Therefore, the mont my eyes landed on the broken stone in front of , my obsessive-compulsive tendencies rose from the grave and punched square in the soul.
It was broken and uneven. It felt wrong.
I hated it.
Every instinct I had cultivated over years of sculpting scread at to fix it. To smooth the roughness. To correct the proportions. To give it dignity. But even if my heart was on fire, reality poured cold water on it—I didn’t have hands anymore.
I had paws.
Useless, fluffy, adorable paws.
I stared at them resentfully. Maybe... claws? They were sharp. Or maybe my teeth? I grimaced at the thought. Biting stone felt like a fast track to chipping sothing important—like my dignity. Or my teeth. Or both.
I shook my head hard, ears flapping. ’No. Stop. Ignore it.’
I turned away from the stone with all the willpower I had left, buried my face into my paws, and forced my eyes shut.
Sleep. Just sleep. Pretend the ugly thing doesn’t exist.
...
It existed.
My eyes snapped open.
I couldn’t sleep. The image of that rough, misshapen black stone haunted like an unfinished commission. My tail flicked irritably. Annoyed beyond reason, I lifted my head and glared at the stone again.
Then—
An idea struck .
Slowly, my gaze drifted to the dragon scales lying nearby. Obsidian black. Sharp. Durable. Basically... divine-grade carving tools just lying around like trash.
"...Oh."
I slipped out from under the man’s arm and padded onto the ground. I stretched out my claws and selected the biggest piece of black stone resting on his chest. It was heavy for my size, awkward, but manageable.
I opened my mouth and carefully clamped the stone onto the torn edge of his armband to keep it steady. Improvised vise. Not bad. Then I lowered my head and picked up one of the dragon scales with my teeth.
It was very sharp.
I awkwardly maneuvered my tongue as far away from the edge as possible, concentrating with the seriousness of a surgeon performing open-heart surgery. One wrong move and I’d slice myself like a fool.
I leaned closer to the stone and slowly brought the dragon scale down.
The mont the scale touched the black stone—
Sothing clicked.
A sudden burst of clarity rushed through , so intense it made my breath hitch. It felt like my senses expanded outward, dissolving into the stone itself. Texture. Density. Resistance. Structure. Everything unfolded in my mind all at once.
I wasn’t looking at the stone anymore.
I understood it.
I knew—instinctively—where the dragon’s head should be, where the curve of the neck needed to flow, where the claws demanded tension and strength, where the wings required balance to avoid looking stiff and lifeless. The stone whispered its shape to , the sa way it always had.
My heartbeat steadied.
I lowered the dragon scale again, this ti without hesitation, and carved.
Despite my clumsy posture and ridiculous lack of thumbs, my movents were sure. Each scrape removed exactly what didn’t belong. Each line felt inevitable, as if the dragon had always been trapped inside this ugly lump, waiting for to free it.
After a while, I finally stopped.
My jaw ached. My neck was stiff. My entire posture scread this is why humans evolved with thumbs. I spat out the dragon scale onto the ground with a soft clink and exhaled through my nose.
Only then did I notice the faint sting at the corner of my mouth.
"...Ah."
While I had been so focused on keeping my tongue safe, I completely neglected the rest of my mouth. Blood welled faintly where the sharp edge of the dragon scale had nicked . I stretched out my tongue and gave it a careful lick. It stung, but only a little.
Fortunately, the wound was shallow.
’This is fine,’ I decided magnanimously. ’Occupational hazard is common for .’
I lowered my gaze to the black stone.
Regret flickered through .
It was better now—much better. The proportions made sense. The dragon’s head no longer looked like a lted potato. The wings had structure, the claws intention. It still wasn’t refined, though. Not polished. Not complete. If I had proper tools, or even just ten uninterrupted hours and functional fingers, I could’ve made it perfect.
But perfection would have to wait.
With a small sigh, I picked up the stone between my teeth and carefully shoved it back into the broken armband, fitting it as neatly as I could. It sat there quietly, no longer offensive to the eyes.
I yawned, wide and slow, exhaustion crashing down on all at once now that my obsessive focus had finally loosened its grip. My limbs felt heavy. My eyelids drooped.
I padded back over to the man and, without permission, climbed onto his arm again. This ti, I curled in imdiately, tucking myself into the familiar warm hollow beneath his arm like I’d always belonged there.
Even though the work wasn’t finished, at least the stone no longer mocked .
Satisfied enough.
Sleep claid almost instantly.
I didn’t notice that, just monts before, faint black scales had begun to creep across the man’s skin—subtle at first. His breathing had grown uneven, his brow drawn tight as he teetered dangerously close to transformation.
Hysteria stirred.
But the instant the carved stone was returned to the armband, sothing changed.
The black scales halted... then receded, vanishing at an unnatural speed as if they’d never been there at all. The tension drained from his body. His clenched jaw loosened. The deep crease between his brows smoothed out, inch by inch.
The fire crackled softly.
The night remained still.
And beneath his arm, the small albino leopard slept on—utterly unaware that its unfinished sculpture had quietly pulled a dragon back from the brink.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
My ears twitched while I slept, reacting to sounds that no longer existed. In the haze between dreams and waking, fragnted images seeped into my mind, disjointed yet unbearably vivid. mories—old mories—ca rushing back like a floodgate torn open.
I was small. Smaller than I was now. My body felt heavy and uncooperative, my thoughts dull, like trying to think through thick fog.
Shadows moved around . Tall figures. Their voices overlapped, muffled and distant, as if heard through water.
"Duke," one voice said, calm and clinical. "The nucleus in this child’s head is far larger than that of normal size. It suppresses her brain and causes natural deficiencies in her consciousness."
Another pause. The words that followed were colder.
"She will only beco a beast. Even the highest-grade energy stone can’t cure her. In the future, she will likely remain in a juvenile state for a long ti. Even if she grows up, her ntal state will be lacking."
There was no anger in the voice. No pity either. Just a detached conclusion, as though discussing a flawed tool rather than a living being.
Then hands—gloved, impersonal—lifted .
The scene shifted.
I was being carried away by a housekeeper, tall and rigid, his movents precise to the point of being chanical.
’Wait,’ I thought suddenly, the realization sharp even within the dream.
’They just... gave away?’
Ti blurred after that.
I lived in a house—large but empty. Everything was prepared for : food, shelter, temperature perfectly regulated. I lacked for nothing, yet I saw no one. No warmth. No chaos. Just the constant presence of the housekeeper.
He spoke to often, teaching common sense, survival basics, nas of objects, rules of behavior. I listened, absorbed, morized. There was no discussion, no questioning. Just one-sided indoctrination, information poured into a mind that barely understood it was thinking.
We spent long stretches of ti in a cool, inorganic room. Smooth walls. Artificial lighting. No scent of earth or life.
’Is this... how I lived?’ the thought echoed faintly.
Then one day, without warning, the routine changed.
The housekeeper received new instructions.
I was taken out of the house we had lived in for so long and brought onto a small aircraft. The interior humd softly, vibrating beneath my paws. At first, the destination was set for the imperial capital. I rember the na—not the aning, just the weight of it.
Midway through the journey, sothing changed.
Without explanation, the housekeeper altered the coordinates. The destination shifted. The aircraft descended toward an isolated island surrounded by endless sea.
We landed.
He placed down among jagged rocks and shadows, leaving behind large quantities of nutrient packs wedged carefully into the cracks, as though ticulously planning my survival while abandoning all the sa.
’Is this... how I ended up here?’ I wondered, the ache in my chest dull and confused.
"The imperial capital is dangerous," the housekeeper said. His voice was the sa as always, but for the first ti, he hesitated. "I can’t take you there. You will have to live on your own in the future."
He stretched out his arms and touched my head.
The gesture was stiff. Awkward. Almost gentle.
Then he turned away, boarded the aircraft, and left without looking back.
All of a sudden, I was alone.
I wandered aimlessly through the unfamiliar land, frightened and confused, instincts barely developed. I lost my way, slipped from a high place, and tumbled down hard.
My head struck a tree—one that supported a massive bird’s nest above.
Pain exploded.
The nucleus within my head shifted violently, forced out of place by the impact. Sothing broke. Sothing opened. The limits binding my consciousness shattered, and in an instant, the fog lifted.
Awareness flooded in.
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