Kryos took in a deep breath of the warm, sweet-scented air that hung low in the cavern. This was his favorite place, aside from their front porch: surrounded by glowing mushrooms and lichen whose colors ranged from fantastic glowing purples to deep, oceanic blues and then to sparkling, vibrant crimson like shimmering burning blood of the fire dragons that would occasionally spurt during their brief but fierce encounters when they hunted one another.
Far off on the other side of the cavern, psionic dragon wyrmlings no older than a month, at most, were sleeping under the hallucinogenic spores of a dreamgill, doubtless enjoying the most wonderful experiences their little minds could imagine. Their pale, scaleless bodies were elongated and almost serpent-like compared to most of his kind, but they made up for the lack of natural defenses with incredible mental attacks that could disable many a foe.
Kryos smiled fondly at the memories of his first time sleeping under one such mushroom, where he was able to fly just like his full-blooded cousins. The feeling of the air through his hair, rushing past his ears and horns. He ran a clawed hand through his hair, scratching a bit of an itch on the back of his neck. Drakemount above, to be able to fly whenever he wanted, instead of having to pester his mom to take him on the occasional jaunt.
A loud growl echoed across the cavern, coming from his left, and he held perfectly still. He knew the exact timbre of the species—wrath drake. He had to stay perfectly still: any movement would immediately flag him as a target, and since he was a half-dragon and obviously humanoid, his kin would see him as a tasty meal rather than a possible threat. Even despite not having to eat or drink in the Drakemount, instinct was hard to shake off.
After a few tense seconds where Kryos counted his heartbeats and kept his breath steady and slow, the growls faded into the distance. The entire atmosphere felt more oppressive and stifling, as if a fog had settled in and a weight had descended upon the cavern holding the fungi farm.
Okay, he thought, I need to get the last few mushrooms.
He gently crossed the cavern, his purple-black scale-covered legs subtly reflecting the glow of the mushrooms, and the white claws on his feet gripping into the dirt to ensure steady footing despite the lichen which occasionally tried to wriggle away. Foraging for the last few mushrooms he would need for the impending venture, he shoved them into his satchel and hastily but cautiously made for the exit.
The journey back to his home was not far, but there was one stop he always made sure to make along the way. The Drakemount had a few openings, and there was one that allowed for a brief glimpse into a particularly busy region of the Outer Dark. Kryos stopped in one of the stone tunnels and peered through the chest-sized opening.
He could see the vast, infinity of the cosmos. Dragons of all types, shapes, colors, and sizes—from as small as a mouse to the size of a planet—darted through rifts that opened in the glittering black and gold void. They all made for the place Kryos had called home for seventeen years. The Drakemount. Now, as before, Kryos just stood there, staring at the massive creatures that were technically his kin.
Well, his species, at least.
Kryos departed the spectacular view and continued through the tunnels. Another loud growl met his ears, and he slammed his back to the wall while jumping onto a ledge. He racked his brain, trying to remember if that was the sound that an ice wyvern or an earth dragon made.
They’re so damned similar, he thought.
Sidling his way forward, trying to be as quiet as possible despite his bulky frame, and came up to the intersection he would have to cross. He saw, to his immense frustration, that it was an earth dragon wyrmling: one that had to be at the later end of its time in the Drakemount, judging by the size. It was easily as big as Kryos was, and could crush the half-dragon without a problem.
Instinctively, he knew on a subconscious level that this earth dragon would have an advantage in a battle of raw strength. But, Kryos knew he was faster. The earth dragon seemed to be fascinated with something it had found on the ground, and was digging into the stone trying to get at whatever it sensed down below. Whatever it was must have drawn all of its attention, as Kryos knew, normally, it would have sensed his presence thanks to its ability to detect tremors in connected rock.
Taking in the tunnel cross-section, Kryos crouched, grabbed a few fist-sized rocks, stood up, and threw them one after another in rapid succession down one of the farther tunnels from the one he needed to go down. The earth dragon’s head popped up at the sudden noise and vibration, its head wheeling about. It moved to investigate, and Kryos waited until it was clear of the cross-section before darting across.
The earth dragon turned and let out a roar that sounded like two stones crashing together in a landslide, but Kryos was already past the intersection and sprinting up the tunnel. He could hear the distant sound of his dad’s cello playing a somber melody, and the distant verses of his singing voice drifted down the tunnels.
Kryos slowed his pace when he reached where the tunnel opened up, revealing his home. It was a huge cavern, where all of the surrounding stone was a sheer black with sparkling sapphires embedded in every surface. Every one of them seemed to call to him to come and touch them, but he knew that he could never take them—the one time he tried, a presence inside the Drakemount lashed out at him and he went stumbling back onto his arse.
You couldn’t take what belonged to the Drakemount.
The large cavern had one other tunnel entrance across from Kryos, and to his right was another window where the infinite blackness of the Outer Dark was visible. This wasn’t as fabulous as the view Kryos had seen earlier, as that faced more of the areas dragons came and went from. This was a more peaceful view, with twinkling stars and distant suns.
Some twenty-odd wyrmlings were strewn about the cavern, all different types, laying down and snoozing. Kryos gently worked his way past them and towards the front porch of the secured vault that was his home proper. The vault door was ajar, the metal edifice left open since the Maestro was currently keeping the household safe from any intruders.
Sitting on that front porch was his dad, the source of the musical melody that had through magical power lulled all of the wyrmlings to sleep. “Dad, I got the mushrooms you wanted me to get,” Kryos said.
His dad, Rylos, set the cello and bow aside, and both instrument and string floated and continued to play the melody. “Good job.” He stood up. The human was older, in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, a well-maintained, short beard and mustache, and warm eyes that always made Kryos feel like he could say anything. Rylos held out his hand. “Let me see.”
Kryos handed over the pouch. “Only ran into one earth dragon. It was easy enough to dupe.”
Rylos chuckled and shook his head. “Rocks for brains.” He peered into the bag and nodded. “Good. This should be enough for a few healing potions. That’ll be a good safety net.” He closed the bag and handed it back to Kryos. Then, he gestured to the chairs on the porch. “Sit.”
Kryos did so, kicking one leg over his other knee as his dad sat down with a grunt. Kryos felt anxious, and his foot was tapping, despite the extra weight of another leg on top of it. “Dad . . . I’m scared.”
Rylos scooted his chair closer with a few ‘jump shuffle’ movements, and wrapped an arm around Kryos’ shoulder. “Son, I know it’s scary, going out into the world.” He sighed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared for you, also. But you’re a dragon, son.”
“Half-dragon,” Kryos mumbled.
“Still,” Rylos used his other hand and tapped the sharp, foot-claw propped across Kryos’ knee. “These are sharper than most swords my old party’s frontline fighter fought with.” He then grabbed Kryos’ hand and tapped his claws. “These are like knives—just make sure you don’t poke anyone you might fancy with them.”
That got a half-smile out of Kryos. “I can retract them, you know.”
Rylos opened his mouth, probably about to make one of his raunchy jokes, then closed his mouth, no doubt thinking better of it given the gravity of the impending moment. Instead, he let Kryos’ hand go and tapped his head, right in-between his horns. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. This is your strongest weapon. We’ve been sharpening it your whole life. Use it before anything else.” His dad pulled his hand away and snapped his fingers. The cello changed songs to a fast-paced, upbeat waltz, and the wyrmlings roused and fled the area.
Kryos sighed and kicked his foot down, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m more nervous about losing you and mom. I don’t know where I’m going to end up, or even if I’ll be in the same world.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Rylos replied. “Vorunor is always expanding. It’s called ‘the land eternal’ for a reason, son.”
Kryos had been told stories of the world his parents came from since he was hatched from the egg at three. A flat world, which was constantly growing in all directions, adding new land, new creatures that seemingly spontaneously manifested, new resources—it truly was a never-ending land. The biggest and most powerful empires were at the center, but new frontiers were constantly developing as the world grew.
“It’s not just that, dad,” Kryos said as he looked sideways at his dad, catching the warm gaze once more. “It’s that . . . you’ve taught me how people work and how they think, but I’ve never actually been around them. What if I make a mistake? Or make a fool of myself?”
Rylos let out a sharp, barking laugh at that. “I made a fool of myself so many times in my journeys as a Bard before I got really powerful. It’s part of becoming who you’re meant to be. You’ll make mistakes, you’ll grow from them.” Rylos leaned forward also, so his head was on the same level as Kryos’. “Just remember that people aren’t dragons. You can’t treat all of them as either predator or prey. Most of them are decent, all of them care about themselves above everyone else—except parents, they care about their kids above all others.” He rustled Kryos’ hair, and Kryos let him despite hating the gesture.
Kryos pondered those words. “You’re sure most of them are decent?”
“In general,” Rylos replied. Then, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know your mom is going to tell you to immediately trust your gut instinct and just go with that. But you should always take a moment or ten to assess the situation. See what is going on, gauge people’s behavior. Most people are decent, but if they get desperate, they’ll do anything to survive.”
Kryos nodded at the sage words, then winced as his sharp hearing picked up his mom’s words. “Rylos! Are you filling his head with your human nonsense?!”
Rylos grinned evilly, and shouted back to the ajar vault door, “No dear!”
“Kryos! Get in here!”
Kryos stood up and opened the vault door. The vault door was one of countless throughout the Drakemount, which allowed for those dragons who wanted to stay isolated to do so. Most wyrmlings were too dumb to open them, but the adult dragons who lay eggs then departed knew how to use them just fine.
The interior of this cave was Kryos’ home for the past seventeen years. It had been divided into different chambers, and his mom was in her visage form, standing in the kitchen, finishing filling the teapot. In this form she appeared as a human woman, with dark, black hair that had small purple streaks running through it. She had dark skin, red lips, and piercing, purple eyes which were a far cry from Kryos’ honey-gold that he inherited from his dad.
“What nonsense was he filling your head with?” Kryalis asked in her direct, sharp voice.
“Not much,” Kryos replied. He went over to one of the moss-stuffed cushions and sat down. His mom brought over the tea kettle and some cups, setting them on the table.
Rylos began to enter the building, but Kryalis held up a finger. “Husband,” she said, her voice sweet, but cold. “Stay outside, please. This is a conversation for dragons.”
“Of course, my love,” Rylos replied as he shut the door all but a little sliver.
Kryos poured the tea for him and his mom, then waited for her to open the conversation: she always picked her words carefully. Her eyes stared into him, which was treatment he was used to. She was caring and loving, but was less jovial than his dad. She loved him plenty, and doted on him, but this conversation was going to be different, Kryos could tell, from the tone she had addressed his dad with.
After a minute of silence, she took a sip of her tea, and spoke. “My son,” she said, her voice warm once more. “You’re going to be forced out of the Drakemount soon. By the rules of this inter-reality space, you will be sent to Vorunor. If, for some reason, there is no place for you, then another world will be your home.”
Kryos swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of that, and sent a silent prayer to whatever entity controlled the Drakemount that he would be sent to the world his parents were native to. “I know that much, mom.”
“Yes,” she said, tapping her cup. “Drink your tea.” Kryos took a sip of his tea, savoring the nutty flavor of the fungi-based brew as she continued. “Now, I’m sure your dad told you something about how people are good at their core, or some other garbage like that.”
Kryos wryly grinned. “Yeah, you bit that on the skull.”
“Traitor!” Rylos said with mock hurt from the vault door.
Kryalis cast a glare at the door, and despite the sharp look, her voice was surprisingly light. “I said dragons only conversation, dearest!” His mom looked back at him. “Some people are good, but most are selfish, arrogant, evil, and out for themselves. That is one point where your dad and I completely disagree. You are a dragon and a dragon dominates. They take what they want from others, and don’t care what those people think about them.” She held a hand in front of her chest, and then waved it down in front of her body. “You do not have a visage, and will never obtain one—you will always be seen as a half-dragon. You will be discriminated against, feared, seen as an outsider.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
At that, Kryos deflated a bit. “I know,” he mumbled. “I . . . I’ll always be on the outside—”
“Use that,” his mom curtly interrupted. “Use that, Kryos. If they fear you, use that fear to control them. It’s in your blood. Don’t worry about what others think about you for the purposes of your own vanity; only care about what they think about you insofar as how you can use that to your advantage. If they think you fetching, use that. If they fear you, use that. If they cast you out, then they have given you all the justification you need to take their wealth by force to build your hoard—just as your ancestors have.” She smiled. “Just remember, you don’t have the strength of your ancestors. You will have to be cunning.”
Kryos nodded, pondering her words. “I understand what you’re saying.” He could see his dad peering through the crack in the vault door, then met his mom’s gaze once more. “I am a little worried about feeling what you’ve mentioned. It sounds like a strong compulsion.”
“Ah, that innate sense for material wealth,” Kryalis replied. She took another long draw of her tea, finishing off her cup, then held it for Kryos to refill. After he did, she continued. “Well, it is going to hit you hard wherever you arrive. You will likely be torn between instinct and rational decision making. That’s why we had you go and get the mushrooms. Speaking of, you have them, yes?”
“Oh, right.” Kryos grabbed the satchel of mushrooms.
Kryalis grabbed them, drained her tea in one gulp, set the cup down, then took the mushrooms to the stove. She must have already been preparing whatever mixture was required, because after some sounds of chopping, and a few minutes simmering and with Kryos sitting in silence, she came back with three bottles of green-hued liquid. “This should help if you get in over your head. Just slurp them down.”
“Thanks, mom.” Kryos took the three bottles and set them on the table next to the tea kettle. He took a sip of his now-lukewarm cup. “I . . . mom . . . I just wanted to say . . . I love you.”
His mom teared up a little bit and quickly wiped it with the back of her sleeve. “Oh . . . my little boy.” She got up and immediately hugged him, holding him tight. “You’ll be okay,” she whispered, and he could hear the draconic growl eking through her visage. The same deep tone as when she was in her full-fledged form. “You’ll be great. You’re my son. You’re going to build your hoard, you’ll become so strong, and then you’ll make your way back to your dad and me.”
Kryos buried his head in his mom’s shoulder and let the emotions of his near departure—and perhaps the last goodbye with his mom—wash over him as they poured out. He barely noticed when his dad wrapped his arms around them, whispering soothing assurances that they’d always be a family no matter what.
And then it happened. Kryos felt an intense pressure on his head, and he let out a grunt of pain, and gripped his temples. “Ouch!” he barely got out as it felt like his skull was splitting in half.
His mom and dad immediately pulled away, and both began bustling around the vault. “Okay! It’s happening!” Rylos said. “Quick, get the bag—”
“I know!” Kryalis replied. “Grab the armor!”
Kryos stay put on the couch, holding his head as the headache that ripped through his temples threatened to make him pass out. It was eighteen years now since he had been born, fifteen since leaving the egg, the Drakemount saw him as capable of surviving in the world on his own, just like a one year old wyrmling. Now, he’d be ripped away.
Drakemount above, he silently prayed, please, just let it stop for long enough to let me say a proper goodbye.
Whatever controlled the Drakemount listened, it seemed, as the pain ceased. Kryos wiped away the tears and stood up. “Mom, dad, the mountain gave me a few moments for last goodbyes.”
His mom brought over a bag: it was made of dark blue fabric and would loop over one of his shoulders. The band along the front had several slots which could act like a bandolier, and she slotted the healing potions into it. “Your dad’s Trader’s Pouch. It’s perfect for your first hoard until you make yourself a nice vault.”
His dad hurried over with a suit of scale armor that was made from the corpses of wyrmlings that had been slain by one another—never by his mom, as they steered clear of her, and never by his dad, as he could keep them away with his Maestro Skills. “Kryalis, get the ties on the other side!”
The two fussed over Kryos and quickly kitted him out with the armor, then his mom slung the Trader’s Pouch over his shoulder. His dad hurried over to the kitchen and brought back several mushrooms that would be good enough to function as food until Kryos found some wherever he was going.
“You remember the name of the town I own?” his mom asked.
“Velenar,” Kryos replied. “On the central continent.”
“Perfect,” she replied.
His dad hurried over and he had a sheathed sword. He strapped it to Kryos’ left hip. “Just remember, broads love a big sword.”
Kryalis elbowed him in the ribs. “Now is not the time, dearest.”
Rylos chuckled. “Sorry, old habits.” He let out a sigh and then seemed to puff up with pride. “Look at you. My boy, all grown up, and looking every bit the adventurer I used to Quest with.”
Kryos glanced at the silver full-length mirror in the main room. He struck an intimidating figure. Honey-gold eyes stood out against his sharp, angular face. Black hair was cut to a medium-length, and his long ears poked out through the messy tangle. On top of his head, white horns poked out and swooped back. Black-purple scales ran around his neck, along from his shoulders, and down to his clawed hands. They also ran along the sides of his body, down to his legs at the waist before wrapping around and going down to his clawed feet, leaving only his torso bare—though at the moment clothes and armor covered all of that.
He turned back to his parents and hugged them both. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll find you.” Then, he pulled back.
At least, he added mentally, I hope . . . Drakemount above, I pray I end up on Vorunor and can find my way to you.
“Not too soon,” his mom said, but her tone also betrayed the finality that she doubtless felt. The way that she held his dad, her knuckles going white from squeezing his arm betrayed the level of fear she felt at possibly not seeing Kryos again—fear that he felt, too.
“Get strong first,” Rylos said, his voice confident, but Kryos knew his dad well enough that he could tell the man was barely holding back from cracking emotionally and was only kept together for the sake of his mom.
“A half-dragon traveling at a low Tier? You’ll be seen as an easy slave to capture,” his mom quickly added. “Stay on the outskirts for a while, get to at least Tier six before coming to find us. The central continent has plenty of powerful people who would love to get their hands on you just for your seed.”
Rylos pulled back, “Kryalis!” he said, seemingly shocked.
She pulled back also. “It’s just the truth,” she replied. “His children would get all the benefits of his dragon species Traits but none of the physical downsides. Kings, queens, emperors, lords, and others would kill to get their hands on him just to add those Traits to their bloodline.”
Kryos blushed, and was about to reply, but the intense pressure returned to his temples, and he barely managed to get out one last, “I love you,” before he felt the headache return.
Move to the Outer Dark.
Kryos began moving to the vault door, almost against his will as if compelled, and yet at the same time, knew that he had to go to alleviate the pain. As he walked, he could hear his dad and mom sharing final words of wisdom.
“Remember,” his dad said, “You can find people, make friends, and find allies—even though you’re a half-dragon! Try an Adventurer Guild through the Quest Conclave!”
His mom said, “You’re a dragon! Be a dragon! Use what your bloodline has given you, and take what is yours!”
Before he knew it, Kryos was standing at the window opposite their porch, looking out upon the vast, infinity of the Outer Dark. Once more, the ominous voice of The Drakemount resonated through his mind.
Both of your parents are from Vorunor. There is space enough for another dragon. You will be placed on that world, at a location away from other wyrmlings.
Kryos was ripped off of the Drakemount, and went flying through the Outer Dark. The headache vanished, and the compulsion faded. He could see the enormous mountain floating in the void of the space between realities behind him, and the feeling of flight shifted to a feeling of falling. Wind rushed past him, and he felt heat, then cold. It was blistering, then freezing, and he felt a knot in his chest that coiled and twisted.
Excitement, anxiety, stress: they swirled in his torso like a tempest. He was so, so happy to be flying to Vorunor, but he knew he would be a far, far ways away from Velenar. It might be years until he saw his parents again. That tension in his chest continued to tighten, and his breath came to him in quick gasps as he kept falling, seemingly endlessly, as the Drakemount vanished from view and nothing but blackness enveloped him.
Kryos kept falling, and that anxiety gave way to an uncertainty. What if he didn’t survive? He was going to be treated just like a full-blooded dragon by the rules of the Drakemount, tossed to the edges of civilization just like a wyrmling would. He’d have to fend for himself. He was far more vulnerable compared to his kin, and most importantly he couldn’t fly. For a moment, he wondered if he would just slam into the ground and explode on impact.
But, finally, the blackness began to fade to a light grey. The coiled knot in his chest began to give way as his breaths came more easily to his lungs. He was able to turn in the air a little bit, and could look around—nothing but infinite grey in all directions. Yet, he knew he was going somewhere, and finally a sense of adventure kindled in his soul. Something in his blood screamed at him that this was his chance to make a mark on the world, to establish himself, and prove himself as one of his species.
That pride swelled and pushed aside the twisting knot, and all lingering fear vanished.
The grey vanished, and he saw bright, blue skies. He fell into something soft, white, and cold. It was a gentle landing, and he slid a few feet before stopping. The azure skies above were breathtaking, and he saw the small, black circle snap shut. Kryos took in a deep breath, and the oppressive, almost stern air of the Drakemount was no longer there. This was crisp, clean, cool, and refreshing.
He sat up, and immediately began to slide once more. Digging his claws into the wet, powdery substance, he did not find purchase, and kept sliding down. Letting out a brief cry of shock, he tumbled down as he fell off of a cliff, and landed in a pile of the white substance. It was cold—freezing cold. He had never felt something that cold before. He didn’t feel it through his scales, but his face and ears almost went numb from the feeling.
Kryos managed to pull his head out of the powder and scanned the environment. He was high up on a mountaintop, and far off in the distance to his right, he saw several more of the mountains covered in the white substance…and then nothing. A deep, grey nothing.
That must be the edge of the world dad talked about, he thought. It keeps growing.
Kryos let out a laugh of delight. He was on Vorunor. He’d be able to find his mom and dad. And even better, the SAVE system, which they had both taught him about since his birth, was what he would have access to. That meant every little keyword, every little phrase that he learned, those would all be at his disposal.
Looking to his left, he saw more mountains, but they were of a lower elevation. The sunlight reflecting off of the snow caused him to wince, and as he squinted, he could make out what might be a safe way down. He saw rock faces, which he was pretty sure he could dig his claws into for purchase—it would be safer than this treacherous white stuff, at least. And, once he got a few hundred feet down, it looked like the white stuff faded away and eventually gave way to shrubs, and eventually something akin to a taiga.
Perfect. Nice and isolated. No need to worry about other wyrmlings nearby.
Kryos wiggled his feet around, ensuring he was on a solid surface, and satisfied he was, he scooted back until he found the rock face behind him. Then, moving to his left, he scooted until he found the ledge under the—
Ah! Right, dad called this stuff snow, I think. Weird name. I would’ve called it coldquick or something like that.
He pushed the snow off with his legs and found the edge of the rock face. Using his foot-claws, he kicked down, and found that the rock was relenting, enabling him to gain purchase and make a foothold. Climbing down would be relatively easy. With a newfound, brimming confidence, he scaled down the cliff past all of the snow and down to where the peak began to form a steep slope. With his clawed feet, walking downhill, even with the gradient being what it was, was easy.
Then, it hit him. There was a tingling feeling at the back of his neck. It was like an itch, and he moved a claw back there—thankfully his neck and shoulders were covered with his scales—but scratching didn’t fix the itch.
What is going on? He thought.
He kept moving downhill, but the itch became stronger, and no matter how much he scratched, it wouldn’t go away. The hill ended in a cliff, and he had to either move right toward the infinite grey expanse, or left. With no other option, he went left. To his pleasant delight, the itch began to alleviate.
He kept walking, and the sun continued its path through the sky. He scanned the skyline for any signs of civilization, and the tingle returned once more. It wasn’t a strong itch this time, it was just a tingling sensation, like the last few pinpricks of a fallen-asleep limb waking up. He felt like he was satisfying an urge that he didn’t know needed to be met. The closest sensation he could describe was like popping a knuckle that was on the verge of cracking but had not quite cracked yet.
As evening began to set in, he could make out faint lines of smoke on the horizon. Smoke meant civilization, which meant people. He began to angle his descent towards it, but the moment he did, that horrible itch returned.
Huh . . . okay, time to test something out.
He started walking toward the smoke, and after a few steps the itch became unbearable. He stopped, turned, and began walking the direction he had come from. That didn’t fix the itch.
Damnit! I need to satisfy this!
He began moving toward a crevasse between two of the peaks, the itch faded immediately, and once more he felt that sensation of satisfaction like the itch had been scratched and the relief washed over him.
This must be the instinct mom warned me about.
Kryos looked back at the smoke in the distance, and then back to the crevasse, and weighed his options. He had some mushrooms that were edible but tasted horrible—he didn’t need to eat or drink anything while in the Drakemount, but his dad had experimented with some of the local flora to determine if anything was edible, and these mushrooms were. He could survive for a bit on his own. So, on the food front, Kryos was covered.
Water would be another issue. He looked up at the mountain peaks. They weren’t too far away, and he knew it was just water in another form. He could always climb up and melt it in his mouth. But, it had to melt and run down somewhere, so he could probably find a runoff stream or something. That was his water need solved.
Shelter would be an issue. He would need to find somewhere to hole up and get some sleep. Even in the Drakemount, sleep was required, and he had never not slept somewhere enclosed. The idea of sleeping in the open was unsettling, and he wanted to have something above him. Even an overhang would be better than the open sky where he would feel exposed.
Civilization meant he could satisfy all three, even if people would look at him and immediately think that he was a ne'er-do-well. He was sure he could at least find some abandoned hut, or sneak into a barn or shed for shelter. Water would be easier to find, as would food.
This was his first real decision of his adult life. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, and the words of his mom and dad warred in his thoughts as he weighed the actions and consequences of each decision. One choice led to safety, the other to risk. But that hazardous choice called to him, sang to his soul, and satisfied that damned itch in such a satisfying way. He knew the best way to keep himself safe was to build himself a hoard and start building his power, and if this wasn’t the instinct his mom had talked about, then nothing was.
But then he looked back to the crevasse, and something in him stirred as that feeling of a well-scratched-itch welled up in him once more. He could feel the intense satisfaction welling up with every step toward the shadow-covered, rocky valley between the two mountains. He could see perfectly in the darkness, and his instinctual desire for whatever wealth lay hidden between those peaks drove him onward into the unknown.