The Human Dragon (Patreon)

Been in a bit of a short story mood recently, not sure why... Ah, well. What can you do?

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While estragon might clutch yearly, and even terragon have a successful mating cycle once every decade, dragons rarely have more than one child a century. Some scholars claim that this is the only reason that early humanity was able to claw its way to the relative top of the pecking order. 

Regardless of if that is true or not, it’s still a generally accepted rule among biologists that even the most virile of dragons only manage to lay a few eggs a decade, and of those, only a tiny fraction of fertilized eggs successfully ignites their mana-garden to begin growing, even with the full help of both parents.

But as with all rules in life, nature, and magic, there are exceptions. 

Elyciune was one such exception. She laid a clutch of eggs nearly every other year, and  whenever a second dragon lent its power to fertilize the egg and ignite its mana-garden, it rarely seemed to fail. Out of every twenty eggs, seventeen of them hatched.

The thing that infuriated many other dragons, draconic biologists, and dragon draconic biologists was that she displayed this strange phenomena even when she was only a spellbinder. The rule of thumb also stipulated that stronger dragons had an easier time igniting the mana-gardens within their eggs. 

Many theories abound – was Elyciune’s legacy one that defined her hoard as her children? Was she a new or mutated breed, like the rare spirit and gemstone dragons, simply masquerading as a grasslands dragon? Had she discovered some secret, ancient spell that allowed her to ensure her eggs almost always bore children? 

The only thing about Elyciune that frustrates biologists more than her abnormal clutches, of course, is the fact that she – quite understandably – refuses to let anyone study her. 

The last person who tried too hard got a very warm reminder that she had located herself in the unclaimed lands, and was not beholden to any laws but those of her own sect.

Whatever the truth, by the time she was just shy of two hundred, Elyciune, her two husbands, and her wife had reared more than three hundred children. 

That was how the Umber Horn Sect had begun, in truth. Elyciune and her spouses' combined hoards are quite large, and while all four of them loved and cherished each of their children, rearing dozens of them became… Taxing. 

Hired help eventually turned to hired mage tutors. That expanded to fit the needs of her grandchildren, both dragon and halfbreed. As the years ticked by, it simply grew and grew, until it could by all means be considered a respectable martial sect in Daocheng itself.

With the age and prestige of Elyciune, her numerous children and grandchildren, it takes quite a bit to be considered exceptional. Only five of her sect have ever held the right to call themselves True Umberhorns, and they preside as elders. 

Esmathiune – or as she preferred to be called, Esma – of the Lesser Umberhorn was not one such dragon. Far from it, in fact. She had been the smallest of the thirty-nine members of her class – smaller than even the humans. 

When combat training began, she did not display the ferocity of her older sister Alaxitrine, nor did she show the magical skill of her younger brother Damithrax. While she was decent at body enhancement spells, developing them out into a variety of techniques, she was solidly average, and worse still – at least in her parents eyes – was beaten out by nine of the humans. 

The only exceptional skill that Esma developed was when she took a human form as a spellbinder. 

Most beasts who choose to take on human form leave some hallmark of their beastial heritage. If you were to ask Elyciune why she kept her horns, you would receive a lecture on the pride of a dragon. If you were to ask the Lady of the Sunscorched Desert why she kept a plume of flaming feathers as her hair, she would tell you it was a gentle reminder to humanity that they were not the only ones on this world. If you were to ask the Riverlord why he kept his hands coated in scales and claws, he would tell you that it was to intimidate his foes and remind his allies how far he has come. 

While none of these answers are lies or incorrect, there is a second layer, one that few would tell you: they can’t remove it. 

Due to some strange quirk of magic, the mind, biology, or something else entirely, almost no beast is able to remove all clues of their original nature.

Esma, however, was an exception to that rule. Ever since she’d been a child, she’d dreamt of a human form. She’d designed what she wanted to look like a thousand times before she even had started learning about the process of bonding a new form, and after she learned the art of binding the energy into tight trusses and condensing strength, she went through a thousand more. 

When she finally settled on one that she was satisfied with, she bound it instantly. 

Her human form was perfect. 

Flawlessly smooth skin that was a richer shade than her mother’s mahogany furniture, vibrantly bouncy dark hair in long braids, eyes that could catch a person and hold them in their depths forever. 

Not one scale, claw, fang, or constellation in her eyes. Not one hint of being a dragon. 

Unfortunately for Esma, her mana became a problem. She wasn’t able to evade notice when her power was spilling out of her, revealing her as a dragon. 

Now that she was eighteen and had a human form, however, she was free to go do as she wished. She spent time with the maids and butlers of Elyciune’s house, learning to veil her power. 

And she got good at it. By the time a few months had passed, even the staff had all but forgotten that she was a dragon. 

Esma expected to finish up her yearlong agreement with the head of house staff, and then move away. She didn’t have a large hoard, but she had enough for a ticket to Thornfront from the nearest port, and once she was there, she’d figure something out. 

She would finally be free of this scheming sect. 

But eight months and sixteen days into the contract, with a scant three and a half months left, Esma awoke to the sound of her door exploding into splinters of wood. She let out a scream and leapt to her feet, the long-ingrained instincts of the sect at least having given her that much. 

She didn’t exactly relax when she saw the person who’d blown her door apart was her mother. 

Not Elyciune, thankfully. 

Jymymicia was her mother’s oldest spouse, even older than Elyciune herself. Nearly three hundred and fifty years old, the powerful lindwyrm was well known as Elyciune’s right hand. 

“Mother!” Esma said, trying to sound bright and cheerful, rather than scared for her life. “What brings you to this part of the palace?” 

Smoke curled out of the lindwyrm’s mouth as she studied Esma. 

“By the primes, it’s really true, isn’t it?” she said, a cruel but faintly amused note in her voice.

“What’s true?” Esma asked warily, not letting the smile slide from her face.

“You’re not a dragon in the slightest,” Jymymicia scoffed. “I’m more of a dragon than you are, and I had to give myself wings. You don’t look like a dragon. You don’t feel like a dragon. You sleep in a tiny, cramped room, working for mortals, so you certainly don’t have the pride of a dragon.” 

She sniffed the air. 

“You don’t even smell like a dragon.” 

“Thank you,” Esma said, curtsying in a fashion that had gone out of style in most of the world a century ago, but that was still very much in vogue within the sect. 

That got a smile out of Jymymicia, though it was honestly more of a smirk. 

“You want to get out of here, right? You don’t care about the sect, about your mother, me, or your fathers, and you look down on your siblings.” 

“Look down on is a strong word,” Esma said, but her plans to leave hadn’t exactly been secret. 

Jymymicia snorted and waved her hand dismissively. 

“Yeah yeah. You love humans and wish you were one. But today’s your lucky day, hatchling. Come with me.” 

She turned and marched down the hall, and Esma followed warily. 

“Where are we going?” Esma asked, letting curiosity get the better of her. 

“Your mother has decided to sponsor your choice to leave,” Jymymicia said. “She’s arranged with Sin to create a human identity for you in Thornfront, with a bank account containing the equivalent of one hundred thousand Elohian credits.” 

“At what cost?” Esma said. Nothing her parents did was free, not after the children had completed their training in the sect, at least. 

“You’re going to go on a little visit to Aergarde,” the lindwyrm said. “Their national museum is moving the Immortal Heart Garnet in six months. The trouble is, the Mover of the Spheres knows how much your mother wants that gem, and told them to make sure the crew that’s moving the garnet is…” 

A flicker of distaste shot over Jymymicia’s face as they headed up the stairs and towards the highest spire, where Elyciune lived. 

“Human only,” she said. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important it is to your mother to get her favorite gemstone, the crown jewel of her collection, back into her own claws.” 

Esma wondered if the ancient lindwyrm was even aware of the wordplay she’d just engaged in, before deciding that she probably didn’t. Jymymicia’s stance on humor was firmly against it.

“I see,” Esma said. “So you want me to sneak onto the transport team, steal the garnet, and get back here?” 

“You love humans. It should be easy for you,” Jymymicia said, shrugging. “Just keep that veil tight, and pretend to be a body mage.”

“Why not send a human?” Esma asked. “I know a few of them have made it to fourth gate. Even fifth, through false ascension. I’m only third gate.” 

Jymymicia paused, then turned and gave Esma a serious look. 

“Esmathiune,” the ancient lindwyrm said with sudden seriousness. “You’re the only one we can trust. You might be overly fond of humans to the point of mild insanity, but you’re still family. You’re still a dragon. You understand just how important it is. Look at your own hoard – would you trade away your crystal penguin?” 

Esma’s eyes widened at the mere thought of it. She wasn’t going to be trading away that tiny crystal for anything. Only two inches tall, it was the pride and joy of her hoard of finely made carved animals. 

The penguin was the first one she’d ever collected, at age four. For her first time, she’d done well enough on her history exams to earn a spot on the ever-rotating fridge, and beaming with pride, Elyciune had allowed her to pick out one small trinket from her hoard. 

Esma nodded slowly and took a deep breath to steady herself. 

“I’ll do it,” she said. 

“Of course you will,” Jymymicia said, her draconic arrogance immediately returning, and Esma let out a sigh. “Now, let’s go see your mother.”

…

Two months later, Esma sat in the security desk of Aergarde National Museum, and couldn’t stop herself from smiling. 

Maybe, just maybe, she had some draconic cunning in her after all.