Chapter 4: Dragon's Breath/Fire Breathing

"Mornin'..."

With a big "fwaaah" yawn, Nina mumbles sleepily.

"Good morning."

I return the greeting while trying my best not to look at her.
It's only been a few months since we met, but I've gotten pretty used to Elvish. Apparently dragons aren't just far stronger than humans—they're smarter, too.
Change the hardware and the software runs differently: just by talking with her, I picked up the language in a matter of days.

"I'm sleepy 'cause you were so noisy yesterday..."
"Sorry, sorry."

Grumbling, she holds out both arms; the trees shiver, leaves tilt, and gather morning dew into her palms. Nina splashes her face with it, and a breeze blows the droplets away. Next, grass and leaves veil her body and become clothing.
As ever, her magic is splendid.

For convenience, I've decided to call her race elves. That said, their abilities, lifestyle, and traits are nothing like the elves designed by that great twentieth-century novelist Tolkien, nor the álfr of Norse myth.

If anything, they might be closer to dryads or nymphs, but matching them to Earth’s folklore is pointless. She’s a being of this world, living in this world.

"So, what was it again? School?"
"Right. I want your help, Nina."

I nod to her as she ties her golden hair with grass and brushes it back.
The school I have in mind can't happen without her help.

"I don't mind."

Life among the elves seems awfully dull.
After all, she'll patiently humor a weirdo dragon like me. They can get by without hustle and toil, and there's probably no real entertainment to be had either.

"So what exactly is this school?"
"A school is a place where those who’ve lived long teach the young about this world. You learned things from your parents too, didn't you?"
"Well... yes."

She tilts her head as if recalling the past, then nods.

"Humans are a younger race than you. They know almost nothing of what's needed to live. We'll make a magic school to teach them magic."
"...Magic?"

Elvish has no word for magic either. Nina repeats the Japanese pronunciation I used.

"You move trees and such, right, Nina? That's magic."
"Huh?"

When I say that, her eyes go wide.

"Teach that... how?"

She looked as if the idea hadn't even occurred to her.

"How do you do it, Nina?"
"How...?"

When I ask, Nina fixes her gaze on the trees and extends her arm.
Leaves and branches rustle and move, settling onto her palm as if doing a "shake."

"Like this."

Nina lowers her brows in a troubled way. That was all the explanation I got.
I see. To her, moving the trees is like moving her own hands and feet.

"You'd be stumped if someone asked you how you breathe fire, right?"

Her sulky retort was like scales falling from my eyes.

"Right. So this is magic too."

Come to think of it, it's obvious. Breathing is for taking in oxygen—so how on earth would I breathe with fire in my lungs? The impossible is happening, so of course it's magic as well.

But it's true I'd be hard-pressed to explain how I breathe fire. As far as I'm concerned, I'm just breathing normally. I don't even feel the heat myself. Which is why I so easily forget I'm spewing fire.

"Nina, can you raise just your hand without moving the trees?"
"Yeah."

After some thought I ask her that, and she lifts her hand smoothly. So the gesture itself isn't the condition. In other words, in her case it's like me choosing whether to breathe fire or not.

"Then next, try moving them."
"Okay."

Without changing her posture, Nina only shifts her gaze. The branches stir and start bobbing up and down.

"What was different?"
"Hmm... how to put it... it's like picturing the movement?"

She knits her brows and says it uncertainly.
An image, huh. Let's try it.
I close my eyes and picture it.
Myself back before reincarnation, when I had a human body.

A body standing upright on two legs. Long arms. A back with no wings. A straight neck.
I draw a slow breath. My lungs fill with air.

And then, just like that... exhale.



"Aah! What are you doing!?"
"Whoa—sorry, sorry!"

I hastily beat out the flames that had jumped to the trees.
This was proving harder than expected.





The firewood crackles and pops.

"You're more of a carnivore than I expected..."
"Hm? Did you say something?"

Nina was biting into roasted venison with great relish.

"You don't... feel sorry or anything, huh."
"About what?"

At my question, Nina tilts her head and asks back, puzzled.

"No, sorry—forget it."

Of course. That sort of thinking belongs to a more abundant society. Still, watching an ostensibly graceful, delicate elf wolf down roasted meat made for a surreal sight.

That said, in terms of civilized refinement I'm no better—if anything, worse.
My dragon body seems to have altered even my palate; raw tastes good to me now. I bite into a whole deer without carving, crunching bones to bits.

Then the flames deep in my throat sear it, and juices sizzle out.
It's absurdly good.

Munching venison, I pondered magic.
Magic in this world, it seems, doesn't involve incantations or set gestures. It's more like breathing.
Controlling it at will is like being told to move an arm you don't have—damnably difficult.

Wings, now—those I can move freely.
I had neither wings nor a tail as a human, but moving them feels perfectly natural.
I can move them as naturally as my hands and feet.

...Hm?

Suddenly I question my own assumption.
Like moving a nonexistent arm... is it really like that?

Right now I have wings to fly, scales to protect me, fangs to crush a deer whole, and a tail I can move at will.
In that case—

Shouldn't there be an organ for breathing fire somewhere in my body too?

I close my eyes again.
This time I picture not a human, but myself—a dragon.

Where is the fire being generated?
The throat?
No. The deer I just ate smelled seared even after it passed my throat.

The lungs, then?
But even if I hold my breath, a faint flame still seeps naturally from my mouth.

Then... the belly, perhaps.
The moment I think it, the idea clicks strangely well.
I can vaguely feel a hot knot around my stomach.
Imagining that place closing, I lower my head and blow gently.

The flower blooming before me doesn't go up in flames; it only sways.