face—a face so strikingly perfect, it left his mouth dry. Those draconic purple eyes gleamed like amethysts, sharp and unshaken, her confidence rolling off her in waves. But it wasn’t just her face that had him transfixed.

Her body was an intoxicating blend of raw strength and feminine allure. Her perky breasts sat high, their shape firm, her dusky-pink nipples tight from the cool air. Her waist was sculpted, narrow and toned, dipping into wide, powerful hips. The soft swell of her stomach only made the cut of her abs stand out more, and lower still, her thick, muscular thighs were like a siren's call, inviting and dangerous in equal measure.

And then there were her dragonic features—those magnificent, curved black horns that framed her head regally, the pearlescent sheen of her massive wings folded neatly behind her, their color shifting subtly in the dim light. Her tail, covered in pristine white scales, flicked idly, its length powerful and smooth.

Esko wanted to fan out his tail feathers. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to display, to court, to prove himself worthy of such an awe-inspiring female. But he resisted, barely, swallowing back the instinct as he reminded himself to act professionally.

But gods, it was difficult.

Especially with the heat rolling off her in waves. He could feel it—her body temperature ran significantly higher than any beastman he had encountered. It was comforting, alluring. A small part of him—traitorous and shameless—began to daydream about how warm she would be in the winter, how he could curl against her and soak in that delicious heat.

He quickly shoved the thought aside.

Muir, on the other hand, was on the verge of snapping. His muscles were coiled tight, his claws digging into his palms as his blue eyes darkened dangerously. His feathers fluffed slightly, betraying his agitation. The fact that Esko was looking at her like that—with such naked admiration—sent irritation spiking through his veins.

Esko stepped closer hesitantly, his usual grace faltering. "I-I’ll start with the shoulders," he murmured, voice noticeably strained.

As he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushed against her bare skin—warm, firm, and smooth. His breath hitched, and he exhaled shakily, determinedly focusing on his task. He adjusted the caliper tool, measuring the broad span of her shoulders, but he could not ignore the way his own body reacted to the simple touch.

His fingers lingered, tracing the line of her collarbone, before he quickly moved downward. "A-Ah, your bust next," he managed, internally cursing himself for stammering.

Muir exhaled sharply through his nose. His tail flicked behind him, betraying his barely restrained irritation.

Esko carefully wrapped the measuring tape around her chest, his fingers accidentally grazing the soft curve of her breasts. He inhaled sharply, fighting the sudden rush of warmth pooling in his gut.

Ophelia merely smirked, as if testing him.

His hands were unsteady as he pulled away, moving lower to measure her waist. This was a mistake. He should not be enjoying this as much as he was.

But how could he not?

Her body was a masterpiece of raw, untamed beauty. And when he moved to measure her dragonic features—her wingspan, the curve of her horns, the length of her tail—his breath caught. He was seeing her dragon form, even if just in pieces. Something no one else had seen.

Muir finally stepped forward, his movements sharp. "Are you done yet?" His voice was low, edged with impatience.

Esko spared him a glance and smirked. "Almost," he said smoothly, though the slight waver in his tone betrayed him.

His fingers brushed against her hip as he took the final measurement, and that was the breaking point.

Muir exhaled harshly, nostrils flaring, his scent spiking with unmistakable male aggression. "That’s enough," he said flatly.

Ophelia chuckled, amused. She could smell their arousal—their frustration.

Esko stepped back quickly, gripping the measuring tool in both hands. "A-All done!" he announced, too fast, too high-pitched.

Ophelia smirked. "Didn’t expect you to get so worked up, tailor."

Muir scoffed. "Put your damn clothes back on."

One thing was certain—Esko was in trouble.

Ophelia let out a breath, stretching her arms above her head before lowering them, entirely unbothered by the way both males continued to eye her like she was some rare, untouchable treasure. Their gazes were heavy—Esko’s lingering with admiration, while Muir’s held a brooding, possessive weight.

With an easy, fluid motion, she reached for the clothing Muir had given her, sliding it on with little ceremony. The fabric clung to her body as she adjusted it, smoothing it down her curves. Then, she bent slightly to pick up the cape, wrapping it over one shoulder and securing it against her torso like a toga, the dark material draping over her sculpted frame.

As she bent forward, her wide hips and plush rear were on full display for the two beastmen behind her.

Muir made a strangled noise in his throat before turning sharply away, his jaw clenched tight. His feathers puffed sharply, betraying his struggle. Esko, meanwhile, tried to remain composed, but his grip on the measuring tool tightened as he forced himself to breathe evenly.

They had seen plenty of nudity before—beastmen were used to shifting in and out of their animal forms, which meant exposure was a normal part of life. But Ophelia was the first beastwoman any of them had ever laid eyes on. And more than that, she was utterly confident in her natural state of undress, as if she didn’t even consider the effect she had on them. It was foreign… but it made sense.

And that only made it worse.

Straightening up, Ophelia tossed her silvery hair back over her shoulder and turned to Esko. "So, what kind of dress are you making me?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Esko, finally finding his composure again now that she was at least somewhat clothed, cleared his throat. "Well," he said, rolling his shoulders as he led her toward a collection of leather samples, "I was thinking of using something supple but durable, given your… particular needs." His eyes flickered to her impressive wings and tail before he gestured toward a table displaying various animal hides.

"These leathers are thick enough to provide some protection but light enough to allow movement," Esko explained, running his fingers over the samples. "I assume you’ll need more than one?"

Ophelia nodded. "At least five," she said. "I’ll be tearing through them often, whether through battle or shifting."

Esko smiled. "A wise decision. I’ll make sure each piece is tailored to your measurements perfectly. Now, for texture—" He picked up a few samples, spreading them out. "We have smoother varieties, more flexible ones, or rugged, untreated hides for a rawer look."

Ophelia studied them with an appraising eye before running her fingers along the selections, testing the texture. "These will do for now," she mused. Then, her lips curled into a thoughtful smirk. "But I want some made from Colossal hide as well."

Esko froze mid-motion, his entire body going stiff. He blinked. "You want... Colossal hide?" His voice pitched up slightly in disbelief.

"Yes," Ophelia said casually.

The peacock beastman stared at her as if she had grown a second pair of horns. "You do realize how hard those creatures are to kill, don’t you?"

Ophelia shrugged. "Of course. That’s why I’ll be the one bringing the hide to you. But until then, the leathers will suffice."

Esko exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before shaking his head. "Well," he murmured, his tone shifting back to business, "if you bring me Colossal hide, I will make you the finest dress in all of Beast City. But for now, let’s talk about what I can do with the leather."

Ophelia nodded. "I want something dark, maybe black or deep brown. The neckline should be scooped—almost sagging, so it’s flowy. Above the knee, with a slit on one side for movement." She glanced at him. "I’ll take a variety of shades, one dark, one lighter, and some in between."

Esko hummed, rubbing his chin. "A daring design, but it will suit you. You’d look fabulous in anything, really." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, though there was still a lingering heat in his expression.

The tension from earlier hadn’t fully faded, but now that Ophelia was clothed, Esko could at least think a little more clearly—though his heart was still hammering against his ribs.

They settled on the details of the dresses, the price set after some discussion. But before Ophelia could reach for her coin pouch, Muir interjected.

"I’ll pay for them," the hawk beastman said firmly.

Esko raised a brow, while Ophelia simply looked amused. "Oh agin?" she mused.

Muir crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "I want to provide for you. You don’t need protecting, but I can do this much." His tone was final, brooking no argument.

Ophelia tilted her head, considering him. A slow smirk spread across her lips before she shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, clearly entertained by his insistence.

Muir handed Esko the necessary payment without hesitation, his expression unreadable. Esko, meanwhile, took it with a knowing look before returning to his workstation.

As Ophelia and Muir turned to leave, Esko watched them go, leaning slightly against his work table. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head before looking down at the leather samples spread before him.

His fingers tapped against the table, mind already whirring with ideas. But beyond that…

He was intrigued.

Ophelia had said she would return one day with Colossal hide.

That alone was enough to leave him wistful, hopeful.

With a smirk, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Chapter Text

As Ophelia and Muir stepped out of Esko’s shop, the tension from earlier still clung to the air. Muir remained unusually close to her, his sharp blue eyes scanning the streets with an irritated edge. Other beastmen had taken notice of Ophelia—of course, they had. She was a sight to behold, her long white-silver hair gleaming under the sun, cascading in luxurious waves down her back. Her black, curved horns framed her enchanting face, her draconic purple eyes glowing with power and confidence. she still commanded attention, her presence impossible to ignore.

Muir’s feathers bristled. He was already riled up from the tailor's lingering touches, and now, seeing the way some beastmen stared at her with admiration, something primal in him stirred. He unconsciously puffed himself up, trying to make himself appear larger, broader, more imposing—as if that would deter their gazes.

Ophelia, of course, noticed.

She smirked, tilting her head slightly. “You’re looking a little ruffled there, Muir,” she teased, voice rich with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re still jealous?”

Muir snapped out of his silent brooding, blinking at her before scowling. “I’m not jealous.” His feathers, which had flared slightly in agitation, slowly settled back down.

Ophelia chuckled, her tail curling slightly behind her. “Right, of course not. You’re just a very, very territorial little hawk.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to be playful. “But I think you’re a pretty bird, too.”

Muir stiffened immediately, his entire body tensing. A deep flush crept up his neck, and his wings twitched at her words. He glared at her, but his reaction only made her smirk widen.

“Stop that,” he muttered, feathers ruffling despite his best efforts to suppress them.

“Stop what?” she asked innocently.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and turned his head away, trying to focus on anything else—only to freeze when he spotted someone familiar approaching.

Bai QingQing, the delicate human woman Ophelia had taken a liking to, was walking toward them with a bright, eager expression. By her side was Parker, the leopard beastman, his usual cocky smirk subdued into something softer as he kept pace with Bai. His golden feline eyes flicked to Ophelia briefly before he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ophelia!” Bai beamed, practically bouncing as she hurried closer. “I was hoping I’d run into you! I look for you in the sky every day, but you always fly too fast!”

Ophelia’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’ll make sure to slow down next time so you can get a better look.”

Bai giggled, clasping her hands together. “You’re incredible! I still can’t believe I get to see a real dragon fly. No one back home would ever believe it.”

Ophelia’s gaze flickered to Parker for a brief moment. Her sharp senses picked up something subtle—something Bai might not have noticed herself. They had not mated yet. There was no leopard mark on Bai’s skin, nor were their scents fully intertwined. She didn’t comment on it, but she stored the information away, intrigued.

Parker, meanwhile, shifted slightly beside Bai, his usually confident demeanor dampened in Ophelia’s presence. His tail flicked behind him, and he scratched at his jaw as he finally spoke. “You look... uh, strong as ever, Ophelia.” His voice was steady, but the way he avoided direct eye contact gave away his slight unease.

Ophelia raised a brow. “You sound surprised.”

“Nah,” Parker said quickly. “Just—well, yeah, a little. You’re kind of terrifying, you know?”

Ophelia laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Muir, who had been standing beside her with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes slightly at Parker but remained silent.

“What are you two doing here?” Ophelia asked, turning her attention back to Bai.

“Oh!” Bai perked up. “We were just checking out the market, getting some supplies for the den.” She then glanced between Ophelia and Muir, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What about you? What are you two doing together?”

Muir straightened instantly. “I’m courting her,” he said firmly, without hesitation. “And providing for her.”

Bai’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ before she clapped her hands together excitedly. “Oh! That’s wonderful!” She turned to Ophelia, eyes shining. “Are you accepting his courtship?”

Ophelia’s smirk widened. “I’m considering it.”

Muir shot her a sharp look, but Bai only giggled, delighted by the development. Parker, standing beside her, muttered something under his breath about stubborn birdmen before nudging Bai along.

After a bit more conversation, Ophelia and Muir parted ways with them, walking side by side down the bustling streets.

Then, suddenly, Ophelia asked, “So, where do you live?”

Muir blinked. “What?”

“Your den,” she clarified. “I want to see it.”

Muir hesitated, his expression shifting to something almost bashful. “It’s not a den,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a nest.”

Ophelia’s brows lifted in amusement. “A nest?”

Muir nodded, visibly embarrassed. “Up in the trees.”

She grinned. “I want to see it.”

Muir hesitated for another second before exhaling. “Fine. I’ll take you there.”

With that, the two of them took to the skies, wings beating against the air as they soared over the city toward the more secluded, towering trees. Muir’s nest was nestled high among the branches, expertly woven together with a mixture of sturdy twigs, soft furs, and hidden compartments for storing items. It was large—surprisingly so—and structured with the precision only an avian beastman could manage.

Ophelia landed beside him, inspecting his work. “Huh,” she murmured, running her fingers over the materials. “Impressive. You’re a real craftsman.”

Muir shifted his weight, his feathers fluffing slightly in nervousness. “It’s just... functional.”

She smirked. “It’s cozy.”

His tail flicked. “It’s practical.”

Ophelia chuckled. “And it suits you. I like it. It’s high up, just like you.” She glanced at him, eyes twinkling. “I like that you can fly, you know.”

Muir turned his head slightly, intrigued. “You do?”

She nodded, stepping closer. “I like that your home reflects who you are. Strong, capable, brooding.”

Muir frowned slightly. “I don’t brood.”

Ophelia arched her brow. “You absolutely do.”

Muir scowled, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Ophelia smirked and settled onto the edge of his nest, reclining against the soft furs. “This is nice,” she mused. “I could get used to this.”

Muir stared at her, his heart pounding. His nest—his territory—was being inspected, occupied by the very female he wanted as his mate. And she looked so comfortable, so at ease.

His feathers fluffed up slightly in nervousness.

Ophelia glanced at him, clearly amused. “Relax, Muir. I like it.”

Muir inhaled slowly, then exhaled. He had never been this on edge in his own home before.

But as Ophelia lounged in his nest, completely at ease, he realized something.

He wanted her to stay.

Ophelia leaned back slightly in Muir’s nest, allowing herself to truly take in her surroundings. The nest was well-built, expertly woven with sturdy branches and soft materials. It was larger than she expected, with enough space for someone of her own size to sit comfortably. As she idly ran her fingers along the fur-lined edges, something caught her eye—a single feather resting among the materials.

She plucked it from its resting place, inspecting it closely. It was undeniably Muir’s, long and sleek, shifting in color between a deep, inky black and a rich, dark navy when it caught the light just right. It was beautiful, just like its owner.

Muir, who had been watching her closely, stiffened when he saw what she was holding. His sharp blue eyes locked onto the feather in her hands, his entire posture going rigid as she twirled it between her fingers.

Ophelia smirked. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

Muir swallowed. “Yeah.”

She traced the delicate barbs of the feather with her fingertips, feeling the softness of it. “I like it,” she said simply. Then, with a glance at him, she added, “Can I keep it?”

For a moment, Muir simply stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Then his wings twitched, his body visibly perking up. “Yes,” he answered quickly—almost too quickly. His usual composed, serious demeanor cracked slightly, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “Yes, of course. You can have it.”

Ophelia’s smirk grew. He was adorable when he got flustered.

But before she could tease him again, Muir suddenly shifted into his hawk form. His body morphing larger, feathers overtaking his skin as he transformed with seamless ease. His talons gripped the edge of the nest as he shook out his wings, the sharp contrast of dark plumage against the sky making him look majestic in his beast form.

Ophelia watched, bemused, as the large hawk immediately began rummaging through his own feathers, twisting his head and rustling his wings as if searching for something specific. He let out a soft, thoughtful coo as he preened through his plumage, his sharp beak delicately plucking at certain areas. Then, after a few moments, he found what he was looking for.

With a swift motion, Muir pulled a larger feather from his wing and held it delicately in his beak.

Ophelia blinked, watching as he turned toward her, his bright blue eyes shining with something unreadable. The feather he had chosen was even more beautiful than the one she held—longer, fuller, and shifting in color between black and deep navy, almost iridescent in the sunlight.

Slowly, Muir stepped closer, his talons clicking lightly against the wooden frame of his nest. He tilted his head before extending his neck toward her, offering the feather in his beak.

Ophelia hesitated for just a second before reaching out. Her fingers brushed against the soft strands as she took it from him. As soon as she did, Muir let out a pleased coo, his wings twitching in clear excitement. He gave a small, enthusiastic flap, his entire body practically vibrating with satisfaction.

She chuckled. “You’re really happy about this, huh?”

Muir immediately shifted back into his human form, his wings folding neatly against his back as he straightened. His face was flushed—something she rarely saw—and he looked away briefly before meeting her gaze again.

“It means a lot,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual. “For avian beastmen, giving a feather isn’t just a small thing. It’s... important.” His sharp eyes softened slightly as he continued. “It’s a sign of trust. Affection. It means I want you to have a piece of me with you.”

Ophelia ran her fingers along the larger feather, feeling the smooth, silky texture. “So, it’s a courting thing?”

Muir nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yes. We only offer our best feathers to those we—” He paused, clearing his throat. “To those we want to mate with.”

Ophelia smirked. “Oh?” She twirled the feather between her fingers before tucking it safely into her clothing. “Then I’ll take good care of it.”

Muir exhaled, as if relieved. “Good.”

There was a brief silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was charged with something new—something unspoken but undeniably present.

Ophelia stretched her wings slightly before folding them back neatly. “So,” she mused, tilting her head, “if I ever give you one of my scales, does that mean the same thing?”

Muir’s expression flickered with surprise before settling into something more determined. “If you ever did that,” he said, voice serious, “I’d never let anyone else have it.”

Ophelia chuckled. “Possessive, aren’t you?”

Muir’s feathers fluffed slightly. “You’re one to talk.”

She laughed, and Muir couldn’t help but smile—just a little.

Muir’s sharp eyes flickered over Ophelia’s face before settling on the feather she now held. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, hesitating for a moment before he spoke.

“I can help you put it in your hair,” he offered, voice lower than usual.

Ophelia hummed, considering it. But then she frowned slightly. “Wouldn’t I just lose it when I shift?”

Muir shook his head. “Most likely, but i'll give you as many feathers as you want”. He stepped a little closer, his usual sternness softened by something else—something gentle and intent.

She smirked. “Alright then, do your best, pretty bird.”

Muir huffed at the teasing, but his hands were steady as he reached up, fingers ghosting through her blinding white-silver locks. Her hair was thick and luxurious, curling slightly at the ends, and the contrast between her shimmering strands and the dark iridescence of his feather made for a striking sight.

His movements were careful, precise, as he twisted a small portion of her hair, threading the feather through in a way that wouldn’t easily come undone. He secured it with practiced ease, his fingers brushing against her scalp now and then, sending a light tingle down her spine.

Ophelia tilted her head slightly, inspecting his work from beneath her long lashes as Muir smoothed her hair out, making sure the feather sat perfectly in place.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent.

She hummed at his words, then lowered her gaze, her striking draconic purple eyes locking onto his. He was so close now, his face turned up to her as he inspected his handiwork, and Ophelia found herself smiling.

A slow, wicked smile.

She leaned in, bringing her face closer to his, their breaths mingling in the short distance between them. Muir tensed, his wings twitching slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His blue eyes were locked onto hers, watching, waiting.

“I think what you’re doing is working on me, bird,” she purred, her voice low and thick with something dangerous—something enticing. “This courting…” She exhaled softly, letting the words settle between them like a challenge. “Be careful. I’m a dragon, you know.” Her smirk deepened. “I fear that once I have you in my claws, I’ll never let you go.”

Muir swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, but his gaze didn’t waver. If anything, his expression darkened with something possessive, something primal.

Ophelia found herself intrigued—no, more than that. She liked this.

She liked him.

It wasn’t just the dragon side of her that approved of Muir—the strong, brooding hawk beastman who carried himself with a quiet intensity that made him both intimidating and enticing. No, her human self liked him too.

He was visually striking, yes, but it was more than that. His loyalty, his unwavering presence, the way he hovered close yet never overstepped. The way he wanted to provide for her, court her, rather than simply take.

She could see herself falling for him.

That realization settled deep in her chest, curling warm and insistent in the hollow space that had been untouched for so long.

She let her fingers trail up the side of his arm, her touch slow and deliberate. Muir stiffened slightly but didn’t stop her, his body locked in place as if waiting for her next move.

For the first time, Ophelia found herself craving something more than just admiration. She had seen how beastmen loved their mates—unwavering, unyielding, an all-consuming devotion that seemed so unbreakable.

It was something she had never truly experienced before.

In her old world, men were… disappointing. Unreliable. Selfish. But here? Here, beastmen loved with everything they had. They protected, provided, and remained unshakably theirs.

Was it so wrong to want that for herself?

To be admired.

To be wanted.

To be unconditionally loved.

She let herself inch closer, her lips parting slightly as her gaze flickered down to his mouth. She wasn’t sure what she was doing—whether she was teasing or truly testing the waters—but she wanted to see how far she could push him before he snapped.

Muir’s breathing was heavier now, his pupils slightly blown, but he held himself still, watching her with a gaze that promised restraint—but only just.

Ophelia chuckled softly, dragging her fingers down his arm before finally pulling away, leaving just enough space to keep things from tipping too far.

For now.

“Mm,” she mused, tilting her head. “I do think I like you, Muir.”

Muir exhaled slowly, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he steadied himself. Then, in a voice rougher than before, he muttered,

“Good.”

Chapter Text

The night air was still as Ophelia reclined within Muir’s expertly woven nest, the structure swaying ever so slightly under their combined weight. The hawk beastman had brought her here out of trust, out of an unspoken yearning to share something intimate with her. But now, as she gazed at him in the dim light filtering through the leaves, something shifted within her.

She had already decided.

He was hers.

This was only the beginning.

“I want you to come to my den,” she said suddenly, her voice rich with intent. “I think it’s time you see my territory.”

Muir, who had still been reeling from the intimate moment they shared over the feather, froze. He snapped his piercing blue eyes toward her, his sharp features betraying his shock before something more intense settled within them. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he quickly schooled his expression into something composed. This was huge—a beastman’s den was sacred, especially for a dragon. To be invited was more than an honor—it was a claim.

Ophelia smirked as she watched realization dawn on him, the way his taloned fingers gripped the woven edges of his nest. “Well?” she prompted, leaning in slightly, her long, silver-white locks cascading over her shoulders. “Are you coming, or will you let me fly off alone?”

Muir inhaled sharply, then gave her a look that was both eager and reverent. “Of course I’m coming,” he said immediately, almost too quickly. He cleared his throat, standing up straighter. “I want to go with you… I want to know more about you.”

Satisfied, Ophelia chuckled, standing to her full height, her wings stretching momentarily before folding neatly against her back. “Then let’s not waste time.”

But before they could leave, she reminded him of something.

“The furs,” she said, tilting her head. “We need to pick up the furs you bought for me.”

Muir had nearly forgotten about them, his thoughts consumed by her. The simple notion that he had already started providing for her, before she had even outright claimed him, made something within him stir.

They left the nest together, soaring into the night, but the moment Ophelia shifted into her dragon form, it became impossible for Muir to keep pace beside her. She was massive.

She glided smoothly toward the market, her wings spanning wide enough to block the view of the stars as she descended. The city below trembled under her approach, beastmen stopping in their tracks as her shadow loomed over them. Even the marketplace, typically bustling with noise, fell into silence at the sight of her extending one powerful hind leg to grab the bundle of furs that had been neatly arranged for her.

It was a calculated movement, precise and controlled—she did not damage anything else in her wake. But the sheer power she exuded, even in something as simple as retrieving a purchase, sent chills through those who witnessed it.

Then, just as quickly as she had come, she ascended.

Muir, in his hawk form, trailed behind her, struggling slightly to adjust to the force of the air currents her wings created. He loved seeing her like this—wild, untouchable, breathtaking. But as they passed over mountain peaks and remote cliffsides, he felt something even deeper settle in his chest.

He was going to her den.

—---

The entrance was enormous.

Muir shifted back into his humanoid form as they landed, staring up at the massive, gaping maw of the cave that stretched deep into the mountain. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming—it was meant for a colossal dragon, after all. His human form felt laughably small in comparison.

He took a breath and stepped forward to follow Ophelia inside, but she turned to him with an amused glint in her purple draconic eyes.

“What’s wrong, little bird?” she teased, voice dripping with mirth. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Muir bristled immediately. “Hawks don’t get scared,” he huffed, straightening his shoulders, but his gaze flickered toward the darkness warily.

Ophelia let out a low, knowing chuckle, then turned and strode inside, her tail lazily swishing behind her. Muir followed, trying to maintain his usual confident stride, but the further they ventured, the more he realized just how dark it was.

His kind wasn’t suited for night hunting like owls—hawks relied primarily on keen sight during the day or in the dim hours of dusk and dawn. The pitch-black surroundings disoriented him slightly, though he refused to let it show.

The only sounds that filled the cavern were the distant drips of water and the echoing clacks of their footsteps against stone. The tunnel twisted and turned, its depths swallowing them whole.

Then, finally, he saw something.

A soft glow emerged in the distance, scattered like tiny stars across the cave walls. As they moved deeper, Muir realized that the light came from clusters of glowing blue crystals, embedded into the rock. Their gentle luminescence illuminated the space in an eerie yet beautiful way.

His sharp eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight. The deeper they went, the more abundant the crystals became—some no bigger than his palm, while others jutted out in large formations bigger than his head. The sheer density of them made the cave walls shimmer like a living night sky.

“This is…” he murmured, at a loss for words. He had never seen anything like this before.

Ophelia, as if sensing his wonder, walked ahead, her movements slow and predatory. Her long tail brushed lazily against the stone floor until—

Muir felt something coil around his wrist.

He stiffened, glancing down, only to see that her tail had wrapped around his arm. It wasn’t tight—just firm enough to hold him there, as if to keep him from getting lost.

His heart skipped.

He swallowed, hating how much he liked the sensation, even if it bruised his pride slightly. But he didn’t pull away.

The deeper they traveled, the more the crystals intensified in number and size, growing into massive formations that lined the cave walls like an intricate lighted pathway. The floor became smoother, and finally, the incline leveled out.

And then, they entered the chamber.

Muir stopped in his tracks.

It was massive.

The chamber was large enough to fit Ophelia’s dragon form ten times over. The vast, empty expanse sent echoes bouncing off the stone, amplifying even the smallest movements. His keen eyes flickered to the walls, noticing enormous claw marks etched into the rock. It dawned on him that she had shaped this place herself.

He could probably fly freely in here if he wanted to.

But what caught his attention next made his breath hitch.

At the far end of the chamber, nestled in a shallow pit, was a hoard.

Not just any hoard—Ophelia’s hoard.

Glittering emeralds and white crystals lay in an organized sprawl, their surfaces catching the soft glow of the cavern’s lights. And there, at the center, was a massive emerald, the largest he had ever seen, easily the size of his hand.

He couldn’t help but stare.

A dragon’s hoard was deeply personal—each item carefully chosen, cherished, guarded. For Ophelia to bring him here, to let him see this…

His pulse quickened.

He turned toward her, still slightly dazed. “You shaped all of this yourself,” he murmured, half in awe, half in realization.

Ophelia smirked, stepping toward her treasures, running her fingers through the scattered gems. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “A dragon’s den must be perfect.”

Muir exhaled slowly, taking it all in. The sheer effort it must have taken her, the raw strength.

He had always known she was incredible.

But now, standing here, seeing this, he understood it more than ever.

Muir turned his head slightly as Ophelia let out a low hum of realization.

“The furs,” she muttered to herself, exhaling sharply. “I left them outside.”

Before he could say anything, she was already moving, her draconic form shifting effortlessly as she launched toward the entrance.

“I’ll be quick,” she assured him, her massive wings unfurling with a powerful whoosh.

Then she was gone, leaving only a brief gust of displaced air in her wake.

Muir found himself alone in her den.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint echo of the wind rushing through the tunnels she had dug. He turned his head, his keen eyes scanning the vast, dimly illuminated cavern. Now that he was alone, he allowed himself to step closer to the glittering walls, drawn to the luminous glow of the embedded crystals.

Each one pulsed with soft, blue light, their facets catching the ambient glow in a way that made the entire chamber feel like it was reflecting a starry sky. He reached out, his taloned fingers brushing against the surface of one particularly large crystal. It was cool to the touch, smooth but ancient, carrying the weight of time within its depths.

The formations varied—some crystals were thin and needle-like, jutting out in delicate, clustered rows, while others were thick and jagged, like the jagged peaks of distant mountains. A particular one caught his attention—a crystal twice the length of his forearm, its edges sharpened into natural, angular cuts, glimmering with an almost ethereal radiance.

Muir traced his fingers over it, feeling the sheer weight of the place he stood in.

All of this... she shaped it herself.

He exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers.

Muir was no weak beastman. He was a three-striped hawk, a level of strength that set him apart from most others in the Beast City. Among his kind, he was considered elite—fast, deadly, powerful. He had trained relentlessly for years, honing his agility and precision, proving himself again and again through countless fights and hunts.

And yet...

Even at my strongest, could I ever do something like this?

His sharp blue eyes flickered toward the hoard, the mound of emeralds and white gems that Ophelia had gathered in a single night.

He remembered the first time he had smelled it on her.

That night, by the campfires, her scent had been rich with the lingering aroma of colossal beast blood. He had wondered then what she had been up to before arriving—now, he knew. She had been hunting. She had killed a monster of that size, alone, and brought back its wealth as if it were nothing.

Muir let out a quiet breath.

He wasn’t jealous. No—he was in awe.

Proud.

She is incredible.

The thought struck him deeply. If the single beasts in the city knew he was here, alone with her, they would claw his face off in a heartbeat. There were beastmen who would kill to have even a fraction of her attention, to share a space with her, to be seen by her.

And yet, it was him standing here. She had chosen to invite him into her den.

A shudder ran through him at the realization.

Then, the wind shifted.

Muir’s eyes snapped toward the entrance as Ophelia returned.

Her dragon form descended with an earth-shaking landing, the bundle of furs gripped securely in her powerful claws. She exuded raw grace and dominance, her wings folding neatly against her back as she studied him first, as if gauging his reaction to her space.

He said nothing, only watching her.

Then, she moved.

With surprising precision for a creature of her size, Ophelia began to dig.

She used her massive talons to carve out a circular hollow in the stone floor, her claws gouging deep into the rock with ease. The sight was... oddly mundane, considering who she was, and Muir found himself tilting his head slightly, watching the absurdity of it.

It was like watching some powerful deity casually performing a simple chore.

Ophelia must have noticed his expression because she huffed, releasing a heated breath of steam, wisps of smoke curling from her nostrils.

Muir’s eyes flickered with curiosity.

That again.

He had noticed it before—how her body was always warmer than others, how sometimes she would exhale little bursts of smoke without seeming to notice. It was another mystery about her, something inherently draconic that he couldn’t quite understand.

Why does that happen?

He didn’t ask, though. Not yet.

When Ophelia finished her task, she shifted again—transforming back into her humanoid form.

Muir froze.

She stood there, completely bare, her pale skin illuminated by the soft glow of the crystals. She didn’t care. Her confidence was effortless, unshaken, and it made his breath catch in his throat.

She turned away from him, kneeling as she unrolled the furs, spreading them across the hollow she had dug. The movement of her body was fluid, each muscle shifting smoothly under her skin as she layered the fabrics with practiced ease.

When she finally straightened, she turned toward him, a smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

“This will be my bed,” she said simply. Then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she added, “I made it circular… inspired by your nest.”

Muir’s face flushed immediately.

He hated how easily she could make him feel this way.

Ophelia let out an amused chuckle, then walked toward where she had left her clothes earlier. Muir barely noticed when she had discarded them in her rush to retrieve the furs, but now, as she slipped them back on, he felt an unexpected pang of disappointment.

He exhaled sharply, willing himself to regain his composure.

Then, she turned to him again.

“Want to try it out with me, Muir?”

His breath hitched.

She was standing so close now, looking at him with those striking, draconic purple eyes. The offer—**the invitation—**was blatant.

Muir’s throat felt dry.

His instincts screamed at him to accept.

And so, after a beat of hesitation, he stepped forward.

Ophelia smiled. A slow, knowing smile.

Then, she took his wrist again, guiding him toward her newly made resting place.

The warmth of her fingers against his skin sent a shiver down his spine.

And Muir, for all his pride, all his avian instincts—let himself be led.

Chapter Text

The air inside Ophelia’s cavernous den was thick with warmth, the glow of countless blue crystals casting a dreamlike radiance over the stone walls. The furs she had meticulously arranged formed a soft, plush nest at the heart of her lair—a space meant only for her. But tonight, she had invited Muir into it.

Muir was still processing what had just happened—the invitation, the teasing, the way she had so boldly told him to "try it out" with her. He swallowed hard, his sharp blue eyes flicking between the makeshift bed and the striking woman before him. Ophelia stood tall and powerful, her long silver-white hair cascading down her back, the soft glow of the cave reflecting off her smooth, flawless skin. Even in her humanoid form, she radiated draconic majesty, and it made his heart hammer in his chest.

She took a step closer, and he caught the faintest trace of her scent—something wild and intoxicating, carrying the warmth of fire and the crispness of a winter wind. His muscles tensed as she reached up and casually brushed a hand through his dark hair, her fingers grazing the base of his feathers.

“Are you nervous, pretty bird?” she teased, her voice rich with amusement.

Muir exhaled sharply through his nose. “No.” His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it. But his body betrayed him—his wings twitched, his breath hitched, and he struggled not to look away from her piercing, knowing gaze.

Ophelia hummed, clearly enjoying his reaction. She tilted her head, watching him with those mesmerizing purple eyes. “You should be,” she murmured, stepping even closer until he could feel the heat radiating off her bare skin.

Muir’s breath shuddered. “You’re playing with fire, dragon,” he muttered, his voice low.

Ophelia smirked. “And you’re still standing here, hoping to get burned.”

His fists clenched at his sides. She wasn’t wrong. He wanted her—had wanted her from the moment she landed in Beast City, an untouchable force of nature that no other beastman dared approach. She had power, grace, and a beauty that left him breathless. But it wasn’t just her form that captivated him—it was her presence. She was untamed, unpredictable, and yet, in some unspoken way, she had chosen him.

He didn’t know why. He only knew that he couldn’t resist.

Ophelia reached out again, this time trailing her fingertips along his jawline, her nails grazing his skin lightly. “I hope you realize, Muir,” she whispered, leaning down just enough that their lips nearly brushed, “that once a dragon takes something for her own, she never lets it go.”

His breath stilled, and for a moment, the world outside of this den, outside of her, ceased to exist.

Then she kissed him.

Muir didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, hands gripping her waist as he pulled her flush against him. She was warm, impossibly warm, and he was drowning in the feeling of her. Her lips moved against his with a confidence that made his head spin, her fangs grazing his lower lip just enough to send a spark through his veins.

He groaned against her mouth, pressing harder, desperate to meet her intensity. She tasted like fire and something forbidden, something he had no right to claim—but he wanted to, needed to.

She was the first to break away, her breath fanning against his lips as she chuckled. “Oh? You do bite back.”

Muir smirked, his grip on her tightening. “I told you, I’m not afraid of you.”

Ophelia’s eyes darkened with something more primal. “Prove it.”

His hands moved, tracing down her sides, feeling the strength beneath her soft skin. He wanted to worship her, to make her feel desired the way she deserved. But she wasn’t an ordinary woman—she was a dragon. And dragons were dominant, territorial, possessive.
Muir wasn’t sure he could overpower her, but he damn well wasn’t going to let her walk all over him either.

He pushed forward, forcing her to take a step back until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the furs. She arched a brow but allowed it, watching him with an amused challenge in her gaze.

Muir exhaled, his voice husky. “Tell me, Ophelia,” he murmured, tracing a hand down her spine, “has any man ever made you submit?”

Her smile was wicked. “No.”

His fingers tightened on her hip. “Then I guess I’ll have to be the first.”

Ophelia’s laugh was deep, sultry. “Oh, Muir. You really are a bold little bird.”

Her tail curled around his waist before he could react, yanking him down onto the furs with her. He landed with a grunt, momentarily stunned, as she straddled him with effortless grace, her strong thighs caging him in place.

Muir’s heart pounded. He had fought in countless battles, challenged other beastmen for dominance, and yet nothing compared to this—the sheer force of her presence above him, pinning him down, her draconic instincts in full play.

Ophelia leaned down, her hair cascading around them like a silver curtain. “Still think you can tame me, Muir?”

Muir growled, gripping her thighs. “We’ll see who ends up on top.”

Ophelia smirked. “Then stop talking,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “And show me.”

His lips crashed into hers as he leaned forward, his tongue instinctively seeking to taste her. She opened willingly, a soft sigh escaping her as he groaned low in his throat. His hands rose to cradle her face, their eyes closed in shared bliss.

His body pulsed with need, his arousal pressing unbearably hard against the confines of his leather skirt. At that moment, he was acutely aware of the barrier between them, annoyed by its presence. He wanted it gone—craved the feeling of skin against skin, of being completely connected to her.

Ophelia broke the kiss, sitting up to straddle him. She gazed down at him, licking her lips as a sly smile played across her face. "Delicious," she murmured, her sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. Slowly, her hands moved to the makeshift shirt she wore—his shirt. Seeing her in his clothes had always been a guilty pleasure of his, a silent acknowledgment that she favored him. To him, nothing compared to this; it was the ultimate honor, a sign of her trust and affection.

She unwrapped the cape from around her shoulders, revealing what he had tried—and failed—to look away from earlier. Now, she was granting him permission to look, to touch, to taste. His lips parted as he drank in the sight of her, his breath catching as her breasts bounced free, her nipples taut and peaked with arousal. The image was nothing short of breathtaking.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as his hips instinctively thrust upward, a bead of precum betraying his desperation. He was ravenous for her, his hands gripping her waist firmly, anchoring himself to the moment. Every fiber of his being was consumed by the need to claim her, to lose himself in her entirely.

But Muir wasn’t content to let her dominate him completely. With a sudden surge of strength, he flipped their positions, pinning her beneath him. Ophelia’s eyes widened in surprise, but her lips curled into a smirk, her draconic pride clearly amused by his boldness.

“Oh?” she purred, her voice echoing softly in the cavern. “The little bird thinks he can take control?”

Muir didn’t respond with words. Instead, he trailed his lips down her neck, nipping lightly at her skin, his teeth grazing her in a way that made her shiver. Her breath hitched, and for the first time, he heard a soft, involuntary sound escape her—a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through her chest and echoed off the cave walls.

Encouraged, Muir continued his descent, his hands roaming her body as he moved lower. The cool air of the cave brushed against his back, a stark contrast to the heat of her skin beneath his lips. When he reached the waistband of her leather skirt, he paused, his fingers trembling slightly as he undid the fastenings.

Ophelia’s tail twitched, her claws digging lightly into the furs beneath her as she watched him with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

With a swift motion, he tugged the skirt down her legs, tossing it aside. The sight of her fully bared to him made his breath catch. She was flawless, her body a perfect blend of strength and femininity, her arousal evident in the way her hips lifted slightly, inviting him closer.

Muir didn’t hesitate. He pressed his mouth to her, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

Ophelia’s breath caught, her hips arching slightly as a low, guttural growl escaped her throat. The sound reverberated through the cavern, mingling with the soft, wet sounds of his ministrations. Muir’s wings twitched behind him, his own instincts driving him to please her, to claim her in this intimate way.

Her taste was intoxicating—pure bliss, a heady mix of power and femininity that made his head spin. She was all fire and dominance, yet here, beneath him, she was yielding, her body responding to his every touch. He could have spent hours worshiping her like this, losing himself in the way she writhed beneath him, her claws scraping lightly against his scalp as she urged him on.

Muir focused on her peak, sucking gently at first, then with increasing pressure as her moans grew louder. Her breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she let out a series of low, rumbling moans that echoed off the crystal walls. The blue light of the cave seemed to pulse in time with her pleasure, casting shifting shadows around them.

“Muir,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He had no intention of stopping. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes that had her writhing beneath him. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, echoing through the cavern like a symphony of desire. The cool air of the cave did nothing to temper the heat between them, the contrast only heightening the intensity of their connection.

When she finally came undone, her body arched off the furs, a deep, resonant roar escaping her lips. The sound echoed through the cavern, shaking the crystals and sending a shiver down Muir’s spine. He held her through it, his hands gripping her thighs as she trembled, her claws digging into his skin.

As she came down from her high, her breathing ragged, Ophelia looked down at him with a mixture of awe and amusement. “You’re full of surprises, pretty bird,” she murmured, her voice husky.

Muir smirked, his lips glistening. “I told you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Ophelia’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something primal. “Good,” she said, pulling him up to meet her lips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

After Ophelia’s peak, Muir didn’t pull away. Instead, he lingered, his lips trailing soft, reverent kisses up her stomach. Each kiss was a silent promise, a testament to the depth of his desire for her. His hands roamed her body, tracing and caressing her creamy skin with reverence. She shivered beneath him, her breath hitching as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her navel.

“Muir,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr that sent a jolt of electricity through him. Her claws lightly scraped his shoulders, a gentle reminder of her dominance even in this moment of vulnerability. “I want you.”

Those three words were all it took to shatter the last remnants of Muir’s restraint. He surged upward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as they both shifted to their knees. Ophelia’s hands were everywhere, her touch igniting a fire that burned hotter than any dragon’s breath.

She reached for his leather skirt, her claws making quick work of the fastenings. As the garment fell away, her hands roamed his body, tracing the hard planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen, and the wiry trail of dark hair that led to his throbbing length.

Muir shuddered under her touch, his wings twitching involuntarily as her clawed fingers grazed the sensitive feathers. She ran her hands along the inky expanse of his wings, from the top where they jutted from his back all the way down to the delicate tips. The sensation was electric, a mix of pleasure and pain that made him groan her name like a prayer.

Ophelia’s tail swished behind her, a clear sign of her approval as her gaze dropped to his arousal. His length was long and thick, the inflamed tip glistening with beads of precum that dripped down his shaft. She let out a soft, approving growl, her purple eyes glowing with lust as she reached for him. Her hand wrapped around his length, stroking him slowly, her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip.

Muir’s hips jerked forward, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips. “Ophelia,” he breathed, his voice trembling with need. His eyes locked onto hers, filled with worship and adoration as she continued to stroke him, her movements deliberate and teasing.

The musky scent of their arousal filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the cave. Ophelia leaned forward, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, “What do you want right now, Muir?”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes closing as he savored the feel of her hand on him. Then, his voice broke through the haze of pleasure, raw and desperate. “I want you, Ophelia. Please.”

He began to pump his hips, matching the rhythm of her strokes, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed her. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Let me touch you. Let me claim you.”

Ophelia pulled away, her lips curving into a sly smile as she lay back down on the furs. Her wings spread beneath her, a stark contrast to the dark fur, her pale skin glowing in the soft blue light of the cave. Her slit pupils locked onto his, filled with a predatory hunger that made his heart race.

“Come and take me, Muir,” she said, her voice a low, sultry purr. “I’m all yours.”

Those words were his undoing. He surged forward, covering her body with his own, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to process the reality of this moment. She was his—finally, irrevocably his.

He kissed her again, slower this time, pouring all his love and desire into the embrace. Ophelia sighed into the kiss, her hands gripping his shoulder blades as she pulled him closer, their chests pressed together, their hearts beating as one.

Muir’s length twitched against her, the tip brushing against her wet entrance. He groaned, the sound echoing through the cavern as he tentatively dipped his hips, coating himself in her essence. The sensation was intoxicating—her silky wet flesh sliding against him, her heat beckoning him closer. He did it again and again, unable to resist the addictive feeling, until Ophelia’s claws dug into his back, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Muir,” she moaned, her voice trembling with need. “Enough teasing. I need you.”

He obeyed, his hand sliding down her stomach to where they were touching. He rubbed her clit in slow, deliberate circles, watching as her back arched and her breath hitched. Her claws raked down his back, leaving bloody gashes in their wake, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was her pleasure, her release.

When she came, her body trembling beneath him, Muir felt a surge of pride. He had done that—he had brought this powerful, majestic creature to the edge of ecstasy. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

Ophelia’s eyes met his, half-lidded and filled with desire. “Come to me, Muir,” she whispered. “I want you inside me.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With a growl, he shifted his hips and thrust into her, the sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him sending stars across his vision. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of being inside her, but soon his instincts took over. His thrusts became harder, faster, his balls slapping against her with each powerful stroke. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their bodies meeting filled the cavern, a symphony of desire that echoed off the crystal walls.

Ophelia matched his rhythm, her powerful body riding him with a grace that left him breathless. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her claws digging into his shoulders as she moaned his name like a mantra. Muir’s wings flapped wildly behind him, his talons gripping her hips as he felt his release building.

But then, with a sudden, fluid motion, Ophelia flipped him onto his back, taking control. She straddled him, her powerful thighs caging him in place as she began to ride him with a fierce intensity. Muir groaned, his hands gripping her hips as he watched her body move above him. The sight was breathtaking—her silver hair cascading down her back, her breasts bouncing with each movement, her expression a mix of pleasure and dominance.

From this angle, he could see everything—the way his length disappeared into her tight entrance, the way her wetness coated him, the way a white ring of their combined arousal formed at the base of his shaft. The sight drove him wild, his hips bucking upward to meet her movements. Ophelia’s claws dug into his chest, her tail swishing behind her as she leaned forward, her breath hot against his ear.

“Do you like this, pretty bird?” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Muir could only groan in response, his hands moving to grip her waist as he thrust upward, meeting her movements with equal fervor. The wet, slapping sounds of their bodies meeting grew louder, the rhythm faster, more desperate. Ophelia’s moans echoed through the cavern, her claws leaving marks on his chest as she rode him with abandon.

Muir’s release was building, the pressure in his lower abdomen becoming unbearable. He could feel his talons extending, his avian instincts taking over as he gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he thrust upward with a primal urgency. Ophelia’s breath hitched, her body trembling as she felt his release nearing.

“Muir,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “Let go. Claim me.”

With a growl, he flipped her onto her back once more, his movements frantic as he drove into her with a desperate intensity. His talons gripped her hips, holding her in place as he thrust deeper, harder, the wet sounds of their bodies meeting filling the air. Ophelia’s claws raked down his back, her moans growing louder as she felt his release building.

When it finally came, Muir’s body tensed, his wings flapping wildly as he buried himself deep inside her. His release surged through him, his seed spilling into her as he let out a low, guttural groan. Ophelia’s walls clenched around him, her own climax crashing over her as she cried out his name. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling as waves of pleasure washed over them.

Muir, utterly spent, collapsed beside her with a satisfied groan, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Ophelia smirked down at him, amused by how utterly drained he looked. His feathers twitched slightly as his body relaxed, his limbs splayed out as if he had no energy left to even move. His wings, normally so neatly folded, were half-spread, their edges twitching from the aftershocks of their passion. His blue eyes were hazy but warm as he turned his head to gaze at her, drinking in the sight of her with something close to reverence.

Still, despite his obvious exhaustion, he lifted himself onto one elbow, reaching out to tuck a stray silver lock behind her curved horn. “Are you comfortable?” he murmured, his voice hoarse from exertion. “Do you need anything? I should—”

Ophelia huffed softly, silencing him with a finger against his lips. “Muir, I can see you’re about to pass out where you lie. Rest. I can take care of myself.” She brushed her knuckles against his cheek, her touch uncharacteristically gentle. “You did well.”

His chest puffed up slightly at the praise, and though he tried to fight it, his eyelids were already drooping. “I still feel like I should—”

“Sleep, bird.”

Muir let out a tired chuckle, but the fight was leaving him quickly. “Fine,” he relented with a sigh, shifting onto his side. His wing instinctively curled around her, pulling her close. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

Ophelia hummed, threading her fingers through his dark hair, marveling at its softness. “Where else would I be?”

He made a pleased sound at that, his breathing already slowing, evening out as his body gave in to exhaustion. She watched him for a while, tracing the sharp lines of his face, the faint twitching of his feathers as he drifted into sleep. Even now, he was beautiful. Her dragon side purred in satisfaction—he looked good in her den, resting where he belonged.

But she, unlike him, was far from tired. Her endurance as a dragon beastwoman was on an entirely different level. It was almost unfair how quickly her body had recovered, while Muir had barely lasted minutes after their activities before he was out cold. She huffed to herself. Was this a species difference? Did bird beastmen only have the stamina for one round before clocking out? She’d have to test that theory later.

For now, there was something else she wanted. A bath.

Muir’s release was still sticky between her thighs, cooling against her skin, and though the scent of him lingered on her body in a way that pleased her possessive instincts, she preferred to feel clean. Careful not to disturb him, she slipped from the nest of furs, stretching out her wings before heading toward the exit.

As she ascended the incline of the tunnel, the den’s blue crystal light gave way to the soft glow of moonlight spilling in from the entrance. When she stepped outside, the sight before her was breathtaking. The night was clear, and the full moon hung high in the sky, casting silver light over the mountain peaks. The jagged rock formations stretched far into the horizon, their sharp silhouettes outlined against the deep blue of the night. A cool breeze whispered through the cliffs, rustling her hair as she inhaled deeply.

The sounds of the wild filled the night—distant howls of wolves in the valleys below, the rustling of leaves as nocturnal creatures stirred. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of the mountain pines, the dampness of the earth. She exhaled, watching as the warmth of her breath turned to mist in the cold night air.

With one last glance back toward her den—where Muir slept soundly, untouched and safe in her domain—she set off toward the stream below, her steps light against the stone. Tonight had been a beginning, she knew. A claim had been made. And when Muir woke, she would remind him of it again.

For now, she would bask in the moonlight, cleanse herself, and prepare for what was to come.

Chapter Text

The night stretched on in eerie stillness, bathed in the cold glow of a full moon. Silvery light poured over the jagged cliffs and uneven, rocky terrain, casting deep, shifting shadows that shrouded Curtis where he lurked. The air was crisp, tinged with the distant scent of damp earth and mineral-rich stone, the cavernous mountains whispering with the faint echoes of the wind.

Small nocturnal creatures skittered across the rocks, their tiny claws scraping against stone before vanishing into the darkness. An owl hooted somewhere high above, its haunting call carried through the sky before being swallowed by silence once more. The rustling of the sparse, wind-blown vegetation filled the void, but beyond that, the night was unnervingly quiet. As if the world, too, was holding its breath.

Curtis lay low behind a jagged outcrop of rock, his long form coiled and rigid, barely breathing as his sharp gaze fixed on the entrance to Ophelia’s den. He had been waiting for her return, as he often did, though he hated himself for it. But tonight was different.

Tonight, she had not come alone.

The moment he saw her land gracefully at the cave’s entrance, her silver-white hair spilling over her shoulders, his heart had clenched with something dark and bitter. And then, trailing close behind her, was him. That blasted hawk.

Muir.

Curtis’s jaw ticked as he watched the two figures disappear into the abyssal depths of her lair. A female bringing a male to her den—it could mean only one thing. Jealousy slithered under his skin like a sickness. He wished it was him. It should have been him.

But just as his rage threatened to boil over, Ophelia reappeared.

She emerged in her full dragon form, the sheer magnitude of her presence momentarily stealing his breath. Her scales shimmered under the moonlight, her impressive wings stretching wide before she took off, powerful and swift. He tracked her every movement as she clutched a bundle of rolled furs, flying out of sight toward the deeper parts of the cave.

And yet, despite her absence, Curtis did not leave.

He stayed. He waited. He shouldn’t have, but he did.

The quiet of the night pressed in around him, amplifying the sound of his own breath, his own heartbeat. Trepidation twisted in his chest. He already knew what would happen, but some masochistic part of him needed to hear it—to confirm what his mind refused to accept.

And then, it came.

A sound.

Faint at first, a hushed murmur carried by the cavern’s depths. But soon, the unmistakable notes of pleasure reached his ears. A moan—low, husky, and feminine.

His breath hitched.

Ophelia.

The sound slithered into him, wrapping around his senses, striking something primal and possessive within him. And then, as if to torment him further, the scent followed.

Sweet. Rich. Overwhelming.

His pupils flared as the intoxicating aroma of her arousal filled the air, curling around him like an invisible brand. His fingers dug into the cold stone beside him, the sharp edges biting into his palm. His body tensed, his instincts screaming at him to go to her, to claim her, to remind her that she should not be with that hawk—but with him.

Then, another sound.

A groan. Male. Deep.

Curtis inhaled sharply, his body going rigid. And with it, the musky scent of another beastman—a tainting, unwelcome presence intermingling with hers.

His throat tightened, his tail curling in on itself as a vicious heat boiled in his gut. His mind painted the scene within the cavern in cruel, vivid detail. His breath came heavier, but he forced himself to stay still, to endure the torment of knowing.

It should have been me.

It frustrated him beyond belief that he wasn’t her first mate, that she had let another male into her domain before him. But he wouldn’t give up. Ophelia was too special, too enchanting—being the first beastwoman to be seen, and a dragon at that, with impossible power. It was only natural for her to be his.

Curtis thought back to their first meeting. He knew they hadn’t gotten off on the right foot. He had kidnapped another female, Bai—an agreeable, timid female. She had been easy to control, or so he had thought. She was supposed to be his, to serve his needs. But he hadn’t cared for her. Bai had meant nothing to him. When she cut away his half-formed mark, it hadn’t hurt him—it had freed him. Freed him to pursue the one he truly wanted.

He just hoped Ophelia didn’t get the wrong idea, and didn't think he had any true desire for Bai. No, she was the one he wanted. The only one. And it only made sense—out of all the beastmen in this city, he and Ophelia were the most alike. They were both scaled, both reptilian. He might not have wings, but he understood her in a way these feathered, furred creatures never could.

Curtis’ tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The scent of their coupling still lingered. He seethed. The hawk had gotten to her first, but that didn’t mean it was over. He would wait. He would be patient. And when the time was right, he would have her.

The night wind picked up, rustling through the crags and carrying the scent of her away from him, leaving only the cold, empty silence behind.

Curtis exhaled slowly, his sharp nails scraping against stone before he clenched his fists and turned away. His eyes burned with something unreadable, something dangerous.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Curtis stiffened as movement caught his eye. Eventually, Ophelia emerged from the cavern entrance, her bare figure bathed in the silver glow of the full moon. His breath hitched. She was completely naked.

The cool night air swirled around her, carrying the lingering scent of sex, of her satisfaction. His jaw tightened as he took in the evidence of her mating—the faint marks along her neck where the hawk had latched onto her, the sheen of sweat still clinging to her sculpted form, the way her powerful thighs glistened. It infuriated him. That should have been him marking her, claiming her. Yet despite the possessiveness roiling within him, he couldn’t look away.

She was magnificent.

Her long, white-silver hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, curling at the ends, slightly tousled from her recent activities. Her impressive, curved black horns gleamed in the moonlight, a testament to her raw power. Her pale, flawless skin practically glowed, stretched taut over strong muscle, her body sculpted to perfection. The curve of her hips, the toned expanse of her stomach, the swell of her breasts—everything about her exuded dominance, beauty, power.

And the scent—gods, the scent.

Her musk hung thick in the air, an intoxicating mix of dragon spice and lingering heat that sent a sharp pulse of desire straight to his core. He had to fight the urge to move, to go to her, to throw himself at her feet and beg for a taste. His body coiled with tension, his arousal unbearable, but he forced himself to stay still. He was downwind. That was the only reason she hadn’t noticed him yet. If she had—he swallowed. He didn’t want to find out what she would do to him if she caught him like this.

But what was she doing out here? Why wasn’t she resting after her mating? His sharp eyes tracked her as she tilted her head back, staring up at the moon with a thoughtful expression. What was she thinking about? Did she regret her choice? Did she think of him?

Curtis flexed his fingers, his claws lightly scraping against the rock beneath him. He wanted to call out to her, to make his presence known. But he held back. Not yet.

After a long moment, Ophelia exhaled and stretched her wings, her powerful limbs flexing before she suddenly leaped into the air, her massive wings carrying her into the sky. He recognized the direction she was heading immediately.

The stream.

The same place he had last seen her bathing.

A wicked smirk curled across his lips.

Curtis moved, slithering swiftly from his hiding spot, his powerful body undulating as he propelled himself forward. He knew where she was going. He would not be left behind.

With practiced speed, he navigated the rocky terrain, following her trail as fast as he could. His body was built for stealth, for patience, for the slow and inevitable squeeze of victory. But tonight, he was eager.

By the time he reached the stream, he had returned to his previous hiding spot, his chest rising and falling as he peered out from the shadows. And there she was.

Standing in the water, the moonlight reflecting off her damp skin, looking like something out of a fevered dream.

His resolve hardened.

It was time.

No more waiting. No more lurking.

He would confront her. He would state his intentions.

And if she rejected him? If she decided he wasn’t worthy?

Then he would proudly die trying to make her his.

Chapter Text

Ophelia landed gracefully by the stream, her powerful wings folding against her back as her feet touched the soft sediment. The night was quiet, save for the gentle babbling of water flowing over smooth stones. Moonlight spilled across the surface, its reflection rippling with her slightest movement. A deep breath filled her lungs with the cool, crisp air, and for the first time that day, she felt a rare sense of peace.

She stepped forward, the water lapping at her ankles before she ventured deeper. The stream was shallow, barely reaching her calves, but it was enough. Kneeling, she gathered her long, silken hair over one shoulder, the silver-white strands glistening under the moon's glow. With practiced ease, she began washing herself, her hands gliding over her skin—paying careful attention to the places that needed tending. The shift between her dragon and humanoid forms burned away most filth, yet she never felt truly clean unless she bathed. Perhaps it was a lingering habit from her past life, a routine ingrained too deeply to discard.

She had noticed something peculiar about herself since awakening as a dragon beastwoman—she no longer carried the scent of sweat or natural musk, no matter how much she exerted herself. Was it a quirk of dragon genetics? Or something inherent to reptilian beastmen? She supposed she would never know.

As she splashed water over her face, a sound disrupted the tranquil moment.

A slithering.

The faint scrape of rocks shifting under weight.

A scent—distinct, cold, serpentine.

Ophelia stilled, exhaling slowly as she lifted her gaze. And there he was.

Curtis.

The red snake beastman stood at the edge of the stream, his crimson hair and tail almost glowing under the pale moonlight. Shadows carved the sharp angles of his face, but his slit-pupiled eyes gleamed like polished rubies, fixed entirely on her. Silent, watchful. A predator at rest.

Her tail flicked, the movement betraying her irritation, even as her face remained unreadable. She held his stare with draconic patience, neither welcoming nor hostile—just cold, detached.

Slowly, she rose from the water, droplets cascading down her skin in rivulets that caught the moonlight like liquid silver. The surface rippled around her legs as she stepped forward, wings shifting slightly as if preparing to unfurl.

Curtis had not moved.

He simply stood there, watching.

Waiting.

And Ophelia wondered—what exactly did he want from her tonight?

The cool water of the stream lapped gently at Ophelia’s calves as she stood, droplets tracing the curves of her body before falling back into the rippling surface. She had claimed her first mate that night. The thought filled her with a deep, unfamiliar satisfaction, stirring something primal—a protective instinct that burned like a steady flame in her chest. He still lay peacefully in her den, slumbering in the warmth of her wings, unaware of the presence that now disturbed her tranquility.

Curtis.

His crimson tail curled loosely behind him, his stance careful—too careful. He was wary, cautious in how he approached, but his gaze remained unwavering, fixated on her with an intensity that set her on edge.

Ophelia’s wings shifted slightly, droplets glistening like tiny stars as they slid off the dark membrane. She narrowed her draconic eyes, her voice smooth yet laced with an unmistakable edge.

"What are you doing here, Curtis?"

The snake beastman tilted his head slightly, watching her, his slit pupils expanding and contracting as if assessing her mood. His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally spoke.

"I came to see you."

Ophelia let the silence stretch between them, waiting, testing. When he didn’t elaborate, she took a step forward, water swirling around her ankles.

"And were you watching me bathe?" Her tone was unreadable, but there was something almost accusatory in the way she asked.

Curtis inhaled slowly through his nose, his tail giving a slight flick, betraying his unease.

"I didn't come here for that," he said carefully. "I arrived and… saw you. I did not turn away."

Ophelia huffed softly, unimpressed. "Blunt honesty. I’ll give you that much."

She crossed her arms, the cool night air brushing against her damp skin. "You still haven’t answered why you’re here. What do you want, Curtis?"

For the first time since she had known him, the usually cold and composed snake beastman hesitated. His jaw tensed, his throat working as if he was forcing down something that didn’t come naturally to him.

"You."

The word was spoken low but firm, devoid of any embellishment. Yet, despite its simplicity, it carried weight.

Ophelia raised a brow, unimpressed. "You what?"

Curtis exhaled through his nose, his tail shifting against the ground. "I want to court you."

A slow blink. Silence stretched between them. Then Ophelia laughed—low and amused, but with a sharpness that carried a warning. "You must be joking."

"I am not."

Curtis stepped closer, his crimson eyes burning with something deeper than lust—determination. "You and I, we are the same. Both reptilian. Both stronger than the others. We understand things no mammal could ever hope to. You and I… we would be a perfect match."

Ophelia tilted her head, considering him. Her wings gave an idle twitch, dispersing the last remnants of water clinging to them. "Perfect, you say?" She let out a thoughtful hum before her gaze sharpened. "And tell me, Curtis, how exactly do you intend to prove that?"

Curtis’s tail flicked again, but his expression didn’t waver. "I can provide for you. I can hunt. I can fight. I can protect." His voice was steady, but there was something almost… unsure beneath the surface. It wasn’t hesitation in his words but in how he spoke them—like he was grasping at an unfamiliar concept.

Ophelia’s lips curled, amusement glinting in her draconic eyes. "Provide for me?" A chuckle left her throat, deep and rich. "Curtis, I don’t need a male’s strength. I am more than capable of hunting for myself, of fighting my own battles. I can crush boulders with my bare hands and tear through enemies with a flick of my claws. What could you possibly offer that I don’t already have?"

Curtis stiffened, his jaw tightening. His tail lashed once, betraying his frustration, but he swallowed it down. "It’s not just about strength."

"Isn’t it?" Ophelia teased, arching a brow. "That’s the foundation of beastmen, isn’t it? The strongest rules. The strongest claims. But I am already the strongest." She leaned forward slightly, her presence overwhelming despite the amused lilt in her voice. "So tell me, Curtis—what use do I have for you?"

Curtis exhaled slowly, his crimson eyes dark with intensity. He stepped closer, though still cautious. "Because I know you," he said, voice low but certain. "You are a dragon. You are meant for more."

Ophelia let out a soft hum, tilting her head slightly as if considering his words. "More?"

Curtis took another step forward. "One mate will never be enough for you." His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something raw—something that betrayed how much he wanted this. Wanted her. "I have watched you, Ophelia. You are strong, untouchable, powerful beyond any beastman in this city. You deserve males who can match you, who can support you, who can give you everything you need."

Ophelia arched a brow, unamused. "And you think you fit that description?"

Curtis didn’t hesitate. "I do."

Silence stretched between them, the sounds of the night filling the space—the soft lapping of the stream, the distant chirping of nocturnal creatures. Moonlight reflected off the water, casting silver ripples against Ophelia’s bare legs. She hadn’t moved, standing tall in the shallow stream, her wings half-unfurled behind her.

Ophelia studied him, the corners of her lips curling in something akin to amusement. "I already have a mate, Curtis. One I claimed myself. What makes you think I need another?"

The flicker in Curtis’s eyes was brief but telling. She had struck a nerve.

"I know," he admitted, his voice tight. "I know I came too late. I should have seen it before. Should have acted before. But that does not change what I feel now." His fists clenched. "I do not regret the path I took to get here, only that I did not realize sooner."
Ophelia arched a brow. "And what exactly is it that you feel?"

Curtis inhaled sharply, his tail coiling slightly as if to ground himself. "I want you. More than I have ever wanted anything."

For someone so cold, so calculating, it was strange to hear such raw honesty from him. But then, Ophelia knew—it wasn’t softness that drove him to speak this way. It was desperation. The kind of desperation that came from a beastman realizing he was venturing into unknown territory.

She could smell it on him. The uncertainty. The excitement. The fear.

"And what if I say no?" she asked, tilting her head.

Curtis’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. "Then I will wait. However long it takes. I will not take you as a lesser male would take a weak female. That is not what I want. I do not want a mate who resents me. I want you to choose me."

Ophelia stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering through her eyes. Then she huffed, stepping out of the water, the ground cool beneath her feet as she moved closer.

She stopped just before him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He was cooler, his temperature naturally lower than hers, but he didn’t flinch away from

Ophelia watched Curtis carefully, her draconic eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His confession hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken tension. He wanted her. He wanted to court her.

And yet, there was something unresolved—something that had festered in the back of her mind ever since she first met him.

Her wings shifted slightly, and she crossed her arms, her expression cool. "Tell me something, Curtis."

The snake beastman straightened slightly, sensing the shift in her tone. "What?"

Ophelia’s gaze didn’t waver. "Bai Qingqing."

Curtis’s entire body stiffened, his crimson tail lashing once against the dirt. His expression darkened—not with anger, but something closer to defensiveness. "What about her?"

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. "You kidnapped her. You tried to mark her. And now you stand before me, telling me that you want me?" Her voice was even, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in her words. "How am I supposed to believe you?"

Curtis clenched his jaw. "That was a mistake." His voice was tight, clipped.

Ophelia’s lips curled slightly, her sharp teeth just barely visible. "A mistake?"

Curtis exhaled through his nose, clearly frustrated, but he forced himself to remain calm. "I never wanted her, Ophelia. I never completed the mark."

She arched a brow. "And yet, she had one."

"A half-mark," he corrected, his voice laced with urgency. "It wasn’t complete. That’s why she was able to cut it off so easily." He took a slow slither forward, his tail twitching behind him. "If I had truly claimed her, do you think she would have been able to sever it so easily?"

Ophelia didn’t answer immediately, watching him. His words made sense—she had seen Bai’s ankle after she removed the mark. It had been weak, faint. But that didn’t change the fact that Curtis had forced it upon her in the first place.

Her expression hardened. "It doesn’t change what you did to her."

Curtis flinched, his hands curling into fists.

"She suffered because of you," Ophelia continued, her voice cold. "You forced her into a difficult choice. She had to cut herself, had to endure that pain just to free herself from you. Do you think that was easy for her?"

Curtis’s lips pressed into a thin line. He had no defense for that. He had seen Bai’s eyes when she severed the bond—how much it had terrified her. At the time, he hadn’t cared. But now… standing before Ophelia, the weight of his past actions felt heavier than ever.

He took another step toward her, but she didn’t move.

"I regret it," he said, his voice lower now, as if admitting it was painful. "I know I was wrong." He looked at her, eyes burning with a rare, raw honesty. "I cannot change the past. But I can change for you."

Ophelia remained impassive. "And how exactly do you plan to make up for it?"

Curtis exhaled sharply. "However you want me to. However, I need to." His tail coiled slightly, betraying his tension. "I swear to you, Ophelia, I will be the best mate I can be. I will prove myself if you only give me the chance."

Ophelia studied him for a long moment before speaking, her tone deceptively casual. "You know…" She lifted her gaze slightly, eyes half-lidded. "The idea of one of my potential males having already claimed another female… even partially…" Her lips curled downward. "It leaves a sour taste in my mouth."

Curtis tensed, his breathing slightly uneven. He had feared this.

Desperation clawed at his chest, something unfamiliar—something he wasn’t used to feeling. His instincts screamed at him to act, to do something to fix this before he lost her completely.

He slithered closer, just enough for her to feel his cool body heat contrast against her own. "Ophelia," he murmured, voice lower, almost pleading. "You are the only female I want. I swear it. No other female could ever compare to you."

Ophelia tilted her head, watching him. "And you expect me to overlook it?"

Curtis let out a slow breath, his tail coiling and uncoiling with restless energy. "No," he admitted. "But I need you to know that it was never about her." His crimson gaze bore into hers, his voice rough with something that almost sounded like desperation. "I never wanted her. I never completed the mark. That’s why she was able to remove it."

Ophelia’s expression didn’t change. "And that’s supposed to reassure me?"

Curtis’s eyes darkened. "I was lost." The words left him like they had been torn from his throat. "I have always been a feral, Ophelia. I took what I thought I needed. It was instinct. But you—" He exhaled, stepping closer. "You are different."

His pupils dilated, his crimson gaze unwavering. "I will be loyal to you. Only you."

Ophelia didn’t move away, but she didn’t soften either. Her expression remained unreadable, her gaze assessing.

Curtis swallowed hard. "If I could undo the past, I would." His fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach for her. "But I can’t. All I can do is prove to you that I am worthy. That I am yours, if you’ll have me."

Ophelia let the silence stretch, dragging out the tension. Then, slowly, she reached up, her fingers brushing the underside of his jaw again, tilting his face slightly.

Curtis stiffened but didn’t resist.

She smirked, but there was something dark in her gaze. "We’ll see."

Then, she turned and walked past him, leaving him standing there—watching, waiting, hoping.

Curtis exhaled, his tail flicking against the dirt.

The challenge still stood.

And he was going to win it.

He was also glad she didn't eat him on sight

Chapter Text

Muir woke up in warmth like no other—a deep, soul-soothing heat that wrapped around him like a cocoon. He felt fully rested, utterly content, and for the first time in his life, he never wanted to move again. Soft furs cushioned him beneath, but it was the intense, familiar heat at his side that held him captive. Comforting. Powerful. Unmistakable.

A slow, satisfied smile stretched across his lips.

Ophelia.

His mate.

The realization settled deep in his chest, a sense of triumph and fulfillment unlike anything he had ever known. He had thought it would take years to earn this privilege—to fight for her approval, to prove himself worthy of standing by her side. But he had been blissfully, unexpectedly wrong. She had chosen him. He had become her first mate.

A pleased groan vibrated in his chest as he instinctively shifted closer, burying his face in the warmth beside him and breathing in her intoxicating scent. She smelled like power, like something untamed and ancient, but beneath it all was a softness only he was allowed to witness. The sheer heat of her body enveloped him entirely, making him drowsy with comfort.

Then, clawed fingers threaded through his short hair, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Muir," she murmured, amusement lacing her voice.

He cracked open one eye and was greeted by the sight of her—well, her chest, where his face had happily landed. Tilting his head up, he met her gaze, those draconic purple eyes filled with warmth and mischief.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

Muir let out a satisfied sigh. "This was the best night of my life."

The cave around them remained unchanged—dimly lit by the glow of countless crystals embedded in the walls, their gentle luminescence casting a dreamlike glow over the space. The world outside did not exist in this moment. There was only her, only them, wrapped in a stillness so absolute that he could almost believe it would last forever.

Until Ophelia’s curious tone interrupted their cozy bliss.

"Muir… are you supposed to wake up with a tattoo? Or… a marking?"

At that, Muir bolted upright, completely unbothered by his nakedness as he immediately began searching her body for his mark. His hands skimmed over her chest, down the flawless expanse of her skin, his heart pounding. He needed to see it—to confirm that she bore his claim. But… nothing.

His frown deepened as he traced along her sides, only to come up empty-handed. Was it possible… he hadn’t been able to mark her?

Laughter rang out, bright and teasing.

"Muir," Ophelia said, shaking her head, "not on me. Look down at yourself."

He blinked at her, uncomprehending—until realization struck. Slowly, he lowered his gaze.

There, sprawled across his chest, was an intricate, bold white marking. A dragon. Majestic, powerful, massive—just like the real thing. The design wove around his skin in elegant, commanding strokes, covering his heart in a breathtaking display of dominance.

Shock flared through him first, confusion swirling in his gut. But then, just as quickly, pride took its place.

She had marked him.

His fingers traced the dragon’s head, feeling the faint warmth it emitted. The horns—sharp, curved, and identical to Ophelia’s own—framed the image perfectly. The dragon’s half-lidded eyes exuded a presence so commanding that aggression was unnecessary. No need for a snarl, no need for a threatening glare—this was Ophelia. The clawed hand gripping his shoulder, the way the design curved over his ribs… it was hers.

Still, a flicker of unease gnawed at him. Shouldn’t she have a mark too?

His gaze lifted back to hers. "Do you… have one as well?"

Ophelia tilted her head, considering. "Not that I know of."

Then, without a second thought, she rose gracefully to her feet. Without hesitation, she shed her clothes in one fluid motion, unbothered, regal. She turned in place, allowing him a full view of her body, her expression open, curious.

"See?" she mused. "Not a mark anywhere."

Muir’s sharp eyes roamed over her, drinking in every inch of flawless skin, searching—hoping—but it was true. There was nothing.

A strange mix of emotions swirled inside him, but before he could sort through them, Ophelia sank down behind him, her long legs bracketing his sides as her warmth pressed against his back. Her arms draped lazily over his shoulders, her fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone.

"You can’t see it," she murmured, her voice rich with amusement, "but I can describe it to you."

Her claws found his skin, featherlight at first as she traced along the back of his shoulder. Muir shivered, every touch leaving behind an awareness that sent heat curling in his gut.

"The wings spread here," Ophelia murmured, dragging her fingers outward in slow, deliberate strokes. "They fold over your back like they’re sheltering you… keeping you within my reach."

Muir’s breath hitched as her touch glided lower, over the dip of his spine.

"And the tail," she continued, voice softer now, more intimate. Her fingers trailed down, following the winding length of inked scales. "It coils around your side, the tip curling just above your waist. Almost as if…" She let her claws scrape lightly against his skin, making his muscles twitch beneath her touch. "I’m holding you close."

Muir swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

Ophelia’s touch lingered as she hummed thoughtfully. "Does it bother you?"

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"That I don’t have your mark," she clarified, her voice quieter now, her fingers momentarily still against his skin. "That only you bear one."

Muir turned his head slightly, just enough for their gazes to meet. His blue eyes were steady, unwavering. "No," he admitted honestly. "It doesn’t bother me at all."

Ophelia studied him for a long moment, searching for any trace of hesitation. She found none.

A slow, pleased smile curved her lips. "Good," she murmured.

Then, without warning, she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of his neck. Her lips were warm, soft, and when she pulled back, she parted them just enough for her tongue to flicker out—longer now, more serpentine.

Muir shuddered as she dragged it in a slow, heated trail over his shoulder and along the inked claw gripping his skin. A quiet, pleased rumble escaped her as she tasted her mark on him, savoring the proof of her claim.

"You wear me well, Muir," she murmured against his skin.

Muir exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. He had thought claiming her would be the greatest victory of his life.

But being claimed by her?

That was something else entirely.

Muir exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. He had thought claiming her would be the greatest victory of his life.

But being claimed by her?

That was something else entirely.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, content to exist in the quiet warmth of their shared space. Ophelia's arms remained draped lazily over his shoulders, her lips still ghosting over his skin where her tongue had traced the ink of her mark. Muir could feel her smile against him, her breath steady and content. He wanted to stay like this. Forever, if possible.

But then, Ophelia pulled back, stretching her arms above her head with a languid ease that sent a ripple of movement through her muscles. "Time to get up," she said, voice warm but firm.

Muir groaned and immediately slumped back against her, tilting his head to nuzzle into her shoulder in protest. "We could stay here instead."

Ophelia huffed in amusement. "Tempting, but I do have guard duty."

Muir grumbled something incoherent into her skin, wrapping his arms around her waist like an overgrown cat refusing to be moved. His sharp blue eyes flicked up to hers, full of reluctant longing. "Just a little longer?"

She snorted and patted his head like he was some sulking fledgling. "Muir."

He sighed dramatically before finally, reluctantly, pulling away. Ophelia stood smoothly, stretching once more before reaching for her discarded clothes. Muir remained where he was, watching her with unabashed appreciation.

"You could always stay naked," he mused as she fastened the clasps of her attire.

Ophelia arched a brow, her smirk pure mischief. "You first."

Muir chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his own clothes. He caught Ophelia watching, her gaze darkening for a moment before she turned away, as if she’d caught herself.

As she finished dressing, she moved toward the entrance of the cave, wings flexing slightly as if eager for the open sky. But before she stepped out, she glanced back at him. "I'll grab you a bite while I'm out."

Muir, who was fiddling with his clothes, gave her a look. "I can hunt for myself, you know."

Ophelia winked, her tail giving an idle wag from side to side. "No, let me. You did a good job appearing with that mark, after all. It made me very happy."

Muir's chest warmed at her words, though he rolled his eyes to cover it. "Glad to know I have my uses."

She laughed and stepped past him, brushing a hand along his shoulder in passing. "Do what you want for the morning," she murmured. "I’ll come find you with food."

Muir narrowed his eyes at her playfully. "And how exactly are you going to find me?"

Ophelia smirked, her draconic eyes gleaming. "I just will."

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the entrance, her movements fluid, effortless. In a single motion, she leapt into the darkness of the tunnel, wings snapping open as she shot upward.

Muir followed her retreating form to the entrance, watching as the flickering light of the cave barely caught the edges of her wings before she disappeared into the abyss. A moment later, a powerful gust of wind ruffled his hair, and then—

A roar.

Loud. Powerful. Reverberating through the stone walls like thunder.

Then came the heavy, unmistakable sound of colossal wings beating against the air, sending dust and loose pebbles skittering across the cave floor. Muir stood at the entrance, listening to the deep, rhythmic hum of Ophelia’s flight, a sound that belonged to something massive, something ancient.

A slow smile tugged at his lips. He shook his head, amused.

"I thought I was the male," he muttered to himself, crossing his arms. "Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing the hunting?"

Still, the gesture brought warmth to his chest, and the smile on his face lingered.

Muir exhaled slowly, feeling the warmth of Ophelia’s lingering presence even as she had already flown off. His body still thrummed with satisfaction, his mark still pulsing with a heat that wasn’t entirely physical. He flexed his fingers before rolling his shoulders, testing the new weight on his skin.

A smirk played on his lips.

No cape today.

He had originally planned to dress as usual—his leather skirt, arm bracers, and cape—but after seeing the way Ophelia looked at his mark, the way her gaze had lingered, something possessive and pleased in her expression… Why cover it?

Besides, what was the point of bearing such a mark if he didn’t let the entire city see?

So, he left his cape behind. His chest, shoulders, and back were bare, displaying the full stretch of the mark across his skin. The black and white dragon coiled across him in intricate strokes, its head and horns displayed proudly over his heart. He knew exactly what kind of reaction this would cause.

And he welcomed it.

Spreading his wings, he took a few quick strides before launching into the air, his powerful limbs propelling him upward.

The sky above Beast City was never empty—hawks, falcons, and other aerial beastmen often soared in loose formations, calling out to one another as they hunted or patrolled. But as soon as Muir entered their airspace, something changed.

There was a pause.

A double take.

Then—

The sky erupted in squawks, screeches, and indignant cries.

“Muir?!”

“That bastard—he—he actually—”

“The beastwoman marked him?”

“What kind of joke is this?!”

Jealous, enraged, admiring, the cacophony of voices filled the sky as Muir passed them, their reactions playing like music to his ears. He didn’t acknowledge them, but he did straighten his posture, puffing his chest ever so slightly as he flew. He didn’t need to say anything—the proof was on his skin.

His mark.

Ophelia’s mark.

By the time he reached the market, the murmurs had already spread below, beastmen pausing in their trading and conversations as they caught sight of him descending. The marketplace was always lively, but today, there was an undeniable tension in the air as countless eyes landed on him, wide with disbelief.

He landed smoothly, adjusting his braces before making his way through the crowded space. The beastmen, whether predator or prey, parted slightly as he walked, their eyes locked onto the mark stretched over his chest. Some whispered. Others scowled. A few looked begrudgingly impressed.

Muir welcomed all of it.

Let them talk. Let them stare.

He had won.

Still, he had something else to do today besides basking in their envy. He had come for Ophelia’s new clothes.

He stepped into the shop where Esko, the peacock beastman, worked. The space was well-lit with bolts of fabric stacked neatly along the walls, rolls of leather hanging from hooks, and measuring tools scattered over Esko’s workstation.

Esko, standing behind the counter, turned at the sound of a new customer entering. “Welcome—”

His words died in his throat as he caught sight of who had walked in.

And then, for a second time, he froze.

His eyes widened, his sharp gaze snapping to the mark on Muir’s chest. His vibrant tail feathers, usually so composed and elegant, gave an involuntary twitch as he took in the sight before him—something completely unheard of.

A male bearing a mating mark.

Esko blinked, his mouth slightly parted as if trying to form words.

Muir smirked, stepping forward. “You look like you’ve seen a spirit.”

Esko finally moved, shaking his head quickly, his tail feathers fluffing out in visible agitation. “You—you actually did it?” His voice was a mix of incredulity and thinly veiled jealousy. “You mated with her?”

Muir tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Esko scoffed, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d attempt to court her. That much was obvious. But actually succeeding?” He exhaled sharply, his eyes still flicking to the mark. “And—this? I’ve never seen a male get marked before.”

Muir rolled his shoulders, letting the movement subtly emphasize the ink on his skin. “Well, now you have.”

Esko clicked his tongue, his sharp gaze dragging over the intricate details of the dragon sprawled across Muir’s chest. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. But despite his obvious jealousy, there was something else in his tone. Something begrudgingly intrigued.

Muir let him stew in silence for a moment before getting to the point. “I’m here for Ophelia’s new clothes. Are you finished?”

Esko exhaled, running a hand through his hair before shaking off his lingering shock. “One,” he admitted, turning toward a nearby rack. “The others aren’t finished yet.”

Muir nodded. “I’ll take it to her.”

Esko retrieved the completed garment—dark leather, simple yet undeniably fitted for someone with Ophelia’s stature and wings. But even as he handed it over, his sharp eyes were still glued to Muir’s skin.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer.

Muir didn’t move as Esko studied the mark more intently, his eyes narrowing as he followed the lines of ink stretching toward his back. He shifted slightly, trying to see—

And then, realization dawned on his face.

His mouth parted slightly. “Wait.” His voice lowered, his curiosity overcoming his jealousy. “Does the mark… does it go further?”

Muir stiffened slightly. He couldn’t see it himself, but he knew Ophelia had traced her claws over his back, describing the wings, the tail curling around his side.

Esko’s gaze locked onto him. “You don’t even know what it looks like back there, do you?”

Muir narrowed his eyes. “Does it matter?”

Esko let out a slow, envious huff. “You lucky bastard.” He stepped back, shaking his head as he retrieved the garment. “This is unfair. A beastwoman finally appears, and of all people, you get marked first?” He let out a short laugh, but there was no true malice behind it. Only disbelief.

Muir only smirked, taking the completed outfit from his hands. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Esko rolled his eyes, still grumbling under his breath, but waved him off. “Go on, then. I have work to do.”

Muir turned, his wings shifting slightly as he stepped toward the entrance, fully aware of the envious gaze still lingering on his back.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind one bit.

Muir inspected the dark leather dress in his hands, running his fingers over the sturdy yet supple material. It was well-crafted, built to accommodate Ophelia’s wings, tail, and power. Esko had done good work—though Muir would never say that aloud.

Just as he was about to turn the outfit over to check the back, the air outside shifted.

A gust of wind, sharp and forceful, slammed against the shop, rattling the fabric rolls and sending loose scraps flying. Muir’s head snapped up, instincts screaming as he caught the faintest tremor in the ground beneath his feet.

Then, a deafening whoosh.

A booming, high-pitched roar tore through the marketplace.

Muir and Esko froze, wide-eyed, before looking sharply at each other. That sound—

A dragon.

But not just any dragon.

A second powerful downstroke of wings sent a pulse of wind surging through the market, scattering debris, flipping small merchant stands, and darkening the sky. The world dimmed under the sheer size of the massive form above.

Muir barely had time to move before his instincts kicked in, and he ran toward the entrance. Esko, just as curious and alarmed, rushed out beside him.

The moment they stepped into the open, they were engulfed in shadow.

The dragon above them was enormous. Endless. Her white-silver scales gleamed even in the faint morning light, her massive wings blotting out the sun, her powerful limbs tensed as if in search of something.

The beastwoman.

Their protector.

And then, her piercing purple gaze locked onto him.

A deep, rumbling coo—a sound so foreign coming from such a terrifyingly large creature—rumbled from her throat, vibrating through the ground itself.

Muir’s breath caught.

Esko swallowed audibly beside him.

Then—light.

A sudden flash overtook the sky, and the great dragon form twisted, shrinking before their very eyes. Wings folded in, limbs compacted, scales softened into skin. The monstrous presence that had cast its dominance over the market disappeared in mere moments.

And in its place, Ophelia.

She hovered for a split second, fully humanoid once more, her draconic eyes still gleaming with a flicker of her true form’s might. But even more striking were the two dark blurs falling with her.

With effortless precision, she caught them midair, one in each hand, their bodies limp.

Muir blinked, his mind still catching up.

Dead animals.

She had been carrying something in her dragon form, and now, in her smaller humanoid one, she held them by their scruffs with ease.

The wind around her stilled as she quickly dressed mid-air, her tail flicking contentedly behind her. Only when she was fully clothed did she descend, landing lightly on the ground with a smile.

She lifted the now fully recognizable animals.

Two rare boars, thick with muscle and known for their incredible taste.

“Muir,” she said, eyes alight with excitement, “do you like these?”

Muir’s mouth was still slightly ajar.

Esko, standing beside him, was equally stunned.

Both of them slowly nodded.

Ophelia beamed, entirely pleased with herself, her tail swaying like a pleased predator. But before she could revel in the moment, her gaze flicked down to what he was holding.

Her expression brightened even more.

“Is that for me?” she asked, stepping closer, excitement unmistakable in her tone.

Muir stiffened.

He had seen that look before.

She was pleased. Happy. And about to strip in the middle of the marketplace.

Absolutely not.

Before she could so much as reach for the dress, Muir moved.

Without hesitation, he grabbed her elbow—not harshly, but firmly, possessively. Before mating, he would have never dared such a familiar gesture, but now, something had shifted.

She was his.

And he was hers.

He had no fear of touching her now.

So, with a decisive pull, he guided her back into the shop.

Esko, still in a daze, followed them inside, his gaze flicking between the two of them, his peacock mind still catching up to everything he had just witnessed.

The moment they were inside, Muir swiftly turned his attention back to Esko—who, unfortunately, had not yet stopped gaping at his mate.

More specifically, at Ophelia’s body.

Muir scowled.

Muir’s scowl deepened as he took in Esko’s tail.

The peacock beastman, despite his outward attempt at composure, was fighting against pure instinct. His extravagant plumage—normally tucked away in casual settings—had fanned out just slightly, shimmering under the shop’s lantern light.

Vivid iridescent blues, deep emerald greens, and hints of gold shimmered along the intricate patterns of the long, elegant feathers. The eye-like markings at the tips seemed almost alive, shifting with every minute movement as if testing the waters, waiting for an opportunity to fully spread.

Esko hadn’t flared them entirely—he wasn’t that reckless—but they were certainly too full. Too vibrant. Too much like a beastman on the verge of courting display.

Muir’s narrowed gaze snapped back to Esko’s face.

The peacock hadn’t even realized what he was doing.

Ophelia was here. Ophelia, the only beastwoman. His body had reacted before his mind could catch up.

But Muir caught it.

And he wouldn’t allow it.

With one smooth motion, he flared his own wings wide, the dark, powerful span cutting Esko’s view of Ophelia completely. The motion was subtle, calculated, and entirely territorial.

Esko blinked, startled out of his trance, and finally seemed to realize what his tail had been doing. He glanced down at himself, then exhaled sharply through his nose, visibly forcing his tail feathers to lower.

He gave Muir a flat look.

Muir didn’t answer.

The only one who got to display for Ophelia was him.

The peacock blinked, startled.

Muir didn’t say a word.

But he glowered.

Esko, to his credit, was intelligent enough to pick up on the warning.

Still, he let out an exaggerated sigh. “Relax, hawk. I wasn’t about to try anything.” His tail feathers gave a slight twitch, but they did settle down, no longer looking quite as full as before.

Muir narrowed his eyes.

Not on my watch.

Esko clicked his tongue. “You’re insufferable.”

Muir didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his stance firm, his wings remaining where they were until Ophelia was fully changed. Only then did he finally fold them back in, satisfied that no unwelcome eyes had wandered where they shouldn’t.

Esko only rolled his eyes. “Possessive much?”

Muir didn’t bother answering.

Because the moment Ophelia turned around, fully dressed and pleased, her tail flicking happily behind her, all he could focus on was how perfect she looked in that dress.

Ophelia looked stunning.

The black-dyed leather dress hugged her strong, curvaceous form in a way that was both practical and undeniably alluring. It cinched semi-tight at her waist, accentuating the natural dip before flaring slightly at her hips. The skirt flowed freely but ended mid-thigh, leaving her long, toned legs on full display—perfect for movement, perfect for a warrior.

The back was completely open, allowing her large, majestic wings the space they needed to spread without restriction. Her tail, always full of life, swayed lazily beneath the skirt’s hem, the movement effortless, as if she were already comfortable in her new attire.

But the neckline…

It was dangerously loose.

The soft leather draped rather than clung, falling just enough to highlight the swells of her chest without being indecent. It exposed a tantalizing amount of skin—just enough to tease, just enough to tempt. And her arms? Bare. Uncovered, unrestrained, her powerful muscles shifting with every little movement.

It was an outfit clearly designed for ease—something she could slip in and out of effortlessly. And yet, despite its simplicity, it suited her perfectly.

Muir watched, enthralled, as she twirled in place, inspecting how it fit. Ophelia was clearly pleased.

Esko, ever the professional despite his earlier instincts, snapped out of his trance and immediately got to work, stepping closer as he asked, “Does the fit feel right to you? Any tightness? Any discomfort?”

Ophelia stopped twirling, placing a hand on her hip. “It feels good—breathable, easy to move in. It doesn’t restrict my tail or wings, which is nice.” She stretched, rolling her shoulders, before glancing down at herself. “I like how it falls here,” she added, plucking the loose neckline slightly.

Muir, who was still trying to recover from watching her spin, felt his eye twitch.

Esko hummed, thoughtful. “May I check the fit?”

Ophelia, completely unbothered, nodded. “Go ahead.”

Muir barely contained a growl.

The peacock beastman stepped in close, his sharp eyes sweeping over Ophelia’s frame in a purely professional manner—but Muir didn’t believe it. He watched as Esko’s fingers just barely grazed along the hem of the skirt, testing the way it moved. He took in every inch of how the leather molded to her body, his gaze lingering a second too long on how it dipped at her lower back before he nodded, satisfied.

“In a week’s time, I should have the rest ready,” Esko announced, stepping back.

Ophelia gave a pleased hum, stretching her arms over her head before nodding. “Perfect.”

Muir, who had been scowling the entire time, immediately placed a possessive hand around her waist as they turned to leave.

The stink-eye he shot Esko was nothing short of murderous.

The peacock beastman merely smirked, the faintest flick of his tail feathers betraying his amusement.

Muir held back a snarl.

Not on my watch.

As they stepped back out onto the main street, Ophelia still held both boars in her grip, their limp bodies swinging slightly as she walked. Her tail flicked in contentment, pleased with her outfit, pleased with her hunt, pleased in general.

Muir, still unwilling to relinquish his claim, kept his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his grip undeniable.

The second they stepped into public view, the staring began.

It wasn’t unusual—Ophelia was always stared at. But this time? The gazes were different.

Some beastmen gawked at her. Others? At him.

Muir felt the weight of their eyes, some filled with curiosity, some burning with jealousy. The more dominant ones, the ones who had still clung to the delusion that they had a chance, glared openly at him.

He met their stares head-on, unbothered, unwavering.

Some had the audacity to keep looking.

The weaker ones? They looked away first.

Ophelia, completely oblivious to the unspoken battle occurring around her, turned her head toward Muir.

“Do you want to eat at our den?” she asked, adjusting the weight of the boars. “Or would you rather eat by the clearing?”

Muir’s brain stalled.

Not because of the question—no.

Because of the way she said it.

Our den.

Not his den. Not her den.

Theirs.

A strange warmth bloomed deep in his chest, something he had never quite felt before. Something that settled right next to the pride of wearing her mark.

“…Our den,” he repeated softly, almost like a reverent whisper.

Ophelia tilted her head. “Hmm?”

Muir cleared his throat, masking the emotion before it could show. “The den’s fine.”

He barely registered her pleased nod.

Because his attention had already shifted.

More beastmen were staring. Too many.

Muir’s expression darkened. Anyone who dared to linger too long on his mate was met with an unrelenting, piercing glare.

Some continued. Others immediately averted their eyes.

Either way?

Muir didn’t care.

Because at the end of the day—

Ophelia was his.

Chapter Text

The walk back to their den had started off pleasant enough. Ophelia, freshly dressed in her new leather outfit, walked beside Muir, her wings lightly flexing as she adjusted to the fitted material. The scent of fresh rain lingered in the air, and though the market had calmed, there was still a quiet contentment in the way the two moved together—like something had truly settled between them after their mating.

But the moment they turned a corner, the once-clear sky darkened, a rolling mass of heavy gray clouds swallowing the light above. The wind picked up, howling through the narrow streets, and then—without warning—fat, icy drops of rain began to pelt down.

At first, it was just a light drizzle. Then, within moments, the heavens truly opened. A torrential downpour crashed over them, soaking everything in sight.

Ophelia hissed in irritation, her draconic pupils narrowing as she cast a glare at the sky. Of all times! Her brand-new outfit—for gods’ sake—was now drenched, the supple leather darkening with the moisture and clinging uncomfortably to her skin. And the boars she had so proudly caught? Now soaked as well, their once-appetizing musk turning into something damp and unappealing. The rainwater only amplified their scent, and she wrinkled her nose, her appetite dulling at the thought of eating wet prey.

Beside her, Muir exhaled sharply, folding his wings tightly against his back to keep them from becoming too waterlogged. The rain made his dark hair stick to his face, and he shook his head in mild irritation. Unlike Ophelia, whose scales repelled the water, he had to deal with the full brunt of it.

“This is miserable,” he muttered under his breath.

Ophelia huffed. “Tell me about it.”

As they walked, turning down a quieter street, a figure leaning against a stone building caught their attention.

The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth, the petrichor mixing with the musk of wet fur, damp leather, and the faint, lingering iron of the freshly killed boars. The streets, once bustling with the noise of merchants and beastmen haggling over goods, had grown eerily silent as the downpour drove most inside. Stalls were being hastily covered, wooden shutters slammed shut against the wind, and the few remaining vendors quickly packed up their wares, unwilling to risk their goods spoiling in the storm.

Each step Ophelia and Muir took sent water squelching beneath their feet, the once-solid dirt roads of the Beast City now turned into a soft, muddy terrain. The sound was subtle but ever-present—a wet, sucking noise with every step, as if the ground itself was unwilling to let them move forward.

And then they saw him.

Winston, slumped against the stone wall of a building, his white hair plastered to his face, darkened at the roots where rainwater had soaked through. His usually sharp, feline eyes were dull, barely open, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths.

For a moment, Ophelia didn’t register him as the proud, battle-hardened beastman she had known. He looked almost… fragile. A strange thing to think, considering his reputation—Winston, the tetra-marked tiger, one of the strongest warriors in the city, a beastman who had taken on entire groups of enemies and walked away bloodied but victorious. And yet here he was, his body trembling ever so slightly, his claws twitching as if he was barely holding himself together.

A deep frown settled on her lips.

Muir’s reaction was just as wary, though he was edged with suspicion. His wings flexed slightly, the feathers ruffling as he narrowed his eyes at the sight before them.

“What is Winston doing here?” he murmured, barely audible over the relentless drumming of the rain.

The tiger flinched at his name, his ears twitching sluggishly. He lifted his head, his movements slow and disoriented, blinking blearily at them as if he was trying to process their presence.

Something was wrong.

Ophelia took a step forward, her feet sinking slightly into the wet earth, the squelch of mud beneath her clawed toes muffled by the rainfall. Winston’s nostrils flared as he tried to steady his breathing, but even with the effort, his body swayed as if gravity was pulling him down inch by inch.

“Winston,” she called, voice firm yet calm. “What’s going on?”

No answer. His mouth parted, but no words came.

Then—

A howl.

The sound cut through the air like a blade, sharp and distant, yet closing in fast.

Winston’s body reacted before his mind did. His grey eyes flickered with something—fear? No, not fear. Instinct. His spine straightened ever so slightly, muscles tensing despite their clear exhaustion, but it was brief. The effort drained him almost instantly, and he slumped back against the wall, breathing raggedly.

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed, her gut twisting.

He’s being hunted.

More wet footsteps—paws, not feet—echoed from the main street, splashing through puddles, their pace steady but urgent.

“Are they after you?” she asked, voice low.

It took him effort, but Winston managed the slightest nod.

The tension in the air thickened, mingling with the scent of rain and earth. Even Muir had gone utterly still, his sharp blue eyes darting between Winston and the direction of the approaching sounds.

“Do you want me to help you?” Ophelia pressed.

Winston exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. His head tilted slightly, his cheek pressing against the cold, wet stone behind him. His expression was unreadable, but after a brief pause, he nodded.

Decision made.

In one smooth motion, Ophelia stepped forward, bending down to slip her arms beneath his knees and back. Winston barely had the strength to react, but the moment she lifted him, his body gave a weak jolt.

A low, breathy sound—something between a grunt and an exclamation—escaped his lips. His head lolled slightly, forehead brushing against the exposed skin of her collarbone, damp from the rain.

“Shhh,” Ophelia hushed, adjusting her grip.

Muir, who had been watching the exchange with careful scrutiny, suddenly felt a mix of emotions flare within him. There was a possessive, irritated spark—his mate was carrying another male. That alone set something hot and primal in his chest. But beyond that… Winston shouldn’t be this weak.

The tetra-marked tiger was one of the strongest beastmen in the city. He had returned from battle just days ago, victorious as always. So why was he like this now?

Muir’s mind worked quickly, analyzing. Poison? No, unlikely. If he had been poisoned in battle with the scorpions, the effects wouldn’t have waited days to show. Could it be something dormant, something lying in wait before attacking his system? Again, unlikely.

Then that meant…

Muir’s eyes darkened, suspicion curling in his gut.

The howls grew louder.

Ophelia’s muscular tail wrapped smoothly around the necks of both boars, ensuring she wouldn’t leave their meal behind. And then, with a powerful beat of her wings, she lifted off the ground, Winston held securely against her chest.

She glanced down at Muir, her sharp purple eyes meeting his.

“Come on, we should head back to our den.”

For a moment, Muir just stared.

This day had been meant for them. A quiet moment, their first full day together after their mating, a day where he could enjoy her presence without interruption. And yet, it seemed the gods had other plans.

Still…

His gaze flickered to Winston, still held effortlessly in Ophelia’s arms. Even in his weakened state, the tiger’s scarred face held a trace of his usual stubborn pride, though his body betrayed him.

Muir sighed. Fine. He would let this slide.

For now.

Shifting forms swiftly, he took off into the rain, his wings propelling him upward in pursuit of his mate. The weight of the situation pressed on him, the howling behind them not yet fading. Whatever was chasing Winston… they weren’t done yet.

But even with the tension thick in the air, a small, almost smug smile tugged at his lips.

She had called it our den.

And that was enough to soften the frustration buzzing in his chest.

Chapter Text

The rain fell in relentless torrents, drenching Ophelia’s white hair and plastering the single silver lock to her pale skin. Her massive wings beat against the storm, each powerful flap sending droplets scattering into the wind.

Beside her, Muir flew in his hawk form, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain below as they neared the jagged peaks of the mountains.

In Ophelia’s arms, Winston the tiger lay limp, his white hair messy and his half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open. The faint glow of the drugged state he was in made him seem almost ethereal, though his occasional shivers betrayed his vulnerability.

The pair descended into the mouth of Ophelia’s den, the darkness swallowing them whole before the subtle glow of embedded crystals illuminated the cavern. The walls shimmered faintly, casting an otherworldly light that danced across the stone.

Ophelia touched down gracefully, her talons clicking against the rocky floor as she carefully uncoiled her tail from around the boars she had carried alongside Winston.

Muir shifted back into his human form almost instantly, his expression a mix of concern and irritation.

“He can’t go into our nesting area,” Muir said firmly, crossing his arms. “That space is for mates only. He can lay somewhere else.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes, her patience clearly wearing thin. Without a word, she strode deeper into the den, her talons clicking against the stone.

At the edge of their living space, she picked up a thick fur pelt and laid it on the ground a few meters away. Gently, she placed Winston on the fur, her movements surprisingly tender for someone of her imposing stature.

The tiger let out a faint groan, his body trembling slightly as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

Muir watched with a slightly deadpan expression, his arms still crossed. “Fine,” he muttered. “I guess that’s okay.”

Ophelia straightened, her piercing purple eyes narrowing as she studied Winston. Something about his condition didn’t sit right with her. “Look after him,” she ordered, her voice low and commanding. “I need to go check something out.”

Muir’s brow furrowed. “Where are you going?”

“To ask those wolves what this is about,” she replied, her tone sharp. “I won’t let any dirty tricks happen right under my nose.” With one last contemplative look at the tiger, she spread her wings and took off into the storm, leaving Muir alone with Winston.

Muir sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. “Why me?” he muttered, glancing down at the barely conscious tiger. “Why did you have to get yourself into this mess the day after I mated Ophelia? Today was supposed to be just us.”

Winston remained silent, his breathing shallow, his grey eyes glazed over. Muir shook his head, muttering under his breath as he settled near the tiger, keeping a wary eye on him.

Meanwhile, Ophelia flew with purpose, her wings cutting through the rain as she soared over the forest.

The storm raged around her, lightning splitting the sky and thunder rolling like a war drum.

Her mind raced as she replayed the encounter with the wolves in her head. She wouldn’t tolerate foul play in her territory, not when it involved someone as vulnerable as Winston right in that moment.

She circled above the spot where they had found the tiger, her sharp eyes scanning the ground below.

A howl echoed to the east, and she darted toward the sound.

Below her, a pack of dark-furred wolves moved through the underbrush, their noses to the ground as they tracked their prey. Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. Tracking Winston, she thought, her jaw tightening.

With a powerful dive, she landed in front of the lead wolf, her talons digging into the muddy ground. The wolf snarled at first, baring its teeth, but its aggression faltered as it recognized the dragon shifter standing before it. Its ears pinned back, and it lowered its head in submission.

“Shift,” Ophelia commanded, her voice cold and unyielding.

The rain hammered down in relentless sheets, the forest around them a blur of gray and green. The wolves huffed and puffed, their breath visible in the cold air, their fur slick with rainwater. Some paced impatiently in the mud, their paws sinking into the soft earth with each step, while others stood rigid, their ears twitching at every distant rumble of thunder.

The air was thick with tension, the storm amplifying the unease that hung between Ophelia and the wolf pack.

Shu shifted back into his human form, his transformation swift and seamless. He stood naked before Ophelia, his pale skin glistening with rain, the red triangles under his eyes stark against his flushed cheeks.

For a moment, he seemed mildly embarrassed, his hands twitching as if to cover himself, but he quickly straightened, his chest puffing out slightly. He paid his nudity no mind, his pride overriding his modesty. If anything, he seemed to relish the opportunity to show off his lean, muscular frame to the imposing dragon shifter.

Ophelia, however, was unmoved. Her piercing purple eyes remained locked on his, her expression unreadable. The rain dripped from the tips of her black horns, each drop landing with a soft plink on the muddy ground. Her white hair clung to her face and neck, the single silver lock plastered to her skin like a streak of lightning. She tilted her head slightly, her slit pupils narrowing as she studied him.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice low and steady, cutting through the storm like a blade.

Shu swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He forced himself to meet her gaze, though his eyes flickered nervously to the side. “We’re looking for Winston,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of defiance. “The tetra white tiger with the scar over his eye.”

The wolves around them shifted restlessly, their paws splashing in the mud. One let out a low growl, its ears flattening as it glanced at Ophelia. The tension in the air was palpable, the storm seeming to hold its breath.

Ophelia’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. She reached up and tucked a sodden lock of hair behind her pointed ear, her movements deliberate and unhurried. “And why are you looking for him?” she asked, her tone deceptively calm.

Shu’s ears twitched, his discomfort evident. He glanced at the wolves pacing behind him, their impatience growing. “He’s gone crazy,” he said, his voice dropping. “When the Ape King was healing him, he suddenly rushed out and attacked people.”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the scene in stark, blinding light. The thunder that followed was deafening, a deep, resonant boom that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet. One of the wolves yelped and crouched low, their tail tucking between their legs.

Shu flinched, his body tensing, but he held his ground, his eyes locking with Ophelia’s once more.

Her gaze was unwavering, her expression cold and calculating. “Who sent you to look for him?” she asked, her voice cutting through the lingering rumble of thunder.

Shu hesitated, his ears flattening against his skull. His eyes darted to the side again, betraying his unease. “The Ape King sent us,” he blurted out, his voice louder than intended.

He immediately regretted it, his cheeks flushing darker as he tried to recover. “He was concerned for the safety of the city,” he added quickly, his tone defensive. “He asked us to detain Winston. For everyone’s protection.”

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, her lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “How noble of him,” she said dryly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She took a step closer, her talons sinking into the mud with a soft squelch. Shu’s breath hitched, but he stood his ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

The wolves around them grew more restless, their pacing becoming erratic. One let out a low whine, its eyes darting between Shu and Ophelia. The rain continued to fall, the sound of it hitting the leaves and mud creating a steady, rhythmic backdrop to the tense standoff.
Shu straightened, his pride flaring as he tried to regain control of the situation. “I hope that satisfies your curiosity,” he said, his voice strained but firm. “Thank you for offering your assistance, but we should be off now.”

He shifted back into his wolf form, his body shimmering as he transformed. The other wolves followed suit, their movements quick and eager as they turned to leave.

Ophelia watched them go, her expression unreadable.

The wolves disappeared into the storm, their forms blending with the shadows of the forest.

She stood there for a moment, the rain soaking her hair and wings, her mind racing as she processed the encounter.

“Ape King,” she murmured, the words barely audible over the rain.

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion and anger burning in their depths. She spread her wings and took to the skies once more, the storm raging around her as she flew back to her den. She had a bad feeling about this, and she intended to get to the bottom of it.

Chapter Text

Muir sat on the floor of the den, his back against the cool stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He had been tasked by his mate, Ophelia, to look after Winston, and so far, it consisted of him staring at the tiger with a mix of boredom and mild irritation.

The tiger lay on the thick fur pelt, his white hair damp and tangled, his breathing shallow but steady.

Muir sighed, shifting his weight as he traced the mark over his heart—the mark Ophelia had left as a claim of their bond. His fingers lingered on it, a small smile tugging at his lips despite his boredom.

Winston’s eyes fluttered open, his half-lidded gaze drifting toward Muir. For a moment, his amber eyes focused on the mark Muir was tracing, and a flicker of longing crossed his face. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Muir caught it.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from boredom to mild curiosity.

“What?” Muir asked, his tone flat but not unkind. “You got something to say, tiger?”

Winston didn’t respond, his eyes closing again as he let out a faint, shuddering breath. Muir rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. “Figures,” he muttered. “Just my luck to babysit a poisoned tiger on the day after I finally mated Ophelia. Couldn’t you have picked a different day to get into trouble?”

Before Winston could muster a response—if he even had one—the sound of soft footsteps echoed through the den.

Muir’s head snapped up, his ears twitching as he recognized the familiar rhythm of Ophelia’s stride. A moment later, she appeared, her tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the faint glow of the crystals embedded in the walls.

Her white hair was still damp from the rain, plastered to her face and neck, and her purple eyes glowed with an intensity that made Muir’s heart skip a beat.

Muir stood quickly, brushing himself off as he approached her. “What did those wolves say?” he asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.

Ophelia’s gaze shifted to Winston’s prone form on the floor, her expression hardening. “They said they were tracking Winston because he went crazy while being healed by the Ape King,” she said, her tone clipped. “Apparently, he started attacking beastmen.”

Muir’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t explain why he’s poisoned right after that interaction,” he said, crossing his arms. “Something’s not adding up.”

Ophelia nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly. The timing is too convenient.” She turned to Muir, her piercing eyes locking onto his. “The wolves mentioned the Ape King sent them. They claimed he was concerned for the safety of the city and wanted Winston detained.”

Muir closed his eyes, letting out a long, resigned sigh. “I’m assuming the one who sent those wolves was the Ape King, then,” he said, his voice heavy with suspicion. He opened his eyes, his gaze sharpening as he looked at Ophelia. “Nothing’s been proven, but I’m quite sure the Ape King is hiding something. I’ve worked closely with the leopard kingdom, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to gauge his character. He’s shifty—always quick to smile and hide what he truly thinks.”

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed, her tail flicking behind her in irritation. “Go on,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Muir straightened, his arms still crossed as he continued. “There’s a reason the avian beastmen don’t work with his kingdom. He’s too unpredictable, too… manipulative. He’s always asking questions, prying into things that don’t concern him. And now this?”

He gestured toward Winston. “It reeks of foul play.”

Ophelia’s expression darkened, her claws flexing at her sides. “If the Ape King is behind this,” she said, her voice a low growl, “he’ll regret crossing me. I won’t let him get away with whatever game he’s playing.”

She glanced at Winston again, her gaze softening slightly. “For now, we need to make sure he recovers. Whatever the Ape King’s plan is, Winston’s at the center of it.”

Muir sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. More babysitting,” he muttered, though there was no real malice in his tone.

He looked down at Winston, who was now watching them with half-lidded eyes. “You’re lucky Ophelia’s so protective, tiger. Otherwise, I’d have left you to the wolves.”

Winston’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to respond, but he lacked the strength. Instead, he closed his eyes again, his body relaxing into the fur beneath him.

Ophelia stepped closer to Muir, her presence calming despite her imposing demeanor. “We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice softer now. “But for now, we stay vigilant.”

Muir nodded, his expression serious. “Always.”

He paused, glancing at her with a hint of hesitation. “But, Ophelia… we can’t just storm into the Ape King’s kingdom and accuse him without evidence. That’s not how politics work. We need to be careful, or we’ll risk starting a conflict we can’t control.”

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed, her tail flicking sharply behind her. She stepped closer to Muir, her purple gaze burning into his. “Have you forgotten who you’re mated to, Muir?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. “I’m a dragon. I don’t play by the same rules as the rest of you. I don’t care about his twisted political games or his fragile alliances.

If I find out something unjust is going on, I will have words with the Ape King—whether he likes it or not.”

Muir blinked, taken aback by her intensity. He opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it, realizing there was no point. Ophelia wasn’t one to be reasoned with when her mind was set.

Instead, he sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Right. How could I forget?” he said, his tone dry but affectionate. “You’re a force of nature, and the Ape King is about to learn that the hard way.”

Ophelia’s lips curled into a faint, predatory smile. “Exactly,” she said, her voice like steel. “If he’s behind this, he’ll regret crossing me. I won’t tolerate anyone playing games with the lives of those under my protection.”

Muir nodded, his expression resolute. “Then we’ll handle it together. But let’s at least try to get some proof first. If we’re going to storm in, I’d rather we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Ophelia tilted her head, considering his words. “Fine,” she said after a moment. “But if I find even a hint of foul play, I’m not waiting around for diplomacy. The Ape King will answer me—directly.”

Muir couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the gravity of the situation. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he said, his tone fond. “Just try not to burn down his entire kingdom, okay? I’d rather not deal with the fallout.”

Ophelia’s smile widened, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light of the den. “No promises,” she said, her voice dripping with mischief. She turned her gaze back to Winston, her expression softening slightly. “For now, we focus on him. Once he’s recovered, we’ll deal with the Ape King—on my terms.”

Muir nodded, his smile fading as he looked at the tiger. “Agreed. Let’s just hope Winston can give us some answers when he wakes up.”

Ophelia’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Oh, he will,” she said, her voice low and confident. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll make sure the Ape King does.”

The tension in the air was palpable, the storm outside mirroring the tempest brewing within the den. Ophelia stood tall, her presence commanding and unyielding, a living reminder of why she was both revered and feared.

Muir watched her with a mixture of admiration and apprehension, knowing full well that when Ophelia set her mind to something, there was no force in the world that could stop her.

Muir observed Winston with a detached curiosity, his arms crossed as he leaned against the cave wall. The tiger shivered slightly, his hair damp and his breath uneven.

Muir’s expression was unbothered, his tone casual as he commented, “He’s a tetra-striped beastman. Shelving him to sleep should be fine.”

He turned away, seemingly indifferent to the male’s plight, though his sharp eyes occasionally flicked back to Winston’s trembling form.

Ophelia, standing at Muir’s side, tilted her head as she studied the tiger. “Huh. He’s cold,” she said, her voice thoughtful.

She glanced at Muir. “Should we build him a fire nearby?”

Muir’s lips twitched into a faint frown, his gaze lingering on Winston with a hint of disdain.

The tiger was taking up far too much of Ophelia’s attention, and Muir wasn’t thrilled about it.

Still, he shrugged and said, “It’s not necessary, but I suppose if he’s comfortable, he might wake up faster.” He muttered under his breath as he turned toward the cave entrance, “Wait here. I’ll find some dry wood out there for the fire.” His voice dropped even lower as he added, “Practically an impossible job in this storm.”

Ophelia smiled faintly, shaking her head at Muir’s grumbling. She watched him take off into the rain, his hawk form disappearing into the darkness.

Her gaze then shifted back to Winston, her eyes tracing the lines of his admittedly handsome face. The dark blue stripes on his chest stood out starkly against his pale skin, and his flushed cheeks were tinged with fever.

She sighed, her expression softening for a moment before she turned away.

Needing a distraction, Ophelia walked over to her hoard, the faint glow of the crystals casting an ethereal light over the treasures she had collected over the weeks. She crouched down and picked up the centerpiece of her collection—a massive emerald that glowed ominously in her hands. The gem reflected her face back at her, its natural edges catching the light as she traced them with her claws.

She was enchanted by its beauty, her mind drifting to thoughts of colossal hunts and the rich rewards they brought.

The idea of adding to her hoard excited her, her tail swishing lazily behind her as she imagined the treasures she could claim.

A few moments later, Muir returned, his expression sour as he clutched a bundle of logs in his arms. “Found some,” he said gruffly, setting them down near Winston.

He swiftly split one open to reveal the dry wood inside, then got to work building a fire.

Ophelia watched with mild fascination as Muir arranged the logs and lit the kindling, the flames slowly growing into a steady blaze. The warmth spread through the cave, and Winston’s shivering began to subside, his breaths becoming more even.

Ophelia smiled, her voice warm as she said, “Thank you, Muir. You’re the greatest.” She walked closer, observing the way he tended to the fire with practiced ease.

The archaic method intrigued her, and she watched as the flames grew to a good size, the smoke rising harmlessly into the vast cavern above.

To break the silence, Ophelia gestured to the boar she had brought earlier. “Muir, would you like some of that boar? You must be hungry.”

Muir turned to her, his expression concerned. “Ophelia, maybe you should eat. I barely see you eat anything.”

She smiled at his concern, though it was unwarranted. “My darling Muir,” she said, her voice sing-song, “I’m a dragon. I don’t need to eat as often as you do.

The only thing I’ve eaten since I last saw you was what you fed me at the campfire, and that was days ago. I could probably go weeks or even months without eating, though I’ve never tried it. Big meals spread apart are what’s best for me.”

Muir looked fascinated, though still a little skeptical. “As long as you’re sure,” he said. “But you know this boar is hard to catch. It’s rare, and its meat is considered the tastiest—usually given to females because of its juiciness.”

Ophelia huffed, walking over to the boar and grabbing one of its hind legs. She lifted it into the air, her tone teasing as she said, “Well, Muir, these two are all yours. I’m not hungry. Do you want it raw or cooked?” She gestured to the crackling fire.

Muir closed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. “I prefer the taste of raw meat,” he said, shifting into his hawk form.

He hopped closer to Ophelia, his sharp beak glinting in the firelight. She held the boar leg out to him, wiggling it slightly with a teasing smile.

Muir blinked, then tore into the carcass with precision, his beak picking apart the meat with ease.

Ophelia watched with morbid curiosity as the boar was picked clean, her tail swishing lazily behind her.

When Muir was done, he shifted back into his human form, his face slightly bloodied but with a satisfied look.

Ophelia stalked toward him, a wicked thought crossing her mind.

She leaned down, her serpentine tongue flicking out to lick the blood from the corner of his mouth.

Muir’s eyes widened, then fluttered shut as he closed the distance between them, his hands resting on her hips as he pulled her closer.

Ophelia smirked into the kiss, her forked tongue exploring his mouth as if savoring the taste of his meal—and him.

Muir groaned, his grip tightening on her hips as she bit his lip and pulled away, her head tilted back just out of his reach.

“Hmm,” she purred, licking her lips with her long, forked tongue. “Delicious.”

Muir’s eyes were half-lidded, his breath uneven as he tried to follow her mouth, but she was just out of reach.

Before he could respond, a low groan and the sound of shuffling drew their attention.

They turned to see Winston sitting up, his grey eyes bleary as he stared at the cave ceiling.
Ophelia and Muir quickly composed themselves, walking over to the tiger.

Ophelia crouched beside him, her voice calm but firm. “How are you feeling?”

Winston blinked, his voice surprisingly clear despite his weakened state. “Fine, given the circumstances,” he said, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “Where am I?”

Ophelia’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Safe,” she said. “For now.”

Chapter Text

Winston looked around the cavern with quiet disbelief. It was enormous—vast and open, yet somehow not suffocating. The darkness pressed in at the edges, but the soft glow of blue crystals embedded in the ceiling and walls gave the space an ethereal beauty. Their light shimmered across the damp stone like the reflection of the night sky on water. The cavern felt ancient, a hidden sanctuary untouched by time.

Beside him, a small campfire crackled, its golden warmth a stark contrast to the cavern’s cool atmosphere. He recognized immediately that it had been built for him. The heat soothed the remnants of the poison still lingering in his system, though his body—his very being—felt lighter now. His natural resistance as a tetra-marked beastman had fought off most of the toxin, but exhaustion still tugged at his limbs.

He could hardly believe where he was. He was in her den.

The mythical female. The first beastwoman. The one he had quietly admired from afar, never daring to hope for anything beyond distant respect.

And there she stood.

Ophelia.

She was breathtaking up close, her silver-white hair catching the faint glow of the crystals, her draconic purple eyes unreadable. Her impressive horns curved proudly, a constant reminder of what she was. Strength incarnate. A protector.

Then his gaze flickered to the male standing beside her.

Muir.

Winston did a double take, his mind nearly halting at the realization—not on her… but on him.

The mating mark.

His sharp eyes took in the enormous claim that sprawled across Muir’s skin. It was unlike anything he had ever seen—bold, possessive, undeniable. The sheer size of it made his gut twist with something he recognized immediately as envy.

It should be on him…

The thought came unbidden, but he shoved it down. The mark belonged to the hawk now, and Winston would not let jealousy taint his respect for the female he admired.

Still… the sight of a male bearing such a mark was unheard of. It solidified the reality that Ophelia was unlike any beastwoman before her. She had rewritten the rules.

The weight of her gaze pulled him from his thoughts.

“I was poisoned,” Winston admitted, his voice hoarse. “By the Ape King—under the pretense that he was healing me.”

He hoped she would believe him. He had seen the sharp glint in her eyes before she left to track the wolves, and he knew they must have spun their own story.

She studied him, tall and imposing. Even in the firelight, her presence felt larger than life. He felt small before her. The realization made him grit his teeth. No. He would not cower.

With some effort, Winston pushed himself to his feet. His legs trembled slightly, but he willed himself to stand strong. He would not speak to her from the ground like some helpless cub.

Ophelia’s eyes flickered over him as she considered his words. Then, she sighed, the sound neither dismissive nor impatient, but something closer to resigned understanding.

“Yes, I thought as much,” she said at last. “I think I believe you over those wolves. The one I questioned looked guilty when feeding me his lies. It’s easy to tell who’s speaking the truth.”

Relief loosened something in Winston’s chest.

“Not many would,” he admitted, voice quieter.

The Ape King was well-liked. His reputation as a wise and intelligent ruler, coupled with his revered status as a healer, made him nearly untouchable. No one would have suspected him of treachery. But Winston knew better. He had seen what others had not.

And Ophelia…

She had seen it too.

If she hadn’t believed him—if she had decided to turn him over to the one who sought his death—he would have been powerless against her.

She could have been his executioner.

Instead, she was his savior.

Ophelia’s gaze remained steady. “The Ape King wants you dead. I have to wonder why.”

“How did you get poisoned, anyway?” she pressed.

Winston let out a heavy breath. “I drank his medicine. I assumed it was safe… at the time, he was acknowledging my efforts—congratulating me on my good deeds during my trip with the salt caravan.”

Muir, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his sharp blue eyes narrowing.

“He used the public setting as a cover-up,” the hawk muttered, voice measured but firm. “By poisoning you in front of witnesses, no one would suspect him. Everyone would believe you fell ill naturally.”

The words settled between them like a stone dropped in a still pond.

Winston clenched his fists. Muir was right. The Ape King had played the long game. He had calculated his every move, ensuring no one would question Winston’s sudden decline.

And he had nearly succeeded.

But he hadn’t accounted for her.

Winston looked back at Ophelia. She was staring at the fire now, her expression unreadable. The flickering light cast shadows across her face, but there was something hard in her eyes—something dangerous.

For the first time since realizing he had been poisoned, Winston felt a flicker of something almost… victorious.

The Ape King had made a mistake.

He had underestimated her.

Winston exhaled heavily, his shoulders tense as he stared into the flickering flames. His body felt steadier, but his mind was already running ahead, calculating his next move. He knew he couldn’t stay hidden forever—not with the Ape King’s reach extending far beyond the Beast City.

“I’ll head to the Tiger Clan,” Winston finally said, his voice rough but resolute. “I’ll ask for protection from my brother.”

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed slightly at that, sensing hesitation in his tone. Winston didn’t meet her gaze, instead running a hand through his still-damp white hair.

“It’s mutually beneficial,” he continued, though his tone lacked the conviction of a man confident in his own words. “The Tiger King won’t turn away his own blood, and my presence will reinforce his strength. He’ll gain a powerful fighter in return for his protection.”

But despite the logic of his words, there was a slight grimace on his face, a discomfort he wasn’t masking well.

Ophelia tilted her head. “And yet, you don’t sound thrilled about the idea.”

A muscle in Winston’s jaw twitched before he sighed. “Because it means I’ll have to deal with Rosa.”

Muir, who had been silent up until now, tensed at the name. He didn’t know much about the Tiger King’s niece, but what little he had heard didn’t paint her in a pleasant light.

Ophelia raised a brow. “Your niece?”

“My brother’s daughter,” Winston confirmed, finally looking up. His grey eyes were sharp, but there was something wary in them. “She’s… ambitious. Always looking for ways to gain leverage. If I go back, she’ll see this as an opportunity—to use me, or manipulate me into whatever scheme she’s working on this time.”

Ophelia studied him for a moment, then suddenly smiled, her sharp teeth glinting faintly in the dim cavern light.

“Then don’t go.”

Winston blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

Ophelia crossed her arms, tilting her head as if she had just come up with an amusing idea. “What if I protected you?”

For the second time, Winston blinked, utterly taken aback. He had expected indifference, perhaps mild concern at best, but not… this.

“You do know that no one can stand against me, don’t you?” Ophelia continued, stepping closer. “The whole world could rise up against me, and I would still come out on top.” Her smirk widened, her draconic purple eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m doing this because that damn Ape King is leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I won’t let these shenanigans happen right under my nose.”

Winston was still staring at her, lips slightly parted, his brain struggling to keep up.

She was offering to protect him?

For a tiger beastman, protection was something granted through strength and dominance—usually taken, rarely given freely. And yet, Ophelia, in all her overwhelming power, was offering it so casually, as if it was as simple as breathing.

His heartbeat quickened despite himself.

Muir’s eyes flicked between them, his expression darkening as he took a deliberate step closer to Ophelia, his presence looming possessively beside her. He did not like the way Winston was looking at her—eyes wide, ears slightly tipped forward like a damn smitten cub.

“That’s assuming he has anywhere to go,” Muir said, voice clipped. “It’s the rainy season. It will likely rain for the next three months.” His blue eyes narrowed. “Where is he supposed to stay?”

Ophelia hummed thoughtfully, but Muir continued before she could answer.

“If you’re offering to protect him, I don’t like the thought of him in our den,” the hawk beastman added firmly, wings subtly ruffling as his territorial instincts kicked in. “He’s not your mate.”

Winston, regaining some of his composure, took the opportunity to interject, his lips twitching with faint amusement. “Relax, Hawk,” he said, voice smooth. “I wouldn’t impose on your precious den.”

Muir narrowed his eyes dangerously.

Winston sighed slightly, then turned back to Ophelia. “I understand. If you’re willing to extend your protection, then I’ll build a den closer to yours,” he suggested, his tone careful yet hopeful. “That way, I’ll be under your watch without intruding.”

Ophelia tapped a clawed finger against her chin. “Won’t living on the mountain be difficult for you?” she asked, tilting her head. “Muir and I both have wings. Getting here and back to the Beast City is easy for us, but you…?”

“I don’t mind,” Winston answered simply. “I’ve survived worse.”

Ophelia studied him, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“For the time being, it looks like it’s going to rain for a while,” she said, glancing toward the cave entrance where rain still poured heavily outside. “At some point, when it clears up, we should make a public appearance together. Let the Beast City see that you’re under my protection.”

She grinned. “I’d like to see the faces of anyone who tries to apprehend you then.”

Winston stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his grey eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed a hand to his chest and knelt before her.

It was an action steeped in tradition, a display of deep gratitude among the beast clans.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice low and sincere.

Ophelia chuckled, clearly pleased. “Not a problem, Winston,” she said, waving a hand. Then her smirk widened.

“After all, this could get interesting.”

Muir scowled, his feathers ruffling again.

Winston only smiled.

Chapter Text

The past week had been a near-constant downpour, heavy rain hammering the Beast City and the surrounding wilderness. There were clear spells, brief moments where the sun fought through the darkened clouds, like today. The golden light streamed down between the thinning grey, warming the damp earth and bringing a misty haze as the water evaporated from the ground. Puddles remained in the dips of the terrain, and the air was thick with the scent of wet earth, damp wood, and lingering petrichor.

Apparently, this was the time of year when the rare females in the city went into their yearly estrus cycle, and since they were human, their weaker constitutions made it difficult for them to handle the relentless rainfall. They stayed inside, hidden away, while the city’s tension rose like a pot about to boil over.

I didn’t mind the rain at all. It rolled right off my scales, and my body heat was high enough to keep me comfortable even in the cold. I still transformed every day and performed my perimeter checks, hunting for everyone while I was at it. Occasionally, I even dropped a fresh carcass or two by Winston’s den. The first time I did it, he had stared at me in a way I couldn’t quite place—something between stunned disbelief and… something else. But I had brushed it off.

Muir, as I had requested, stayed inside, though he had protested the arrangement. He insisted he should be the one hunting, but I had pointed out that I didn’t want a soaked chicken dripping water all over our cave floors, creating puddles for me to step in. He had sulked about it afterward, brooding in what he now called our "nest," as if that would change my mind. He was clearly making the best of our alone time, insisting more than once that we take full advantage of the season. I didn’t really understand why, but I wasn’t exactly complaining. Why would I?

But today felt different. Maybe it was the monotony, or maybe it was just restlessness, but I was itching for something new.

Before shifting into my dragon form, I made my usual stop by Winston’s cave. It was lower down the mountain, closer to the forest and Beast City than my own den. Not too close, which secretly pleased my dragon instincts—I didn’t want anyone unfamiliar living near my hoard.

I called out, my voice echoing slightly. "Winston, come out."

Almost immediately, he emerged, looking eager despite the ever-stoic expression he tried to maintain. His tail flicked behind him, betraying his interest.

I grinned, tilting my head slightly as I spoke. "It’s sunny today. Want to head into town and make a statement officially?"

A little fun at the expense of those who had been watching and waiting for him to slip up? That sounded much more entertaining than my usual routine. Besides, I found it mildly annoying that he couldn’t move freely in the city. If someone had ever tried to detain me like that, I’d be furious. No, I’d be laughing as I ate them alive—but maybe I wasn’t the best comparison.

Winston looked up at the sky, the sunlight streaming over his face. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before he straightened, shifting almost bashfully.

"Ophelia, I really appreciate what you're doing for me. Not many would be so selfless," he said, his voice unusually soft. "So, I’d like to give you this."

From behind his back, he revealed an emerald.

My eyes snapped to it immediately, my dragon instincts roaring with want. My mind was already making grabby motions at the sight of the shimmering green jewel, though outwardly, I attempted to remain composed.

"Really, Winston, you don’t have to," I said, though I wasn’t entirely convincing.

He gave me an indulgent, knowing smile. He had caught on to my inner thoughts. Not that I had been trying very hard to hide them. It was harmless, after all.

"I insist," he pressed, his expression sincere. "You’ve saved me from a lot of trouble. Maybe even my life. I should be dedicating myself to you for that." His face turned slightly red before he quickly added, "I’d really like to stay by your side—"

He hesitated. Then, after a beat, he finished, "...Even as your protector and guardian."

He looked away as if embarrassed.

I smiled indulgently, amused by his awkwardness. "Winston, of course, you can stay as long as you like."

His head snapped up, hope flickering in his eyes.

"But," I continued, "I’ll finish my rounds first. Want me to pick you up from the sky?"

His eyes widened. "In your dragon form? Like... ride on your back to the Beast City?"

"Why not?" I grinned, flashing my fangs. "You do intend to have my protection, don’t you? Might as well indulge a little. There’s a first time for everything."

Before he could formulate a proper response, I turned, shifting in a burst of magic and raw power. My wings unfurled, the force of my transformation sending wind whipping around us. Winston stumbled slightly, his silver-white hair blown back as he gaped at me.

I took to the skies, leaving him in my wake. Below me, he stood frozen, a hand running down his face as if trying to comprehend what had just happened.

With an amused huff, I soared into the sky, ready to finish my rounds before returning for him.

This day was already shaping up to be interesting.

Ophelia soared over the Beast City, the wind rushing past her powerful wings as she completed her routine patrols. Below, the city sprawled out like a living beast itself, with its twisting roads and clustered dens, the beastmen moving about their daily business. Some paused, shading their eyes as they glanced up, watching as she cast a massive shadow over them. Even after a week, the sight of her flying overhead still filled some with awe—and others with apprehension.

The sun felt glorious on her scales, heating them to a pleasant warmth. The moisture from the rains had long since dried off, leaving her hide gleaming in the golden light. She angled her wings slightly, catching an updraft with ease, her body gliding effortlessly through the air as she enjoyed the freedom her form granted her. For an hour, she carried out her rounds, ensuring that nothing was amiss, her sharp draconic eyes scanning the city and the surrounding wilderness.

Satisfied, she turned back toward the mountains, flapping her wings once before diving toward Winston’s cave. As she neared, her keen eyesight immediately caught an amusing sight—Muir was standing beside Winston, his feathers slightly puffed up in agitation, though his expression remained carefully composed. He had clearly been waiting. Winston, on the other hand, looked up at her with something between trepidation and wonder.

Ophelia's form was breathtaking—an overwhelming force of nature given flesh and scale.

Her body radiated immense heat, a stark contrast to the crisp mountain air and the lingering dampness from the rainy season. It was as if a living furnace was coiled beneath her thick, gleaming white scales, each plate an impenetrable armor reflecting the sunlight with an iridescent shimmer. The warmth that rolled off her was tangible, making the air waver slightly around her as if caught in the haze of summer heat. Even just standing near her was enough to make the chill of the mountain fade away.

And then there were her eyes.

Up close, they were utterly mesmerizing—otherworldly. What had seemed like a simple, draconic purple from afar was, in truth, a swirling, depthless cosmos of color. Shades of rich violet, glacial blue, and dark amethyst shimmered within her irises, shifting like stormy skies and deep, untamed oceans. There were millions of colors within them, countless variations that held unfathomable power, intelligence, and something deeply ancient. Winston, for all his strength, felt small under her gaze, as though he were peering into something beyond the comprehension of beastmen.

Then, with a powerful downward thrust of her wings, Ophelia descended.

Her landing was nothing short of thunderous.

The moment her massive bulk hit the ground, the mountain trembled beneath her weight. A deafening boom echoed across the valley, the sheer force of impact shaking loose stones from the cliffside, sending a cascade of boulders and earth tumbling down in a miniature landslide. The wind from her wings nearly knocked Winston back, and even Muir had to brace himself, his feathers ruffling wildly from the sheer force of displaced air.

As her claws dug deep into the rocky incline, the earth beneath her feet groaned, small cracks spider-webbing from where she stood.

The scent of scorched stone and earth filled the air, mingling with the crispness of recent rain. Steam curled off her body, her inner heat causing moisture in the air to evaporate the moment it neared her scales.

Ophelia lowered her massive head, exhaling sharply through her nostrils. The gust of hot breath rolled over the two males, thick and humid like the breath of a sleeping volcano. Steam coiled around them, clinging to their skin and feathers, making Muir’s puffed-up state look even more dramatic.

She angled one of her colossal midnight-black horns downward, offering them a way up.

Muir, her mate, moved first.

But it wasn’t easy.

Despite his confidence, he struggled to find proper purchase. The curve of her horn was enormous compared to him, like trying to climb onto the trunk of a felled ancient tree, but slicker, warmer, and far more intimidating. He had to grip tightly, feeling the smooth but impossibly sturdy texture beneath his fingers.

Then came the scales.

They weren’t just flat plates of protection—they were mountainous ridges, larger than his own hands. The sheer size of her was mind-breaking. The same Ophelia who teased him, who had nestled close to him in their shared den, was now this—a beast so grand she could crush entire homes beneath her claws.

Still, he hauled himself up, determined, his fingers trailing briefly over the radiant heat of her body. As he heaved himself onto her head, he let out an involuntary breath of awe, settling onto a smooth portion between her horns. It felt powerful.

Then came Winston.

Unlike Muir, he hesitated.

He was hyper-aware of her teeth—massive, gleaming, like curved white sabers that could shear through bone with zero effort. If he somehow misstepped, if he lost his balance and fell forward… would she even notice? Or would he be just another scrap of meat between her jaws?

The thought made his throat tighten, but he swallowed it down and took a step forward.

His hands found purchase, though just barely. Unlike Muir, who had talons to help him, Winston’s grip on her scales was less certain. They were too big, too smooth in some areas and too rigid in others. Her body shifted slightly, causing a moment of panic as he scrambled to keep from sliding off.

His tail lashed instinctively, his claws digging into whatever they could find. For a brief second, he thought he was going to fall.

Then, suddenly, he felt a rush of heat beneath his hands, the warmth nearly scalding—but not in a painful way. It was comforting, like stepping into the sun after a long, cold winter.

That warmth steadied him.

With gritted teeth, he pushed himself up, climbing onto her back.

And then he sat there—breathless, stunned.

The ground was so far below.

He wasn’t just riding a dragon.

He was riding her.

Ophelia—the sole beastwoman, the mighty protector of Beast City, the force of raw destruction—was beneath him, her power barely restrained as she awaited flight.

And he had never felt so insignificant… and yet, so exhilarated.

As Ophelia lifted her colossal head, she let out an amused huff, a deep rumbling sound that sent waves of heat rolling over the two males perched atop her.

Muir and Winston braced themselves, their bodies tensing in anticipation. They had never ridden a dragon before, and as they looked at the sheer monumental size of the spikes jutting out from her head, they knew this was about to be unlike anything they had ever experienced.

The smallest of her head spikes—though still massive, far larger than either of them—was located further down, almost near where her horns curved. Both males reached for one, their hands gripping tightly. The texture was smooth but unyielding, warm to the touch, like polished bone heated by the sun. The very core of Ophelia burned with an intense inner fire, and they could feel that warmth radiating even through the impenetrable, snow-white scales covering her body.

Winston, for all his physical prowess as a tiger beastman, gulped audibly.

Muir, being a hawk beastman, was far more familiar with the feeling of taking to the skies, but even he couldn't deny the sheer awe of what was about to happen. A creature so massive, so dense, and yet, she could lift herself off the ground? The logical part of his brain understood flight, but seeing a monolithic being like Ophelia prepare to defy gravity was something else entirely.

Then, she moved.

Ophelia shifted her massive weight, her claws digging deep into the earth as she coiled her muscles. The ground beneath them groaned in protest, and loose stones cascaded down the mountainside as she prepared for takeoff.

With a wicked thought of mischief, she decided—if they were going to fly with her, they were going to experience it properly.

Her wings snapped open, casting an enormous shadow over the ground.

And then—she leaped.

The earth beneath her shattered, sending a violent tremor through the mountainside as she propelled herself upward. Boulders and debris plummeted down the slope in her wake, and a powerful gust of scalding air surged outward as her wings beat against the sky.

The impact nearly dislodged Winston from his grip.

The tiger beastman let out an undignified grunt, his claws digging into her spike as he held on for dear life. Muir, more accustomed to the feeling of ascending into the sky, only had to tighten his grip, but even he was thrown by the sheer force behind Ophelia’s takeoff.

She climbed higher and higher—past the treetops, past the cliffs, past the very clouds.

Winston’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down.

The once imposing Beast City now looked small, the vast structures and towering spires of the ape king’s territory shrinking beneath them. The roads and trade halls were nothing compared to the endless stretch of green wilderness beyond.

It was dizzying. Terrifying.

And yet… It was magnificent.

They soared through the open sky, Ophelia’s powerful wingbeats even and steady, yet each one carried them higher, further. The warmth of her body was incredible—so much so that even in the freezing upper air, neither of them felt cold.

Then, Ophelia—playful as ever—decided to have some fun.

She tilted.

Not just a slight lean, but a deep, stomach-lurching tilt, the kind that sent both of her passengers grappling at her horns in sheer panic.

Winston let out an involuntary growl, his tail lashing wildly as he fought to stay upright. “O-Oph—Ophelia—what are you doing!?”

Muir, while still gripping tightly, was far less concerned, though even he was startled by the sensation of the world turning sideways. His wings twitched at his back, a deep instinct screaming at him to spread them and take flight himself, but he refused to look weak.

Ophelia rumbled in amusement, her massive form cutting effortlessly through the sky as she continued to glide in a sideways tilt. The city below them looked so small—so utterly insignificant—as though it was nothing more than a mere carving in the dirt.

And she made sure they saw it.

For minutes, she held that tilt, forcing them to witness the world from her perspective.

Then, just as Winston was about to say her name gain, she straightened up.

Winston let out a deep sigh of relief, his claws still locked onto her spike. “I—That—You’re evil.”

Muir chuckled beside him, though his grip hadn’t loosened either. “I think she just wanted to make sure we appreciated the view.”

Ophelia, utterly delighted by their reactions, finally began her descent.

Unlike her chaotic takeoff, she descended with a slow, controlled grace, her wingbeats adjusting as they neared the ape king’s territory.

The Beast City loomed closer once more, but she made no move to land within its crowded streets. There was simply no room—her form was too vast, her body far too massive for any proper landing within its borders. Instead, she angled downward, searching for a wide-open clearing near the outskirts.

The ground rushed up to meet them.

Both Winston and Muir braced for impact, their hands tightening on her spikes as she approached the clearing with a force that promised to shake the earth.

And then—

BOOM.

Ophelia landed.

The very ground trembled, a deep quake rippling outward from the sheer weight of her body touching down. Dust and loose stones kicked up around her, rolling in waves as her claws dug deep into the soil, anchoring her massive form in place.

In the distance, beastmen scattered.

The ape king’s people, wolves and apes alike, stared in awe and panic at the gigantic, winged figure that had just descended upon their doorstep. The mere shadow she cast sent unease rippling through the gathered crowds, their voices rising in frantic whispers.

Ophelia took a few steps forward, ensuring all eyes were on her. Each footstep made the ground shudder, her presence alone sending an unmistakable message.

Then, she lowered her head.

Muir was the first to move, his wings flaring as he simply hopped off, landing easily on the ground beside her. He barely looked fazed, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement.

Winston, on the other hand, took a bit more time.

His grip lingered on her scales for just a moment longer, as if mourning the loss of that comforting warmth. But he was strong—he could handle a little turbulence. With a deep breath, he swung his leg over, landing firmly on the ground. Though slightly dizzy, he recovered quickly, his grey eyes scanning the gathered beastmen who had witnessed their arrival.

He could already see the pointing fingers aimed at him, the hushed voices.

And then—

A growl.

Deep, thundering, powerful.

Ophelia let out a bone-rattling bellow, her head tilting slightly as she cast her massive shadow over the beastmen. It was a clear message: she was here. She was watching. And no one, absolutely no one, was to touch Winston.

The whispers stopped.

The fear in their eyes was palpable.

Then, just as suddenly as she had roared, Ophelia transformed, shifting back into her smaller, but no less imposing humanoid form.

Her teasing but serious gaze fell on both Winston and Muir.

"Well," she said smoothly, a smirk playing on her lips. "How did you like the ride?"

Chapter Text

Winston quickly looks away the moment he realizes Ophelia has no clothes on, only to be swiftly blocked from view by a very ticked-off hawk. Muir’s massive wings spread protectively in front of him, obscuring his sight like a feathery shield. Ophelia, on the other hand, remains as carefree as ever, entirely unbothered by her nudity as she waits expectantly for their responses.

With a sigh, Muir thrusts her dress at her, and she blindly pulls it on, still smiling. His huff of indulgence is full of exasperation, but there’s an underlying fondness as he finally answers, “It was an extraordinary experience. Your dragon form is truly something out of this world. I thank you for this experience, my mate.” His sharp eyes meet hers, steady and full of admiration.

I smile back at him. “Well, I couldn’t have you not knowing what it’s like being at the top of the world, huh?”

Winston, who has finally calmed down enough to form words, manages to gather himself. “Yes, Ophelia, thank you so much for that experience. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. You get to see that view every day, and that’s normal to you?” His voice holds disbelief, then softens slightly as he adds, “You truly look even more breathtaking up close.” He says the last part with red cheeks, his gaze flickering away as if embarrassed by his own words.

I smile indulgently. “You’re welcome. I liked sharing my sky for a change.”

With that, I turn on my heel and stride toward the growing crowd of gathering beastmen, the two males following close behind. The crowd instinctively parts as I approach, and my sharp eyes immediately take in the stark contrast between the ape and wolf beastmen.

As soon as I step forward, the crowd instinctively parts, a ripple of movement spreading through the gathered beastmen. My sharp eyes scan the sea of faces, taking in their reactions—some stare openly, their mouths slightly agape, while others murmur to one another in hushed voices, their gazes darting between me and Winston like they’ve just witnessed something scandalous.

"That’s the dragon…" someone whispers, awe and unease mixing in their tone.

"She brought that tiger with her. What does that mean?"

"Tch, look at him standing beside her. What right does he have?"

My gaze flickers toward a group of wolves lingering near the edges of the gathering, their golden eyes locked onto Winston with unhidden scrutiny. Their hackles aren’t raised, not yet, but their stiff postures and tense jaws speak volumes. If their leaders have filled their heads with ideas about my alliances, then Winston walking at my side might as well be a crime.

I lift my chin, allowing my imposing presence to settle over the area like a blanket of heat. I don’t need to say anything—the weight of my gaze alone is enough to make a few of them avert their eyes, ears flicking in submission.

As we move deeper into ape territory, the shift in atmosphere is palpable. The buildings here are nothing like the sturdy structures of the wolf or lion territories. Instead, they're built high into the trees, bridges of thick rope and wooden planks connecting platforms where groups of apes swing effortlessly from one place to another. The ground level, however, is packed with healer huts and shops, the scent of crushed herbs and dried roots thick in the air.

Hooded figures, the ape healers, move between the stalls, their faces mostly obscured by healer robes. Their clothing is layered and practical, covering them fully despite the warmth of the territory. Among them, younger healers—apprentices, most likely—peer out curiously, their wide eyes locking onto me from the shadows of their master’s shops. Some flinch when I meet their gaze, ducking back behind baskets of dried leaves.

I hum, amused by their skittishness.

The market here isn’t as grand as the central trade hub where all territories come to exchange their finest wares, but it has a distinct character. The stalls are mismatched—some mere tables covered in rare goods, others proper wooden stands with colorful cloth canopies stretched overhead. It’s clear this place attracts all sorts of travelers, not just the local beastmen.

Exotic faces turn to me, their expressions ranging from stunned to outright baffled. Some merchants halt their bartering mid-sentence, their ears twitching as they watch me pass. Others pretend not to notice, but their eyes follow my every movement.
"Is that…?" a fennec fox beastman murmurs, his beige tail bristling slightly as he leans in to his companion.

"I didn’t think she was real," a reptilian trader hisses under his breath, his forked tongue flickering out in surprise.

A feline beastman, specialising in rare silks, watches me with open interest, his sharp eyes trailing over my form. "I heard she was tall, but this…" he exhales, shaking his head.

I offer none of them more than a passing glance. Their reactions are expected. Many of these traders are likely newcomers, merchants using the ape kingdom’s position as a crossroads to peddle wares from far-off lands. The ape territory is a major trade route, after all. If they’ve only heard whispers of me before, then seeing me in the flesh must be something else entirely.

Good.

Let them stare.

I walk with purpose, each step echoing lightly against the stone pathways, the soft creak of wooden walkways above reminding me that the apes are watching from their perches as well. I don’t need to look up to know they’re there, observing from the heights, their long arms gripping onto tree branches as they study me from a distance.

Behind me, Muir remains close, his sharp eyes flicking over the onlookers with a quiet intensity. Winston, though composed, is noticeably tense. He must feel the weight of the wolves’ stares pressing into him. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, noting the way his hands clench slightly at his sides.

He must be wondering if his presence here is causing more trouble than it’s worth.

I smirk. "Relax, Winston," I murmured low enough for only him to hear. "Let them talk."

His ears twitch, but he exhales slowly, easing some of the stiffness in his shoulders. "Easy for you to say," he mutters, but there’s a grudging amusement in his tone.

As we approach the heart of the trading district, I take in my surroundings with keen interest. Unlike the structured marketplaces of the other territories, this one is chaotic yet alive with energy. Shouts of bartering fill the air, a wolf beastman arguing with a hawk trader over the price of furs, a monkey beastman darting between stalls with nimble fingers, no doubt trying to pocket something unnoticed.

The colors here are richer—vibrant fabrics from distant lands drape over stalls, intricate jewelry glints in the sunlight, and the scent of spiced meats and unfamiliar herbs lingers in the air.

I slow my pace slightly, taking it all in.

This place is a melting pot of beastmen, filled with faces I don’t recognize, dialects I only half understand. It’s different from the other territories, and yet, it’s still mine to protect.

And judging by the way the whispers follow in my wake, my presence alone is enough to send ripples through the entire district.

The vibrant energy of the market hums around me, a chorus of bartering voices, rustling fabrics, and the scent of spices and raw materials filling the air. My gaze flickers across the various stalls, noting the beastmen manning them—each a unique sight.

A towering elephant beastman sits behind a table displaying carved ivory trinkets, his wrinkled skin marked with deep creases that tell a story of age and experience. A cheetah beastman, his golden fur shimmering in the sunlight, elegantly weaves delicate fabrics into intricate patterns, his sharp claws moving with practiced ease. There’s even a reptilian merchant with gleaming green scales, his tongue flickering as he haggles with a wolf beastman over a set of daggers made from polished bone.

But it’s the call that reaches me above the market noise that catches my attention.

“O mighty dragon!”
The voice is smooth, full of cheer, and completely unbothered by the weight of my presence. I turn my gaze to the source, my eyes landing on a beastman with vibrant pink hair, his locks a striking contrast to the more muted tones of the market. He’s older, his hair showing streaks of white near his temples, and two bold pink stripes run down his neck. His smile is wide, eyes crinkling at the edges as he gestures to his stall with an inviting sweep of his hand.

An avian, I assume, given his build and features. Flamingo, perhaps? They are the only pink-feathered birds I know of.

Intrigued, I obliged him, stepping toward his colorful stall. His wares are a collection of handcrafted jewelry, crudely made yet undeniably beautiful. The centerpiece of each necklace or bracelet is held together by embroidered thin rope, giving them a raw but elegant charm. Some pieces are obviously meant for females, decorated with delicate stones, while others cater to males—fang and claw bracelets, bone-white and strikingly primal. My eyes flicker to Winston’s neck, where a similar necklace rests against his skin.

The pink-haired merchant beams as I approach, completely unfazed by my towering figure or the presence of the males at my side. I find it amusing. Few beastmen can meet my gaze so easily, let alone address me with such familiarity.

"Ah, so the dragon does have an eye for fine craftsmanship!" he says, his tone teasing yet respectful. "Come, come, take a look. I and my offspring travel far and wide to gather the best materials for our craft. Every piece has a story, I assure you!"

I indulge him, allowing my gaze to wander over the spread of jewelry. As he continues talking—gesturing animatedly to the various pieces—he suddenly pauses, tilting his head as he eyes me thoughtfully.

"With all those lovely extra appendages, have you ever considered adorning them? Your horns, perhaps? A few well-placed bands of silver could make quite the statement."

I huff in amusement.

He grins, undeterred, and shifts his attention to his selection of necklaces. "Now, let’s see… Ah! This one!" He plucks a piece from the back of his display, holding it up with a flourish. My eyes catch on the string—unlike the others, which are made from thick brown rope, this one glints like silver, thin yet incredibly strong.

I gesture toward it. "That material… It’s different."

His smile widens. "Ah, a fine eye indeed! That, my dear dragon, is no ordinary thread. I traded with a spider beastman for their silk—woven and refined into what you see here. Stronger than stone, yet soft as a whisper."

I pick up the necklace, turning it between my fingers. The silk threads shimmer in the light, but it’s the pendant that catches my attention. A single polished purple stone, deep and rich in color.

"The same shade as your eyes," the merchant comments, his smile knowing. "Perhaps you should consider this one."

I smirk, fangs glinting in amusement. Before I can respond, a voice beside me speaks up, firm and decisive.

"We’ll take it."

I blink, turning to Muir, who meets my gaze with unwavering certainty.

I lift a brow. "Oh? Feeling generous?"

He doesn’t waver. "I think it’ll look amazing on you."

A hum rumbles in my throat as I roll the pendant between my fingers, considering. Before I can give my answer, a strange sensation prickles at the edge of my awareness—a gaze burning into the side of my face.

I flick my eyes to the side, catching the startling flash of poison-green eyes watching me from the shadowed depths of a makeshift display. The moment they realize they’ve been caught, they quickly turn away, sinking further into the stall’s darkness.

Curious.

Without thinking, I flick my tongue out, inhaling deeply as the scents of the market flood my senses. A familiar, underlying scent lingers beneath the mix of spices, leather, and dried herbs. Something sharp, something predatory. My eyes gleam knowingly, but I don’t press the matter.

Instead, I turned back to the merchant, my decision was made. "Like my mate says, we’ll take it."

The pink-haired beastman coos in delight, clapping his hands together. "A most excellent choice! And for the first beastwoman to ever be, a special discount—three small clear crystals will do."

I chuckle, shaking my head slightly at his theatrics, but I hand over the payment without argument. Muir takes the necklace from him, and I incline my head, lowering it slightly to allow him to place it over me.

My sharp horns pierce the air as I move, a display of unintentional majesty that draws eyes from those nearby. Muir secures the pendant in place, and as I lift my head, I glance down, watching the crystal settle against the exposed skin between my collarbones. The silver-silk string is cool against my neck, the purple stone standing out vividly against my pale skin.

I hum in satisfaction, my tail swishing appreciatively behind me.

Turning to Muir, I flash him a bright, fang-filled smile. "Thank you."

His blue eyes soften slightly, though he only nods in response.

I glance once more toward the shadowed stall where I had caught that piercing green gaze, but I let it be for now. We have things to do today—a statement to make.

With that thought, I turn on my heel, my mates following as we continue onward, leaving behind the murmurs of the market and the amused laughter of the pink-haired merchant.

We continue onward, leaving behind the murmurs of the market and the amused laughter of the pink-haired merchant.

As we move deeper into ape territory, the lively sounds of trade and chatter gradually fade, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of unseen creatures. A small clump of forest lines the pathway ahead, branches arching overhead, filtering the midday light into shifting patterns across the dirt road. The scent of damp earth lingers in the air. There’s a side path leading into the trees, one I recognize but never paid much mind to before.

The transition from the bustling market to this quieter, heavier atmosphere is almost too smooth, as if the jungle itself muffles sound, dampening everything. My senses sharpen. The silence ahead feels wrong.

Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of struggle. Low, warning growls, the scuffle of feet against the ground, and the ragged panting of someone barely holding themselves upright.

We emerge from the tree line to find a clearing at the outskirts of ape territory, where the land begins to slope downward. And there, in the center of it, Parker—Bai’s mate—is surrounded.

Four males stand in a loose circle around him, their postures radiating aggression. The lead male is familiar. I recognize him—Bart, if I recall correctly. Winston’s niece, Rosa, had chosen him as her mate. The three diamond stripes on his cheeks confirm it, marking him as dominant among his kind. The others, standing slightly behind him, bear two or one stripe, their ranks beneath his.

Parker is down on one knee, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth as he tries to push himself upright. Outnumbered, cornered.

Bart raises a fist, ready to strike.

I move.

With a powerful beat of my wings, I launch forward, closing the distance in an instant. My hand shoots out, intercepting Bart’s fist mere inches before it can connect with Parker’s already battered form. The force behind his punch vibrates through my palm, but I don’t budge. I see the exact moment realization hits him—when he finally processes who has just intervened.

A sharp intake of breath. The other three males tense, their aggression evaporating into shock and something closer to fear.

Parker, still struggling to rise, lifts his gaze and exhales, relief washing over his face.

Behind me, Winston and Muir remain where they are, making no move to step in. They know I don’t need help.

I tighten my grip around Bart’s fist, my draconic eyes meeting his stunned ones.

“Enough.”

My voice is calm. Commanding.
The clearing is silent, save for the rapid thudding of four unsteady hearts.

Ophelia tilted her head, still holding Bart’s fist in her grasp. He attempted to pull away, but her much larger hand only tightened with quiet ferocity, the warning clear—stay still. Her claws, sharp and unyielding, dug into his skin just enough to send a message. A silent challenge.

The other males stood frozen, their previous confidence shattered in an instant. The reality of the situation was dawning on them—this wasn’t just any opponent they had crossed. They had drawn the attention of the dragon.
Ophelia’s voice was calm, almost bored, when she finally spoke.

“What’s going on here?”

Bart hesitated for only a second before scrambling to explain himself. “Parker was teasing and disrespecting our mate,” he said, his tone defensive, as if that somehow justified ganging up on a single opponent. “We decided to put him in his place.”

Lies.

Ophelia didn’t need to be a mind reader to catch the flicker of dishonesty in his slightly shifty gaze. He wasn’t telling the full truth. She exhaled through her nose, unimpressed, then angled her head to the side to look down at Parker.

The leopard prince was still on one knee, his beaten form barely able to hold itself upright. His golden eyes, though clouded with exhaustion, met hers. His lips parted, his voice hoarse but firm.

“It’s not true,” Parker managed. His breath was shallow, his words weak but unyielding. “Rosa has something against me. She wants me to be her mate, she doesn’t like that i'm interested in Bai Qingqing.”

His eyelids drooped, his body on the verge of giving out entirely.

Winston took a step forward, his arms crossing over his chest. His voice was edged with irritation. “What really happened? Did Rosa put you up to this?” His tone darkened. “I know what she’s like—don’t lie to me.”

Bart, meanwhile, couldn’t bear to take his eyes off Ophelia.

It wasn’t just fear—it was disbelief.

Her grip on his fist had barely tightened, yet his strength meant nothing against hers. He had grown up in a world where dominance was established through sheer physical might, where males fought to secure their positions, and where weakness was punished. Losing to another male was one thing—humiliating, but understandable.

But to be overpowered so effortlessly by a female, and not just any female, but her…

It was unreal.

Bart swallowed hard, realization sinking in. Rosa had made a mistake. A grave one.

Ophelia knew Bai. And, by extension, Parker. She was stepping in to protect him, which meant their connection ran deep. The dragon wouldn’t waste her time otherwise. And in a world where only the strong survived, crossing someone as powerful as Ophelia was a risk no sane beastman would take lightly.

Bart tried to placate her, to make excuses for Rosa, but Ophelia wasn’t interested.

Her grip on his fist dug deeper, claws pressing against his skin just enough to make him flinch. Finally, she let go, shoving his hand back as if discarding something unworthy of her time.

“If something like this happens again,” she said coolly, “I won’t hesitate to deal with it myself.”

The weight of her words pressed down on Bart like an unseen force.

“Her being the tiger princess does her no good when she’s dealing with me,” Ophelia continued. Her voice was quiet, yet it carried an unmistakable threat. “Tell your mate that—or else I’ll make her learn. And it won’t be pretty.”

A flicker of true fear crossed Bart’s face.

“I don’t appreciate her going after someone like Bai,” she added, her draconic eyes pinning him in place.

Bart couldn’t hold her gaze any longer. He lowered his head, nodding stiffly. Without another word, he and the others turned and left, their previous arrogance reduced to nothing.

Now, only Parker remained.

Unconscious, collapsed on the ground.

Ophelia sighed, rolling her shoulders before moving to pick him up—but Winston beat her to it.

“Rosa’s my problem,” he muttered, hoisting Parker over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I should at least help. No need to trouble yourself.”

Ophelia hummed in response, but the real issue dawned on her. “Where does he even live?”

She groaned as she realized the answer. Leopard territory.

Decently far.

She narrowed her eyes at Winston, then before he could react, she swept him off his feet as well. He let out a grunt of protest, but she ignored it, wings snapping open.

“Hold on,” she ordered, and with a powerful beat, they took to the sky.

The flight to leopard territory was faster than the trek would have been, and soon enough, they found themselves on the outskirts, where Bai and Parker had made their home.

The moment they landed, commotion stirred from inside the modest dwelling. Bai peeked out, her eyes widening at the sight of Parker’s unmoving form. Without hesitation, she rushed forward.

“What happened?” Her voice wavered with panic as she skidded to Parker’s side, hands hovering over his injuries. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll probably be fine,” Muir remarked casually.

But Bai wasn’t convinced. Her resolve hardened. “He needs a doctor.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes slightly.

Winston, however, spoke up. “No ape doctor will work on him.”

Bai’s expression twisted with confusion. “What? Why?”

“The tigers, wolves, and apes are working together,” Winston explained, voice heavy with frustration. “Rosa will make sure that no one heals him.”

A beat of silence.

And then Bai’s expression shifted.

Understanding.

Anger.

Rosa’s mates had attacked Parker. She could piece it together now.

Her fists clenched, but before she could act on impulse, an idea sparked in her eyes. “I should go get Harvey, I heard he moved to the city." She hurried back inside, leaving Ophelia and the others to exchange glances.

Winston seemed to think the same, because instead of dwelling on Muir’s words, he exhaled and turned. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I know who she speaks off.”

Without another word, he strode off.

Ophelia and Muir waited, standing over Parker’s unconscious form in silence.

It wasn’t long before Winston returned, and with him came a smaller, light-blond leopard beastman dressed in medical robes. His steps were quick and purposeful, but the moment his eyes landed on Ophelia, he hesitated.

His face went red.

Ophelia blinked.

Bai, who had emerged from the house at the sound of Winston’s return, quickly stepped forward. “Harvey will check on him,” she said, gesturing to the blushing healer. “He’s a traveler who recently arrived in the city—I know him from Camel Hump Alley.”

Harvey, still clearly overwhelmed by Ophelia’s presence, quickly turned his attention to Parker, eager to focus on anything but the dragon standing before him.

Time stretched.

Ophelia stood in the courtyard of Bai and Parker’s home, arms loosely crossed, watching the blond healer work on the unconscious leopard prince. The excitement from earlier had dulled into something less interesting—waiting.

She had nothing to do, nothing to fight, nothing to solve.

Muir had perched on a nearby ledge, arms folded, looking mildly annoyed by the whole situation, while Winston stood nearby, his usual relaxed stance betraying the fact that his mind was still turning over the confrontation from before.

A breeze rustled through the trees, and Ophelia sighed.

Bored.

She was just about to stretch and excuse herself when soft footsteps approached. She barely had time to register the movement before she felt something warm press against her side.

A hug.

Ophelia’s body stiffened.

Bai.

The small human had wrapped her arms around Ophelia’s waist, pressing her cheek against her.

Ophelia didn’t hate it. She just… wasn’t used to it. Beastmen didn’t hug—not like this, not without ulterior motives, other females especially. Physical contact meant something different in this new world, something possessive or dominant. But Bai was human, and humans… were strange, or so she now thinks.

So, she endured it.

Bai sniffled, her voice soft. “Thank you. For defending Parker against Rosa’s mates.” She pulled back just enough to look up at Ophelia, her eyes glassy with emotion. “I really owe you so much.”

Ophelia exhaled, her hands still awkwardly at her sides.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

But Bai smiled as if she did.

Ophelia let it be.

After a pause, she finally spoke again, voice absentminded. “I should probably head back to where I was before.” She nodded at Bai, then added, “I’ll see you later.”

Bai nodded in return, and Ophelia turned her gaze to Winston.

He had already resigned himself to his fate.

Without a word, he lifted his arms slightly, as if to make it easier for her to grab him. With a smirk, she picked him up effortlessly, taking to the skies once again.

Muir, who had been quiet, took flight beside her. His wings beat the air steadily, but Ophelia didn’t miss the slight tension in his posture.

Jealousy?

It wasn’t hard to guess—Muir had already shown signs of being territorial. Watching her carry another male, even in a purely functional way, clearly didn’t sit well with him.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

The flight was smooth, and soon, the towering walls of the ape territory came into view. They landed in the courtyard of the ape castle, where multiple groups of beastmen were already present.

Females.

There were a few of them out and about, basking in the sun, surrounded by their protective mates. Ophelia observed them in passing.

Some were here for pleasure, others for necessity.

Most females in the city had a reason to be near the ape king—perhaps for healing, or to make requests. The ones who had no mates were never alone for long, constantly circled by males vying for attention.

Ophelia had no such problem.

She wasn’t a delicate human like Bai. She wasn’t a rare find to be protected and pampered. She was a beastwoman—the beastwoman—and the males in the courtyard knew it.

They watched her, some with curiosity, others with caution.

But she wasn’t here for them.

She was here for him.

And, finally, the star of the show arrived.

The ape king.

In all his shiny, bald-headed glory.

The sight of him brought a smirk to Ophelia’s lips.

Beside her, Winston tensed, his eyes locked onto the man who had once tried to kill him.

Twice.

The first time, the ape king had struck when Winston was weak, attempting to finish him off. The second time, he had poisoned him while he was still suffering from the lingering effects of the king scorpion’s venom.

Ophelia wondered how he would try to slither his way out of this one.

He had nowhere to hide—no doors to close between them, no shadows to disappear into.

And there was a crowd.

That, more than anything, sealed his fate. There were too many witnesses. Too many eyes on him. And by the look on his face, the ape king hadn’t been expecting them.

For a second, just a second, pure horror crossed his features.

It was like watching a nightmare come to life.

Winston was silent, watching him carefully. Calculating.

Ophelia? She took a few easy steps forward.

The ape king’s guards tensed, but they didn’t move to stop her.

Why would they?

She wasn’t attacking. She wasn’t threatening.

She was smiling.

It was that that made them hesitate.

And then, once she was close enough, she tilted her head slightly, her voice light and sweet.

“Would you like to explain yourself?”

Chapter Text

For a moment, the courtyard was silent.

The beastmen gathered there shifted uneasily, watching, waiting.

The ape king’s face had paled, his usual air of authority cracking at the edges.

Ophelia saw it all.

The way his throat bobbed in a barely concealed swallow. The way his fingers twitched, a primal instinct urging him to flee, though he was smart enough to know that running from her was useless.

And then there was Winston.

The very man he had tried to kill, standing right there. Walking—breathing—alive.

The ape king’s gaze flickered to Winston, his panic momentarily morphing into something like disbelief. How was he still standing? He shouldn’t be standing.

But he was.

And he wasn’t alone.

Because standing beside him—looming over the entire courtyard, effortlessly commanding attention—was her.

The dragon.

The ape king tried to mask his fear.

He straightened his shoulders, forcing a confused frown onto his face, as if he had no idea why she had come. As if he wasn’t guilty.

"Explain myself?" he echoed, tilting his head in mock confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

Ophelia said nothing at first.

Instead, she lifted a hand and examined her nails.

A casual movement.

Effortless.

And yet…

The ape king's gut twisted as he took in the details.

Her claws.

They were different from the claws of most beastmen. While some had sharp nails, others curved talons—hers were something else entirely.

Black.

Hooked at the tips, made to hold onto flesh and tear.

The ape king could see it in his mind.

Her claws sinking into his throat.

Hooking deep into his flesh, gripping tight—ripping.

The poetic irony of it almost made him sick.

A creature so mesmerizing, so beautiful, hiding something so utterly terrifying beneath the surface.

He had to get her out of the open.

The crowd was too large. Too many eyes. Too many people watching his every move. If he had any chance of regaining control, he needed to shift the setting.

So, he forced a chuckle.

"Ah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck as if this was all just some misunderstanding. “Perhaps we should continue this inside? It’s more private within the castle walls, and we can discuss whatever concerns you may have properly.”

Ophelia didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

She only tilted her head slightly, still admiring her claws.

Then, with an easy smile, she spoke.

“Well… no. I think I prefer staying outside.”

The ape king's breath hitched.

Ophelia finally lowered her hand, resting it lazily on her hip as she glanced around.

“It’s a rather nice day, don’t you think?” she mused, as if this was just a casual conversation between friends. “After all, it seems a bit gloomy in your castle.”

Her gaze flickered back to him, and this time, her smile widened just a fraction.

“I think it’s for your benefit as well, ape king.”

The title dripped from her tongue like venom.

The beastmen in the courtyard stiffened.

The ape king felt his pulse pound against his skull.

And then, her voice—smooth, calm, terrifyingly light—delivered the final nail in the coffin.

“So why don’t you stay outside with me?” she said.

And then, with a slight tilt of her head, her smile sharpening—

“Or I don’t think it’ll be as sunny anymore soon.”

The ape king felt a cold sweat run down his back.

The air in the courtyard felt thick, heavy with something unseen yet suffocating. The afternoon sun hung high, bathing the towering stone walls of the ape king’s domain in a golden hue, but its warmth failed to reach the chill that had crept into his bones.

The courtyard was lively, a scattering of beastmen tending to their business—small groups of males dotting the open space, standing guard over their delicate females as they basked in the sun or sought aid from the ape king. A handful of young males loitered near the castle’s entrance, speaking in hushed tones.

Yet despite the bustle, the real conversation was happening in the eye of the storm—where Ophelia stood, unbothered, her massive wings casting an imposing shadow over the stone tiles.

And the ape king?

He was trapped in it.

His skin prickled, instincts roaring at him to do something. To manipulate, to redirect, to talk his way out like he always had.

But this wasn’t a normal situation.

Because this wasn’t a normal opponent.

Ophelia was an anomaly.

A creature outside the laws of the beast world, one that didn’t abide by tradition or logic. The beastmen he had maneuvered in the past all had their weaknesses—ambitions, desires, fears.

But her?

She wanted nothing from him.

She could not be bribed, threatened, or coerced.

And that made her terrifying.

Yet, he had to remain calm. He had to appear in control.

His reputation was everything.

The power he held over Beast City wasn’t just physical—it was belief. If the people feared him, respected him, obeyed him, then he was untouchable. But if even a whisper of this moment got out—if it was known that the ape king had not only failed to eliminate Winston but had been cornered by Ophelia—his empire would crumble.

The beastmen loitering nearby weren’t paying them much mind, too preoccupied with their own affairs. The males were too busy watching their females, their attention solely on their own worlds.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t listening.

And if word of this conversation spread—if rumors twisted into truths—he would be finished.

So, even as his gut twisted violently, even as Ophelia lifted a single, razor-sharp claw in silent warning, he did not break.

“If I find anything… amiss,” she said, voice light, almost playful, “I’m sure you can be replaced by one of your subjects.”

The implication hit like a hammer.

She would kill him.

Not just as a show of power, but as a casual afterthought.

A simple flick of the wrist, a moment of fleeting amusement.

A lesser male would have stumbled, stuttered, begged.

But the ape king?

He had built himself on manipulation, on survival.

And so, he let out a short, practiced chuckle—a laugh of relief, though his stomach churned.

She wasn’t going to kill him.

Not yet.

He had one chance to pivot, to shift the momentum before it crushed him entirely.

So he did what he did best.

He changed the subject.

His gaze flickered to Muir, and in that moment, something unexpected caught his eye.

The mark.

The infamous mark of Ophelia, vivid and undeniable against the hawk beastman’s skin.

A beat of silence pulsed in the ape king’s mind, genuine shock settling in.

He had heard about it, of course. Rumors spread fast, especially ones as unbelievable as Ophelia taking a mate.

But now that he saw it with his own eyes…

It was real.

Ophelia had no mark of her own.

Of course, she didn’t.

She was beyond the norm, beyond the rules of nature.

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t collected a dozen mates by now.

Perhaps she was selective.

The thought unnerved him.

After all, most females took multiple mates not just for status, but for survival.

Yet Ophelia didn’t need protection.

She was her own safety net, her own force of nature.

Still, he was curious.

“So,” he said smoothly, testing the waters, “do you plan on taking more mates?”

The effect was immediate.

Muir bristled, his piercing blue eyes narrowing into a sharp glare.

Territorial.

Possessive.

Fascinating.

Ophelia, however, only sighed.

“I simply do what I want,” she said airily, as if the conversation bored her. “I’m not looking for a quota. I’ll take whoever I please, whenever I please.”

The ape king hummed.

“A fair answer.”

But then, old habits resurfaced.

“Of course,” he added, shifting his stance slightly, “I do know you’re fond of emeralds and clear crystals. If you had strong mates, they could hunt Colossals for you.”

It was bait.

He hadn’t meant to let his own greed seep through, but—

She noticed.

Ophelia smirked.

“Why would I need males for that?” she mused, sounding almost entertained. “One trip and forty emeralds are mine.”

His mind flashed green.

Forty emeralds.

He could see them.

Piles of them, untouched, sitting somewhere high in the treacherous mountains she called home.

His fingers twitched.

But he made a mistake.

He forgot himself.

For just a second—one brief, fatal second—he let his greed show.

And Ophelia saw.

Her expression changed—just slightly.

Steam curled from her nostrils.

Her tail lashed, slow and rhythmic.

And then, her gaze locked onto him.

“I don’t like that I can see your dirty thoughts,” she mused, voice still light but carrying a dangerous edge. “In fact, the very idea of your grubby hands touching my emeralds—even in my mind—fills me with a deep rage.”

Her lips curled into a slow, almost delighted smile.

“Maybe I should eat you here, ape king.”

The words slithered down his spine like ice.

For the first time in a long, long time, true fear coiled in his gut.

He had watched her fight.

Had seen her raw, monstrous power firsthand.

And for a brief, horrifying moment, he imagined it—Ophelia tearing through Colossals like they were nothing, harvesting their crystals with expert precision.

If she wanted, she could end him.

And no one here would stop her.

His instincts screamed at him to retreat.

Survival first.

He forced himself to move, to breathe.

The conversation shifted again as Ophelia turned to Winston.

“Winston,” she said, voice softer but no less sharp, “I forgot to ask—what do you want to do about him?”

She leaned closer to the ape king, whispering,

“He did try to murder you.”

Winston’s eyes burned with disdain.

“The only way you live,” he said coldly, “is if you reveal what poison you keep.”

The ape king’s stomach plummeted.

How did they know?

That tree—the blossoms—

He narrowed his eyes. Maybe they didn’t know everything.

“Yes, yes,” he said quickly, raising his hands slightly. “I will be transparent. I’ll show you what I gave you—and the antidote. Please, peace. After all, my death would cause discourse among the beastmen.”

Ophelia laughed.

“I think they’ll be fine.”

He had lost.

But he was alive.

And next time?

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

The ape king stood frozen in place, his breath tight in his chest.

He should feel relieved.

He should feel grateful.

But all he could feel was the slow, creeping chill of realization sinking into his bones.

Ophelia hadn’t forgiven him. She hadn’t dismissed him.

She had merely postponed his death.

His reputation, his influence—everything he had spent years carefully constructing—had cracked at the edges today. He could already feel the shift, the invisible weight of power shifting out of his grasp and into hers.

And the worst part?

She hadn’t even tried.

She hadn’t needed to play politics, hadn’t needed to maneuver or manipulate.

She had looked at him—and that alone had unraveled everything.

The murmurs in the background—the idle chatter of beastmen nearby—suddenly felt louder. Every glance in his direction burned with suspicion.

Had anyone heard?

Had they noticed?

The beastmen weren’t fools. They knew power when they saw it. If even a single rumor slipped through the cracks—if even one of them started whispering that the ape king had been cornered—it wouldn’t be long before others took notice.

He swallowed hard, forcing his muscles to relax, forcing his expression to slip into something controlled, something calculated.

He turned slowly, gaze sweeping across the courtyard, ensuring that no one was paying too close attention.

But still—

The doubt lingered.

The subtle shift in the air.

He could feel it—could sense the delicate, precarious balance he had maintained for so long beginning to tip.

Ophelia…

She hadn’t cared about his reputation.

But she knew it was important to him.

And that meant she could hold it against him.

She had left him with a warning, a silent, lingering promise:

She would be watching.

And if he so much as breathed wrong in her direction, she would not hesitate to remove him from the equation entirely.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails pressing into his palms.

No.

He was not a fool.

He would not make the mistake of underestimating her again.

Survival came first.

From now on, if anyone had even the slightest connection to Ophelia, if there was even a whisper of her name involved in his affairs, he would retreat.

Immediately.

Without hesitation.

And as much as it burned his pride, as much as it infuriated him—

He knew there was no other choice.

Poison wouldn’t work.

Traps wouldn’t work.

Lies wouldn’t work.

Because Ophelia was not just powerful.

She was inevitable.

And he?

He was just another player scrambling to stay on the board.

The silence stretched between them, tension still thick in the air.

Then—

Ophelia turned away as if she had already dismissed the matter entirely.

She looked at Muir, her draconic eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“I’m gonna go out for a bit,” she announced. “After this rather unpleasant conversation, I’d like to let off some steam.”

Muir’s reaction was immediate, his usual sharp, serious expression shifting into something teasing, something wicked.

A smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

“Try not to cause too much destruction, beloved.”

The words—low, warm, and undeniably suggestive—drew a few glances from those nearby.

After all, this was the once-stoic hawk beastman.

The one who had rarely spoken more than necessary, who had been known for his watchful silence.

Yet now, here he was, bantering.

And it was obvious who had drawn that side out of him.

Ophelia hummed in amusement, pulling the necklace from her throat and handing it to him for safekeeping. Muir accepted it without question, his fingers briefly brushing against hers.

And then—

She turned back to the ape king one final time.

A lingering look.

A quiet warning.

No words needed to be spoken.

He understood.

And then, with a powerful downstroke of her wings, Ophelia launched into the sky, the force of her takeoff kicking up dust in her wake.

The ape king barely resisted the urge to flinch as the wind rushed past him.

He did not relax.

Not until she was a distant figure in the sky, disappearing beyond the horizon.

Even then, as he exhaled slowly, carefully—

He knew.

She might be gone.

But the shadow she left behind remained.

Chapter Text

As Ophelia ascended into the open sky, the wind whipped around her, tugging at her dress like greedy hands trying to tear it away. Without breaking her momentum, she snatched the fabric midair, her claws carefully catching the delicate material before it could be lost to the winds.

For a moment, she held it, the silk fluttering like a caged bird in her grip. It was an unnecessary, fragile thing—a relic of the world below, where words held weight and beastmen schemed in whispers. A world where kings thought they could manipulate her and where reputation meant everything. Up here, none of that mattered.

A slow smirk tugged at her lips.

With practiced ease, she folded the dress neatly and tucked it into the hollow of her scales—one of the many crevices along her body that only she knew how to use. A dragon did not need clothing, but later, perhaps, she would.

Then, she released herself to the sky.

Ophelia’s body shifted midair, the change seamless as her form stretched, expanded, and became monstrous. Her wings, already impressive, grew massive, blotting out the sun as her limbs lengthened, her tail unfurled, and her scales shimmered in the dim light. Her mass alone could cause storms in the wake of her flight, but she hardly noticed the chaos she left behind.

She wanted action.

The conversation with the ape king had left a lingering itch beneath her skin, a slow-burning frustration she needed to unleash. And what better way than colossal hunting?

She could kill two birds with one stone—harvest the hide she wanted for dresses she so desired while adding more of those beautiful emeralds to her hoard. The thought sent a thrill through her. Her tail slashed the air in excitement, anticipation curling in her gut.

With a single powerful beat of her wings, she propelled herself forward, the landscape blurring beneath her. What would take a beastman days of walking, she covered in a fraction of the time.

Far below, the rivers and plains of the ape’s territory shrank, fading behind her as she veered northward. The air grew sharper, cooler, as she flew toward the rugged terrain of distant mountains. There, nestled between the jagged peaks, was her target.

The scent hit her first.

A deep, musky aroma—thick and heavy with the presence of massive bodies huddled together for warmth. Colossals.

Her pupils narrowed, honing in on the grey clustered shapes below. The herd had gathered in a natural alcove, their massive bodies curled around one another in slumber, their breaths deep and steady.

Perfect.

The air was sharp, crisp with the northern chill, but Ophelia’s own heat warped it around her. Steam curled from her nostrils as she descended upon the sleeping colossals like a predator upon helpless prey.

The ground below was uneven, jagged, a valley nestled between mountains, its surface layered with frost that melted instantly beneath the unnatural heat radiating from her body. She could feel it—the raw pulse of her own power, her overwhelming presence pressing down upon the creatures below.

They didn’t know yet.

Didn’t know that death had arrived.

She plummeted like a meteor, her wings folded, faster than thought, and the moment she reached them, she struck.

The biggest one never even had the chance to open its eyes.

Her massive claws clamped around its thick, scaled neck, piercing into muscle, tendon, and bone like scythe blades through ripe wheat. A deep, guttural crack echoed through the valley as its vertebrae snapped beneath her strength. The colossal jerked once, but before its nervous system could even register pain—

She bit down.

The crunch was deafening.

Its entire skull shattered in her jaws, bone fragments crumbling like dry bark, brain matter splattering against her tongue. The taste was a mixture of iron, fat, and raw flesh, warm and thick, deliciously fresh.

The lifeless body twitched violently before she discarded it, tossing the headless corpse aside like trash.

Blood sprayed in a wide arc, splattering over the slumbering herd below.

And then—chaos.

The dying shrieks of the colossals ripped through the mountains, echoing in terrified, guttural bellows. Panic.

Massive bodies scrambled, heavy limbs thrashing as the herd tried desperately to rise, their breaths coming in short, wheezing grunts. Fear clogged the air, thick and intoxicating.

Ophelia moved before they could.

With a mighty flap, she surged forward, her tail whipping like a battering ram through the scattered beasts. One unfortunate colossal was too slow—her tail struck its chest, and the result was catastrophic.

Ribs snapped like brittle twigs.

The concave imprint of her tail caved into its torso, the force rupturing organs, sending an explosion of viscera, shattered bone, and meaty chunks spraying into the air. The beast let out a weak, gurgling sound before collapsing in a twitching heap, its own lungs crushed into pulp.

Another tried to run.

She caught it by the flank, her claws ripping through layers of muscle, tendons, and sinew with ease. It screamed, a horrific, primal noise that turned into a wet gurgle as she sank her teeth into its neck, the cartilage tearing away in long, sinewy strips.

It gushed like an overripe fruit.

The stench of blood thickened, mingling with the scent of fresh-killed meat and the sharp, acrid smell of urine and fear as the herd realized—too late—that this was not a battle.

This was a slaughter.

She stomped down on another, her hind leg crushing its spine like a brittle twig, the creature wailing pitifully beneath her weight. It twitches violently, legs spasming as it tries to crawl forward, its own entrails dragging behind it like spilled rope.

Another crunch—silence.

The ground was a butcher’s floor now.

Drenched in thick, pooling blood, the frost-covered valley now turned slippery with steaming entrails, the sheer heat of spilled organs melting the cold earth beneath them.

Ophelia’s chest heaved, her tongue flicking out to taste the carnage in the air—the overwhelming, intoxicating essence of dominance, of victory.

She was unstoppable.

The last few tried to flee.

But they were too slow.

She lunged, grabbing two at once, one in each massive forelimb, her claws sinking deep into their thick hides. They screamed, thrashed, their bodies jerking wildly in her grasp—only for her to slam them down, hard.

The earth quaked with the impact.

One’s skull split on the jagged rocks, spilling gray matter and bone fragments onto the bloodstained ground. The other still writhed, half-crushed, its cries weakening, mouth foaming, eyes bulging as its ribs protruded unnaturally from its sides.

She silenced it with a quick bite.

The meat was warm, tender from its fear, and her throat rumbled with satisfaction as she chewed through thick flesh, crunching through what little remained of its fractured bones.

The rest?

The ones who had fled?

She let them.

Because she was full.

Because she was satisfied.

For now.

Steam curled from her nostrils as she finally exhaled, surveying the battlefield of mutilated corpses, of torn flesh and shattered bodies. Blood painted her claws, her chest, her face—and she licked it away, tongue flicking over her fangs as she enjoyed the lingering taste of conquest.

But most of all, her once pristine, pearlescent white scales were now drenched in crimson.

The stark white had been swallowed by blood, veins of it dripping down her long limbs, her chest, the curves of her powerful wings. Her silver-white tail, once gleaming, was now streaked with red and gore, the evidence of her massacre etched into every scale.

No longer a dragon of celestial beauty—

Now, a beast of war, of carnage.

The wind howled.

And above her—eyes watched.

Beastmen.

Perched on their giant owls, their faces ashen, their bodies frozen in place.

They had seen everything.

Chapter Text

The battlefield lay silent, disturbed only by the wet, visceral sounds of Ophelia's claws tearing through flesh. The once-mighty colossals—thirty-five in total—had been reduced to lifeless husks, their bodies strewn across the frostbitten landscape.

Ophelia worked efficiently, piercing each chest cavity with her forelimb talons, pulling aside organs and flesh to make retrieving her prize easier in her humanoid form. A small pile of discarded meat grew beside her, steaming against the icy ground.

"At least I’m making this easier for myself," she mused, tossing aside another useless organ with a flick of her claw.

She surveyed the aftermath with a critical eye. Some of the hides were too torn, too crushed to be of use. She had been reckless—her kills were too brutal, too destructive. Tch. She should have been more mindful. Still, there were a few intact enough to be salvaged. Perhaps Muir or Winston would enjoy a taste of colossals. They’d better be impressed.

Satisfied with her work, she reared her blood-slicked head back and bellowed a roar of triumph. The sound shattered the silence, carrying across the land, vibrating through the frozen earth and shaking the brittle branches of distant trees. It was not just a claim of victory—it was a warning.

The apex predator had fed.

And yet, she was not alone.

With her preparations complete, she exhaled, steam rising in thick tendrils from her nostrils. The real treasure lay within the heap of discarded viscera.

The emeralds.

Shifting down into her humanoid form, Ophelia now stood amidst the carnage, toes curling in the blood-slicked frost. Her draconic eyes gleamed as she crouched over the pile, hands reaching into the clumps of flesh with eager precision.

One by one, she extracted the gems from their organic prisons, their smooth, glistening surfaces slick with blood. She held each up to the pale winter light, watching the way it refracted through the green depths.

The smaller beasts yielded only single, tiny emeralds. Juveniles carried medium-sized ones. The larger, near-adult colossals held within them great, immensely-sized emeralds, glowing faintly even beneath the grime. And the oldest, the most hardened of them—those who had roamed these lands for decades—sometimes bore two.

Ophelia’s breath quickened, her pupils thinning to slits as she ran her fingers over each stone. Their energy hummed against her skin, the essence of the creatures now hers to claim.

Thirty-eight in total.

A satisfied grin curled her lips.

Carefully, she set them aside and turned to her next task—securing her hoard.

Reaching for one of the more intact colossals, she ran her claws over its thick hide, judging its quality. Winter-grown, its skin was denser than that of its summer kin—perfect for her needs. With deliberate movements, she sliced through it, peeling away a large, supple section.

She wasted no time fashioning a makeshift sack, her claws cutting and shaping the hide with practiced ease. It was crude, but it would serve.

Once done, she placed the emeralds inside, nestling them within the freshly removed greyscale hide, ensuring they would not rattle against each other. The outer layer remained bloodied and dull, disguising the precious cargo within.

A final strip of leather—cut fresh from a nearby carcass—served as a tie. She wrapped it around the opening, securing it with a firm knot.

She lifted the sack, testing its weight in her hand. The gems shifted slightly within, but they were safe. Protected. Hers.

Satisfied, she exhaled a contented sigh, stretching her wings and tail.

And that was when she heard it.

A sound—faint but unmistakable.

A screech. Quickly silenced.

Her head snapped up.

Her narrowed eyes scanned the sky, searching the disturbed cloud fragments above.

And there—

A wing.

Then many.

Her bloodied fingers tightened around her hoard, her expression hardening.

She was being watched.

Without hesitation, she lifted off the ground, her form rising into the cold air.

Let them tremble. Let them see.

She would confront them herself.

High above, nestled among the thick clouds, a formation of beastmen riding snowy owls had borne witness to her slaughter. Their pristine white feathers blended seamlessly with the overcast sky, rendering them nearly invisible. They had been silent—watching, assessing, too stunned to react.

Some of the owls were shifted into their beast forms, carrying others, but others were in their humanoid forms, their humanoid forms concealed beneath thick winter cloaks. Their sharp eyes, evolved for piercing the dark, had seen it all. The brutal efficiency. The overwhelming power.

Terror clenched their throats.

And then, fascination.

For never in their lives had they seen a female like this.

The owl riders had expected to encounter a beastwoman—a rare existence, but one still within their comprehension.

What they had found instead was something beyond them.

She was devastation given form, a towering creature that slaughtered the apex predators of these lands as though they were nothing.

And now, as she shifted into her humanoid form, standing bare amidst the carnage, they saw another truth.

She was beautiful.

Not in the fragile, delicate way of regular females, nor even in the graceful strength of a beastman warrior. She was something otherworldly.

A goddess painted in blood.

Her white-silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, stained with the remnants of battle. Her black, curved horns framed a face that should have belonged to myth. Her draconic purple eyes gleamed with intelligence and something deeper—something untamed.

Even covered in gore, even standing in the center of a massacre, she was breathtaking.

A sharp screech broke the silence—a mistake, quickly stifled by its owner, but Ophelia’s head snapped up instantly.

Piercing eyes locked onto the sky.

The owl beastmen stiffened as her gaze bore into them, her lips curling into a faint frown.

She lifted off the ground, rising toward them with a slow, deliberate grace.

They froze.

Even now, in her smaller form, she commanded the space around her. Her presence was crushing.

One of them finally found his voice.

A pale beastman with luxurious, voluminous white hair floated forward, his golden eyes sharp yet hesitant. His pale skin was marked by four dark stripes beneath his eyes, framing his striking features. A noble air clung to him despite his clear apprehension.

"We mean no offense, mighty one," he began, voice carefully measured. "We are traveling south—"

Ophelia’s gaze narrowed.

His words faltered under the weight of her scrutiny. He was not used to being ignored, that much was clear. He carried himself like someone accustomed to attention, to admiration. But admiration meant nothing to her.

And in that moment, it seemed he realized it too.

"We were invited—" he tried again.

Before he could finish, another beastman pushed forward.

A hawk beastman, distinct from the others, his sharp eyes gleaming with wariness, shifted into his humanoid form mid-flight, hovering a cautious distance away. His features were sharp, his hair windswept, his expression careful.

"You were not yet in Beast City for a full day before I was sent to spread word of your presence," he informed her, his tone steady despite the wariness in his eyes. "Our mission was to alert the other cities, to bring their representatives forward for formal recognition."

His gaze flickered to the group behind him.

"And their kings have come as well."

A hush fell over the owl riders as the words settled.

Ophelia's expression didn’t change.

Kings.

She had already had her fill of one today. That very encounter had driven her to this hunt in the first place—to shed her frustration in blood and action.

She sighed through her nose, unimpressed. More kings, more politics.

Her gaze didn’t linger on them. Instead, she turned slightly, exhaling a small, amused huff.

"Fly behind me," she ordered, voice cool, absolute. "I will lead you back to the city."

There was no room for negotiation.
"After all," she added, a slow smirk curling her lips, "it might just be part of my job description as Protector."

"And soon enough, you will be guests of Beast City."

The owl beastmen exhaled, tension easing at her shift in tone. The kings—still silent, still watching her with unreadable expressions—exchanged brief glances.

None dared question her authority.

Then, without another glance, Ophelia descended.

They expected her to return to the ground, to prepare for flight. Instead, their eyes widened as her form warped, her body expanding, her wings unfurling.

Her body tensed, muscles rippling beneath her bloodstained skin. And in an instant, she changed.

It wasn’t a slow, controlled shift like other beastmen. It was devastation incarnate.

A violent crack split the air as her bones rearranged, her frame expanding outward in a burst of raw, unchecked power. The very ground beneath her quaked, a gust of wind surging outward, throwing snow and bloodied debris into the air as her wings unfurled.

Larger.

Darker.

More monstrous.

Her humanoid form melted away, replaced by something colossal—something ancient.

Scales, once hidden beneath soft flesh, now gleamed like burnished silver, shifting between hues of white and silver as they caught the dim northern light. Her wings stretched wide, blocking out the sky itself, their sheer size enough to make the wind howl in protest. Her tail lashed, sending a fresh spray of snow and ice into the air, and her horns—those elegant, deadly things—rose like a crown of obsidian against the pale sky.

And then there was the heat.

It radiated from her like a living thing, distorting the cold air, making it waver and ripple as though the northern frost itself was retreating from her presence. Vael clenched his jaw as it licked against his skin, unnatural and suffocating, a stark contrast to the chill he had always known.

The Fox King swallowed hard.

This was not a mere beastwoman.

This was something greater. Something untouchable–

—until the bloodstained goddess became something beastly once again.

The true Colossal.

Her dragon form loomed beneath them, larger than any living thing should be. But she did not land.

She hovered, her massive body suspended just above the frozen ground, shadow stretching long beneath her.

Then, with a sudden, swift motion, she struck.

Her four forelimbs shot out, grasping the limp bodies of the fallen colossals.

Arms, legs, necks—she took hold of them all, the once-dominant predators now nothing more than prey in her monstrous grip.

And then, she lifted them.

With an effortless beat of her wings, she ascended.

The owl beastmen watched, stunned beyond words, as the dragoness carried what should have been impossible.

No creature, no matter how powerful, should have been able to lift so many at once.

Yet she did.

The ultimate predator, cradling the corpses of the former apex, as if they were nothing more than toys in her grasp.

And then, she turned north.

Without hesitation, she began the flight home.

The hawk beastman was the first to follow, instinctively obeying the command she had given.

The others hesitated—still caught in the weight of what they had witnessed—before finally, silently, trailing after her.

The Kingdom of Evergreen, rulers of the north, had come seeking an introduction to the Beast City’s fabled protector.

They had found something far more than they ever imagined.

They followed, eyes locked on the impossible figure ahead.

Ophelia flew, carrying her trophies, a legend among them.

And they knew, with bone-deep certainty—

—she was more than a legend.

She was real.

And she was impossible.

Chapter Text

The battlefield was a scar upon the frozen land.

Vael's sharp golden eyes surveyed the carnage below, the reek of blood rising to meet him even at this altitude. The white-haired Fox King had seen his fair share of slaughter, of beastmen tearing into prey, of battles waged and won. But this? This was something else entirely.

The corpses of colossi—monsters that even the strongest beastmen feared to challenge alone—were strewn across the land, their immense forms broken, crushed, or gored. And at the heart of the devastation stood her.

A beast unlike any he had ever seen before.

The most similar creature to her lay in a puddle of its own blood at her feet, but to compare her to the colossi would be an insult. They shared reptilian traits, yes—scaled hides, tails thick with power, deadly claws—but the similarities ended there. Where they were hulking and primal, she was something ancient, something perfected.

Her massive form was a fortress of white-scaled muscle, her tail sweeping the frost-bitten ground with ease. Curved black horns crowned her head, her draconic purple eyes glowing with an unnatural, menacing intelligence. Her wings, dark at the tips and spanning an impossible length, twitched as she worked, the movement alone disturbing the snowfall around her.

Vael, despite himself, shivered.

She was a power incarnate.

He watched as she plunged her curved claws into the massive chest cavities of the fallen colossi, tearing through flesh and bone to excavate the emeralds hidden within their bodies. His sharp gaze followed the glistening, bloodied jewels as she tossed aside unwanted chunks of flesh, carving away the useless matter with brutal efficiency.

She was collecting them.

Hoarding them.

Vael knew the value of wealth. A king must understand riches, and what she was gathering in mere moments was the equivalent of a city’s treasury built over years. All of those emeralds of that size would fund the city's necessary trades for years to come, the salt trade being one of them. She had thirty-eight. And she had no intention of sharing.

His throat went dry.

She moved with a deadly grace, her claws working through the mess with terrifying ease. This was not mindless butchery. This was a creature that knew exactly what it was doing.

And then she changed.

It happened so suddenly that it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

One moment, a dragon of monstrous size loomed over the corpses, her body exuding raw heat against the bitter frost. The next, the air twisted around her, flesh rippling and shrinking, the grandness of her form folding in upon itself.

And then—

A woman.

His heartbeat stuttered.

She stood in the blood-soaked snow, her human form as devastating as her draconic one.

Tall. Commanding.

Silver-white hair cascaded down her back, curling slightly at the tips, streaked with the remnants of battle. Draconic purple eyes, still gleaming with the same primal intelligence, scanned the pile of flesh before her. And her body—

Vael clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe.

She was bare. Utterly bare, utterly unbothered, utterly magnificent. The icy wind did nothing to her; the blood smeared across her pale skin only made her look more terrifyingly beautiful. This was not some delicate noblewoman. This was a beastwoman of legend.

And she had no idea they were watching.

Vael stole a glance at the other kings flying beside him—the Bear King, the Cougar King, the Owl King. Even the sharp-eyed warriors among their ranks seemed momentarily robbed of words, their expressions torn between wariness, awe, and something more primal.

It was only when she lifted her makeshift sack—a fresh strip of hide from one of the colossi, tied off with leather and stuffed with gleaming, blood-washed emeralds—that she finally noticed them.

Her body went still.

Then she lifted her head.

And looked straight at them.

The moment her piercing gaze locked onto their airborne group, a ripple of unease passed through the gathered beastmen. The warriors tensed, some of the owl-riders clutching their mounts a little tighter. A few of the younger ones even flinched, as if her eyes alone could burn them.

Vael, however, did not flinch.

Instead, he smirked.

He had sought to forge an alliance with this "Protector of Beast City." And now that he was face-to-face with her, he found himself wanting to know what kind of creature she truly was.

He had to speak to her.

Vael steadied himself, pushing forward slightly as the others hesitated. He was no coward, nor would he allow himself to be overshadowed, even by a creature as powerful as her.

He urged his owl mount forward slightly, his voice smooth despite the faint pulse of his own heartbeat. "We mean no offense, mighty one," he called, his golden eyes sharp, his confidence unwavering. "We are traveling south—"

Her gaze narrowed.

His words faltered under the sheer weight of her scrutiny. It was a foreign feeling, being dismissed so completely. He was used to attention, to admiration—his presence alone was usually enough to command interest. But admiration meant nothing to her.

And in that moment, he realized it too.

"We were invited—" he tried again, grasping for control of the conversation.

Before he could finish, another voice cut in.

A hawk beastman, distinct from the others, broke formation and shifted mid-flight, his sharp eyes gleaming with wariness. He hovered at a cautious distance, his windswept hair wild from his flight. His expression was careful, measured.

"You were not yet in Beast City for a full day before I was sent to spread word of your presence," he informed her, his tone steady despite the tension in his posture. "Our mission was to alert the other cities, to bring their representatives forward for formal recognition."

His gaze flickered toward Vael and the others.

"And their kings have come as well."

Her gaze did not soften.

He was used to females, even beautiful ones, reacting to his words. But this one did not waver, did not shift, did not even acknowledge the charm in his voice.

Her expression remained unreadable, a queen in her own right, bathed in the aftermath of her own hunt.

For the first time, Ophelia flicked her gaze past Vael and toward the rest of the gathered leaders.

Vael saw the way the other kings straightened instinctively, the Bear King’s nostrils flaring, the Cougar King’s tail lashing slightly as if sensing an unseen threat.

And then, she did something that made every single one of them tense.

She smiled.

Not a kind, warm smile.

A sharp, fanged smirk that made it clear that she held all the power here.

"Well then," she mused, voice deep and unwavering, authoritative. Absolute. "If you're guests of Beast City, you will fly behind me. I will lead you there myself."

The way she said it left no room for argument.

She turned her back on them, unconcerned, unafraid, completely confident that none would dare disobey.

Only then did the kings and their warriors realize they were holding their breath.

Vael exhaled, watching her descend back toward the carnage below.

And then, before their very eyes, she changed again.

It was devastating.

The very air around her shimmered with power as she expanded, her pale skin giving way to endless scales of white, horns dark and gleaming like obsidian. Heat rippled off her as she spread her wings, enormous and terrible, sending a powerful gust of wind upward that forced even their skilled riders to adjust in the air.

The corpses of the colossi should have been impossible to lift.

Yet she gripped them in her forelimbs with ease—arms, legs, entire bodies held in her grasp like they were nothing more than game.

Then, without hesitation, she ascended.

Her massive form led the way, heading south.

Toward Beast City.

Toward her den.

Toward home.

And behind her, the kings of other nations—men who had never feared anything before—followed.

For the first time in his life, Vael the Fox King felt the thrill of not knowing whether he had met a future ally... or something far greater.

The kings flew in tight formation, their warriors trailing behind, all eyes fixed on the massive dragon ahead. Ophelia moved like an impossible dream, her sheer size contradicting the grace with which she cut through the sky. Watching her was mesmerizing—and terrifying.

The Bear King finally broke the silence, his deep voice carrying over the wind. “She is a force we cannot control. But we can guide her… if she allows it.”

The Owl King, wise and methodical, nodded. “She will not be bound by any one of you.” His large, unblinking eyes swept over the others. “But in time, she may accept some of you as mates.”

Vael, the Fox King, smirked. “And that is the goal, isn’t it? None here expects her to take only one mate.” His golden eyes gleamed with calculation. “She is too powerful for that. No single beastman could ever be enough.”

The Cougar King, silent until now, let out a soft hum. “And yet, that does not mean all of us will be accepted.” His sharp green eyes flickered toward Vael, the challenge clear. “She will have the strongest. The most worthy.”

Vael’s smirk deepened, his sharp canines flashing. “Then I suppose that means you and I will be standing side by side in the end.”

The Cougar King did not answer, but the tension between them thickened. The rivalry was unspoken but real. Both of them intended to be among Ophelia’s chosen mates.

The Bear King and the Owl King, however, had no such ambitions. Their paths were already set—beastmen only ever mated once in their lifetime. Their bonds, once formed, were unbreakable. Even if their mates perished, they would never take another.

Their interest in Ophelia was not for themselves but for their people.

“If she will not look only to us,” the Bear King said, “then we must ensure she looks to our kin as well.”

The Owl King’s voice was thoughtful, measured. “A beastwoman as powerful as her will change everything. And if she bears daughters… our world will never be the same.”

The Cougar King exhaled sharply. “You mean to introduce your strongest to her.”

The Bear King nodded. “We all do. Even you and Vael must understand that while we may join her, others will as well.” His amber gaze turned toward the warriors flying behind them—their best, their elite, the most powerful of their kind. “They are listening, waiting. Some among them hope to stand at her side, not just you.”

It was true. The tension among their warriors was palpable. The idea of mating with a female beastwoman—a dragon, no less—was something no beastman had ever dreamed of. She was more than a mate; she was a legend in the making.

Vael chuckled. “And here I thought the competition was only between us.” His gaze flicked over the other kings. “Tell me, then—if she takes interest in one of your own, will you step aside?”

The Bear King’s jaw tightened slightly, but he did not hesitate. “If it strengthens our people, I will.”

The Owl King inclined his head. “She is not like other females. We cannot offer her the usual gifts—wealth, territory, status.” He glanced toward the Fox and Cougar Kings. “But if she is to build a harem, she will need balance. Strength, wisdom, cunning. She will need those who can stand beside her in power.”

The Cougar King’s gaze flickered with understanding. “And if she bears a daughter of your kind… your lineage flourishes.”

The Bear King’s voice was calm but firm. “Would you not wish the same?”

A slow, knowing silence passed between them.

This was not just about claiming her—it was about shaping the future. If Ophelia bore offspring, they would be unmatched. And if those children were female, it would change the very fabric of the beast world.

Vael exhaled, a sharp grin curling at his lips. “It seems we all have our own ambitions.”

The Cougar King narrowed his eyes. “Then let’s see whose ambitions align with hers.”

But as the silence stretched between them, Vael let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his thick, silver-white hair. His golden eyes twinkled with mischief. “Really, I don’t see what the fuss is about. If she has any sense, she’ll choose me first.”

The Bear King snorted. The Owl King merely blinked.

Vael pressed a hand to his chest, feigning wounded dignity. “What? Look at me. I am a fox—a creature of unmatched beauty and charm. No beastwoman alive could resist me.” His sharp smile widened, his golden eyes playful. “Besides, don’t you think we would look perfect together? White hair suits white hair, wouldn’t you say?”

His tone was lighthearted, but his intent was clear—he truly believed he had the best chance.

The Cougar King, who had been silent, finally turned his cold green eyes toward Vael. Unlike the fox’s smug gold, his gaze was sharp, piercing, the deep green of the Evergreens themselves.

Vael’s words were meant to tease, but they struck a nerve.

Foxes were known for their beauty. They dazzled, charmed, and manipulated, their cunning far more dangerous than their claws. And they were successful—fox beastmen rarely struggled to find mates.

Unlike cougars, who relied on silent patience and raw power.

The thought brought a deep frown to the Cougar King’s face, and his jaw tightened as a low, feline growl rumbled in his throat.

Vael, ever the troublemaker, smirked knowingly. “Oh? Does someone disagree?”

The Cougar King’s lips curled slightly, his expression unreadable. “We’ll see who she looks at first.”

The playful glint in Vael’s golden eyes only sharpened. “Indeed, we will.”

Behind them, their warriors listened closely, some hopeful, some amused. But all of them understood one thing—

Ophelia was no ordinary female.

And she would choose who was worthy.

Chapter Text

After Ophelia left, her figure fading into the sky, Muir found himself alone with unexpected free time. The verbal battle with the Ape King still lingered in his mind—the raw conviction Ophelia had displayed, the way she had defended the tiger so fiercely. And Winston… standing there under Ophelia’s protection, daring to challenge him with barely concealed intent.

Muir exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside. He had no control over Winston. What he could control, however, was proving his worth as Ophelia’s mate. He absentmindedly lifted a hand to his chest, fingers grazing over the mating mark she had left there. It still burned with the memory of her claiming him, sinking into his very being, etching her presence into his bones and marrow.

I should do more.

With that thought, he turned back to the marketplace, retracing the steps they had taken before the conflict. He drifted through the stalls, scanning the wares with a sharp eye. His mate deserved the best, and he was going to provide for her, she will want for nothing.

A wolf beastman caught his attention, selling high-quality arctic fox furs. Thick, soft, luxurious—the kind favored by females for their warmth and thickness. Without hesitation, he purchased several, not bothering to haggle. He was a three-striped beastman, not the most powerful compared to his awe-inspiring mate, but strong enough that few would dare challenge him. He had currency to spend, and spending it on Ophelia filled him with satisfaction.

Yet, as he moved through the marketplace, he felt the weight of lingering gazes.

Whispers drifted to his keen ears.

"That hawk… he’s the first mate of the dragon."

"She marked him first—"

"Lucky bastard."

The murmurs followed him, envious, reverent, or begrudging. His name was rarely spoken, only his status as her mate. The dragon’s mate. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had spent his whole life carving out his own path, earning recognition by his own merit. Now, he was forever tied to her, seen only in relation to her. But was that really a bad thing?

Muir tightened his grip on the furs and kept walking. I will prove to her that she did not make a mistake choosing me.

He thought about the future, about soaring through endless skies at her side, exploring the world together. She was one of the few who could match him, his speed. Traveling with her would be exhilarating—if they could have that time together.

His sharp eyes narrowed. The footsteps behind him hadn’t ceased all day.

Winston.

Annoyance bristled under Muir’s skin. Winston had been trailing him, lingering in his shadow, watching. His presence was intrusive, suffocating. Muir knew what he wanted. He could feel Winston’s gaze on every purchase, cataloging the information like a predator studying its prey.

Muir’s jaw tightened. Would he ever have a moment with Ophelia that didn’t include this intruder?

The thought stung.

He understood, logically, that a female as powerful and desirable as Ophelia was bound to have many mates. She deserved all the world had to offer. He had accepted that the moment she marked him. And yet…

His grip on the gifts in his arms tightened.

It still hurts.

Clenching his jaw, he forced himself forward. Another stall caught his eye—this one run by a monkey beastman selling stone pottery. Muir inspected the containers, considering their use. Ophelia enjoyed bathing in the stream. Perhaps she would appreciate some bathing oils or body balms. He could buy them from a vendor, or better yet, harvest the ingredients himself.

His mind wandered as he pictured it. Helping her bathe, his hands working scented oil into her skin, massaging her muscles… He swallowed hard.

Or her doing the same to him.

Heat surged up his neck.

He squinted at the pottery, trying to shake the images from his mind—only to realize too late that he had been lost in thought for too long.

A presence loomed beside him.

A voice shattered his daydream.

“Muir,” Winston said, his tone even. “I know you know that I want to be Ophelia’s mate.”

Muir inhaled slowly, his fingers flexing around the stoneware. His wings twitched at his back, feathers ruffling instinctively.

Of course, Winston would say it outright.

Muir finally turned to face him, his blue eyes sharp, unreadable.

He exhaled through his nose, bracing himself for the inevitable conversation.

The market was still lively despite the late afternoon creeping toward dusk, the golden light of the rare dry day stretching long shadows across the cobbled streets. A cool wind carried the lingering scent of rain-soaked earth, mingling with the heavy aromas of roasted meats, exotic spices, and fresh herbs sold from wooden stalls. The murmur of bartering voices and the occasional call of a merchant hawking their wares filled the air, but beneath it all, a quieter, sharper presence lingered—gossip.

Muir felt it before he saw it.

Eyes flickering to him and Winston, heads leaning in close, hushed voices whispering words meant to be heard but not acknowledged.

He had been used to it—since the moment Ophelia had claimed him, the first whispers had started. But this was different. This time, it wasn’t about him.

It was about Winston.

“That scarred beastman? Pursuing the dragon?” a voice scoffed, sharp as broken glass.

“He may be strong, but what use is power when a female won’t even look at him?” another murmured.

Muir’s wing twitched in irritation, and his grip on the stone containers tightened.

Winston, to his credit, did not outwardly react. But Muir saw it—the way his broad shoulders stiffened beneath the weight of unseen judgment, the way his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. A muscle in his jaw jumped, his grey eyes darkening under the shifting light as the sun dipped further toward the horizon.

The scar across his face—jagged, deep, forever etched into his skin—stood out starkly in the glow of the fading sun. Muir had never paid it much attention before, but now, surrounded by the quiet hum of cruel whispers, it became impossible to ignore.

Not because it made Winston less.

But because others believed it did.

The wind stirred Muir’s black feathers, rustling the furs he had draped over his arm, and he clenched his jaw, dragging a hand through his dark hair in frustration. This conversation was already hard enough without an audience.

“I know,” Muir said finally, his voice even but strained.

Winston exhaled, his breath heavy. “Then you also know that I intend to pursue her.”

Muir turned fully to face him, squaring his shoulders, his piercing blue gaze locking onto Winston’s unwavering stare. The market moved around them—beastmen weaving between stalls, merchants exchanging crystals, a flock of small birds bursting into the air as a cart rattled down the uneven stone path. But in that moment, the world around them faded into the background.

Muir’s wings shifted, his feathers ruffling in agitation. “You’re bold to say that to her mate.”

“I’m honest,” Winston countered, voice firm. His posture was rigid, controlled, but Muir could see the tension in the way his fingers flexed slightly, the way his weight subtly shifted—ready to brace, to defend, to stand his ground. A fighter, even when the battle was only words.

Muir narrowed his eyes. “And you think honesty will change anything?”

Winston’s grey gaze flickered, something unreadable flashing behind them before he spoke. “I think you know as well as I do that this was never going to be just you and her.”

Muir’s breath hitched, and his jaw locked.

He knew that. Of course, he knew that.

It didn’t make it easier to hear.

Winston continued, his voice dropping lower, though Muir knew the nearby beastmen still strained to listen. “You don’t like it.”

Muir’s wings flared slightly before he forced them to settle. “Would you?” he shot back.

For the first time, Winston hesitated. He tilted his head slightly, his scarred face cast in shadow as the sun dipped behind a row of buildings. His tail flicked once behind him, a slow, deliberate motion, before he sighed.

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t have a choice. Neither do you.”

Muir hated how much those words rang true.

A gust of wind kicked up the loose dirt on the street, sending it swirling between the stalls. The merchants had started to pack away their wares, rolling up fabric covers and securing crates. The last of the sun’s warmth lingered on Muir’s skin, but the chill of evening was creeping in, slow and inevitable—just like this conversation.

“You think I don’t understand how you feel?” Winston pressed, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You think it doesn’t burn me up inside, knowing I’ll never have her to myself?” His fists clenched, his scars stretching across his knuckles. “But I see her for what she is. She isn’t just a female—she’s a dragon. She’s a protector. She has too much to give to be limited to one mate.”

Muir swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists. “I know that.”

“Then act like it.” Winston’s voice sharpened. “You’re her first mate. Instead of resenting the others, you should be the one making sure we’re worthy of her.”

Muir’s breath hitched.

Winston continued, his tone firm but laced with something heavier—something vulnerable. “I won’t back down. Not because I want to take her from you, but because I know she deserves more. And if you truly care for her, you’ll do the same. You don’t have to like it—but you need to accept it.”

Muir’s throat felt tight.

Accept it.

He knew Winston was right. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The thought of losing even a fraction of Ophelia, of sharing what he wanted to keep only for himself, made his chest ache in ways he wasn’t sure he could ever voice.

But Ophelia was not a thing to be owned.

She was a force of nature—one that had chosen him.

And if he truly loved her, then he would trust her.

Even if it broke him.

He inhaled deeply, forcing his body to relax. His wings settled against his back, his fists unclenching. “Fine,” he said, though the word felt like a blade against his tongue. “But don’t expect me to welcome you with open arms.”

Winston smiled faintly, but it wasn’t mocking. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Muir exhaled and picked up the pottery again, gripping it tighter than necessary. The market continued around them, the sky bleeding into twilight, the scent of rain still clinging to the wind. The whispers continued, softer now, still carrying traces of judgment and envy.

But Muir didn’t care.

Because he was still her first.

And that would never change.

Muir exhaled sharply through his nose, folding his arms as he fixed Winston with a measured glare. “If you want her, you’ll have to prove yourself.” His voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the challenge laced within it. “I won’t make it easy for you.”

Winston smirked faintly, undeterred. “You forget, Muir, I am a tetra-marked beastman.” He let the words settle, rolling his shoulders back. “I could just as well go out hunting for colossi, bring back the emeralds she covets so much.”

Muir’s feathers ruffled slightly at that, but Winston wasn’t finished.

“In fact…” Winston reached into the pouch at his waist and retrieved the emerald he had given to Ophelia earlier that day. The gem gleamed in the fading sunlight, its iridescent green surface catching the light with an almost hypnotic glow. He rolled it between his fingers before tilting it slightly toward Muir, as if proving his point. “She accepted this once already.”

Muir narrowed his eyes, but despite himself, his gaze lingered on the stone.

He grumbled. “It’s a start, I suppose.” His wings flexed slightly before settling again. “If her growing hoard is anything to go by, she’ll never say no to something glorious and shiny.”

A rustling sound from the side made both beastmen turn slightly, their senses sharpening.

A voice slithered out from a shadowed stall, low and smooth, curling through the air like smoke.

“If you truly want to impress the dragon…” The voice was slow, deliberate. “Perhaps you should come and see what I offer.”

Both Muir and Winston turned toward the speaker, instinctively bristling at the intrusion.

The stall was dimly lit, tucked between two larger vendor stands, partially obscured by thick woven fabric that rippled in the evening breeze. This was nearby where Muir had bought Ophelia’s necklace earlier, but now, the space carried an entirely different weight—one that sent a slow coil of unease down his spine.

A tall figure loomed beneath the canopy, hunched slightly, his form shrouded in a hood that did little to hide his unnatural presence.

His eyes, however, were unmistakable.

Poisonous yellow-green, slitted like a reptile. They flickered with amusement as they swept over the two of them—but Muir noticed the way they lingered on him in particular before they roved over the emerald in Winston’s hand.

A heavy sound scraped against the ground—a slow, dragging weight that sent a whisper of unease skittering up Muir’s back.

Winston, standing beside him, tensed but did not step away.

The vendor’s voice held a persuasive, almost entrancing lilt as he spoke. “If you want to impress this female… perhaps consider making that gem into something she can wear.”

His clawed fingers, long and dark, curled as he reached under his stall, pulling out a wooden box with deliberate ease. Despite the simple exterior, the moment he flipped it open, the contents inside gleamed with an unnatural sheen.

Jewelry—but unlike anything Muir had ever seen.

The centerpiece was particularly strange, a piece of unknown material that looked almost like thick, blackened scales fused together, as dark as onyx, but with a subtle, unnatural luster. At its crest, embedded perfectly into the design, rested an emerald—a deep green jewel that caught the last rays of the sun, glowing like a trapped star.

Muir furrowed his brows, eyeing the piece with suspicion. It was not strung like the typical jewelry they were used to—no leather cords, no simple twine threading through wooden beads or teeth. Instead, it was melded, crafted, shaped in a way that felt too precise, too foreign.

Winston narrowed his eyes. “Where does it go?”

The vendor chuckled, the sound deep and slow. “A headpiece,” he murmured, savoring the words. “Meant for the crown of the head.”

Muir’s unease deepened.

The vendor tilted his head, his hood shifting slightly to reveal more of his reptilian features—a sharp jawline, the glint of fangs when he spoke. “I could make something similar… for the dragon.”

There was something about the way he said her title, the way he let it slide off his tongue like he was savoring it, like he was tasting her.

Muir’s feathers bristled instantly, his muscles coiling tight.

Winston, ever pragmatic, crossed his arms and kept his expression unreadable. “And how would you do that?”

The vendor’s slow, measured gaze settled on them both. “I would need her measurements.” His lips curved into something resembling a smirk, though it did little to ease the discomfort in the air. “To accommodate her horns… and the size of her head.”

Muir didn’t like this.

Not one bit.

Winston, however, remained steady. He turned the headpiece slightly in his hands, inspecting the craftsmanship. “What is this made of?”

The vendor’s expression barely shifted, but they could hear the smile in his voice. “That… I won’t tell you.”

Muir’s jaw tensed. Winston didn’t press.

“How much?” Winston asked instead.

The vendor hummed, tilting his head slightly as he considered them, his glowing eyes roaming once again over Muir—this time, pausing at his chest.

At the mark.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Muir already knew it would be expensive.

Finally, the vendor spoke. “Twenty-five small clear crystals.”

Muir stiffened. That was outrageous.

Winston, to his credit, barely flinched. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “That’s steep.”

The vendor chuckled, a deep, amused sound. “Mmm, perhaps.” His darkly clawed finger lifted, waving lazily through the air. “But… I may be willing to reconsider the price… if you allow me to meet your gorgeous mate.”

Muir saw red.

His wings flared slightly, his hands clenching into fists. Who did this beastman think he was?

Why would he compromise and grant access to Ophelia when this wasn’t even Winston’s gift to give?

He was about to snarl out a furious refusal when—

“No.”

Winston’s voice was calm. Steady. Absolute.

“I will pay the full price.”

A slow exhale left the vendor, barely audible. For a fleeting moment, a chill swept through the air, curling around them like unseen fingers.

But then—it was gone.

The vendor exhaled through his nose, tilting his head once again. “Pity.”

He turned then—fixing his unsettling gaze on Muir.

“And you, hawk?” His voice was smooth, teasing, yet… deliberate. “Shouldn’t I be asking you what to buy her, as her mate?” His poisonous eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Only you would get the real discount.”

Muir’s feathers bristled.

The vendor’s lips curled further, his voice dipping. “Why would you help another male select a gift for your mate?”

A challenge.

A taunt.

Muir exhaled slowly, the weight of the vendor’s gaze heavy against his skin.

His wings tensed.

His hands flexed.

And then—he responded.

Muir’s wings twitched as he exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening at the vendor’s words.

“I don’t want a discount,” he said stiffly, his voice measured, but his irritation was clear beneath the surface.

The vendor merely chuckled, his reptilian eyes gleaming with amusement.

Muir scowled internally. Not only had he refused the discount, but he didn’t even have an emerald to offer Ophelia or the vendor.

He hated that thought.

The vendor must have sensed his frustration because his smirk deepened, his voice taking on a mocking lilt.

“Well, tiger,” he purred, deliberately talking to the rival male next, “it’s your lucky day. Only you will have this gift to offer the female you so covet.”

Muir’s teeth clenched.

The vendor’s poisonous gaze flicked to Winston, then back to Muir.

“It appears her mate does not have an emerald to give.”

Muir’s feathers ruffled. His hands flexed at his sides.

A lesser beastman might have snapped, might have snarled at the insult, but Muir—he controlled himself. Barely.

Instead, he leveled the vendor with a cold, narrowed stare before turning to Winston.

“If you expect my help in getting her head measurements, you are sorely mistaken.”

His voice was sharper than intended, edged with something almost defensive.

Winston only hummed, neither insulted nor surprised.

Muir scoffed under his breath and turned away, his wings shifting, a restless energy in his steps. He needed to leave.

With deliberate purpose, he strode toward the next stall, where he had originally intended to purchase stone bowls. He picked them up, his grip tight around the smooth surfaces, his mind swirling with unspoken thoughts.

Damn that vendor.

Damn Winston.

Damn himself.

His wings twitched as he left them both behind, the unsettling vendor’s presence like a shadow against his back.

As he walked, he reflected.

The sun was sinking lower, bleeding into the sky with hues of orange and deepening blue. The marketplace had begun to shift with the evening, beastmen closing their stalls, others lingering to make last-minute purchases. A warm breeze drifted past, carrying the scent of roasted meat, the chatter of traders negotiating their final sales.

Muir barely heard any of it.

Instead, his thoughts were a storm.

He felt… lacking.

He was a three-stripe beastman. Only three.

Winston was tetra-marked. Four stripes of strength.

Herbiverous Colossi were the only way to earn emeralds—and he had not yet fought one on his own.

His grip tightened on his purchase.

Someday, he would.

Someday, he would bring Ophelia a gift of his own. Something worthy of her grace.

His jaw set, his resolve hardened.

He just had to get stronger.

With that thought burning in his chest, he turned his steps toward his den.

Chapter Text

The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the Beast City in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the bustling market. The scents of cured meats, fresh hides, and polished stone wares lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present earthy musk of beastmen moving about. The wind carried loose leaves across the dirt-packed roads, rustling through fur and clothing alike, a reminder that night was approaching.

Winston stood beneath the awning of a small, shadowed stall, the scent of aged wood and metal sharpening his senses. His white, straight hair, which fell just to his shoulders, shifted slightly in the breeze. His grey eyes—cool and calculating—were half-lidded in thought, the scar running over his right eye a faint contrast against his otherwise smooth skin. His striped tiger ears flicked atop his head, a subtle twitch as he listened to the vendor’s words, while his long, striped tail curled slightly behind him, resting in a loose coil before flicking at the tip.

The vendor stood across from him, a tall and broad beastman who kept much of his appearance obscured. His shadowed stall was deceptively simple—a rough-hewn wooden table displaying common jewelry: beaded bracelets, leather-strung pendants, and simple twine necklaces. But beneath the table, hidden from casual view, lay far rarer and more exquisite pieces, their gleaming stones and intricate designs concealed from the unworthy or the unknowing.

What could be seen of the vendor’s face was striking—sharp features, his expression unreadable. His yellow-green eyes, unmistakably reptilian, gleamed in the dim light, pupils slitted like the cold bloods. When he inspected the emerald in Winston’s palm, his claws—black-tipped and gleaming—curled around the gem with delicate precision, lifting it toward his face. The stone’s faint glow reflected in his eyes, intensifying their eerie hue.

“This is an ideal size for the headpiece,” he murmured, voice smooth and knowing. “Would you like it polished? A finer cut would refine its brilliance.”

Winston nodded, though his voice carried a note of warning. “Don’t overdo it. I don’t want it reduced to a pebble.”

The vendor chuckled, a quiet sound like silk sliding over stone. “Of course.” His claws curled around the emerald as he spoke with quiet reverence. “The Dragon will love this.”

But before he could say more—

A shift in the air.

The wind picked up, sudden and sharp, scattering dust and loose leaves across the ground. The marketplace, once filled with casual murmurs and the rhythmic bartering of beastmen, stilled for a moment before erupting into a new kind of noise.

Gasps.

Sharp whispers.

Then—

“She’s back!”

Winston’s ears flicked, and his grey eyes narrowed as he followed the collective gaze of the market-goers. He turned just in time to see it.

A shadow on the horizon.

A form so vast it dwarfed the sky itself.

Ophelia.

Not in her human form, but in the full, breathtaking majesty of her dragon body.

Even from a distance, she was incomprehensibly massive. Her wings stretched out like storm-wrought banners, dark against the burning sky, each beat of their enormous span shifting the very air itself. Her silver-white scales shimmered in the fading light, and though he could not yet make out the finer details of her face, Winston knew those draconic purple eyes would be glowing with quiet, predatory intent.

But it wasn’t just her size that had the beastmen staring in shock.

It was what she carried.

The limp, gargantuan bodies of colossi dangled from her claws—herbivorous titans that, under normal circumstances, required an entire warband to take down. Their long necks hung lifeless, their thick tails swayed like broken tree limbs, and their massive limbs dangled in death. She held them by their tails, their heads, their ankles—multiple bodies clutched effortlessly in all four of her dragon limbs.

“She’s… carrying them.”

“No one does that,” a stunned bear beastman muttered, his brown-furred ears pinned back, his large paws resting heavily on the stone counter of a nearby stall. He was speaking to a wolf beastman beside him, who looked equally astonished, his tail stiff and ears flat against his dark grey hair.

“That’s impossible,” the wolf murmured, golden eyes flickering with disbelief. “No one can move a colossus whole. You have to carve them apart just to bring them back.”

“Not her,” another beastman—a broad-shouldered boar shifter with coarse black hair and twin tusks curving from his lower jaw—grunted as he ran a hand through his unkempt mane. “She’s not like us.”

“The Dragon doesn’t follow our rules,” someone else said, voice tinged with awe.

At the stall, the vendor, who had remained eerily still, finally stirred. He stepped out from beneath the awning, his sharp eyes fixed on Ophelia’s approaching form. The dying sunlight gleamed against his features, accentuating the almost unnatural sharpness of his cheekbones, the eerie glow of his reptilian gaze.

“What magnificence,” he murmured, almost to himself. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “What ordinary beastmen can only dream of doing… she accomplishes in a matter of hours.”

His admiration was clear, but Winston barely acknowledged it.

His focus remained locked on Ophelia, his grip tightening around the edge of the wooden stall. His tiger ears flicked again, tail curling slightly before it flicked behind him, betraying the conflict he refused to voice.

Each beat of her wings drew her closer.

Each breath brought her nearer to home.

Soon, she would land.

And Winston—

He couldn’t look away.

As Ophelia’s colossal form loomed ever closer, the marketplace seemed to hold its breath, every beastman present caught between awe and disbelief. The golden light of the setting sun cast dramatic shadows over the scene, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air with each powerful beat of her wings. The wind stirred again, rustling clothing and shifting stray leaves across the packed dirt roads, but Winston barely noticed—his attention had been drawn elsewhere.

The vendor beside him, who had once been hunched in the shadow of his stall, now stood at his full height. And effortlessly tall he was.

Now that he had stepped fully into the light, Winston realized the vendor was at least two heads taller than himself, an impressive feat considering Winston was no small beastman. The tiger’s grey eyes flicked upward, taking in the full breadth of this stranger’s frame. Broad-shouldered and long-limbed, the vendor carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, a stillness that was unnatural in the way it lacked tension. He was not bracing himself against Ophelia’s approach, not stiff with uncertainty like many of the other onlookers—he was simply watching.

And now, free from the stall’s concealing shadows, Winston could finally see his face clearly.

His skin was pale, an almost unnatural pallor against the warm tones of the marketplace. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk, sharp at the edges, as though he found some unspoken amusement in the unfolding scene. His gaze was cast upward, yellow-green eyes following Ophelia’s descent with a dark intensity. In the low light, his slitted pupils had constricted even further, making his reptilian nature even more apparent.

Then, subtly, deliberately, the vendor tipped his chin up.

It was an unspoken gesture of confidence, exposing the sharp cut of his jawline, the elegant slope of his throat. There was something in that movement that unsettled Winston—not fear, but challenge. As a tetra-marked tiger, he was not used to feeling threatened by others. Very few beastmen could inspire even the faintest sense of wariness in him. And yet, standing beside this male, he felt the weight of his presence in a way that was unfamiliar.

His tiger tail lashed once before he stilled it, ears flicking back in brief irritation.

Then, something else caught his attention.

A sound.

A dragging noise—the same one he had been hearing all day, faint and rhythmic against the dirt and stone floor of the market. At first, he had assumed it was something within the stall, perhaps a misplaced tool or the shifting of heavier jewelry boxes beneath the wooden counter. But now, with the vendor fully out in the open, he saw the truth.

Trailing behind him, half-hidden in the movement of his stride, was a heavy, darkly scaled tail.

Onyx black, thick with powerful muscle, it dragged lightly against the ground with every step, its sheer weight evident in the subtle lines it left in the dust.

Reptilian.

So that’s what I’ve been hearing all day.

Winston’s breath hitched, his mind racing to place the beastman’s species. He knew not all reptilian beastmen were ferals—many lived in their own distant villages, often in warmer climates, where they had their own mates and communities. They were rarely seen in these parts, as the environment was far from ideal for them. Yet here one stood, massive and composed, with an unmistakable aura of quiet authority.

His first instinct was to question why—why a beastman of this caliber had come to the Beast City, why he was lingering in the market, why he was watching her so intently. But Winston forced himself to relax, reminding himself that the city guards would have inspected such an obviously foreign beastman upon entry.

If he was here, it meant he had passed whatever scrutiny was required.

So, for now, Winston overlooked the fact that he could not pinpoint exactly what type of reptile he was.

But he had no doubt—

He was certainly a very large one.

Chapter Text

The marketplace, once filled with the rhythmic bustle of trade, now crackled with uneasy energy. It started with whispers, the gradual swell of murmurs passing between beastmen like ripples in water. But Winston barely processed any of it. His mind was sharpening to a single point of focus.

Something was wrong.

He turned his gaze toward the sky, past the market stalls, past the towering structures of Beast City, toward the open stretch of land near the river—the only space large enough for Ophelia to land without causing destruction. Already, beastmen were shifting through the crowd, their instincts drawing them toward the descending colossus.

Winston took a breath and moved.

His straight white hair swayed with his steps, broad shoulders squared, his tiger tail flicking with unconscious tension. The scars along his body, hidden beneath his clothing, ached faintly, though whether it was from old wounds or his tightening nerves, he couldn’t tell. The light caught on his damaged eye as he narrowed his gaze, pushing forward through the dispersing crowd.

He wasn’t the only one moving.

Unseen by most, a vendor had stepped away from his stall with an eerie smoothness. He moved with lazy ease, yet there was a predator’s intent in the way his eyes never left the sky, tracking the immense shadow slicing through the clouds.

Ophelia was coming.

And she wasn’t alone.

Winston’s ears twitched at the murmurs around him, his sharp hearing picking out words through the rising unease.

“Something’s behind her.”

“Behind?”

An avian beastman crouched on a nearby ledge, feathers ruffling as he narrowed his keen eyes against the sunlight. He squinted for a moment before his expression shifted—first in confusion, then in growing alarm.

“There’s a group following her,” he announced.

The marketplace inhaled.

A moment of charged silence.

Then—

“Who would be stupid enough to follow a dragon?”

“Did she anger someone?”

“No, no.” A gruff voice scoffed. “If that were the case, they’d be corpses already.”

That was what should have reassured Winston. It was what he already knew deep in his bones. Ophelia was unstoppable. There wasn’t a force in the world that could bring her down. But still—his concern lingered, burrowed into his chest like an old wound that never quite healed.

Worrying was a habit. It was reflexive, instinctive, pointless—and yet, he couldn’t stop it.

His steps quickened.

As Winston passed the last stone structure at the city’s edge, his eyes flicked toward the vendor. The beastman was still trailing the crowd, his presence an almost unnatural weight on Winston’s senses. There was something off about him. Something that made Winston’s muscles tense beneath his clothes.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

Because Ophelia was upon them.

The Sky Trembled.

A monstrous shadow loomed overhead, stretching vast and terrible against the dimming sky. The beastmen below stood frozen, their hearts hammering as the sheer enormity of her form became clear.

Then—

The corpses fell.

A sickening crash split the air as the colossal bodies struck the earth. Blood erupted in heavy splashes, thick and dark, staining the packed dirt in arterial sprays. The impact was cataclysmic—cracking bones, crushing undergrowth, sending shockwaves rippling through the clearing. The beasts, each the size of a war elephant, lay sprawled in grotesque stillness, their lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

Gasps. Shouts.

Beastmen stumbled backward, some shielding themselves as droplets of blood splattered their clothing. The smell hit them next—a raw, iron-rich scent, thick and primal, curling into their noses like the breath of a predator.

The females recoiled first.

They had never seen this part of the hunt. Never been forced to witness the raw, unfiltered brutality of it. Their entire lives, they had only seen the aftermath—the glittering emeralds, the status, the wealth. Never the blood. Never the carnage.

One clutched at her mate’s arm, eyes wide with horror.

“T-That’s…”

Another turned her face into her mate’s shoulder, her hands trembling as she gripped his fur.

“This is… this is what they do?”

The males, however—

Some stood in sheer awe.

Some were silent, their throats dry, their minds struggling to comprehend the scale of her kill.

And some—some felt something deeper.

A visceral, instinctive recognition. The acknowledgment of absolute power.

Then, before anyone could fully process the scene before them—

She landed.

A deafening, concussive boom split the air as her massive body touched down. A gust of wind blasted outward, sending beastmen staggering back, their clothes and fur whipping violently. Dust and debris churned, rising in chaotic swirls before settling, revealing the towering colossus now standing before them.

She was a force beyond nature.

Ophelia's enormous frame was layered in pristine white scales, now utterly drenched in blood. It streaked down the ridges of her powerful limbs, dripped from the lethal curve of her claws, and splattered in dark arcs across her long, sinuous tail.

Her wings, vast and powerful, stretched wide before tucking against her body, their sheer span larger than the tallest structures in Beast City. The black, curved spires of her horns gleamed under the dimming light, framing her draconic visage with an air of terrifying majesty.

Her eyes—those piercing, draconic purple eyes—surveyed the stunned onlookers.

And she saw everything.

The horror. The awe. The disbelief.

She smelled their reactions, tasted the sharp tang of emotions rolling off them in waves.

Then—

A voice, smooth and knowing, cut through the silence.

“She hunted for more emeralds,” the vendor murmured, his lips curling into something unreadable. His voice was quiet, but it carried. “And she has brought her treasure home.”

A few beastmen turned toward him, startled by the certainty in his tone.

But Winston—

Winston barely heard him.

His mind was still turning, still grinding over the unanswered question gnawing at him.

Who was following her?

And why?

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, though his muscles remained tense. He knew—knew—that no one posed a true threat to Ophelia. But his instincts, his years of battle-worn experience, his habitual worry refused to let him dismiss it so easily.

So he watched.

Waited.

And braced for what was to come.

Because whatever it was—

It would arrive soon.

And Winston would be ready.

Chapter Text

The uneasy murmurs had barely settled when another disturbance split the air.

A sharp, keening screech rang out from above, piercing through the crowd’s stunned silence. Beastmen flinched, ears twitching at the sudden sound as a dark blur cut across the dimming sky.

Winston turned sharply, his battle-worn instincts flaring at the movement. His keen eye locked onto the figure—a hawk, its sleek black-feathered form darting through the sky with a speed that bordered on frantic.

And then Winston realized.

Muir.

The hawk beastman was flying hard and fast, his body cutting through the sky in sharp, erratic bursts. His wings beat furiously, adjusting against the air currents, his talons clenching something within them—a bundle of items that he barely seemed concerned with anymore.

His focus was singular.

He was heading straight for her.

The gathered beastmen barely had time to react as Muir dove. A series of rapid, high-pitched screeches left his beak, sharp and almost distressed as he hurtled toward Ophelia’s colossal form.

Even Winston—who had faced down countless dangers, had stared death in the eye time and time again—did not step forward.

He, like everyone else, stayed back.

Because getting too close to Ophelia right now, when she was bloodied from battle and looming like a god of war?

No one dared.

But Muir—

Muir did not hesitate.

Gasps rose from the crowd as he flew impossibly close to the dragon. The sheer size difference between them became horrifyingly clear.

Against the backdrop of Ophelia’s monstrous, scaled body, Muir looked like nothing more than a wild bird flitting past a mountain.

He was tiny.

A mere speck of shadow against her vast, blood-drenched form.

And yet, he dove toward her without an ounce of fear.

Ophelia moved.

The beastmen tensed as her bloodied head shifted, her draconic purple eyes locking onto Muir’s approaching form. Her pupils, still slightly dilated from the adrenaline of the hunt, tracked him with unsettling precision.

Muir swooped, banking sharply around her head, his wings adjusting in frantic, erratic bursts. He was calling to her—squawking and screeching, his cries desperate as he circled her enormous skull.

The tension in the air spiked.

The beastmen held their breath.

Would she lash out? Would she snap her jaws shut and end him in an instant?

She was still in hunt mode. Still fresh from the kill.

But then—

A deep, rumbling grumble rolled from Ophelia’s chest, vibrating through the earth.

And then—

A coo.

Low and resonant. Strange and high-pitched.

It was softer than any of them could have imagined.

The sheer contrast of it—this ferocious, bloodied dragon making such a tender, reassuring sound—left the watching beastmen utterly stunned.

Muir’s screeches slowed. His wild, erratic flying settled. His frantic wingbeats steadied as he glided downward, circling once more before finally—finally—landing in front of her.

His talons touched the bloodstained ground, his chest rising and falling from exertion. The bundle of items he had been carrying—purchases he must have made earlier that day—spilled across the dirt, forgotten.

For the first time, standing in the shadow of Ophelia’s enormous frame, the true difference in size was undeniable.

He was so small.

So fragile in comparison.

His head did not reach the height of her claws, his form utterly dwarfed by the vastness of her body.

But Muir didn’t care.

He straightened, looked up at her towering, bloodstained form.

The beastmen stared.

Stunned.

Silenced.

Because for all her terrifying power, for all her unimaginable strength—

Ophelia had just reassured her mate.

And only him.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with the stench of blood.

Winston remained still, his sharp gaze locked onto the impossibly small figure that had just landed before the blood-drenched dragon.

Muir.

His talons barely made a sound as they touched the ground, the soft rustle of feathers giving way to something more visceral—a wet, organic squelch as he landed among the still-bleeding corpses strewn at Ophelia’s feet. The colossal bodies lay in grotesque, crumpled heaps, their massive forms utterly ruined by her jaws and claws.

And yet—she still held some of them.

Her enormous claws were still buried in the bodies, gripping them with terrifying ease. The immense weight of the fallen herbivores meant nothing to her. Some corpses dangled from her curled talons, their necks twisted grotesquely, their flesh torn and gaping where her teeth had pierced them.

She hadn’t even noticed the way her claws still clenched them.

Or perhaps she had, and simply hadn’t cared.

Until now.

Until Muir got closer.

It was then that the massive dragon shifted, moving the corpses aside—not carelessly, not as if they were mere scraps, but deliberately. Making space.

For him.

A clear, deliberate gesture.

Ophelia’s luminous, draconic purple eyes had been filled with an undeniable intensity only moments ago, still burning from the hunt, from the kill. But now, they were watching Muir.

Her focus had shifted.

And so had her priority.

Muir hesitated, his feathered chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. He was surrounded by death, his sharp eyes flicking between the mutilated bodies Ophelia had so effortlessly felled. Blood pooled around his talons, soaking into the dirt, the thick metallic scent almost suffocating.

He swallowed hard.

To anyone else, this might have been a scene ripped from their worst nightmare.

A monstrous dragon, surrounded by slaughter, staring down at her latest visitor with those deep, unreadable eyes.

But Muir was different.

Winston saw the exact moment he steadied himself.

The exact moment he accepted that she had done all this not as a threat to him—but simply because she could.

And because she was his.

A shudder ran through his frame. His feathers bristled, and then—in a smooth, practiced shift—his form began to change.

It was a seamless, fluid motion, as natural as the wind shifting through the trees.

His ash-black feathers retracted, melting away into pale, unblemished skin. His wings curved inward, becoming arms, lean and corded with muscle. His talons softened, stretching into fingers. The transformation was swift yet deliberate, and within seconds, where a hawk had stood, now stood a man.

A man who was unmistakably Ophelia’s mate.

Because there—etched into his skin for all to see—was his mate mark.

It was large, striking, impossible to miss. Deeply embedded into his flesh, stark against his light skin, as if branding him with an undeniable truth—

He belonged to the dragon.

And because of that mark, she would never harm him.

The moment stretched.

And then, the murmurs began.

The gathered beastmen shifted uneasily, their gazes flicking toward the mark.

The jealousy was palpable.

Some of the males—especially the hawks—stared as if they could almost picture themselves standing there instead.

Some clenched their jaws. Others flexed their claws, tails flicking with thinly veiled resentment.

Even those of different species—bears, wolves, tigers, foxes—couldn’t fully conceal the way their eyes lingered.

Because Muir had done what none of them could.

He had gotten close.

Closer than anyone else dared.

And he had been accepted.

Winston took all of this in with a neutral expression, but inwardly, he noted how tense some of the males had become. He understood their frustration—Ophelia was an anomaly in the beastworld, a female unlike any other. And yet, while the males burned with jealousy, it was the females who looked at Muir with something else.

Awe.

Shock.

Even a hint of respect.

Because he had stood before the dragon and survived.

And not just survived—he had been welcomed.

Muir, for his part, seemed oblivious to the waves of envy washing over the gathered beastmen.

His eyes were locked onto her.

Onto Ophelia.

Now that he was standing before her in human form, the size difference was even more staggering.

She loomed over him, her massive wings half-unfurled, the vast stretch of her white scales now streaked with fresh blood. Her tail, thick and lined with jagged ridges, lay curled behind her, twitching slightly. Her black, curved horns gleamed under the dimming light, her silver-white scales framing her face in a way that made her seem both otherworldly and divine.

The corpses around her were still bleeding.

The ground beneath her was soaked in red.

And yet, she did not look at the carnage.

She was watching him.

Muir inhaled sharply, his eyes flicking over her form—the violence of it, the sheer untamed power. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, and Winston almost smirked at the way his stance subtly stiffened.

Yes.

This was not a normal greeting.

For any other beastwoman, a mate returning from a shopping trip might have been a sweet, mundane moment.

But for Muir—

He was standing before a dragon who had just committed a massacre.

Winston could practically feel the wave of overwhelmed emotion rolling off of him.

And yet, instead of running—

Instead of hesitating—

Muir straightened.

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and finally—finally—spoke.

His voice was soft, barely audible to those at a distance.

But Ophelia heard him.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

The air stilled when Ophelia moved.

She was enormous—a living mountain of muscle, scale, and predatory power—and yet, when she lowered her head, she did so with care, a deliberate, fluid movement that left not a single wasted motion.

Muir did not move away.

His sharp blue eyes widened slightly as her gargantuan face descended toward him, the sheer scale of her becoming even more apparent as she drew closer. The massive spikes lining her jaw were longer than he was tall, jutting out in jagged, natural armor. Her scales were impossibly smooth yet unyielding, layered in perfect overlapping plates that reflected the light in a way that made them seem almost iridescent despite their pale white color.

For the first time, he was close enough to see the smallest ridges along her jaw—the tiny imperfections that weren’t truly imperfections at all, but marks of age, power, and existence.

She was magnificent.

And she had lowered her head to him.

Muir slowly lifted a hand and pressed it against the side of her mighty jaw.

His fingers brushed over her scales, taking in the hot, hard texture of them, feeling the ridges and the way each one fit perfectly into the next like armor crafted by the gods themselves.

Her deep, resonating coo rumbled through the air.

It was strangely high-pitched, almost soft, but the vibrations of it shook his chest, a deep and rumbling acknowledgment that sent a thrill through the watching crowd.

The sound was intimate.

And undeniable.

She was allowing herself to be soothed by him.

Muir let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable. His hand remained on her jaw, a small, warm touch against the overwhelming enormity of her.

But then—

A flurry of movement.

The gathered beastmen suddenly shifted, gasping and murmuring as their eyes flicked past Ophelia’s massive form to the new arrivals.

Only now did they finally notice.

A group of figures had touched down behind her, their approach having gone unnoticed in the sheer awe of watching a dragon interact with her mate.

But now—

Now everyone was looking.

Winston, who had been watching closely, narrowed his eyes as his sharp gaze flickered over the newcomers.

They were mounted riders.

And their mounts were unlike anything he had ever seen in Beast City.

They were birds—large, pristine white creatures, their feathers impossibly sleek and their movements eerily silent despite their size.

But it wasn’t just the birds that caught his attention.

It was their riders.

There were many of them—a variety of beastmen with distinct markings, their bodies radiating power. Their faces bore stripes—dark, stark lines that marked them as kings or warriors of equal strength.

This was no ordinary gathering.

This was a display of power.

Winston’s jaw tensed. He could already hear the whispers rising in the crowd.

"Who are they?"

"Why were they following her?"

"What do they want?"

Every set of eyes turned toward Ophelia.

She, too, had noticed them.

And she reacted instantly.

The softness she had shown Muir was gone.

With an earth-shaking motion, her body rose to its full height, her mighty form expanding, her wings twitching slightly at her sides. The momentous shift in her posture made even the boldest beastmen flinch, their bodies tensing as her shadow engulfed the ground.

She turned her great head, her long, muscular tail swinging in a slow, ominous arc.

A warning.

Her tail whistled through the air, the sharp whoosh of its movement slicing through the silence. The spikes that lined it gleamed menacingly, a single careless brush against them capable of impaling anything unlucky enough to stand too close.

The gathered beastmen instinctively stepped back, recognizing the deadly weight behind even the smallest of her movements.

And then—

She tightened her grip.

The corpses at her feet jerked.

Her claws, still embedded in the mangled remains, clenched instinctively, splintering bone, crushing flesh, squeezing the already broken bodies even further. The grotesque sound of cracking ribs echoed through the air, a grim reminder of just how easily she had felled them.

This was hers.

The food.

The prizes.

The kills.

And the outsiders had yet to state their reason for being here.

Her massive eyes—draconic, gleaming with intelligence and dominance—locked onto the newcomers, watching.

Winston could feel the tension thickening.

Then, from the corner of his vision—

A new arrival.

He turned his head, his sharp eyes catching movement just beyond the murmuring crowd.

Two hawks had just landed, carrying passengers.

And not just any passengers.

His jaw tightened.

It was the Ape King and the Leopard King.

The Ape King, as usual, was bald, his slight frame tense with unreadable emotion. But there was something off about him.

Winston narrowed his eyes.

He was pale.

More than pale—his face was white, drained of all color as he took in the scene before him.

He was not alone in that reaction.

The Leopard King, standing beside him, his golden hair ruffled slightly from the wind, was silent—his sharp feline eyes darting from the slaughtered corpses to the towering form of Ophelia, then back to Muir, who was standing at her feet.

There was no denying it.

The emotion in the air was something they were all feeling.

Because for many of them, this was the first time they had ever seen Ophelia up close in this form.

The first time they were witnessing the raw aftermath of her hunt.

The undeniable proof of just how monstrous—how powerful—how utterly terrifying she was.

Winston let out a quiet exhale, watching as the gathered beastmen continued to stare at her in stunned silence.

The protector of Beast City had returned.

And she had brought death with her.