The night air was sharp with the chill of the highlands. John's black scales shimmered faintly under the pale moons as he drifted into a half-sleep atop the cliff. His instincts never allowed him full rest—not when the forest never truly slept.
The rumble he had heard earlier still lingered in his mind. It wasn't thunder. It wasn't even the roar of another beast. It was deeper. A pulse. Like the forest itself had exhaled.
His eyes snapped open.
Something's moving.
The sensation wasn't danger at his doorstep, but a warning echo carried on the wind. His Perception, honed sharper than ever from days of hunting, prickled. The oppressive aura came from beyond the dark grove—the very place he had chosen not to trespass into.
"Guess my instincts were right," John muttered, stretching his wings wide.
Instead of diving back into sleep, he decided to patrol the outer edge of the grove once more. Not to provoke, but to listen. To observe.
By dawn, he had circled half the grove without incident. But at one point, he caught sight of something peculiar: claw marks etched into a massive tree trunk. They weren't his, nor from any Tier 3 or Tier 4 beast he had slain before. These gouges were deep, nearly cleaving through the trunk itself, and spaced far wider than his own claws.
John narrowed his eyes, running one talon along the grooves. Tier 6… maybe Tier 7.
Whatever prowled here had strength that could rival his, if not surpass it. And yet… the marks weren't fresh. They were weeks old, maybe months. Still, the fact they hadn't faded yet spoke of the creature's dominance.
"This place already belongs to someone," John realized aloud. "And I've been pressing into their doorstep."
A dangerous thought slithered through his mind—would they notice him soon?
The next few days blurred again into survival routine. Hunt. Patrol. Expand. His EXP steadily climbed, though slower now. Lesser beasts avoided him entirely, forcing him to travel further for worthy prey.
It was on the seventh day that the change came.
A thunderous boom rattled the forest floor. Birds erupted from the canopy, and weaker monsters scattered in all directions. John whipped his head toward the grove.
The sound wasn't just noise. It was a roar.
And it was answered.
Another roar, deeper and more guttural, shook the ridge. The two cries clashed in the air like clashing blades, and then silence fell again, suffocating.
John's heart hammered, not in fear—but anticipation. His blood burned.
"Two of them," he whispered, wings flexing.
Whatever lurked beyond the grove was not singular. And they were fighting—or calling to one another.
The system chimed faintly in his mind:
[Warning: Detected presence of Tier 6+ entities within proximity.]
[Recommendation: Avoid engagement until further growth.]
John growled low. The system was right, as usual. But the hunger in his chest—the dragon's instinct to dominate—did not fade.
That night, as the moons rose high, John made his choice.
He would not rush headlong into the grove. That was suicide. But neither would he ignore it.
If there were beings stronger than him here, he would watch them. Learn from them. And when the day came that his strength was enough, he would crush them and claim the grove for his own.
For now, he would prepare. The forest was vast, and EXP plentiful. His claws tightened.
"Soon," he rumbled. "Very soon."
And in the shadows of the grove, unseen eyes blinked open.