I surfaced.
Like drowning in syrup. My eyelids peeled open, lashes sticking. My breath came in short little gulps, like I'd forgotten how lungs worked.
Shapes above me. Blurry. Distant. Light behind them like the gods had left a lantern on.
The Dragon.
And… a man?
That drunk, rambling hedge wizard with the beard like a nesting rat and the breath like old onions. He peered down at me with one jaundiced eye and one twitching eyelid, muttering something as he poked at the air with a finger full of ink stains.
"Oh dear," he said.
Great. That's never a good start.
"She's too far gone," he mumbled. "Cracks along the soul-stem, probably. Mind's been chewed on. Possibly by metaphor. Possibly not."
I tried to move. My tongue felt fat. My limbs… weren't there. Not really.
The wizard looked off to the side. "Maud, pass me the lavender pickle jar. No, the other one. Yes, I know that's not lavender. That's the point. Give it here."
The Dragon leaned closer. His eyes—my Dragon's eyes—full of something sharp and scared. Like he was trying to keep his terror neatly folded behind his usual snobbery. It didn't work.
"Saya," he whispered. "Stay with us."
I wanted to say something witty. Something bratty. Something me.
But the nightmare was still there.
Behind my eyes. Beneath my skin.
And before I could answer—
The chains were back.
Cold. Tight.
My feet slipped again on moss-slick stone.
And she was still dragging me.
Smiling.
I was standing on a block.
Naked, of course. Shackled at the wrists, ankles, and—insult to injury—around the neck, like some prize heifer. The air stank of sweat, hot metal, and singed hair. I recognized the smell. Slave market.
But this wasn't Seebulba. Or Thelveth. Or anywhere with laws or dignity.
This was worse.
This was her doing.
She stood beside me in heels made from polished bone, draped in crimson silk and smugness. My other self. My worse self. My auctioneer.
She held a long, thin pointer stick, which she slapped casually against my thigh like it owed her money.
"Right," she announced to the crowd, "let's begin with the cuts."
I blinked.
Cuts?
She gestured to my leg. "Look at that shank. Solid. Plump. Aged nicely in trauma and poor decisions. Would roast beautifully over a low flame."
The crowd—mostly orcs, a few bugbears, one troll in a monocle—grunted appreciatively. One licked his lips. Loudly.
I tried to move. My chains rattled.
My evil twin stepped behind me. Slapped my bare ass with the pointer. Twack.
"Observe the rump! Ample, no? Bit of bite, but very tender once broken. You could stew it, roast it, smoke it—personally, I'd mince it for pies."
The troll murmured, "Pâté…"
"STOP!" I shrieked. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
She turned to me, cocking her head. "Oh, hush. It's not like you've never been sold before. I'm just being honest about your market value."
I twisted in my chains, livid. "You psycho bitch, I own myself now!"
She raised a brow. "Do you? Then why are you still up here? Why does the weight still fit so perfectly?"
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
She turned back to the crowd.
"Now, the loins! Marbled. Overused, but that just adds flavor. Don't mind the bite marks, she's feisty!"
The orcs cheered. One shouted, "I'll pay extra if it screams!"
I started screaming.
It didn't help.
A deep, guttural chuckle tore through the fog of my nightmare like a dagger through lace.
I gasped.
Jerked upright—or tried to. My body didn't move. Just twitched like something half-cooked.
But I knew that laugh.
"Oh ho ho," came the voice, thick with smoke, phlegm, and fish guts. "She ate it, did she? Oh you daft little tart, you really ate the bleedin' thing."
My eyes fluttered. The light was low. Flickering. The smell of herbs and boiled mud hung in the air like a wet towel.
I knew that stench too.
"The fuck are you doing here?" I rasped, throat dry as dead parchment.
There she was.
The Swamp Hag.
Squatting beside me like a toad in a bonnet. Grinning with three teeth and a face like someone poured porridge into a boot and called it a woman. She was stirring something in a chipped cauldron that was definitely not clean and definitely not for soup.
She winked. "Came ta see the famous guardian-scoffer meself, didn't I? Yer story's been floatin' downriver like a turd with wings."
I groaned. "I'm gonna fucking kill you."
She cackled again. "Aww, listen ta her. Got fire in her belly—might be tentacle, might be ego, can't say just yet."
I tried to flip her off.
My hand just kind of... flopped.
She leaned closer. Smelled like boiled leeches and regret. "You'll live, stupid girl. You'll live. Little bit twisted inside now, maybe. But you'll make it."
She brushed a clammy hand over my forehead. It felt like moss. Possibly was.
"Sleep now."
I wanted to argue. Call her a hag-faced gorgon with a personality disorder.
But her fingers pressed heavy against my brow.
"You'll be better tomorrow."
I slipped under before I could curse her properly.
The last thing I heard was her muttering to herself: "Stupid, tasty little idiot."
I woke up sticky, sore, and alive.
No screaming. No shadow corridors. No chains or mirrored bitches carving up my ass for orc stew.
Just heat. Sunlight. Jungle buzz. A sky too blue for anything truly evil to exist under it. And the Dragon.
Curled beside me, breathing slow, tail twitching slightly like a cat who's decided not to murder anything yet. His scales shimmered in the morning light. His eyes were open, watching me. That was never a good sign.
"…Did we win?" I croaked.
"You went purple for a while," he said flatly. "Then sort of grey. Fever. Mumbled in your sleep."
I rubbed my face. Everything felt floaty. "What'd I say?"
He looked away. "Something about rumps. And shanks. And being minced for pies."
My mouth opened. Then closed.
Then opened again.
"…She saved me," I muttered.
He turned back. One brow ridge arched. "Who?"
"The Swamp Hag," I said. "She was here. I think. I remember the smell."
He didn't answer.
I frowned. "She was here, right? Right?"
Still nothing.
"…Was she?"
He finally blinked. "Saya," he said, soft but firm, "some things are better not disturbed."
I stared at him.
Then at the sunlight.
Then at the cursed temple behind us, its vines curling around broken gods and old sins.
I wasn't sure what had happened.
Not really.
But I was still here.
And for now, that was enough.