Chapter 34: The Great Pond

The sky was a waterfall.

Rain hammered the trees, turned dirt to mud, and filled the air with the scent of wet earth and life. Thunder cracked above the canopy, but it wasn't a threat—it was music. And we were growing used to storms.

By the time the downpour slowed to a drizzle, I stepped outside and saw the impossible.

The two ponds—our careful project, our effort and sweat—had fully merged. The connecting trench was now a smooth river of water, the banks overflowing with rain. Fish swam freely between the two spaces, darting with new curiosity. The water level was higher, cleaner. Alive.

It was beautiful.

I waded into it, the cool rain still dripping down my scales, and submerged my body with a contented sigh. My wings stretched lazily across the surface. For once, I didn't want to fly. I wanted to float.

I turned to the four older cubs and gave a light growl. A command, but a gentle one.

"Go hunt. You're ready."

They didn't question. They launched into the sky—graceful, powerful, flames flickering from their jaws like streamers as they roared with youthful excitement.

I sank deeper into the water.

Peace. Rare, fleeting peace.

But it didn't last.

Something tugged at me.

A spark.

Not from the outside—but inside.

The pond… it was great. But it could be more. It could be bigger. A legacy not just for us—but for everything that would come after.

I stood up, water sliding off my wings, and marched out of the pond.

Then I started digging.

No one understood at first.

My mate blinked at me, confused. She tilted her head, chirped questioningly.

I didn't answer.

Just dug deeper. Moved mud, earth, and rock. Claws sliced through soaked ground like it was pudding. I tore into the land with something more than instinct—vision.

Eventually, the younger cubs scampered over, squealing and excited by the mess. They didn't ask questions either. Just joined in. Wings flapping, claws slinging dirt, tails flailing with glee.

Even my mate joined, still unsure—but trusting me.

Still, it wasn't enough.

Not big enough. Not fast enough.

We needed help.

I lifted my head and gave a low, pulsing roar—long and slow, like a drumbeat through the trees.

The forest rumbled in response.

Minutes passed, then the earth shook.

Trees parted. Birds scattered.

Kong arrived.

He looked at the muddy chaos, the half-dug trench, the splashes of water still sliding through the soft terrain. Then he looked at me.

I didn't roar.

Just walked toward the trench, dipped my claws in, and kept digging.

He watched for only a second—then grinned.

Kong rolled his shoulders, grunted, and slammed his massive fists into the earth.

BOOM.

He carved out more dirt in one strike than I could in a hundred.

The ground erupted.

Wet earth flew like waves. Mud splashed across the trees. The rain from earlier had softened the soil so much that it gave way under Kong's strength like clay beneath a hammer.

He didn't stop.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

By the time he was done, the land where our pond once ended now stretched farther than I could see from the ground.

A true lake.

So massive that even Kong, inside the basin, would take minutes to walk from one side to the other.

The cubs shrieked with joy. The older ones returned from their hunt mid-flight, dropping their prey when they saw the transformation. My mate stood beside me, eyes wide, wings half-open in awe.

I stepped into the new hollow—still dry for now, but not for long.

I looked up at Kong, who was brushing mud from his fur, breathing heavily but satisfied.

He looked at me.

And I nodded.

This wasn't just our pond anymore.

It was ours.

A dragon's vision.

A titan's strength.

A kingdom, not ruled—but shared.

And it had only just begun.