I muttered absent-mindedly, and Fia laughed as if it were amusing.
"Really, Zabiria. When exactly is the past for a 0-year-old?"
She continued to giggle, and I couldn't help but start laughing too.
Being with Fia is always fun. It's fun, warm, and comforting.
That's why I'm reminded of how different my past was... how the long time I spent alone was utterly meaningless.
Hey, Fia. The two thousand years before I met you were completely worthless...
◇◇◇
--- When I was born, I was a nameless, one-winged blue dragon.
Dragons are oviparous.
And I, too, was born from an egg without exception.
However, what was special was that it was a double yolk, meaning a twin egg.
While human twins can be born healthy, it's not the same with oviparous creatures.
The size of the egg is fixed, and the amount of nutrients inside is also fixed.
Moreover, twins are not accounted for.
In other words, there wasn't enough nutrition for two dragons inside the egg.
So, I thought about it inside the egg.
How could I grow sufficiently with only half the nutrients?
The answer was simple: I needed to grow smaller.
I skillfully adjusted my body size to maintain a smaller form than usual.
Thus, I managed to grow enough to hatch with the limited nutrients.
Unfortunately, my twin brother didn't think about it and continued to grow normally, reaching the size of a typical hatchling.
If he had shared the nutrients with me, he wouldn't have grown enough to hatch.
So, my brother ate one of my wings to grow large enough to hatch.
... I remember the morning I was born.
It was a stormy spring day, almost as if it were blessed.
The moment I hatched, my mother dragon was by the egg.
She carefully removed the shell fragments from my brother's head and body, and while doing so, she gave him a name along with a blessing.
A name is power. My brother, given a unique name, received a portion of my mother's power.
At the moment of naming, my brother's body glowed from within and grew twice its size. His pale yellow body turned a vivid blue.
I looked at my brother with envy, spreading my single wing and pressing my body flat to the ground, waiting for my turn.
I didn't know it would never come.
My mother dragon glanced at my single wing and then ignored me.
She left me in the cave and departed with my brother.
My body was still covered in shell fragments, my wing stump ached from being torn, and my undernourished body was hungry, but I remained in that position.
I somehow felt that my mother would return, remove the shell from my head, and give me a name.
I waited for a day, then two, then three.
The rain continued to pour, and I stayed motionless, listening to the sound of the rain.
Perhaps that experience left a vivid memory.
Dragons instinctively like rain, but I still hate it. The sound of rain makes me feel as if insects are crawling inside me.
But even as I was overwhelmed by that unpleasant sensation, I ventured out into the rain I despised.
The warm spring rain fell on my body.
However, I had to keep walking through this unpleasant, disgusting rain.
I knew my limits.
If I didn't eat for another day, I would die.
And my mother dragon would never return.
Finally, I understood.
The chances of a wounded dragon hatchling surviving are low. My mother had another child, my brother.
She avoided the risk of raising a hatchling that might not grow into a full dragon.
It was more efficient to raise just my brother.
So, I had to survive on my own.
Even with the help of my mother, it was deemed too difficult for me to survive, so I was abandoned with my one-winged body.
Without a name or power, I remained small.
What did I look like back then?
No dragon goes unnamed, so a small, pale-colored hatchling like me didn't exist.
A small, faintly colored creature, with only one wing and an unbalanced body, was walking awkwardly.
I couldn't fly. All I could do was walk awkwardly and unsteadily.
It was fortunate that I didn't look like a dragon. Or perhaps it was fortunate that I wasn't given a name by my mother.
A name carries power and memory. If I had the memory of a dragon, I would have forced myself to act with pride.
If I had looked like a dragon, other monsters might have forced me to act like one.
But since neither was the case, I acted greedily to survive.
I drank muddy water and scavenged the remains of dead animals left by other monsters. I didn't care about the taste.
I just needed the nutrients to survive the day.
I survived for a year.
I was no longer a hatchling. I had grown large enough to dominate mid- and low-level monsters.
I still had only one wing and had never flown.
After another year, I reached the nesting grounds of the blue dragons.
I had always aimed for this place.
It took two years to get here, but considering I didn't know the exact location, it was a reasonable time.
The place was deep in a forest, filled with the dim caves that dragons prefer.
When the young dragon on guard recognized me, he let out a warning cry.
But upon confirming my body color, which was faintly blue, his voice changed to a welcoming tone.
Dragons form groups by species. A young stray dragon like me would usually be welcomed into the group unless there was a significant problem.
The group consisted of about ten blue dragons. The leader was a large dragon with a scar above his right eye. Unfortunately, my mother and brother were not in this group.
But after spending my entire life without seeing my mother or brother, they no longer mattered to me. My only wish was to live with other companions.
Dragons are designed to live in groups. Living with others provides a sense of security and comfort.
I spent ten years in that place.
Although my body color was clearly pale and I had only one wing, I was not bullied or despised to the point of causing problems. The security of having a bed and food, and the comfort of having companions, outweighed these minor issues.
Dragons are hierarchical, and males are ranked.
I was at the bottom of the hierarchy, but I had no complaints.
Being the lowest rank, I was sent on every hunting mission, which gave me many opportunities to gain combat experience. Thanks to this, I grew stronger.
By the time ten years had passed, I think I was the second strongest after the leader.
The other dragons seemed to recognize my strength. When they encountered difficulties in battle, they always called for me.
Each time, I felt very happy to be relied upon by my companions and to be able to help them.
So, I didn't care about my rank and had no intention of challenging other male dragons to improve my position.
Our peaceful nesting grounds were attacked by a Fenrir pack one night.
Fenrir are gray wolf monsters, among the strongest of all monsters.
The problem is that they act in packs.
Although a pack usually consists of no more than ten, that night's pack numbered over twenty. They must have been led by a particularly strong leader.
We were caught off guard and at a disadvantage.
We were attacked by a much larger number of Fenrir while we were sleeping in separate groups of one or two.
Our leader decided to abandon the nesting grounds.
He opened his mouth to the sky and let out a roar of decision. The blue dragons, hearing his voice, took to the sky one by one.
Left on the ground were me, who couldn't fly, the leader who continued to roar, and one blue dragon who had been attacked by Fenrir and missed the chance to fly away.
Perhaps the leader underestimated the Fenrir's organized attack.
He should have flown up first and then given the signal roar.
Several Fenrir simultaneously leaped at the roaring leader. More followed, and then even more.
By the time I realized it, the leader was covered in Fenrir and was pulled to the ground in the next moment.
I rushed to the leader's side and tried to pull the Fenrir off him.
In the past ten years, I had grown stronger.
Having only one wing was a significant disadvantage.
To compensate, my claws became sharper than any other dragon's, capable of easily tearing an enemy's throat. My teeth were also sharp enough to crush a Fenrir's limb.
However, the number of enemies was overwhelming.
When I finally pulled the last Fenrir off the leader—more accurately, when the Fenrir left the leader to deliver the final blow—the leader was barely breathing.
It was clear to anyone that the leader wouldn't last long.
I leaned in to hear his last words.
--- At that moment.
The leader blessed me.
After twelve years of life, I was finally blessed.
My body was filled with warmth, and I began to glow from within.
The leader, sensing his impending death, had transferred all his name and power to me.
--- And this was possible only because I had no name.
The dying leader and the nameless me. This rare coincidence allowed me to receive the leader's name.
Zabiria. That became my name.
Thank you for reading.
Thanks to the support I received, this work will be published as a book.