Morning in Shadowfen arrived with a heavy, silvery mist that clung to everything and turned sunlight into a half-remembered rumor. I woke to my dragon hatchling sprawled on my chest, snoring like a malfunctioning bellows, tail draped over my arm. She was already bigger—again. I had no idea how fast shadow dragons were supposed to grow, but if this kept up, I'd need to reinforce my lean-to before she turned it into toothpicks.
She blinked at me, yawned, then nipped my chin. A soft, rumbling purr vibrated through her scales, and for a moment, the world felt almost safe.
Breakfast was more of the same: tuber mash, a strip of dried lizard, and the last of the fairy-blessed mushrooms. The hatchling devoured her share, then launched herself into the moss to chase a floating goldfish with legs. I let her, smiling despite myself as she pounced, missed, and skidded into a patch of laughing fungi. The world was dangerous, but she made it smaller, less sharp.
After cleaning up, I checked my traps. The System pinged notifications as I walked:
[Trap Triggered: Marshfang Serpent – Status: Escaped] [Trap Triggered: Crystal Arachnid – Status: Slain] [Trap Triggered: Shadow Beast Cub – Status: Captured]
The last one gave me pause. A cub. That could mean a mother nearby, and nothing in Shadowfen was as dangerous as an angry shadow beast matriarch. I checked my spear, called for the hatchling, and set off.
The trap was a simple snare, strung between two mangrove roots. Inside, a bundle of black fur and oversized claws snarled and spat at me. The hatchling hissed back, shadows rising like hackles. The cub froze, ears flat, then whined, baring its throat.
I crouched, studying it. Its mana was wild, but not malicious. Just afraid. I cut the snare, keeping my spear between us. The cub bolted—then stopped, looking back at the hatchling. She chirped, tail flicking. He hesitated, then slunk off into the mist.
"Making friends?" I asked. The hatchling ignored me and pounced on a beetle the size of my fist. Progress.
The System chimed:
[Companion Skill: Aura of Deterrence – Minor predators are less likely to attack when near you and your bonded pet.]
Good to know. Shadowfen had a way of rewarding even the smallest acts of mercy, or punishing the lack of them.
By midday, the mist had burned off. I spent the hours weaving new walls from moss and scavenged cloth, reinforcing the lean-to. The hatchling helped—sort of—by dragging sticks over and attempting to chew them into shape. It was messy, but it was company.
As I worked, a familiar presence brushed my mind. Aetheria, the world-spirit, curious and faintly amused. The trees swayed in a wind I couldn't feel. Flowers bloomed at random, scattering blue petals across the clearing. The hatchling sneezed, scattering shadowy sparks.
"Subtle," I muttered.
A shadow flickered at the edge of the clearing. The mother shadow beast. Seven feet at the shoulder, eyes like pits, a mane of writhing darkness. She stood between the trees, watching. The hatchling pressed against my leg, tail low.
I met the beast's gaze. My mana flared, ember veins lighting my skin. The world went silent, time stretching thin. Then, slowly, the beast dipped her head. Not submission—acknowledgment. She turned and vanished into the trees, leaving only silence behind.
The System pinged:
[Event: Pact of Nonaggression Formed – Local shadow beasts will avoid your territory unless provoked.]
The hatchling licked my hand, and I let my breath out in a rush I hadn't known I was holding. Survival here was never just about strength. It was about respect, boundaries, and understanding when to fight—and when to make peace.
I spent the afternoon scavenging for supplies. The hatchling trailed behind, occasionally darting off after a scent or sound only she could sense. At one point, she returned with a half-crushed, iridescent beetle and dropped it at my feet like a trophy. I thanked her. She preened, clearly proud, then tried to eat the beetle herself and immediately sneezed a puff of shadow.
On the way back, I found a patch of mana-moss growing on a fallen log. The System assured me it was safe—mostly. I harvested some, tucking it into my pouch for later. The hatchling tried to roll in it, soaking her scales in a faint blue glow. For a split second, she looked almost ethereal, like something out of a fever dream. Then she tripped, rolled off the log, and landed in a puddle with a very undignified splash.
We made it back to camp before dusk. I reinforced the lean-to's roof, adding a layer of bark and moss to keep out the nightly downpour. The hatchling curled up atop the highest stack of supplies, tail draped over her nose. She watched me with one eye open, making it clear she was supervising, not napping.
That night, the swamp was restless. Strange lights danced between the trees, and the air was thick with the calls of things better left unnamed. I set up a perimeter with mana-charged stones—a trick I'd learned from painful experience—and watched as the glow kept most of the smaller predators at bay. Most, but not all.
A pair of shadow foxes circled the camp, eyes glowing, fur rippling with mana. The hatchling growled, shadows wrapping around her like a cloak. I stood, spear in hand, and waited. The foxes circled a moment longer, then slunk away, tails flicking in mutual annoyance. The System pinged:
[Skill Progression: Survival Instinct Level 6]
I lay down beside the hatchling, exhaustion running bone-deep. She pressed her nose to my shoulder and purred, a comforting vibration in the chaos. I closed my eyes, listening to the rain drumming on the roof, the distant howls, the heartbeat of the swamp.
Aetheria's presence lingered, watching with vague approval. The world was always dangerous, always hungry, but for tonight, I'd carved out a pocket of uneasy peace.
At dawn, I woke to the hatchling standing on my chest, staring at me with an expression that could only be described as "feed me or else." I groaned, rolled over, and tossed her a strip of dried lizard. She caught it in her teeth and strutted away, tail held high in triumph.
We set out to check the traps again. This time, the cub was gone, but the snare was shredded, and fresh claw marks scored the tree roots. A warning, or a thank you—or maybe both. The hatchling sniffed, flicked her tail, and led me deeper into the swamp, as if daring the world to try something new.
I followed. Because what else do you do when your only friend is a rapidly growing shadow dragon with the appetite of a small army and a knack for attracting trouble?
In Shadowfen, you adapt. Or you die. Sometimes both, in that order.
By midday, we'd circled back to camp, loaded down with edible roots, two glowing mushrooms, and half a dozen angry fairies buzzing around the hatchling's head. She snapped at them, missed, and looked at me like it was my fault. I shrugged. "You picked the fight. You fix it."
The fairies eventually scattered, leaving behind a faint trail of sparkles. The hatchling sulked for a full five minutes before remembering she was supposed to be a terrifying apex predator.
The afternoon passed in a blur of chores and subtle power plays. The mother shadow beast returned, this time with two cubs in tow. She watched from the treeline as the hatchling and I worked, her eyes calculating but not hostile. I nodded, she nodded back, and the cubs wrestled in the undergrowth. A truce, or something like it.
That night, as I drifted into a dreamless sleep, the System pinged:
[Bond Strengthened: Survival Odds Improved] [Achievement Unlocked: Not Dead Yet]
The world outside was just as deadly as ever, but inside our little patch of moss and bark, I'd found something like safety—and maybe, just maybe, the beginnings of a tribe.
Tomorrow, the swamp would try again. Tonight, we survived. That was enough.