Limpick woke to the smell of meat.
Not some half-remembered dream smell—this was real, bloody, charred, and hot. His nose kicked in before his brain did. It twitched twice and his mouth flooded with spit.
When he opened his eyes, Ember was crouched three steps away with a half-cooked wild rabbit in front of it.
The rabbit's neck had been snapped clean. Half the hide was ripped back, showing pink meat underneath. There were burn marks across the flesh—not from a proper fire, but from something scorching hot. The edges were blackened, the middle still raw, and blood seeped into the cracks between the flagstones.
Ember nudged the rabbit toward him with its nose.
Those golden eyes watched him exactly the way they used to when it dropped half a dead rat at his hand.
Limpick stared for three full seconds.
Then he sat up and rubbed Ember's head.
"You catch this yourself?"
Ember rumbled low in its throat and swept its tail tip across the floor, kicking up dust.
"You're not eating it?"
Ember pushed the rabbit closer, then sat back and tilted its head at him.
Limpick looked down at the rabbit. Small—twice the size of his fist, skinny enough to feel every bone—but it would feed him twice. He studied the seared marks, then checked Ember's mouth. There were still flecks of ash at the corners and a few rabbit hairs stuck to its scales.
"You tried breathing fire?" Limpick asked.
Ember opened its mouth. Its throat rumbled a few times and a thicker puff of smoke drifted out. Still no flame.
"Alright," Limpick picked up the rabbit. "Smoke's better than nothing. We'll get there."
He felt for the two flint stones he still carried. Back in Riverrun he'd used them to start fires on freezing nights. He gathered some rotten wood from the corner, shaved off splinters with the rusty dagger he'd found in one of the rooms—jagged as a saw, but it worked.
By the time the fire caught, the sky outside was bright daylight.
Limpick skewered the rabbit and held it over the flames. Fat hissed and popped, making his stomach growl louder. Ember crouched beside the fire, eyes half-closed, head resting on its front claws, tail tip flicking lazily.
The Long Summer sun poured through the broken roof and baked him along with the fire until sweat ran down his face. He didn't move. The rabbit wasn't done.
While he turned the spit, he studied Ember.
Overnight the dragon seemed a little bigger. Maybe his imagination, but its back looked half an inch taller. The wings were folded tight against its sides like two closed fans. The tail had grown longer too, coiled half a loop on the floor, tip gleaming black like burned-through charcoal.
But the way it crouched was exactly like the old rat—front paws together, head resting on them, eyes half-lidded, ears twitching now and then.
Limpick suddenly remembered something.
He closed his eyes and pulled up the system panel.
[Evolution Subject: Ember]
[Race: Dragon Species – Juvenile – Early Stage]
[Evolution Progress: 3.7%]
[Size: Medium Dog Equivalent]
[Abilities: Basic Scale Armor Defense, Basic Claw Strike, Basic Tail Strike, Heat Perception (Passive), Dragon Might (Weak)]
[Note: Current evolution subject now possesses basic hunting capability and can independently hunt small mammals and birds.]
Limpick read it twice.
"Heat perception," he said out loud. "What the hell is that?"
He looked down at Ember. It still looked half-asleep, but its ears twitched.
Limpick waved his hand in front of Ember's head.
No reaction.
He moved his hand closer to its nose.
Ears twitched again, eyes stayed closed.
"You seeing or smelling?" Limpick muttered.
He suddenly pressed his palm flat against Ember's forehead.
Ember's eyes snapped open. Golden pupils narrowed to slits, locked on him.
"Easy," Limpick said. "Just testing."
He pulled his hand back, stepped away twice, then twice more. Ember's head tracked him the whole way.
Limpick spun and ran out of the room.
He went fifteen steps, ducked behind the doorway, and held his breath.
Three seconds later Ember's head poked out, golden eyes staring straight at him.
Limpick looked at those eyes.
The pupils weren't aimed at his face—they were fixed on his chest.
"Fuck," he muttered, glancing down at himself. "You can see my heartbeat?"
Ember didn't answer. It just pushed its head forward and pressed its nose to his chest, blowing a puff of warm air.
Limpick shoved the head aside and walked back to the fire to turn the rabbit.
One side was golden brown now, fat dripping and sizzling. He swallowed hard and flipped it.
"That 'heat perception' of yours," he said, "does it let you see hot things?"
Ember crouched down and tilted its head at him.
"So that's how you caught the rabbit?"
Ember's tail flicked once.
Limpick thought about it. If Ember could see heat, hunting in the dark—rabbits, fish, birds—would be cheating. Nothing could hide.
"Nice," he said, pulling the rabbit off the fire and juggling it hand to hand because it was hot. "Useful."
He tore off a leg, blew on it, and took a bite.
Hot.
But damn good.
Years hauling cargo in Riverrun, the best thing he'd ever eaten was leftover fish scraps from the docks—heads, tails, guts boiled with black bread into a mush that kept you going for a day.
Now he sat on the floor chewing a roasted rabbit leg with a dog-sized dragon beside him.
He chewed, swallowed.
"You want some?" He tore off the other leg and held it out.
Ember sniffed it, licked once, then turned its head away.
"Too raw for you?" Limpick looked at the seared marks. "You're the one who burned it."
Ember rested its head on its front paws and ignored him.
Limpick set the leg down in front of Ember and kept eating. He ate fast but careful, stripping every scrap of meat, even chewing the tendons. He saved the bones—marrow could still be cracked out later.
Halfway through he stopped.
There was a sound outside.
Not wind. Not falling stone. Flapping wings.
Ember lifted its head.
Ears straight up, pupils narrowed to slits, staring toward the doorway.
The flapping grew closer.
Limpick stood slowly, set the rabbit leg down, and reached for the rusty dagger at his waist.
Ember was faster. It rose without a sound, legs slightly bent, tail raised, scales at the tip starting to glow. Its mouth opened, throat rumbling, a thin trail of white smoke leaking from the corners.
A bird flew in through the doorway.
Pure white.
Wings spread as wide as two of his hands, long tail feathers trailing like a white ribbon. It stirred a breeze that made the fire flicker.
The bird circled the room once, then landed on the opposite window ledge, tilting its head to look at them.
Limpick gripped the dagger and stayed still.
Ember stayed crouched, motionless.
The white bird cocked its head. Black bead eyes studied Limpick for a few seconds, then turned to Ember. It shook its wings, feathers flashing bright white in the sunlight like fresh snow.
"Dove?" Limpick whispered.
No. Doves weren't this white or this long-tailed. Some kind of bird he didn't know—there were plenty in the Riverlands.
Ember let out a low rumble. The scales on its tail tip flared for a second.
The white bird flapped up, circled twice more, and landed back on the ledge, still watching Ember.
It wasn't afraid.
Limpick noticed and felt something shift inside him.
Every other animal—rats, rabbits—ran from Ember's scent. This bird didn't. It perched there, even preened the feathers under its wing, then tilted its head again.
"Interesting," Limpick said.
He sat back down slowly and kept chewing the rabbit leg, eyes never leaving the bird.
The bird stared back.
After a moment it let out a call—not a dove's coo, but something clearer and sharper, like a tiny silver bell.
Ember's ears twitched.
Golden text flashed in Limpick's mind.
[Detected environmental creature: White Falcon ×1]
[Evolve into dragon species?]
He froze for a second.
Then he looked down at the rabbit leg in his hand, at Ember, then at the white bird.
"You—"
The white bird tilted its head at him.
"You want to become a dragon too?"
The bird didn't answer. It flapped off the ledge, circled the room once more, and landed three steps in front of Limpick on the floor, head still cocked.
Limpick checked the system panel again, then looked at the bird.
He remembered: the system first popped up when he stepped on the rat—on Ember. It had said "detected environmental creature" and asked if he wanted to evolve it.
Later in Riverrun he'd tried other rats, bugs, fish—nothing. He thought the system was broken or it only worked on Ember.
But now it was triggering again.
"You're different?" he asked the bird.
The white bird tilted its head, black eyes bright.
Limpick turned to Ember. Ember was still by the fire, watching the bird with narrowed golden eyes, tail tip scales flashing.
"You not going to eat it?" Limpick asked.
Ember glanced at him, rumbled once, and rested its head back on its paws.
It wasn't going to eat it.
Limpick looked at the system panel again.
[Evolve into dragon species?]
He hesitated.
Turning one rat into a dragon had taken days of hunger, a seven-day trek from Riverrun to Harrenhal, nearly dying on the road—just to get Ember from palm-sized to dog-sized.
Another one?
He looked at the white bird. It was pecking at something on the floor—probably scraps from the rabbit bone—tail flicking.
"You know what kind of road you're picking?" Limpick asked it.
The white bird looked up, gave him a quick glance, then went back to pecking.
Limpick suddenly smiled.
"Fine," he said. "Let's do it."