Chapter 2: The Black Tiger and the Pact
The forest seemed alive in ways Azhurath had never felt before. Every leaf, every branch, every shift of shadow carried a weight he couldn't yet name. Yet amidst that stillness, a presence slithered through the silence. Something he had not sensed before, yet now, suddenly, it was undeniable.
Golden eyes, sharp and glinting, locked onto him from the underbrush. He froze, nostrils flaring, claws digging into the mossy earth. His heart—whatever replaced it now in this draconic chest—pounded in sync with a primal pulse that ran through his scales.
When did it get there? How long had it been watching? The creature's gaze was cold, predatory, the kind that belonged to a hunter that had already marked its prey. Azhurath's instincts screamed, but his mind raced faster. Is it… a black tiger? The immense size, the shadow-like fur, the rippling muscles under taut skin—everything about it screamed danger.
Before he could think further, the tiger lunged.
Time itself seemed to slow for Azhurath. The world blurred around him, yet his body moved with an instinctive precision he didn't know he possessed. He twisted mid-air, dodging the strike that would have torn him apart. The sheer speed and force of the tiger's movement made the air whine, yet he evaded it, landing heavily on the ground. His claws gouged grooves into the forest floor as he regained balance.
The tiger attacked again, relentless, each strike faster than the last. Azhurath dodged, his fledgling wings flaring instinctively for balance, his tail whipping to counterbalance. Why is it attacking me? he thought, panic prickling beneath his scales. His mind flashed to his mother's words: "This is your trial. Survival first, only then return." Survival. That one word rang like a bell through his thoughts.
A third strike came, a blur of black fur and fangs, and this time, his reflexes failed. The impact smashed into his side, knocking him backward with a force that shattered tree trunks like twigs. Pain radiated through his new body, but the raw sensation—foreign yet intoxicating—pushed him upright again.
His amber eyes widened. How could this creature be so strong? He, a newly hatched dragon, was supposed to be powerful, resilient… yet here, he was struggling just to stay on his feet. Confusion swirled with fear, adrenaline with awe.
The tiger's relentless assault continued, each strike pounding into him, until Azhurath felt a primal surge from deep within. His chest heaved as he inhaled, and from somewhere in his throat, a sound erupted: a roar so fierce and pure that it seemed to tear through the forest itself.
"ROAAAAARRR!"
The ground vibrated. Leaves trembled. The ancient trees shivered, their roots quivering as if acknowledging the emergence of something new, something dangerous. The sound rolled through the forest for miles, carrying with it the raw, untamed force of a newborn dragon asserting its presence.
The tiger halted mid-leap. Its golden eyes widened, muscles stiffening, instinct warning it of a power it did not understand. Azhurath's roar echoed in his own ears, yet he felt it vibrate through his bones, through the ground, through the very air around him.
He stood, chest rising and falling, wings trembling slightly, and watched the tiger freeze in place. Its gaze, once predatory, flickered with confusion. Was it fear? Or… curiosity?
Azhurath's mind churned. Two choices, he realized. Run or strike. His soul screamed to flee, to survive, to keep his new body intact. Yet his pride—the instinctual, fiery pride of a dragon—urged him forward. Should he attack? Could he kill it? The tiger had weakened from the roar, and now it simply… stood there.
Cautiously, he stepped closer, claws extended, talons scraping softly against the mossy ground. Every fiber of his being tensed. Can I really… kill it? he thought. It had attacked him moments ago, tried to end him. Yet it wasn't moving, its golden eyes locked on his.
Then, unexpectedly, a voice cut through the tension.
"Wait!"
Azhurath froze, ears flicking. The sound was mature, calm, and unmistakably female. Shock rooted him to the spot. The tiger… can speak?
"Yes," the voice continued, urgent now. "Yes, please… spare me!"
Azhurath blinked—or tried to. Dragons did not blink as humans did, yet the amber eyes widened nonetheless. He could understand it. Even without speech?
The tiger's lips—or whatever passed for lips on this massive feline—moved again. "I am speaking to you… through telepathy. Please, hear me. I meant no true harm!"
The concept rolled through Azhurath's mind like water over stone. Telepathy. Communication through thought. He… could feel her words as if they were his own thoughts.
"Why… why did you attack me?" he finally asked, letting his own mental voice carry.
"I was hungry," she admitted, voice trembling. "I did not know. Please, forgive me. Let me go, and I will serve you, I swear. I will do no harm!"
Azhurath narrowed his eyes, processing. The words clashed with the attack he had endured. The creature had tried to kill him only moments ago, yet now it offered servitude. Can I trust someone who was moments ago trying to end me? he wondered.
"I… I am hungry too," he replied slowly, testing. The tiger froze, the weight of his words sinking in. She understood. She knew she could die.
"I… I will serve you," she whispered, almost a prayer. "I know a lot about the outside world. I can guide you. I swear by my life."
Azhurath's mind whirled. Knowledge of the outside world could be invaluable. Yet trust… trust had to be earned.
"How can I trust you?" he asked finally. "You tried killing me, just moments ago!"
"I… I will make a pact," she replied, resolute now, her golden eyes shining with fear and determination. "I will do no harm to you. I will obey, as your servant, in life and deed."
Azhurath considered the words. A pact. A binding contract. He had read tales in his old life of naming pacts—of binding magic that forced obedience, loyalty, and service. It seemed… appropriate.
"Very well," he said, claws flexing. "We will make a pact. You obey, you serve, you harm me not. But I… can do as I please."
The tiger's eyes lit up instantly, relief flooding her posture. "Yes… yes! Thank you, great dragon! Just… just give me a name!"
Azhurath's lips—or whatever could pass for lips—curved into a small grin. "A name… huh? You're female, yes?"
"Yes," she replied, telepathically, her voice quivering.
"Then… I shall name you." He tilted his head, thinking. "Zola. You shall be Zola."
"Zola," she repeated, tasting the sound. "My name… is Zola."
Light shimmered around her form. Slowly, Zola began to lift from the ground, hovering just a meter above the mossy forest floor. The air shimmered with a faint, magical aura, golden and soft, like sunlight captured in crystal.
Her black, sleek tiger fur melted away, replaced with supple, humanoid form. Long black hair cascaded past her shoulders, ebony eyes glimmering with newfound clarity. Her ears—soft and rounded, hinting at her beastly origin—tipped through her hair. Her body, lithe yet powerful, radiated strength and grace, draped naturally in the remnants of her fur, now forming a sort of magical clothing.
She blinked, adjusting to her new form. "I… I am Zola," she whispered again, her voice catching on the transformation, her golden eyes now deep and alive with awe.
Azhurath's gaze swept over her, curiosity and authority mingling. His claws dug lightly into the forest floor, his wings trembling with anticipation and energy. He had survived the first test, endured the first attack, and now—he had a companion. A servant. A guide. Someone bound to him by a pact, yes, but also by fate.
"Very well, Zola," he rumbled, voice low yet commanding. "From this moment, you serve me. And together, we will survive this forest, and whatever else awaits."
Zola nodded, bowing slightly in respect, yet her eyes held fire—defiance and pride intertwined with loyalty.
The forest seemed to breathe around them, as if acknowledging the formation of a new bond, a pact forged in blood, hunger, and survival. The trial had begun, and Azhurath knew this was only the start of a journey that would stretch across forests, mountains, and worlds beyond imagination.
And with Zola by his side, the fledgling red dragon felt his first surge of power—not just in his claws, wings, or fiery breath—but in trust, alliance, and the unspoken promise that together, they would face whatever the Tríel demanded.
The sun above filtered through the trees, light dancing across crimson scales and ebony hair. Two figures, bound by fate, stared into the forest ahead. One, a newborn dragon with amber eyes alight with wonder and pride. The other, a beastfolk transformed, standing tall and ready to serve, her golden gaze meeting his in mutual understanding.
The trial had only begun.