Chapter 5: The Spark of Hope

A week had passed since I had found myself thrust into this strange, monstrous world, and with each passing day, the realization of my situation settled deeper in my bones. The jungle was no less unforgiving than it had been the first day I stumbled into it, but now, I had a routine, a rhythm that kept me alive.

I woke each morning in the trees, alone, cold, but alive. The warmth of the sun streaming through the leaves provided a false sense of comfort, but I didn't dare relax too much. The jungle was alive with dangers, and I had learned the hard way not to trust its peaceful facade.

I descended from my little home in the trees, my claws digging into the bark as I crept down to the stream below. The water still felt like a lifeline. Every time I drank, it was as if I was cleansing myself—both of the physical exhaustion and the haunting thoughts that plagued my mind.

I crouched low to the water, eyeing the surface warily. It had become a pattern. I would drink, I would reflect, and then I would run.

I didn't know what was out there, what monster would appear next, or which predator might be lurking just beyond my reach. But I did know this: if I lingered too long, if I allowed myself to relax, something bigger than me would find me and finish what I had narrowly escaped before.

So, after taking my fill of water, I didn't hesitate. I bolted away from the stream, heart hammering in my chest, my tiny wings fluttering behind me in a desperate attempt to keep my balance. The sounds of the jungle seemed to grow louder as I sprinted, the distant growl of something—something massive—echoing through the trees.

It wasn't long before I had found my next meal.

The bugs had become my lifeline, my ticket to survival. No longer did I eat them out of necessity alone. I had learned that each one I consumed gave me a little more strength. The insects, the tiny creatures, might seem insignificant in a world full of towering beasts and terrifying monsters, but they were the one thing I could rely on.

As I crept through the foliage, I spotted them—bugs, crawling along the branches, scuttling under leaves, moving in the cracks of the bark. I wasted no time. I snapped at them with quick, practiced movements, swallowing each one whole without even tasting it. There was no room for hesitation, no space for guilt. I ate and ate, not because I was starving, but because I knew that the more I ate, the stronger I became.

By now, it had become second nature. I didn't think about it. I simply did it.

It was the only way to survive.

When I had eaten enough, I made my way back to my little home in the trees. I wasn't full—not really. But I felt stronger than I had the day before. My muscles were no longer trembling with weakness, and my body, though still small, felt more solid.

But there was something more, something I couldn't ignore.

I had started to feel it inside me—the energy, the power, something bubbling just beneath the surface. It was faint, like a spark waiting to be ignited, but I knew it was there.

Fire.

I had been a dragon once—a creature of flame and fury. It was only natural that I would still carry that potential within me. The first few days, I had tried to conjure fire, but nothing had happened. I hadn't been sure what I expected. I wasn't even sure how to access it.

But now, as I sat nestled in the safety of my little nook among the branches, I could feel it stirring—almost like a memory. A deep part of me, buried under layers of fear and confusion, began to remember what it felt like to breathe fire.

I inhaled deeply, gathering all the strength I could muster. I focused, pulling the energy from deep within, from that ancient, primal part of me. I opened my mouth wide, hoping for a stream of flame to emerge.

I felt something shift inside of me, a small crackling sensation, but it wasn't fire. It wasn't heat.

A spark.

It was small—so small it barely flickered at the back of my throat—but it was there. A tiny ember, like a flicker of hope in the vast, dark jungle.

I tried again, more determined this time. The spark flickered again, and for a moment, I thought it might be a fluke. But then, a stronger pulse of energy surged through me, and another tiny spark shot out from my mouth, barely lighting up the air. It wasn't fire—not by a long shot—but it was something.

I had done it.

A small, weak spark, but it was a spark nonetheless. I wasn't sure if it meant I was getting closer to the fire I had once known, or if I had only unlocked a fraction of what was buried deep within me. But it was progress.

I grinned to myself—if only for a second. The spark of fire was a sign. I had been weak, but I was growing stronger. The more I ate, the more I felt the potential coursing through me.

I wasn't sure how long it would take for the flames to come—if they would come—but now I knew that I had a path forward. I didn't need to be a perfect dragon overnight. I just needed to keep surviving, keep feeding, keep growing. And one day, when I was ready, the flames would return.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the tiny spark still flickering in my chest.

This was only the beginning.