Chapter 22: Hunt of Two

The sun rose gold and red across the treetops, warm light spilling over Skull Island's endless jungle. I was already awake when the first rays hit the cave wall, pacing near the entrance with a full stretch in my wings and fire coiling low in my throat.

She stirred behind me, blinking slow, her scales catching the light like dull embers. We didn't speak—not with words—but we didn't need to.

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

I spread my wings.

She mirrored me.

And that was all it took.

We took off into the sky, side by side. Her form was graceful in the air—faster in a dive, tighter in her turns. I was bulkier, heavier, but stronger in bursts. Together, we cut through the clouds like twin shadows gliding just above the trees.

We were hunting.

I led us north, to a part of the jungle I hadn't explored in a few days. Thicker trees. Fewer predators. Prey moved in herds here—smarter, faster, but still prey.

And sure enough, we saw them.

A group of Skull Island deer grazing near a broken waterfall, where mossy rocks and patches of sunlight made for a peaceful trap.

They didn't see us yet.

I slowed midair, hovering behind a cluster of trees. She did the same, eyes locked on the largest among them—a fully grown male, tall antlers, thick legs. The leader of the herd.

She looked at me, waiting.

I nodded.

We dove together.

She went high, wings arcing like a hawk. I shot low through the trees, claws extended, smoke trailing from my jaws.

The deer scattered.

But not fast enough.

I came in first, swiping at the flanks, driving the herd into confusion. Then she struck from above, slamming down with all her weight onto the stag's back, claws digging deep. It buckled, tried to run, but I was already at its side—biting, ripping, ending it.

It was done in seconds.

We stood over the carcass, breathing heavy, blood steaming in the morning air.

Then we ate.

Side by side, no growls, no fight over meat. Just the quiet rhythm of two dragons feasting together.

I hadn't realized how… different it felt.

Hunting had always been survival. A battle of blood and desperation. But this? This was something else.

It felt like power.

Like we were building something. Like we were stronger together.

When the deer was down to bones and gristle, we sat back, wings drooped, bellies full.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

And without a word, we took off again, flying home side by side.

The island still wanted to kill us.

But now, we hunted not as lone survivors—

But as a pack.