Drakoth the Last Wyrm's Awakening
Copyright© 2026 by Adam.F
Chapter 2
Drakoth spoke to the Dragon warden for months as the warden filled him in on what has happened for 250,0000 while they waited for him to return then the warden informed Drakoth that there were no more female or male dragons left on earth he would have to find some willing female to get pregnant and allow him to transform them into female dragons he would have to use his magic abilities to transform himself into a human first.
Drakoth watched the citizens of oakhaven for a few hours hidden in the Forrest he didn’t want to alarm anyone in his dragon form so he fly into the mountains behind the Forrest he transformed in a black man with huge muscles then he walked back into the Forrest where he found a big black horse who recognized him as the last dragon, Drakoth rode the horse towards the city of oakhaven where he began his search for his harem of single women.
The city of Oakhaven was wide, arched structures of white stone and bustling with the midday rush of merchants and locals. As Drakoth trotted through the entrance on his big black horse, the rhythmic thud of hooves on cobblestone drew a few curious glances. He didn’t mind the attention; in his human form, his presence was commanding, and his muscles strained slightly against the fabric of his travel-worn t-shirt. He felt the shift in energy as he moved from the wild, untamed silence of the forest into the humming, organized chaos of the city.
He spent the first hour simply observing the flow of the streets, his keen eyes scanning the crowds for a specific kind of spark. He wasn’t looking for just anyone, but for women who possessed a certain strength of spirit—those who stood out not because they were shouting, but because they carried themselves with a quiet, undeniable confidence.
He found a spot near the central plaza, where the scent of fresh bread and blooming jasmine filled the air, and dismounted with a fluid grace that made several passersby pause in their tracks.
Drakoth spent the first few weeks in the town of Oakhaven he simply observed. He had mastered the art of human transformation, though he still felt an odd, lingering heaviness in his chest where his heart used to beat with the force of a mountain landslide. He took a room at the local inn, a place smelling of old cedar and beeswax, where he spent his evenings sketching the locals in a leather-bound journal. He wasn’t looking for royalty or warriors; he was looking for a specific kind of openness.
The first woman to truly arrest his attention was standing by a fountain of carved obsidian, her skin a deep, lustrous ebony that seemed to absorb the sunlight. She was dressed in a modish blend of linen and silk, her posture straight and her gaze sharp, surveying the plaza with a critical yet curious eye. There was an air of intellectual authority about her, a sense that she was a savant of her craft, whatever that may be. Drakoth approached her, his stride slow and deliberate, feeling the magnetic pull of her confidence.
As he came to a stop before her, the woman didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, she tilted her head, her dark eyes scanning his massive frame with a look of intrigued appraisal. A small, knowing smile played on her lips. “You don’t look like you’re from Oakhaven,” she noted, her voice a rich, melodic alto that resonated in the open air. “And you certainly don’t look like a common traveler. May I ask who you are?”
Drakoth paused. He couldn’t simply reveal his true nature—the fire and scale of a dragon were not meant for the casual introductions of a city square. He needed a name that felt like a shadow of the truth, something that bridged the gap between the beast and the man. “I am Drake,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the ground beneath their feet.
Mozella let out a soft, appreciative laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Drake. A strong name. I am Mozella,” she said, extending a hand. When Drakoth took it, the contact was electric. He could feel the strength of her spirit, a vibrancy that matched his own hidden power. She didn’t shrink away from his grip; instead, she held his gaze, seemingly unfazed by the sheer physical presence he commanded. For a moment, the bustling noise of the plaza faded into a blur of white stone and distant chatter, leaving only the two of them in a pocket of sudden, intense clarity.
Mozella did not prove to be a woman of simple interests. Over the next few days, she became Drakoth’s guide through the labyrinthine social strata of Oakhaven, treating him less like a stranger and more like a fascinating puzzle she was determined to solve. They spent long afternoons in the vaulted libraries and quiet gardens, where Mozella spoke of architecture and ancient law, her intellect as sharp as a rapier. For Drakoth, the attraction was not merely physical; it was the way she challenged him, demanding a depth of conversation that forced him to navigate the complexities of human emotion. He found himself captivated by her poise, and she, in turn, seemed drawn to the raw, untamed energy that simmered just beneath his disciplined exterior.
However, the circle of Drakoth’s interest expanded as Mozella introduced him to her own inner circle. It happened gradually, then it was all at once. First, there was Hazel, a woman with eyes the color of autumn leaves and a laugh that could brighten the dimmest alleyway. Hazel was a healer by trade, possessing a gentle touch and a perceptive nature that saw right through Drakoth’s “traveler” persona. She didn’t ask where he came from; instead, she commented on the way his spirit seemed to hum with a frequency she had never encountered in a mortal man.
The discovery of Clara and Alice did not happen by chance, but through a series of carefully orchestrated introductions by Mozella, who seemed to take proprietary pride in curating the company Drakoth kept. It began on a Tuesday, during a visit to the city’s botanical conservatory. Clara was there, tending to be a rare breed of lunar lilies that only bloomed in the presence of concentrated moonlight. She was a woman of quiet intensity, her movements precise and economical, and her eyes held the stillness of a deep forest pool. When she first looked at Drakoth, she didn’t see a man; she saw a force of nature. She stepped back, not in fear, but in a sudden, instinctive recognition of something ancient and powerful.
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