Chapter 40: Legacy in the Water

Another year passed, and with it, the rhythm of life continued—steady, strong, and full of fire.

This time, we welcomed two more cubs into our ever-growing family. Small, squirming, curious things with bright eyes and wings that flapped wildly even before they could stand. The older siblings were immediately smitten. The youngest of the previous litter cuddled them constantly, bringing soft moss and feeding them scraps of already-chewed meat.

Our den felt full.

Full of warmth, full of noise, full of life.

We built a small nursery cave just for them—close to our main home, but quiet and surrounded by soft leaves and smooth stone. My mate rarely left their side during those first weeks, and neither did I, except to hunt or watch over the ponds.

And those ponds… they were thriving.

The first pond, the one we'd dug by claw and fire, was clear and alive. The fish had bred rapidly over the last few years, and now schools of glimmering silver darted through the reeds. The water was so full, we had to dig overflow channels to guide excess rain out into the forest rather than flood the dens.

The second pond—our clean drinking water—remained pristine. With no predators and carefully kept boundaries, we had turned it into a sacred spot. No blood spilled there. Only peace. The cubs drank from it, bathed there, even played among the lilies and stones.

The third pond… our giant pond.

That one had become more than just a hunting ground. It had become a gathering place. Not just for us, but for the others. Smaller dragons—young rogues who had followed our scent trails, who had seen us from the sky and cautiously approached.

They kept their distance at first, but when they saw our way of life—our fire, our homes, our fish—they wanted to stay.

And we let them.

But they had to earn it. They helped dig channels, expand the hunting ground, reinforce homes, and in return, they were welcome. The rules were simple: no fighting within the ponds, respect the cubs, and always share when the hunt was good.

By now, we had dozens of dragons—young, wild, but slowly learning what we built. Not just a family, but a clan.

And just when I thought the cycle might pause for a bit—three more cubs hatched.

Tiny, wingless at first, with stubby tails and big, curious eyes. I could hardly believe it—six new lives in just two years. My mate and I were proud. We were also exhausted. But we didn't stop. We couldn't. They were our future.

Our older cubs had become true hunters. They flew in tight formation, led food-gathering flights, and even started teaching the younglings how to use their fire without burning down half the island.

One of them had even claimed the cliffside caves overlooking the big pond. Built their own home up there, reinforced it with wood and stone. I helped them shape it, but they did most of the work.

They were ready to lead—one day.

And me?

I found peace in the quiet moments. Swimming beneath the surface of the pond while the fish brushed against my scales. Laying beside my mate as the cubs slept nearby. Watching Kong lumber by in the distance, giving a nod when our eyes met—an unspoken bond of ancient power and shared purpose.

The skies above us were ours.

The land beneath us, our roots.

And the water that fed us?

Our legacy.

The clan was growing.

The world was changing.

And I was no longer just some soul reborn in the wrong universe.

I was a dragon.

A father.

A builder of something greater than myself.

And this... was only the beginning.