Chapter 3 - Flying Off Cliffs

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself free of the shell I’d been stuck in. I also found myself facing the emerald mother dragon along with my siblings. It was easy to accept this once I acknowledged the fact that I had been reincarnated as a black wyrm.

The slab of bloody meat was no longer in my mouth, and I felt a bit regretful about wasting it—whether that was the regret talking or my hunger, I wasn’t sure.

Our mother dragon called us to attention with a loud snort, and we all faced her, too intimidated by her size to disobey. She informed us that she would be naming us.

Greenie. Scarlet. Blue. Yellow. She named us after the color of our scales. And when it was finally my turn, she dubbed me Blackie in our reptilian tongue. What could I say? My mother was a simple creature of brawn and magic. I suppose the name fit, though—I was, after all, the black sheep, or rather, the black wyrm of the family.

Surprisingly, wyrms have a wide vocal range, leaning toward the deeper side, as I would soon discover.

Our mother led us into a large cave where she had stockpiled deer and other forest animals. An array of various prey, including sheep, lay inside. I figured the sheep had been stolen from unsuspecting farmers, though I doubted it given her massive size. Perhaps she had some ability to domesticate her food.

After I and my siblings gorged ourselves on the meat, we went to sleep. Believe me when I say that chewing through pounds of bloody meat and tendons is exhausting, especially for a ravenous wyrm who was once human.

Unlike my siblings, who had no doubts about what they were, I chose not to sleep just yet. Instead, I spent time exploring my new body, driven by both human and draconic curiosity. Quite amusing, really. So, on the day I was born, I was thoroughly inspecting myself before sleep finally claimed me.

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Two weeks passed swiftly—literally and metaphorically. I was now flying alone in the skies. It was exhilarating, if not for the memory of those horrible first two weeks of wyrmhood. I shuddered at the thought of that grueling training.

The second day was the worst of all. Our mother had led us to a series of high cliffs, and when she was finally satisfied with the height of one, I looked down. I could barely make out the bottom, even with my enhanced eyes.

"Jump," she said. A simple command, really, except for the small fact that none of us could fly yet. I don’t know what mother expected from us—mere two-day-old wyrms. I looked at my seemingly frail, short wings and wondered if they could even carry me.

No thank you, mother. I was not going to be the first one of our clutch to die today—err, I mean jump off the cliff. Sorry to betray your hopes, but I was a practical human... or wyrm. I was still adjusting to my new reality.

When mother saw that none of us were moving toward the edge, she added, "Jump, or I push."

Four words after what felt like six hours of silence since dawn. I would have been impressed if she weren’t commanding us to our deaths.

Annoyed that we still hadn’t moved, she let out a growl. One of us finally mustered the courage to obey. It was Greenie, judging by her scales. How did I know she was female? It was simple, really. Female wyrms, just like full-grown female dragons, had a small third horn.

I would have applauded her bravery if I wasn’t so sure she’d die from the fall. I could already imagine her hitting the ground at impossible speed, splattering herself into tiny wyrm pieces.

If she were human, she’d have had the biggest metaphorical balls I’d ever known. She put the rest of us males to shame. Not that we had the anatomy to feel such shame—I’d explored myself thoroughly, as well as my fellow wyrms to some extent. The exploration, combined with the three horns on our mother and the fact that I couldn’t imagine fate being cruel enough to reincarnate me as a female, led me to my conclusion.

As Greenie prepared to leap, I thought, maybe that third horn signified something. Perhaps female dragons were braver or crueler. It was food for thought, but I set it aside for now.

Annoyed that Greenie had shown her courage, the other three males followed suit. I, however, stayed put. There was no way I was dying today. I was determined to live, having been taken from my first life so abruptly and so young.

Mother glared at me, but I avoided her gaze by staring at the ground. She snorted, as if to say she’d deal with me later. I saved a shred of my dignity by telling myself that the hero always arrived last. Just like in the picture books I’d read as a child.

Greenie was the first to jump—no surprise there. Soon, all of my brothers followed. It would have been a comical sight if I weren’t in the same situation.

I paused, trying to blend into the ground, but mother’s sharp glare forced me to move. As I edged closer to the cliff, I was rewarded with the sight of... well, nothing but air. I took a calming breath, torn between two life-changing decisions. One look at mother’s intimidating size made the choice for me.

I jumped.

Like a heavy boulder—or rather, a big, fat wyrm—I plummeted. For what seemed like minutes, I flapped my wings frantically as I hurtled toward the ground at breakneck speed. In reality, it was only a few seconds.

But for the life of me, I couldn’t get my wings to work. They refused to move. It seemed I was destined to become one with the earth. Too in tune with nature for my liking. I had no desire to turn into one of those green-loving druids I’d once heard travelers gossiping about. I’d rather stay a black wyrm than be a tree-hugger.

And then I hit the ground. Blackness overwhelmed me.

That was the second death of my life.