The storeroom’s temperature felt near or below freezing. If the creatures didn’t break in and get him, the cold would. The mass grave was wet and sloshy and had left him soaked. Hypothermia wasn’t a risk, but an inevitability. Lukas hoped his now-ascended body would hold out for a while. Blood seeped from the shoulder wound. The exhaustion and starvation weren’t doing him any favors.

“What do you need from us?” El-One asked when he conjured them without a concrete plan in mind. The fatigue made it more challenging, and the second almost wiped him out, suggesting he had almost exhausted his magic stores.

“Should we cuddle for warmth, boss?” El-Two enquired. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Lukas sighed, collapsing onto his bottom. The ice-cold flour sack he used as a backrest soothed his sore back. “My head’s not working. Help me brainstorm.” El-One pulled a wrapped cheese wheel off a shelf. The other did the same with an arm-thick salami. They broke off bits for Lukas, and he accepted them hungrily. There was no water, but the clones found him a glass bottle of something that smelled like mead. It was sweet and quenched his thirst. “First of all, what were those things?”

“Raptor seems like the most apt description,” El-One said. “Drakas sounds like draco. The graffiti also looks dragonish.”

“Maybe dragons here are as much bird as lizard.” El-Two shrugged. “Maybe these things worship them? Would make sense if they consider themselves descended from dragons.”

“Oh. The skinny, pretty ones are the guys. The stockier, dull-colored ones are the girls.”

“None of that is particularly helpful.” Lukas sighed.

“I’m pretty sure the girls are the leaders?” El-Two added. “It certainly looks like they’re the ones commanding the rest.”

“Come to think of it, they were the ones wielding staves, too,” El-One continued. “Maybe Shamin wasn’t a name. Could be a mispronunciation of shaman, and only the females get to wield the title.”

“Now, that’s useful. We—”

The building shook, and the spellscript carved into the ceilings and support beams flared. Muted thuds and screeches came through the door. An enchantment just above the frame sizzled.

“They’re not going to make it in.”

“This place would be ransacked if they could.”

“Or they were saving it for last or didn’t consider it worth the resources,” Lukas told the clones between mouthfuls of meat and cheese. He resisted more mead despite his thirst. The last thing he wanted now was to get drunk, and given his new body’s state, Lukas was sure he was now a lightweight. “Regardless, we can’t stay here for long.”

“Unless we cuddle for body heat,” El-One said.

El-Two smacked the back of his fellow clone’s head. “He’s going to bleed out without medical assistance, dumbass. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are internal injuries too.”

“Smack me again, and I’ll cut you open to check.”

“This isn’t helping.” Lukas groaned as the adrenaline left his system, and his entire body protested. Head throbbed. His knees and hips felt as if the joints had melted into amorphous blobs like his soul.’ Lukas’s lower back told him it was done for the day. “There are too many of these—”

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“Raptor-dicks,” El-Two interrupted.

“—of these raptors for us to wait them out. The chances of us outrunning them is also nil. We need a different approach.” Lukas paused, scanning his surroundings. The food helped him feel somewhat better. The pain didn’t fade, but focusing became easier. “Do we have the means to make fire?”

“We’re in a cellar full of preserved food and booze.” El-One pushed a chunk of exceptionally salty meat into Lukas’s hand as he spoke. “Fire wouldn’t be smart in here. What’re you thinking?”

“I have the start of a plan,” Lukas said, studying his clones closely. The new body looked fully grown but no older than twenty. He couldn’t but wonder whether a younger shell would come with all the drawbacks of one. Wild hormones. Impulsiveness. Changes in libido. He recalled having a wild time in his former body’s younger days and only calmed closer to thirty when the aging process started to slow down. The clones’ behavior sparked questions regarding his behavior. Lukas wondered whether he’d be the same if not for the dire situation and discomfort. “Maybe it's the bit before the start of a plan.”

“As long as it doesn’t kill you, I’m willing to try anything,” El-Two said, pushing an uncorked bottle into Lukas’s hands. “Smells like peach wine, but I don’t think it got the chance to ferment much.”

“Thank you,” Lukas claimed the bottle and downed several big gulps. “Find me fire. Chop. Chop.”

“A please would be nice.” One of the clones grumbled before getting to work.

Lukas’s hypothesis proved correct. The raptors had saved the building for last. He guessed they wanted to take the preserved food back with them to wherever they had come from and wanted it all well-preserved for the journey.

It took them several minutes to break the door open. A sack of flour welcomed the breaching trio. The bag exploded into a white cloud and left them coughing. Lukas broke free, mouth covered with a rag, and threw another ripped sack at the bunched-up group waiting just behind them. None stood around and charged at him. Only the one with a torch hung back, and much to Lukas’s relief, the sack exploded at his target’s feet. His third death of the day followed.

The cloud ignited as soon as the flour came into contact with the fire. A deafening explosion rocked the area around the storeroom’s entrance. The smell of burnt feathers and flesh filled the air.

“Dragon fire!” A raptor in the distance screeched. It sounded more amazed than frightened. Several others echoed his words.

When another Lukas peeked out of the storeroom, he found the creatures bowing instead of fleeing or charging. Rather than running for his life, he marched toward the raptors, holding a ripped white sack over his head.

“That’s right, you big chickens,” he yelled, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. His heart raced, and his shoulder throbbed. “Your little friends got cooked by dragon fire. If you don’t want the same to happen to you, take me to your leader.”

“Did the Noscale just speak Drakin?” A stocky specimen squawked, almost sounding like a confused parrot.

“Noscale spoke Drakin, new Shamin,” a small and skinny raptor said, sticking close by her. He carried a big pack and was half the size of the other creatures. “He did. He did. I hear him.”

She smacked him. “Shut up, Softscale.” The raptor bowed at Lukas. When she continued speaking, her speech was far more refined but still awkward. “You wish to meet our chieftain, Dragon Warrior?”

“Did I stutter, Shamin?” Lukas asked, lowering his peace flag. He didn’t know if the white cloth meant anything to them, but they weren’t firing arrows or magic at him, which was a net positive. “I have been sent here across realms by the Great Silver Dragon to guide your tribe to greatness. The Lady Silverspine is impressed with your victory here and deems you worthy of her patronage. Take me to your chieftain, or I’ll burn you like I did these Softscales and find your chief myself.”

“You serve the Silver Dragon?” The raptor’s head bobbed up and down, and its beady eyes widened. “The Great Silver Dragon. The slayer of demigods and the quencher of starfire.”

“Indeed I do.” Lukas grinned, flashing his teeth and placing his hands on his hips. “I think it's about time you bowed!”

“He serves the enemy!” The raptor screeched. “Skewer him. Crush him. Rip into bits. Fetch me his eyeballs and tongue, Softscales. Slay him for the Glorious Crimson Wyrm!”

“For fuck sake.” Lukas sighed. He grabbed a dead raptor’s spear and fled back into the storehouse. Its entrance and the area just beyond it were charred. “Why did I overplay my hand?”