Chapter 4.

19:44, Monday, the 23rd of April, 2028.

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Jarys was my brother. My own flesh and blood.

Horns the same as mine, scales the same as our brother's.

And yet-

“Just give him time,” Rhys said, expression tight. I stood to his side, frustrated, tail lashing at not being listened to by the youngest. “Alys, don't…" I ignored him, strode over and raised a paw, ready to bang on the irritating door, to snap at Jarys for running when all I’d done was offer food. For locking the door.

But I didn’t. Just barely, I held it back, allowing my blood to cool. I turned back to Rhys, whose eyes fell to my jaw, then away, ears flicking once before folding flat to his scalp.

 Quickly, the mask was fitted back into place. “...Right.”

Away from him and the locked door, I prepared the meal, as I was the eldest and that was my role. Rhys left for his own room, though he lingered a moment, watching me as I dug around the plastic bags, his tail swaying in short, tense twitches.

Numbly, the meal was laid onto the low table, juices spilling, the faint red pooling atop the wooden board. I licked my chops at the sight but maintained myself just long enough to angle my claws, the unsheathed talons of my left paw easily slicing it into smaller chunks.

A fine piece – one that, back home, would have taken long to hunt, maybe even in a private territory to let it grow fat enough. And I’d purchased it with human money for cheap,

Earth.

Fascinating.

Everything in abundance. Food, people, homes, even grass and trees.

Jarys had asked once what it was like growing up in a forest, and I'd had to explain that home was barren of everything save for rock, water and enemies. A land of grey crags and deep oceans.

He'd seemed disappointed and then disturbed when I explained our food sources.

I'd wanted to tell him the reality, but Rhys snapped at me that he was a kid and I was being an idiot. And like an idiot, I'd shouted right back at him, scaring Jarys away.

And for what?

I ran a paw down my snout, paw pads dipping against the rivets of deep scars and old, broken scales that hadn't shed quite right. Again, that sense of not-belonging prickled me, but I pushed it down and focused on slicing the choice cut.

Thin strips seasoned with the dry Pioris corn I'd bought.

Plated, I stood proud, nodded, and added two figs each for dessert. My brothers were called and soon joined, each of them slow-limbed and cautious. Rhys quickened at the sight of food and quickly joined me. Jarys did the same, eying me, before the tightness in his haunches slackened and he sat down.

And then he stared at his plate.

Lost.

Ears flicking, head tilted.

“What's this?” He asked in his odd, Earth-tinged accent, a dull claw poking the meat slices. “Is… I wanted chicken.”

I nodded, forced as friendly a smile as I could manage.

“It is chicken,” I said cheerily. “Just like Rhys told me to get.”

“It's raw,” Jarys explained, looking over at me, confused, horrified, high-pitched. "W-Where are the breadcrumbs?” And then he lifted the fig to his muzzle to sniff.

Rhys caught onto something I missed. “Oh. Uh, Alys, remember when I said he wanted chicken strips? That's, like, a brand. I didn't mean strips of chicken.” He ate his own but watched the youngest cautiously. “I-It’s fine. I’ll cook it for you, Jarys.”

“Cook it?” I mimicked, hating how much it sounded like a squeak. “It’s good for you if-"

Rhys gave me a look so strenuous and desperate that it made me pause whatever I was about to say. I chewed my lip, nodded and sat back down, lifting my mask and dipping my head down to nip at and then swallow a chunk. “Try the fig, at least, Jarys,” I said, reaching over and poked it with the tip of my tail. “...For your sister,” I tried.

He cringed, picked up the treat and took a small bite. He chewed, still tense, before relaxing a little. “Weird.”

“It’s a sugar fig,” I revealed proudly, puffing out my chest when he didn't spit it out. “Rare in the old country, but here we’re able to get it for very cheap. Do you like it?”

Jarys ate some more. “Weird but good.” He finished off another piece but did not touch the meat. I nudged the plate again and leaned over. I saw his lips wobble as he stared at the raw chunks. Any dragon his age, or any dragon in general, back home, would have jumped at such food.

He did not.

Which… should be something good, I thought, claws curling. A sign of change and progress and lush fields, like all the old stories had told of.

But this was too fast.

Too much, too soon. Water-fat and spoilt hatchlings who wanted cooked meat.

Along with that confusion… I felt this… emptiness. 

A sense of purposelessness that had been building over the months I’d lived on Earth, and when Rhys came over with the steaming meat, too dark and too cooked for me to enjoy, that feeling only strengthened because, really, what was I even doing there, still getting it wrong?

I focused on my food, savouring the way my teeth sliced through tender meat. The fig was sweet, but oddly lacking – not quite as divine as it had felt when it was my only reward after a long mission.

‘Light is made known only in the company of shadow; for without the one, the other is a formless breath, unseen and without meaning.’

The parable, half remembered, came to mind.

Once our meals were eaten, Jarys stood, gave me an anxious look and remained. I crossed over at once, reached out with a wing and pressed him to my underside, a forelimb raised to more firmly embrace him.

His snout found my chest, and for one long, tender moment, that purposelessness vanished.

He scattered after that, closing the door to his room.

Quiet reigned.

“...You good?” Rhys asked.

“As good as I can be.”

"Are you ready for work?” He crossed the room and tapped on the TV. “Starts soon, doesn’t it?” The screen flickered with bright colours and athletic humans on a beach. 

“I’m ready,” I said, feigning tiredness over fear.

Rhys watched, my training enabling me to see the minute reactions on his face: the nerves, the worry, the trickles of pity. “Why don’t you bring your manga to work?” The drake suggested, sitting up atop the sofa. And then, in a voice that let on more than he meant it to, “You could talk to James about it – he seemed cool.”

I said nothing as I went into my room, took the omnibus I’d bought and tucked it into the pack I wore to work. Rhys smiled but kept quiet. I scanned the living room and kitchen once more before stepping outside onto the street.

Our home was not a safe cove or segment of a great hive but rather a small, squat, single-storey house with wide rooms but little verticality. Still, I liked it.

Its cosiness was its strength. I angled my body low, tensed my limbs and, with a harsh beat of my wings, took to the sky.

#

Flight came as naturally as breath. It always had. On Reon, I had been what our kind called an escape runner – built for speed above all else. Even here, the human physicians had taken interest in that, keeping me longer than most, measuring and prodding as though I were something rare.

Maybe I was.

It didn’t matter.

There were limits now. Distances measured. Speeds capped. Even the sky, it seemed, was portioned out. I kept within them without thought, gliding low over the dim-lit streets.

I did not rush.

There was no reason to.

The air was clean and cool against my scales. I adjusted my wings by instinct, catching a steady current and letting it carry me forward.

A dragon should not feel idle.

I banked to avoid a cluster of small birds, their formation breaking at my approach. The building ahead came into view, its lights harsh and yellow against the dark.

The thought returned, unbidden.

…Is this loneliness?

I dismissed it at once, angling downward.

The car park below was near-empty. I slowed, flaring my wings and leaning back into the landing. My claws met the ground in a low crouch, controlled and precise.

Not empty.

Ahead, perched upon a metal railing, was James.

He stared as I approached, his mouth full, chewing something dense. He raised a hand in greeting, tried to speak, and promptly choked for his efforts. He lurched forward, fumbling for the paper cup at his side, swallowing hard before drawing in a long breath.

I felt some of the tension leave me.

I approached, slower now.

“Did you just choke on that…” I narrowed my eyes, taking in the scent. Cooked. Processed. Strange. Not bad, but there was better. “Hamburger?”

James coughed once more, batted his chest and sat up straighter. “Only a little,” the human wheezed before reaching for his drink to take a second swig. “Fucking hell, what a way to go.”

“Choking on fake meat and falling off a wall?”

He laughed, a short, surprised, warm thing, and wrapped the metal beneath his legs with a knuckle. "One, this is a railing.” And then he extended the burger my way. I couldn't see what it was, not with my eyes the way they were. “And this is a chicken burger.”

“Ah… Yes. My bad,” I deadpanned. “That's very different then.”

He clicked his finger, transitioning to a finger gun he aimed at me. “Bingo. You get a pass this once.” I chuckled, tail swaying on cheery instinct, and joined him. I couldn't quite sit on the outdoor seating, but I didn't mind curling up beside it. It was quiet out, barely any humans. James chewed his burger and looked down at a thin, pale wrist. “I got ten minutes left. How about you?”

“I start at eight-twenty.”

He checked the device again. “Uhh. Yeah, about the same time I head in anyway.” Another sip of the drink that, after shaking it and hearing only ice, he chucked into the bin. "How’ve you been by the way? Haven't seen you since Tuesday – I think we've got opposite shifts, which is kinda weird, actually; no clue why you've been given nights. Early afternoon would be a sweeter spot for learning.”

…He was talky, I noticed, too used to how quiet and overly in his own head he normally was when working. I shifted in my spot, folding a forelimb, watching him for a moment as he took out his phone.

Oh. He'd asked a question, I realised. “I’ve been good,” I said. “Getting things ready for my brother's birthday. He's turning ten.”

James finished off the burger before responding. “Damn. Double digits. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

“I will!”

Ah. Too loud.

He smiled, lip wobbling, and bit it, trying not to laugh. My ears flushed horribly, scales burning, and I folded further in on myself. “...What about you?” I tried, hopeful for a distraction.

He blinked, expression caught between surprise and the still-present amusement. “Me? Uhhh. Not much, not much. Working or just talking to friends, mostly.” The paper wrapper joined the cup in the bin. “Took my computer apart because my video card was wonky.”

“You… took it apart?” I felt my head tilt on reflex, curious as to why in Skie’s name he’d do that. A computer, from what I knew, was an overly complex mechanism. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

He checked his watch once more. “Time to start heading in." And got up, knees cracking. “Not really, it’s a PC, and I’m the one who built it, so it was easy. It’s basically just LEGO if you're not an idiot.”

I followed him into the restaurant and observed how the generous fluff atop his head caught the light. I almost wanted to touch it. A delicate brown so dull it was almost grey, but the way it bounced. It was an effort not to reach out and sink my claws into his scalp.

Small things, humans. Wiry, too, especially James.

The smell was another thing. Almost like boar, mixed with a menagerie of chemicals and artificial fruits. The one I padded behind always smelt of mint, tobacco smoke and the sour oil the fryers used.

“Then… I might be an idiot,” I admitted sheepishly. “Computers are too much for me. I do have a laptop I bought from a kin friend.” We dipped into the staff room. “My younger brother uses it for games.”

James entered the male changing room, whilst I took the female – not that I needed it, as I was still a few weeks away from being in season, and therefore there was nothing to see. But still, I obeyed the customs. On went the apron, irritating boots and apron that served no use. I exited it swiftly and undid my pack to be placed in one of the lockers.

The same as the ashy-haired human who shut his with his foot and turned on his heel to enter the kitchen. I padded close behind him. He looked over. “Oh, right, I meant if you were a human and didn't know how to build one. Obviously not you.”

…That felt condescending.

Not to me, but more in general. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, so I didn’t say anything further. Strength and knowledge, I thought, slipping over to the grill, as it was the only place unoccupied, were valuables, and lacking both were weaknesses. So maybe he was right to-

I was getting distracted.

Spatula.

Hold properly.

One paw.

“Alys, you’re on the front of house.” I looked around and managed not to whack Tom with my wing. “I’m here.” A young human, gold-haired, with an odd air of authority flitting about him. He even wore a different uniform – a white shirt and tie, and not the dark grey one. “Alys?”

I stood up straighter. “Understood…” Pause. “...What’s front of house?”

His cheek twitched. Full-lipped. Tan skin. Privileged? I wondered. “Front of house just means –" Dark, thin brows narrowed – a subtle wrinkling. “Nevermind. Stay here, actually. I'll manage the grill." Brown eyes flicked over to James, who was assembling burgers nearby. “James, keep an eye on Alys for me.”

I couldn’t read Tom, and that bothered me. I could analyse his face as much as I wanted, but I wasn’t human. Was he disappointed, annoyed, or relieved? He had a flat inflection. All my practice was useless.

A thumbs up and he went back to working.

It was a quiet night, at least. Barely any orders, barely any workers. For once, I could relax, let my tail uncurl and work out the cricks in it. The end swayed on reflex, tapping James’ leg twice without realising. The location was larger than normal, almost designed for me, but it was still far from perfect.

He looked back over his shoulder and chuffed, thin lips drawn into a small smile, brow arching in a way that made me pause.

“Good mood?” He asked smoothly.

He seemed to be in one, and that threw me off. “Work is easy,” I said, readjusting my posture, sitting closer to the grill. “It’s normally not. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bump you.”

“I know. Would be kinda weird if you meant to.”

Sizzle.

Scrape.

“Ten’s important for dragons,” I blurted. James turned back over, mouth set in a flat line, hands still over a box of nuggets. “It’s about when our ignition bladder is strong enough for fire breathing. Jarys can already do it, but still…”

“...Ah.” He blinked, folded a burger wrapper without looking and, like he couldn’t help himself, said, “Ignition bladder?”

I tapped my chest. “Makes the gas.”

“And Jarys is your brother, right?” I nodded. “Hah. Bet he’s excited about that. He gets to light his own candles?” Another blindly wrapped burger. Oil popped in the distance; co-workers chatted. The silence stung. “Or, uh… Sorry, I don’t know much about dragons.”

“Normally we’d go hunting,” I said, keeping the sourness from my voice. “But on Earth we can’t.” Patty flip, patty grab, tray transfer. “So we’re just having a small cele-"

"James", someone called out, loud. I looked over, angling my neck. “Stop folding them like this. There’s a standard.”

“That wasn't-"

Indignation flickered in my chest, the bitterness from earlier resurfacing.

“I don’t care. Just fold them like a normal person.” Exasperation. I hated it. So petty.

“Be quiet,” I said, sharp enough to cut through the noise.

The woman blinked, taken aback.

“He didn’t do those.” I pointed at who did, precise, no hesitation, loud even through the muffle of my mask. “She did.” A lull. I didn’t let it breathe, unable to accept how she’d spoken to my friend. “Look first," I added, voice colder now. “Then speak.”

Her mouth opened slightly.

I tilted my head just a fraction, showed off the curve of my throat, and looked down on her.

“Or ask. It’s not difficult if you’re an adult.”

Spatula. Flip. Press.

And then it hit me. My claws froze, prosthetics clicking.

Too far.

Heat crawled beneath my scales and up my ears, itchy against the missing part of my jaw I kept hidden. I hunched slightly, wings tight to my sides. “Sorry,” I muttered, not able to meet her gaze.

I meant it and didn’t regret it, but…

Not... proper, apparently.

James hadn’t moved. I risked a glance and caught him staring. Not annoyed, not awkward, but something entirely new – caught off guard, eyes wide. “What?” I asked, quieter, trying not to sound defensive.

He flinched, like he’d forgotten I could talk, then rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “N-Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly. "Just-" A short, awkward huff of laughter escaped him. “Didn’t expect that.”

I looked away immediately, focusing hard on the grill like it suddenly required my full attention.

“…I shouldn’t have said it like that,” I muttered.

“Yeah, well,” he said, still a little off-balance, “I’m not complaining. It was cool…”

A beat. My breath caught.

Then, under his breath –

“…Thank you."

The hours passed in relative quiet. No more information sharing, no dramatics. The girl I’d told off didn’t say anything, nor did anyone else comment. Simple work, and when my break finally came, three hours after I began, I welcomed it for the change of scenery.

James, I found, was still there, chin in his upturned palm and phone in the other. Thoughtful. His eyes, a pale blue almost the colour of my own scales, tracked me. “Yo,” he began, lifting his face and using the now free hand to give me a little wave.

I mimicked him. “Yo.”

Silence. He focused back on his phone, typing away.

“I have a question,” I began.

He glanced up. “That sounds serious.”

“It’s not.” I felt my ears warm anyway. “Do humans eat before courting?”

He blinked.

“…Do we what?”

I pressed my claws together beneath the table. Too late to retreat. “For energy,” I clarified, immediately regretting it. “A pre-courting meal.”

Too long passed. I could feel my heart trying to fly free.

“Oh.” His mouth twitched. “Oh, I see what you did there. Hah.”

“I-” I exhaled, hating how my snout burned. “I meant food. Just food. I'm kidding. Do you want something to eat?”

“Ah.” He leaned back slightly, with relief or amusement; I couldn’t tell. “Yeah, I got that part… eventually.” A small tap of his long fingers against the table. “You go ahead. I’m not really in a spending mood.” His gaze dipped to his phone, expression dimming. I wondered what was on it, if he was talking to someone.

“Guess I’ll share.”

He shook his head immediately. “No, no. You’re not doing that.”

“I’ve already eaten. At home.”

“And I still feel bad.”

“That’s dumb.”

“That’s because it is.” A faint grin. “Call it human design.”

I tilted my head, studying him.

“…Then I’ll eat,” I said. “And you’ll watch me.”

“That sounds worse.”

“You picked it.”

He laughed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright, go on then. I’ll suffer.”

I rose, glad for the excuse to move, and crossed to the kiosk. The process was simple. Too simple. Tap, wait, collect. Food without effort still felt… undeserved.

When I returned, tray balanced on one paw, he looked up again, eyes widening. I'd gotten generous helpings, seeing as money wasn't too valuable to me.

“Damn,” he said. “You weren’t joking.”

“I was not.”

I set the tray down and settled opposite him once more, folding my wings in tight so as not to disturb the narrow space. The scent rose immediately. Cooked. Processed. Safe.

He leaned forward slightly, eyeing it, then leaned back, looked sheepish.

“…Any chance I can get a chip, actually?”

I picked up a fry, held it between my false claws for a moment, then extended it toward him.

“Only if you behave.”

“Yes, of course,” he said solemnly. “I will be the model human.”

He took it, careful not to brush my claws.

A small thing, but one I noticed anyway. It wouldn't have mattered if he did, they were prosthetics – I couldn't feel anything in them.

We fell into a quiet flow after that. I ate. He watched, occasionally stealing another fry when I allowed it. The noise of the restaurant filled the gaps, low and constant.

Some time later, before the end of my lunch, he checked his phone. His expression shifted, just slightly.

“Half past eleven,” he muttered. “I should probably head off soon.”

Too soon.

“Wait.”

He flinched – small, quick, instinctive.

I froze.

“…Sorry,” I said, lowering my voice. “I didn’t mean to-"

“It’s fine, it's fine,” he cut in, though his shoulders hadn’t fully relaxed.

I forced my claws to be still against the table.

“…Do you want to come?” I asked.

He sat up. “Come where?”

“To the gathering.” I held his gaze this time, despite the heat creeping back up my ears. “For my brother’s celebration. It will be… simple. But there will be food. And other people.” A pause. “Adults.”

Why did I say that, I wondered, claws scraping the table, more embarrassed by myself than I'd been in months.

He waited. Watched.

“…Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, alright.” He reached up to fix a loose strand of hair. “I might have to run it by someone first, though. When is it?”

“Tuesday, four pm.” I nodded once. “I can give you the location?”

The human looked thoughtful, as though checking a mental schedule. “Yeah, give me a second.” And then he, I assume, checked his actual schedule.

“...Brie Monday… Sarah…” His thumb hovered over the cracked screen, ready. “Right, sorry. Go on. Where abouts?.”

I told him.

He typed it in, glancing up once to confirm, then nodded to himself. “Went here for my eighteenth. Do I need to bring anything special? Food, drinks?”

“No.”

Another pause.

“…You can, if you want,” I added, uncertain. “He likes… cupcakes. 

Pleased with that, he said ,“That I can do.”

I pushed a few more fries toward him.

“For your cooperation.”

“Bribery. Nice.”

“It works.”

He took them without argument this time.

We sat like that for a while longer. Talking in small pieces. Letting silence fill the rest.

Eventually, he stood.

“Alright. I really do have to go now. My sister's gonna kill me.”

I rose as well, out of habit more than necessity.

“I will see you then,” I said.

“Yeah.” He hesitated, just slightly. “At the party.”

“At the party.”

He left with a small wave, pushing through the door and out into the night air.

I remained where I was for a moment, then sat back down, tail curling around my hindlegs.

The tray was nearly empty.

I looked at it, then away.

A distraction, I thought.

A good one.

But still just that.