The Golden Dragon's Hoard

1 - 5

"Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters."
― Rick Riordan

Hey everyone! Hope you enjoy the chapter :))

Part 1 - Chapter Five
"The Panicked Little Dragon"

Astraeus wakes up to warm, gentle hands picking him up.

The touch doesn't hurt but years of experience with heavy hits and cold fists make him panic.

The hatchling snarls and hisses his warning—a pitched sound that twists with his fear. Frantically squirming, he tries to kick and scratch his way out but it's useless. His claws are too dull to even break skin and something's holding one of his legs to his chest.

It doesn't matter to the little dragon that they had been holding him properly or were mindful of his wings as they raised him from his sleeping spot. It doesn't matter because they still picked him up, they're still dangerous.

Hands are still around him, still not letting go.

He knows what happens when there's fingers on either side of his ribcage, he knows what happens when there's thumbs at the base of his skull and a palm over his wings.

He knows it'll hurt when they squeeze, when the panic pairs with pain.

He knows the inevitable.

The hatchling cries out again as the hands put him down onto something. It's unsteady, like it's built out of a bunch of different pieces, and seemed to be a bunch of soft things layered over on top of one another—as soon as Stray discovered this, he immediately buried himself into it.

With his whole body covered and having dug himself to the bottom, the little dragon settles himself down as small and as flat as he could.

Then, he froze, heart thudding loudly in his chest.

It was a bit further to the true floor than he had thought but even though his instincts were reassured that somewhere as dark and warm as he currently was is safe, he wasn't.

The hands let him go into the soft things on purpose.

Stray was no fool, he's aware that unless they let him go, he wouldn't have gotten out. They were far bigger and far stronger than him. They had been gentle but gentleness didn't last.

The touch will hurt at some point even if it didn't then.

The touch will hurt because touch always hurts.

Why would this time be different? Why would it matter that they were trying not to be rough, why did they let him go when he's still trapped? They probably know exactly where he is. They know he's somewhere under all that soft stuff.

They know, so why bother waiting?

They'll easily be able to properly trap—to hurt—him and do whatever they want.

He's already trapped, he's under where they wanted him to be. He's hidden from their sight but not from their minds. This isn't safety, this is just safer.

He's trapped, trapped, trapped.

The fuzziness from his blaring instincts crash against his coherent thoughts—wailing for something that he knows won't be given to him. No without consequences, not without a price.

He knows that whoever is up there doesn't want to help him.

He knows that even if he wants someone warm to care about and protect him, that no one else wants that.