I open my eyes, feeling disoriented and dizzy. When I look around, I see that I'm in a pitched tent that reeks of herbs, and empty cots surround me. This is not the abandoned shrine I last saw.
This is… where the fuck am I, exactly? Some kind of infirmary?
"Zoryn!"
A familiar voice rumbles in my ears. I turn to see my father ducking under the tent door—the tent is tall, but he's taller. Downside to being a dragon, I guess. He's wearing a relieved expression, and the tenseness in his shoulders tells me that he has been stressed for hours.
"Dad," I greet, but my voice comes out hoarse.
When I try to sit up, I realize that my entire body aches. It aches in places I didn't know could ache, and there's a strange feeling between my legs… what… what the hell happened? Did I get into a fight with the guy who saved me? My memory of our time at the shrine is foggy, and I can't recall anything after he wrapped his arms around me.
"Don't get up," he sighs, sitting down beside my cot in an empty chair. He looks massive sitting here like this, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight from the half-open fabric door.
I nod and relax my muscles, but my head is swimming with confusion. I don't—wait, there's so much I need to ask him! Well, assuming Ren wasn't lying to me…
"Dad, I'm… not really a man, am I?" I ask bluntly, in no mood for flowery conversation. I may have been in denial when Ren told me, but while I was asleep… things started to come together.
My body started to change when I was a teenager, and I didn't hit puberty the same way the other boys did. Dad always told me it's because dragons mature at a different rate than other beasts, and that my core would settle over time… but I never thought about the fact my un-hidden body had begun to look a little like the women in the tribe.
Naive.
Dad looks at me, his golden gaze steady. "No. You're not." I can see the sorrow and guilt in his expression, as well as the way his head is tilted down at me. His wavy black hair is falling into his face in a messy mop.
My stomach twists painfully, and my hands clench into fists without me noticing. There are so many things I want to ask, so many holes in my identity that need filling… I just don't even know where to start.
"I'm sorry, Zoryn," he says quietly. "I was protecting you. I didn't hide things from you with ill intent."
"Your good intentions are giving me a fucking crisis, dad," I groan, running a hand down my face in irritation.
I'm pissed. I really am. I want to beat the shit out of someone and kick a few tables over—but even in all this rage, I can't find it in me to hate Dad.
Dad lets out a long breath, the kind that shudders on the way out. "I know," he murmurs. "And you have every right to be angry."
"I'm not angry," I grumble.
He tilts his head, clearly skeptical.
"…I'm annoyed," I correct.
He huffs a soft laugh, but it's hollow. "Zoryn, I should have told you. Years ago."
"No shit," I mumble.
A silence stretches between us—not uncomfortable, just heavy. Dad lowers his head, elbows resting on his knees as he rubs a hand down his face.
"I didn't know how to explain it," he says quietly. "You had a peaceful childhood. You were strong, happy, and fit in amongst the others. On top of that, if the tribes learned what you truly were—before you were ready—"
"They'd freak the fuck out," I finish for him.
"…Yes."
I flop back against the thin pillow, staring up at the tent ceiling. Everything aches. My body feels wrong, like someone rearranged the furniture in my soul without asking.
I take a slow breath. "So… I'm not a man."
"You are my child," he says, firmly. "That is what matters."
"That is NOT helpful right now," I groan, although I appreciate the sentiment. I will never in my life doubt the love and consideration my father has for me, even if he's stoic and emotionally constipated half the time.
He winces at my response, and another silence falls. Dad opens his mouth, hesitates, and closes it again.
I narrow my eyes. "What?" I demand. "Spit it out."
He swallows thickly, deciding to address the elephant in the room. "…You went into heat."
My heart stops.
Right.
Heat.
Like—female Heat.
"I—" I want to deny it, to get angry, but… even when it was happening, I had already started to figure out that an estrous cycle was probably the culprit for my sudden ailment.
Dad gives me the gentlest look a dragon could possibly give—which isn't that gentle, but if you knew him, you'd know it was worth more than gold. "You nearly died, Zoryn. Your body wasn't prepared, and you fainted in the middle of the festival."
"Well, this does explain the whole 'internal organ hellfire' thing," I mutter.
"It does." Dad nods.
"And the nausea."
"Yes."
"And the sudden desire to crawl out of my own skin."
Dad nods wordlessly.
"And the—" I shut my mouth abruptly, cheeks burning. Sexual things are probably something kids don't tell their parents, right? "Never mind."
Dad raises a brow but, blessedly, doesn't press.
I chew my lip. I feel like I already know the answer, but I ask it anyway, "So… how did it… stop?"
"I can only guess." He shakes his head. "When I found you, you were already unconscious. Someone brought you here."
My breath catches.
Someone.
Someone strong enough to pick up a dragon's child over their shoulder and walk away unnoticed.
"Did you see him?" I ask, my words tumbling out awkwardly. "What he looked like?"
Dad's expression darkens. "No. Whoever it was vanished before I arrived… but it sounds like you might know what he looks like."
The air in this tent is suddenly too thick, and my heart is hammering like I did something wrong.
I rub the back of my neck. Truthfully, I only remember vague blurs—a strange mix of colors and feelings. Well, and I remember thinking he was the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.
"Dad, I… don't remember much of anything after he carried me away. It's just… blank."
"That's normal," he says gently. "First heats are overwhelming. You likely passed out quickly." He pauses for a moment and decides to press me a little, "Treasure… did you get his name?'
Passed out.
Right.
So why does my body feel like… someone touched me everywhere but nowhere at all?
Why is my skin still humming?
Why is there a phantom warmth at my hip, like a hand was there for hours?
I shiver. "He told me to call him Ren."
Dad's golden eyes instantly darken, burning a deep shade of red. "Zoryn… did he harm you?"
"No," I say quickly. "No, I don't think so. I mean, I don't— my memory is fuzzy, but I don't feel… violated. Just… sore."
Dad's jaw is tight, and his expression is obviously displeased, but he nods slowly, thoughtfully.
"And confused as FUCK," I add.
"Normal," he says.
Then, as I shift, something sharp and electric flares on my skin. I hiss and clap a hand to my side. "What the—?!"
Dad's head snaps toward me. "What is it?"
" I-I don't know, it just—something burned."
I press my fingers against my hip, and I can't see it from this angle, but I feel it.
A raised spot that's emanating heat. My pulse stutters—what the hell?!
Dad goes still. Dead still. "Zoryn," he says slowly, voice dropping into something dangerous. "Show me."
"Show you what?" I snap, though panic is already threading through my ribs.
He doesn't blink. "The mark. Let me see it."
My heart is pounding against my ribcage as I hesitantly reach down to my side. I shift the waist of my trousers down slightly and lift my tunic just enough to expose my hip.
Dad leans in, and the moment he lays eyes on the dip of my hipbone, the temperature drops. Not literally, but spiritually—I don't think I've ever felt my father's aura shift so dramatically before. I swallow nervously.
It's a red and violet rune, one that shimmers faintly in changing light. It's hardly noticeable unless one looks closely.
Dad's golden gaze locks onto the mark, and the blood drains from his face. It isn't shock or confusion—not even a hint of curiosity. It's just a slow, simmering anger that I can feel emanating from him.
It feels like the tent shrinks around us the longer he remains quiet.
"Uh… dad?" I breathe.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he inhales deeply, and then his nostrils flare with anger. I can sense the shift as his dragon stirs beneath his skin.
"I was hoping it was a different Ren," he growls, "but I would never be so lucky. Of course it's him."
My stomach flips, and my brows furrow, "Uh, elaborate? I'm really fucking confused."
"Zarenien," his jaw tics. "He goes by Ren amongst our kin, but that's his full name—the one that the beasts know him by."
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose, and I can see the barely held restraint in his tightened expression. I've never seen him struggle so much to control his anger; he's one of the most refined and calm people in the world, usually.
"That reckless, unrefined, shameless hatchling," he mutters bitterly. "I should have fucking known."
My eyes widen. "You— you know him?!"
"Well, most dragons know each other. However, I know him a bit better than most because I helped raise him for a time," he growls. "It was brief, maybe six months, when he was a little younger than you. He followed me around because I was one of the few dragons who actually left the mountains. Then, one day, he decided to go on a solo pilgrimage to 'discover himself'—which is idiot-speak for 'I want to cause problems unsupervised.'"
I stare at him, completely speechless.
He actually fucking knows the guy?!
"And NOW he thinks himself grown enough to go around marking someone—no, not just someone, MY child—without permission… not even a word, without so much as a formal greeting—"
He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. He's moments away from decimating this tent.
"Dad," I whisper, "he didn't do anything bad to me—I don't think."
"I sure fucking hope he didn't, or he's dead by sunset," he snaps, but takes another deep breath to still himself. "You'd probably know if he did something to you, so it's alright… but still, he had no right to put that on you."
"I'm hungry," I growl, changing the subject. "This shit is exhausting. I don't think I can handle any additional life-altering events until after dinner."
Dad looks at me, clearly worried, but primarily proud. "That's my girl."
"…Girl, huh?" I echo, unused to the term of address.
"If you'd rather I call you son, still, I can," he says warmly.
"I mean, it feels weird to hear it," I say, but after thinking a moment, I decide it isn't so bad. "I like it, that's fine."
"What would you like to eat? They have lots of smoked meat, and I know it's your favorite. I can bring some back for you," he offers.
I shake my head. "No. I want to go out."
He raises a brow at me, "Are you sure? You're still healing, and it's going to be hectic out there."
"Positive."
There's a pause, but he ends up sighing in resignation. "I brought you a few pairs of clean clothes. Do you want to rewrap before we go?" Dad asks, nodding toward some fresh bandages on the table beside me.
"Nah. Forget that shit," I shake my head, "I've got nothing to hide now."
He looks at me with a gentle expression, "I'm glad you're not stressed."
"I'm stressed, but I can handle this," I say, but I'm trying to convince myself more than anything.
Dad places some clothes in my lap. "They might feel a little different since you're going to go without binding, but they should still fit."
I nod, "Alright. I'll meet you outside."
Once he leaves the tent, I take a deep breath to mentally prepare myself before actually moving to dress myself.
It's a slow and painful process, but after a few minutes, I manage to slip on the fresh underwear and outer clothes. It's the same shirt I wear usually, but Dad was right… It feels way different.
I stand in front of a small mirror in the corner of the tent and look at myself with a puzzled expression.
Has my chest always been so fat?
My breasts are pressing against the fabric, making the tunic feel tight even though it used to be loose.
Ugh.
I need to get new clothes when we go back home. Maybe I'll try to talk one of the aunties into showing me how to dress appropriately with these… things in the way.
I click my tongue in annoyance, but the rumbling in my stomach pulls me out of my reverie.
Right. Food.
I slowly lift the door to the tent and step out into the late-afternoon sun… the infirmary is fucking surrounded by people. Beasts of every kind are staring at me in awe.
"Right. Forgot already." I grumble.
Dad pats me on the shoulder, "Don't worry. I can lead the w—"
I start walking before he finishes talking. No way am I going to act like a bitch now—I don't care if I'm a woman, these assholes will not get between me and dinner.