Forte stepped into the deserted Daon village and looked for anything he could salvage. He grimaced, stepping past corpses of soldiers bearing the emblem of Rottheim Kingdom, armor and torsos ripped apart. He counted three intact bodies and five torn apart. Eight bodies total—the standard eight man squad of Rottheim. Judging by their light armor, this must have been a scouting squad. The soldiers looked as if they were fleeing before being chased down by some animal. The less fortunate soldiers had their guts torn apart and their organs eaten.

His mind was racing. Judging by the beast’s eating pattern, it must have been medium sized. A fully grown tyrant lizard would not have been such a picky eater, and there would be few traces of the soldiers left. Few lived through a tyrant attack to tell the tale, and Forte had to count his blessings that this was not the work of such a monstrosity. A shiver went down Forte’s spine.

Fortunately the corpses were not fresh, and whatever beast did this must have moved on. There were no villagers in sight. The sickly boy patted down the soldiers for anything valuable, and to his surprise, found a large amount of coins and some medicines in the knapsacks the soldiers were wearing. Two hundred silvers. Forte smirked.

One of the dead soldiers, a burly man with silver emblazed emblem on his chest, was still clutching his one-handed sword. Forte used both his arms to hoist up the sword and held it up for examination.

A longsword! It was a battle-worn iron longsword, with an intricate white iron cross decorating the hilt. Forte placed the sword down and went back to the dead soldier. He removed the scabbard from the soldier’s waist, fastening the adult sized belt around his back. He then picked up and dusted off the longsword, sliding it into his newly equipped scabbard. The boy would use the sword as a two handed weapon.

And how could he forget the medicine! He quickly uncapped the concoction and poured the medicine onto his mangled left forearm, the grisly memento of the night with the wolves. Forte howled as the medicine sizzled on the wolf bite wound. Pain seared down his entire left arm.

Forte froze as his ears picked up the sound of movement.

The howl had attracted attention.

He dashed to the nearest shed and peered out the window. It was a wild boar, around three feet tall. The boar’s head moved from side to side as it surveyed the area. Forte’s fear vanished from his face, and a slight grin appeared.

The boy pulled out a few pine nuts he had been saving. Gently opening the door, he scattered the nuts on the floor and whistled at the boar. The beast lurched his head to the side, as its attention turned to the pine nuts on the ground. It sniffed carefully, and then approached. Forte drew his sword, holding it over his head, as the boar’s sniffing grew louder.

The sniffing stopped. Forte held his hands in the air, muscles shaking from a mixture of fatigue and adrenaline. Then the boar’s head approached, as it greedily snapped up a pine nut. Forte swung down with the flat of his blade, leaving no room for the boar to react as its skull was fractured from the impact, and blood flowed from the dent on its cranium.

The boar collapsed squealing, struggling drunkenly to get back on its feet. Forte abandoned the sword and wrestled with the pig, striking its head repeatedly as the pig flailed around. Eventually, it was still.

Forte let out a small laugh as he pumped his hands in the air, victorious. He spent the next hour skinning the wild hog, and preparing a fire outside the shed. The afternoon skies dimmed.

Using his new sword to sharpen his makeshift cane, Forte made a spit for the boar. He propped up the boar over the fire, and let it cook. The smooth aroma of melted fat filled the air as Forte eagerly cut himself a piece. Having subsisted on a diet of mostly fruits and nuts for the last few years, the spit roasted wild boar meat was heavenly.

Forte enjoyed the delicious meat, as he ate his fill and then some. Finally, the boy plopped himself down next to the shed and burped, content. He closed his eyes briefly as he lay there satisfied. But something had caught his attention.

Two gleaming eyes emerged ahead of him, its body cloaked by the dusk light. A lone wolf. A large, male, lone wolf, with dark blue matted hair and an imposing demeanor. This was dangerous. Forte jumped to his feet and drew his sword. The wolf did not advance. Forte stared at the wolf, who did not move. A minute passed. And then another minute.

“Fine,” Forte grumbled. He walked over to the spit, and cut off a boar leg. He tossed it over to the wolf. After deliberating for a few seconds, the wolf strode over and picked the morsel up, and then backed away a few feet. It continued staring at Forte.

‘Maybe it will leave me alone if I give it another piece’ he thought, as he walked over and sliced another leg off. As he tossed it, the large wolf came forward and snapped up the piece. It backed away, and continued staring at Forte.

“I’m not giving you any more,” Forte shouted, waving his sword. “You’ll get it over my dead body!”

Forte held his ground. He analyzed the situation. If the wolf were to attack, he would have the range advantage with his longsword. He’d have one moment, one slash to cripple the wolf before it closed into killing range.

But the wolf turned and left, with the two boar legs in its mouth. Forte sighed, and started packing up the meat. He was going to find somewhere safer to go.

Five minutes passed. Forte was more than half way done carving the boar meat off the spit like a gyro, and stuffing his spare knapsack.

The wolf had returned. Forte wordlessly brandished his sword, bracing for the inevitable. But what happened next astonished him. The wolf had brought a rock, and was pushing it towards the boy. Rolling it on the ground with its snout.

The wolf was three meters away now, still rolling the damn thing. Forte held his stance, as his hands began shaking. He thought the wolf was large—he was wrong. It was massive. The wolf was five-foot on all fours, and continued to approach. Forte breathed deeply, readying himself for the one slash, the one opportunity he had. Fire burned in his eyes as he concentrated.

And then it stopped. The wolf turned its eyes onto Forte, then bowed its head deeply, presenting the rock to Forte.

And just like that, the wolf turned around and left. It paced away, slowly picking up speed until it was in full sprint. Forte watched as the wolf disappeared into the moonlit shadows.

He must have been hallucinating. Maybe it was the infection, poisoning his mind. Or maybe it was the medicine he poured on his arm earlier, seeping into his bloodstream. Forte rubbed his eyes as he walked over to the rock.

But it was not a rock. Forte immediately recognized the swirls of discoloration patterning the rock. He had seen that pattern once, in the illustrations of a children’s storybook that he read a long, long time ago.

In front of Forte, laying innocuously on the ground, was an egg.

A dragon egg.