The first thing I learned was that being born again dint come with easy answers.
The world did not explain itself to me. There was no voice in the sky, no cosmic guidebook, no convenient checklist titled: "Dummies' Guide to a New Life." There was only sensation – overwhelming and alien – and the slow, terrifying realization was no longer human.
Sound came first. Deep and layered, it carried though stone and ice. Every movement was an echo. Every shift of weight sent vibrations rippling through the air. Weight pulsed through the cavern floor and up into my bones – no, not my bones. Something denser. Heavier.
My eyes opened next and I slammed them shut again. Light hurt.
Not because it was too bright, but because I could see TOO much. Shadows had new textures. Heat was color coded. The faint glow of magma veins beneath the rock painted the cavern walls in dull reds and golds. I understood – instinctively – that this was HOME.
That was terrifying to me. I tried to move but I was crushed to the floor by my own weight.
Limbs answered my thoughts with startling power. My claws gouged stone without effort, leaving deep furrows where I had only meant to steady myself. My tail – my tail – lashed out instinctively, smashing a smaller stalactite that had likely been growing since before my new life began.
I froze.
breathing – no, venting – came next. Each exhale carried heat, smoke curling from my nostrils. The air tasted of sulfur, ice, and blood.
Blood. The scent snapped something primal awake inside me. Hunger.
Not the dull ache of a missed meal or the familiar human discomfort of inconvenience. This was a shout. A deep, fundamental pull that spoke directly oof something ancient and selfish in me. My body wanted meat. Demanded it. Demanded more.
I would have lost myself right there if not for her. A massive shape shifted in the shadows, scales grinding softly as something – someone – lifted her head. Pale blue eyes opened, glowing faintly in the dark as they fixed on me.
Mother.
She was enormous. Even curled protectively around the cavern's center, she dwarfed me completely. Frost clung to her scales in delicate patterns, breath misting as she studied me in silence. I knew her.
I don't know how I knew her, but the knowledge was immediate and unquestionable. The certainty of it striking deeper than even instinct. She was my mother. And when she spoke, the world seemed to settle.
"Easy, little Sun."
Her voice rolled through the cavern like distant thunder, rich and slow, layered with power held deliberately in check. The words were not spoken aloud in any language I recognized – yet I understood her perfectly.
Dragon-tongue did not pass through ears. It passed through your being.
"You are safe."
The hunger recoiled, not gone but restrained, like a beast leashed tight to obey. I lowered myself, relaxing, without realizing my body had been tensed. Ready to fight. My claws scraped stone as I folded inward, body trembling with the effort of not giving into my instincts screaming at me.
She had noticed. Of course she did.
She lowered her massive head until one horn brushed my shoulder, careful – gentle in a way that felt impossible for something so large.
"You feel too much," she murmured. "That is not usual."
I swallowed or attempted to. My throat rumbled instead.
"I… remember things," I said slowly, testing the act of speech. My voice was wrong – too deep, too resonant, vibrating through the cavern even when I tried to soften it. "I remember… before."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but concerned.
"That is dangerous."
"I know." I didn't, actually. Not fully. But I felt the truth of it.
She withdrew slightly and settled back onto her coils, watching me with an intensity that felt almost human. Dragons were not supposed to look like this – thoughtful, measured, kind. I knew that without knowing how I knew it.
"Tell me," she said.
So, I did. I told her about a life that made no sense to this world. About metal beasts that flew without real wings. About wars fought from desks and screens instead of fields soaked in blood. About love, that was quiet and mundane and devastatingly precious. I told her about dying.
She listened without interruption.
When I finished, silence stretched between us, broken only by the slow crackle of magma and the distant howl of wind across the wastes below. At last, she spoke.
"You were not meant to remember," she said carefully. "But neither were you meant to exist."
That got my attention.
She shifted, coils tightening slightly, and I felt the cavern respond – stone creaking under the subtle assertion of her presence,
"You are wrong," she continued. "Wrong in a way I have never seen."
"Is that bad?" I asked.
A faint, rumbling sound echoed from her chest. Not a growl. Laughter.
"It is terrifying," she said fondly. "And wonderful."
Relief hit me so hard my legs nearly gave out. She leaned closer again, lowering her head until her brow touched mine. Heat met cold, gold against ice.
"You were born when I chose to love," she said quietly. "Not power. Not conquest. Love."
That word struck harder than any revelation so far.
"Dragoons are not supposed to–" I began.
"Supposed to," she interrupted gently, "is a lie told by those who benefit from obedience."
She pulled back, studying me with renewed focus.
"You feel greed," she continued. "You feel rage. That will never leave you. It is woven into what we are. But you also feel restraint. Guilt. Reflection."
She exhaled slowly. "Those are people things."
I stared at my claws. "I don't want to hurt people," I admitted. "I don't want to become… a monster."
"Then you must learn to master yourself," she said simply. "Because the world will not forgive you if you fail."
That was the first lesson she ever taught me.
The second came sooner than I expected. Hunting.
She took me out into the Wastes three days later. The sky above was vast and merciless, pale light reflecting endlessly off snow and ice, Wind tore at my wings, threatening to unbalance me until instinct finally took over and corrected my posture. Flying felt wrong. And perfect.
My body knew what to do even as my mind struggled to keep up. Each beat of my wings sent powerful gusts through the air, lifting me higher with terrifying ease. I laughed.
It came out as a roar. Below us, a herd of elk scattered across the frozen plain. Hunger surged again.
"Control," my mother reminded calmly, circling beside me. "Do not rush."
I tried. I really did. But when I dove, everything narrowed to heat and motion and the singular certainty that this was what I was meant to do.
I struck too hard.
The elk died instantly. Three others were knocked over from my landing, bones twisting unnaturally.
I froze, horror flooding in as quickly as satisfaction had.
"I didn't – I meant to – "
My mother landed beside me, inspecting the damage with a critical eye.
"You killed," she said neutrally. "And you wasted."
I lowered my head, shame burning through me hotter than any flame.
"This is why dragons become monsters," she continued. "Not because they kill – but because they stop caring."
She nudged one of the fallen animals toward me. "Eat. Learn. Remember."
I did.
And I cried while I did it. She pretended not to notice,
That night, curled beside her warmth in the cavern, I finally understood the shape of my existence. I was not a hero. I was not a villain.
I was a dragon with a human soul, raised by a mother who had chosen love in a world that punished weakness. And one day, inevitably –
The world would come for us.