The inn was small but clean. Its wooden walls were dark with age, and the faint scent of roasted meat and herbal tea wafted through the open windows. As I stepped inside, the worn wooden floor creaked under my feet.
The dining hall was nearly empty, with only two old men drinking cheap ale in silence. At the counter stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with greying hair tied into a low ponytail. His eyes were sharp but not unkind.
He looked up as I entered, raising an eyebrow at my dishevelled state.
"You lost, boy?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling like distant thunder.
I lowered my head respectfully, remembering how the old woman told me to approach him.
"I… I have no home. If you'll allow it, I can work to pay for meals," I said, trying to sound as humble as possible. Back then, my voice would command armies. Now, it barely reached across the counter.
The man studied me for a long moment, rubbing his stubbled chin. Then he let out a quiet sigh.
"You're thin as a twig. Not sure if you can carry firewood without breaking your back," he muttered, but then he motioned towards a woman emerging from the kitchen. Her hair was tied tightly behind her head, and her gaze was sharper than a dagger's edge.
"Who's this brat?" she asked curtly, looking me up and down.
"Orphan, most likely," the man replied. "He's asking to work for food and a place to sleep."
She snorted. "Hmph. We're not running a temple charity here. But…" She leaned closer, squinting into my eyes. "At least he doesn't have shifty eyes. Fine. He can sleep in the storage room and clean dishes at dawn."
I bowed deeply. "Thank you."
She clicked her tongue. "Don't thank me yet. If you slack off, you're out."
I nodded again. The man gestured towards the back hallway. "Come on, I'll show you your place."
He led me through the narrow corridor to a small wooden door. Inside was a cramped room lined with sacks of grain, bundles of dried herbs, and barrels of salted fish. In the corner lay a thin straw mat with a folded grey blanket.
"It's not much," he said, scratching his head. "But it's dry and warmer than sleeping outside."
"It's more than enough," I replied quietly.
He looked at me for a long moment before nodding and closing the door behind him.
I sat down on the straw mat, the rough texture scratching against my skin. As I pulled the blanket around my shoulders, a wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I hadn't realised how tired I was. My new human body felt light but fragile. Every step, every movement drained me.
In the silence of the storage room, I could hear my own heartbeat. It was fast and unsteady, unlike the powerful, rhythmic pulse of my Dragonewt heart. I placed a hand over my chest, feeling it flutter beneath my skin.
"...So weak," I whispered to myself.
I lay down and stared at the dark ceiling. Shadows danced along the wooden beams as candlelight flickered through the cracks of the door. Outside, I could hear distant voices, laughter, and the quiet hum of night insects.
Closing my eyes, I felt sleep pull me under. For the first time in centuries, I didn't fight it. I let myself drift away.
That night, I dreamed.
I dreamed of soaring through endless skies with my wings spread wide, the clouds parting beneath me, the sun warming my scales. I dreamed of roaring into the heavens, my flames lighting up the dark world.
But then… I dreamed of something I never experienced.
I saw myself sitting under a giant tree with golden leaves. Around me sat humans, laughing, talking, sharing food. Someone handed me a cup of tea. Someone else leaned against my shoulder, their smile warm and genuine.
In that dream… for the first time, I felt at peace.
When I woke up the next morning to the sharp tongue of the inn's wife banging on the storage room door, that warmth still lingered in my chest.
Is this… what it feels like to be human?
I clenched my fist around the thin blanket, feeling a strange determination spark within me.
If I'm going to live this life… then I will live it fully.
No matter what it takes.