1-4 The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon

Chapter 1: The Dragon Awakens

For the first time in decades, something stirred within the lake of lava. Slowly, but with ever growing speed, waves rippled across its surface. The low hum of magic in the air rose to a fever pitch, and the currents of power that ran through the land twisted and coiled. Something huge emerged from the lava. Molten rock sluiced off a titanic form covered in a kaleidoscopic pattern of red and blue scales. Wings that could cast an entire city into shadow spread wide, and golden eyes gazed at the treasure-strewn shores of the lake.

Great piles of silver, platinum, and gold dotted the shores, protected from the searing heat by ancient magic. Chest after chest after chest of jewels, rare potions, and mystical fabrics were scattered haphazardly amongst the fumaroles. Arcane devices of great and terrible power littered the area, drawing off the volcano's potent magic to remain functional.

Doomwing, Scourge of the Fifth Age and Premier Terror of the West, swam to the shore and heaved his mile-long body out of the lake. For a moment, he was sorely tempted to roll around in his hoard, but he was no longer a young dragon. He was ancient beyond mortal reckoning and far too large to indulge himself in the antics of a hatchling. It would be utterly embarrassing if he crushed one of his prized possessions under his bulk. Instead, he contented himself by lowering his head and burying it in a mountain of precious metals.

Ah. There was nothing quite like the smell and feel of treasure. He could still remember his youth. As a hatchling, he'd been happy to add even a single coin to his hoard. Now, it would take a king's ransom to pique his attention. Pulling his head out from under the pile of treasure, he reached out with his senses. He had woven his magic into every single piece of his hoard. If so much as a single coin was missing, he would know. And he would not be pleased. But nothing was missing. Everything was where it should be.

But why had he woken up? Like any self-respecting dragon of his age, he spent most of his time sleeping, either with his hoard or within the lake of lava. He only woke once a century to collect tribute from those who lived in his territory. Yet his instincts told him that a century had not passed. He had woken up early. Was another apocalypse on the way? He doubted it. His senses would already have noticed if another Catastrophe had arisen. Perhaps it was indigestion. He had eaten a polar kraken before going to sleep, and they never had gone down quite as well as the tropical variety.

Never mind. All that mattered was that he was awake. Now, he could either go back to sleep, or he could take a quick flight to stretch his wings. They were feeling a little stiff. But first he'd check to see just how long he'd been asleep. For all he knew, he might only have awakened a few days early.

He reached out with his magic again and called one of his favourite artefacts to him. It was the Clock of Ages. He had taken it from the Catastrophe of the Fourth Age. At the time, he'd only taken it because the Catastrophe had been a troublesome asshole, so he'd been happy to steal anything that jerk liked on general principle. However, the clock had soon revealed itself to be far more than a simple time piece. It kept track of all the various cycles that governed the world, both mystical and mundane.

Did he want to know if the moon was full because he was planning to hunt down and eat a bunch of werewolves? The clock could tell him.

What if he wanted to know when the tides would be low because he was feeling peckish for some merfolk to go with his kraken? The clock had him covered.

And what if he fell asleep for decades on end and wanted to know what year it was when he woke up? Not a problem. The clock could tell him exactly what year it was.

The clock appeared in front of him and he used his magic again to relay his commands to the clock. Despite being the size of a house, it was still far too delicate for him to handle with his bare claws. A moment later, the clock provided the answer. It had been seventy-five years since he had last awakened.

Hmmm... so he'd awakened twenty-five years early? Not too bad. It was tempting to go back to sleep, but... no. He really did want to stretch his wings, and it might be nice to remind all of the people who lived in his territory that their tribute would be due soon. There was nothing quite like a mile-long dragon appearing overhead to remind people of where their priorities should be.

Sending the clock back to its place in his hoard, Doomwing took a few steps back and then beat his wings. Only the magic on his hoard kept it from being blown away, and waves of lava rolled across the lake behind him. Once, twice, and then a third time he beat his wings before leaping into the air and taking wing for the first time in seventy-five years.

Below him was the massive volcano he called his home. It was the largest and tallest peak in the world, so high that he never had to worry about thieves since they would just suffocate and so wide that the lake he liked to sleep in only occupied part of the summit. Despite its height, its slopes were devoid of snow. Instead, fumaroles, burning chasms, and all manner of fiery features marked the side of the volcano. The land at its base was little better, and a vast swathe of smouldering earth stretched out for dozens of miles.

Soaring over the land at speeds that would have put a wyvern or drake to shame, Doomwing turned south. The last time he had awakened, there had been scores of farming settlements there. They had made a living by exporting food and livestock, and he had received a generous portion of their profits as tribute. A younger dragon might simply have eaten the lot of them, but Doomwing had not accumulated his hoard by being rash. It was better to let those settlements prosper. That way they made more money, which in turn meant he received more tribute. Burning everything and eating everybody might feel good for a day or two, but then what would he have? Scorched fields and empty villages... neither of which would add any value to his hoard.

As he continued south, his keen senses picked up the sweet smells of fire and ruin leavened with cries of lamentation and suffering from all those who had defied him... wait. He'd only just woken up. Nobody had defied him yet. That meant somebody else was setting things on fire and tormenting people, which meant his tribute was in danger! He picked up the pace and then landed with a tremendous crash beside the first settlement he reached.

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His eyes narrowed. The fields were ablaze, as were many of the houses. Some people were running around and screaming whilst some tried to put out the flames. Others lay slumped in the ash-strewn dirt and wept, some over their lost livelihood and others over the bodies of their loved ones. The sight filled Doomwing with rage. Who dared? This village was in his territory. Its field, its houses, its crops, its people... all were part of his hoard. To harm any of them was to steal from him, and no self-respecting dragon would allow anyone to steal from them.

His magic rippled out. The fires went out, the collapsing houses were steadied, and the wounded were healed. The dead, however, remained very much dead. There were lines he had learned not to cross, and that was one of them. Ignoring it had birthed the Catastrophe of the Fourth Age, and the last thing he needed was to be up to his neck in zombies again. Good grief. That had taken forever to deal with. To make matters worse, zombies tasted terrible, so he hadn't even been able to eat any of his enemies.

"Mighty dragon!" an old human stumbled forward and dropped to his knees before him. "You saved us!"

"Who did this?" Doomwing asked. "Who dared to burn your crops and harm your people? Who dared to take my tribute? Who dared to steal from me?"

The old man looked up at him with a combination of awe and terror. "Soldiers, mighty dragon! They asked for all we had. When we refused, they destroy everything."

"Soldiers?" Doomwing gave a low rumble. It was like thunder rolling through the skies. "Did they not know that all of this belongs to me?"

"We told them, mighty dragon, but they laughed in our faces. They knew that you only come for your tribute once a century. They must have thought that they could do as they pleased while you slept."

"I see."

Doomwing had not done much since the end of the Sixth Age some thousand years ago. The Catastrophe of the Age had been an absolute bitch to deal with, and his wounds had been quite serious. Even now, a millennium later, the scales on the right side of his chest were not quite the same as those on his left. Had his defensive magic been even an iota weaker or slower, he would dead. He had used the time since then to recover from his wounds and regather his power. He had not dallied when collecting his tribute. Instead, he had collected it as quickly as possible and then returned to the lake to sleep.

Clearly, the kingdoms surroundings his territory had forgotten who he was and what he was capable of.

"These soldiers, have they attacked other settlements?" Doomwing asked.

"Yes, mighty dragon. We were not the first to be attacked. The villages to our west were attacked first, and they rode east after attacking us."

"In that case, I will go east as well." Doomwing was about to flare his wings before he remembered that doing so would probably unleash a hurricane that would annihilate what was left of the village. Instead, he quickly cast a protective spell over the village before taking to the air again. "I will deal with the soldiers and then return to fix your village."

It wouldn't do if the villages here were unable to provide tribute.

Captain Jarod Evans was having a rather good night. There was nothing quite like a bit of pillaging to get his blood pumping. True, they'd been ordered not to kill too many of the farmers since the king was planning to annex this entire area in the future, but a little bit of killing was practically mandatory for this sort of thing. Yes, riding in, stabbing a few people, and then burning some stuff was the best way to make the right impression. They could obey, or they could die.

He wasn't scared of the dragon either. It was only supposed to wake up every hundred years or so, and that crap about it being a mile long? Impossible. The largest dragon he'd ever seen had only been five hundred feet long. It had been a tough, old bastard, but the kingdom's wizards and warriors had still been able to bring it down by using spells and weapons derived from the kingdom's collection of ancient tomes and armouries. There were few things in the Seventh Age that could withstand the wonders of the Sixth. Even if that dragon woke up, they'd have twenty-five years to prepare themselves. They just kill it if it dared to show its face.

Honestly, though, he'd been a bit surprised that the king had given them such free rein. Sure, he liked throwing his weight around, but it would have made more sense to force the farmers to hand over their crops instead of burning them. Oh well. The king was big on the whole 'fear my power' approach to ruling, so perhaps it was a way of ensuring the people here never even thought of rebelling once their lands were added to the kingdom's.

"How far are we from the next village?" he asked his second in command.

Taylor opened his mouth to reply and then fell silent.

"What?" Jarod barked. "Taylor?" And then he noticed that the other knight wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was looking up and behind him. It had also gone very dark all of a sudden. There was supposed to be a full moon out. Had clouds rolled in? Was rain coming? It would be a hassle trying to burn everything if it was raining.

"D... d..."

"What?" Jarod finally turned, and all the blood in his veins turned to ice. There were no clouds. There was no rain coming. But there was a dragon, and it was really damn big. It might even be a mile long.

"You thought you could steal from me?" The dragon's voice shook the earth and sky.

Jarod was vaguely aware of being flung off his horse as the animal screeched to a stop in sudden instinctive terror. The others were little better, and they stumbled to their feet as a second sun bloomed in the skies overhead.

No. Not a second sun.

That was fire kindling in the dragon's jaws.

Jarod swallowed thickly. "Oh fuck."

Chapter 2: Enter The Dragon

Jarod gathered his wits. "Defensive magic now!" he boomed. "As much as you can! All of it!"

To the credit of his troops, they managed to shake off their terror, and magic bloomed to life around him. Glowing circles of mystical energy formed in the air above them as spell after spell took shape and bent the world to their collective will.

Protect.

Shield.

Defend.

The words echoed through his soul, and hope stirred within him. They could do this. The dragon might be huge, but it was only a single creature. They were a hundred of the kingdom's finest. Not all of them were proper mages, but a decent number of them could wield magic of the third and fourth order. All of their efforts combined should be roughly equivalent to a fifth-order defensive spell, and a fifth-order defensive spell was strong enough to withstand a barrage from a siege mage.

This could work. Their defensive magic would keep them alive, and the dragon would be forced to close in because everyone knew that dragons could only deploy their breath attack for a limited time before they had to wait for it to recharge. The dragon was huge, but that meant it would be slow and clumsy. If he could just dodge when it lashed out, he could win because he carried one of the kingdom's treasure with him, a sword from the Sixth Age.

The sword had supposedly belonged to a noble from that bygone era, and the king had given it to him to help him better serve the kingdom's interests. It was imbued with magic that the kingdom's mages and smiths could not replicate, and it was capable of cutting through even enchanted steel with ease. Jarod had tested it against the scales of the dragon that the kingdom had killed. It had taken some effort, but the blade had still been able to pierce through them.

"Take heart!" Jarod boomed as he drew the sword and held it aloft. "Once the dragon exhausts itself trying to break through our defences, I will strike it down!"

His troops cheered, and Jarod reached for the magic woven into the sword and added it to the panoply of defensive spells above them. The blade shone with an eerie blue light, and the strength of the defensive spells more than tripled. With this, their defence might even qualify as a lower-level spell of the sixth order.

"Do you worst, dragon!" he cried. "For you face the kingdom's finest!"

Doomwing studied the pathetic mishmash of defensive spells below him and fought the urge to sigh. Really? They were going to try to fight off his fire breath with a bunch of third- and fourth-order spells? That was honestly just insulting. Sure, all of the spell together added up to something in the neighbourhood of the fifth-order, and that little stick their leader was waving around boosted them up to maybe the sixth-order, but that was it.

And it wasn't nearly enough.

A sixth-order spell was the sort of thing Doomwing's parents had used to wake him up back when he'd been a hatchling. He had always loved to sleep on top of his hoard, back when he'd been small enough to not crush it beneath his bulk. Rather than waste their time dragging him off it, they'd simply fired off a spell or two. It hadn't really hurt, but it had been annoying enough to wake him up. His mother had been particularly fond of reversing gravity, which would leave him scrambling to cast counter magic before his hoard floated away.

He missed her and his father. Damn those fools from the First Age. He and his kind had been dragged into their mess, and so few of them had managed to survive it. At least they'd done better than the First Gods. The dragons had been decimated, but not a single one of the First Gods had made it to the Second Age. Good riddance to most of them, but a few of them had been worthy of respect and friendship. Ah, Dion.. what a great drinking buddy he'd been, even if Doomwing's parents had never approved of him.

It would have been trivially easy to simply blow the soldiers away, but he wanted to know what the people of this age were capable of. Humans might seem weak and pitiful, but he'd met plenty of them over the years who'd been able to rise above their humble origins. Some had been his enemies. Some had been allies. And a rare few had been his friends. Part of him was glad they were all dead because if this was what humanity had been reduced to, they would have died all over again out of sheer embarrassment.

The inferno in his mouth dwindled until it was little more than a candle flame, but even that was enough to light up the night sky. The bolt of fire struck the array of defensive spells and cracked it the same way a sledgehammer would have cracked an egg. The subsequent detonation had enough force behind it to tear a mile-wide crater in the earth while instantly vaporising every scrap of flesh and mundane metal in its area of effect.

As the cloud of smoke cleared and the rain of molten rock ceased, only the leader of the soldiers remained alive. Unlike a hatchling, Doomwing could control his flame. Sparing a single person was easy enough for someone who had spent millennia honing their control. The fool looked around at the devastation and then back to the sword he held. It was a trinket, the sort of ceremonial toy one of his old friends would have given to a noble who had displeased him as a way of gently reminding them of their responsibility to not be an idiot. Apparently, however, the people of this age had forgotten so much that even the toys of the previous age were now worthy of respect.

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Humans. So quick to forget. But perhaps he was being unreasonable. A human was lucky to live eighty years. A thousand years must be a barely comprehensible span of time to them. To him? He counted millennia the way humans counted years.

"That was all of your power, right, dragon?" The human waved his toy around. "You may have slain my troops, but I will avenge them! I will -"

Doomwing rolled his eyes and landed with a thump. The human barely kept his footing and then charged toward him, gathering what paltry energies he could in an attempt to make a heroic final stand. The tiniest sliver of Doomwing's magic shattered the blade and bound the human in place.

"The only reason you're still alive," Doomwing drawled. "Is because I want to know more about who you serve."

The man glared as best he could. Either he was very brave or very stupid. Probably both. "I will tell you nothing, dragon."

"You will tell me everything." Doomwing's eyes narrowed. He would need to concentrate for this. He was not as adept in mind-manipulating magic as some of his old friends. Oh, he could peer into the minds of others, even tear information from them if they resisted. But his was not a gentle touch. No. When he reached into the minds of others, particularly those as weak as this human, they had a tendency to die horribly.

This human would be no exception.

As Doomwing began to peer into the human's memories, blood began to pour from the human's eyes, nose, and mouth. Doomwing chuckled. Ah, Marcus would have found this amusing. The ancient vampire had always liked to poke fun at Doomwing's inability to peer into people's minds without melting their brains, especially since Marcus was far more adept at it. Bah. Marcus was a vampire. Of course, he was better at peering into people's minds. It was part and parcel of being a vampire, right there with the bloodsucking, the brooding, and the hedonistic lifestyle that involved wearing far too much black leather.

"Gah!" Jarod began to wail, and Doomwing cast a silencing spell over him. That sort of high-pitched screaming was annoying.

Doomwing focused on the information he was pulling from Jarod's mind. The man had apparently been a highly ranked captain in his kingdom's forces, and he had the trust and favour of his king. That same king wanted to expand his territory by taking land from his neighbours. The kingdom had managed to defeat a dragon a while ago, so the king had come to the conclusion that seizing some of Doomwing's land was a viable option.

Idiot.

The dragon they'd slain had been a young, vainglorious fool, the sort of reptile who focused only on expanding their hoard instead of honing their power, wisdom, and cunning. Doomwing had met - and killed - plenty of fools like that over the years. They had things backward. Having a hoard didn't make them powerful and worthy of respect. No. Becoming powerful and worthy of respect was the best way to get and keep a suitably impressive hoard.

He'd have to educate this king and his kingdom on what a real dragon was like, and he'd have to see if all the other dragons of this Age were so pathetic. If they were, he might have to stay awake a bit longer because clearly something had gone wrong if a dragon who was a mere five hundred feet long thought he was invincible.

Still, he couldn't help but be irritated by the king's name and the title he claimed.

Doomwing ceased delving into Jarod's mind as the man's mouth opened and closed. Impressive. Despite his brain leaking out of his skull, the man was trying to speak. He might have been a fool, but Doomwing could respect that sort of determination. He dispelled the silencing magic and allowed the man to speak his last words.

"You..." Jarod bared his teeth in a snarl. "You have no idea of the fate that awaits you, dragon. High King Elerion will slay you himself! He is destined to rule over this world! He will unite the kingdoms of men once more and -"

That little spark of irritation Doomwing felt turned into a bonfire.

"Be silent!" Doomwing boomed. "Your king is unworthy of that name and that title!" He snarled, and fire kindled in his jaws once more. Memories came to him unbidden of a human with eyes like adamant and a soul like the sun. "I knew the last High King, and I was there when Elerion the Valiant fell! His armour was rent in a hundred places, his blessed sword was broken, and he was crippled and blinded! Yet still he fought, crushing the foes he could reach with his bare hands and piling high the bodies of his enemies until they had to climb hills of their dead to reach him! It took the Catastrophe of the Sixth Age herself to slay him, and even then, he managed to wound her before he fell! Your king is nothing more than an up-jumped brigand, and I truly hope that his lineage has nothing to do with my old friend's, for the shame of it would haunt him even in the afterlife!"

Doomwing took a deep, calming breath and then sighed. His anger had gotten the better of him, and the force of his words had reduced Jarod to pulp.

"Never mind." Doomwing gave a low rumble. "I should seek out the other villages and make sure there are no more soldiers left. After that... yes. I'll have to help them get back on their feet. Then I can deal with that pretender king." His lips curled into a very wide, very toothy smile. "It's been a while since I've razed a kingdom. It should be fun, and maybe they'll have some decent loot." He paused. "I should contact Marcus. He should still be around unless that fool managed to get himself killed somehow. It'll be like old times."

Chapter 3: The Dragon Reaches Out

The village headman prostrated himself on the ground. "Thank you, mighty dragon! Truly, we are blessed to have you as our lord and master!"

Normally, Doomwing would have been irritated at having to visit so many small villages. However, it had been a while since his ego had been so thoroughly stroked. Napping all the time and living in a volcano meant that he didn't really have many opportunities to be showered in praise. Oh, he'd been flattered before. He was a dragon. People almost always tried to flatter him in a bid to avoid getting eaten. But this? Honest, sincere praise from the very depths of a person's heart? This was far rarer and far more enjoyable.

Doomwing nodded regally and then took to the air once more. That was the last village that he needed to fix. As he soared through the sky, it occurred to him that the fields he'd seen so far looked quite different from the fields of the Sixth Age. If the villagers were anything like the soldiers, then they'd probably forgotten the superior ways of farming that had become widespread by the end of the Sixth Age. Doomwing didn't really care about farming, but he did care about his tribute. The more crops the villagers grew, the more money they would be able to get, and the larger his tribute would be.

But even if he didn't know a lot about farming, he did have books about it. They were part of his hoard, either gifted to him by his friends or taken as loot when he'd raided several of the world's greatest libraries over the millennia. Rather than worry about which books to take, he had used his magic to seize all of them. A lesser dragon might have been content with taking only the books concerning magic or forbidden lore, but Doomwing was no foolish hatchling. All knowledge was valuable, so taking all of the books was the best option.

And books could be bargained for other things. Many scholars, wizards, and kings had approached him with vast sums of wealth, just for a chance to read the books in his hoard. Elerion had been particularly fond of the books about farming. After all, he'd been a farmer's son before he'd become a king, and he'd always dreamed of retiring to a farm of his own once his kingdoms were secure and his children were ready to take over. The plan was to grow potatoes and cabbages and try to convince Doomwing to eat them. Of course, he'd never gotten that farm or grown those vegetables, and any desire Doomwing might have felt to read those books had died alongside his friend.

He could use his magic to copy those books and give them to the headmen of the villages. Wait... could the villagers even read? And if they could, did they even use the same script as before? Damn it. Well, he did have an artefact in his hoard that could impart knowledge. He'd have to test it on a few people to make sure it wouldn't melt their brains, but he could always grab some soldiers when he attacked the kingdom. They were going to die one way or another, so who cared if it was by his teeth or claws or by having their brains melted by an ancient artefact? At least, they'd be useful before they died.

Doomwing returned to his lair and took a moment to bask in the sheer opulence of his hoard. Marcus had once accused him of being the single greatest deflationary force in the world due to just how much of the world's wealth had ended up in his hoard, but that was rubbish. He wasn't the only truly ancient dragon out there, and the others were every bit as greedy as he was. Naturally, he was confident that his hoard was better than theirs, but if all of their hoards were added together, then maybe they might something approaching the greatness of his.

With his magic, Doomwing called the Apeiron Mirror to him. It was amongst the greatest of his treasures and one of the few that he'd made himself. The mirror embodied some of the most complex and powerful scrying and communication magic in existence. At his command, it could find almost anyone in the world and allow him to speak to them.

He carefully positioned the mirror so that whoever he spoke to would have a view of not only him but also his splendid hoard before activating it and reaching out to Marcus. The mirror's surface shimmered before a vast image appeared above it.

Doomwing's eyes narrowed. It was a battlefield. Dead bodies were strewn in the snow amidst vivid starbursts of red. Tattered banners and broken weapons littered the ground, and roaming bands of warriors stalked through the snow, hunting down survivors and looting the dead. Amidst it all stood Marcus, and the ancient vampire looked much as Doomwing remembered him. He was almost seven feet tall with broad shoulders and dark hair. His eyes were the red of freshly spilt blood, and the sword he held was a blade wrought of metal blacker than the dead of night and studded with scarlet runes.

But unlike the last time Doomwing had seen him, Marcus wasn't wearing any black, and he wasn't wearing leather either. Instead, his body was covered in furs taken from beasts common to the far north where winter never ended and summer was only a legend. Rather than being clean shaven, Marcus had a beard, and his hair was wild and unkempt and almost to his shoulders.

The battlefield fell still and silent as the mirror projected an image of Doomwing and his surroundings into the air above Marcus.

"You're playing barbarian again?" Doomwing laughed. "Is this a phase, or are you planning to make something of it?"

Marcus grinned and drove his sword through the back of a man who'd been trying to crawl away. "It's been a while since we spoke, old friend. Just about a thousand years."

"What's a thousand years to people like us?" Doomwing replied.

"Fair enough." Marcus barked an order, and the warriors resumed their activities although many of them kept a wary eye on the image of the dragon. "It's good to see you again. Have your wounds healed?"

"Not completely, but they no longer ache." Doomwing bared his teeth. "I woke up early. Some fool of a king decided to send soldiers to attack my territory."

"Are all of the soldiers dead, and is that king still alive?"

"Of course, they're dead. As for the king, I was wondering if you'd like to come along when I raze his kingdom. You're in the far north, but I can drop by to pick you up. It'll be like old times." Doomwing snickered. "Remember that kingdom of minotaurs in the Fifth Age?"

"I remember. It should have taken us less than a week to burn that kingdom to the ground. You dragged it out for a month because you wanted to eat as many of them as possible." Marcus shook his head. "But me? Bah. Minotaur blood tastes foul."

"Marcus, a minotaur is basically beef that walks on two legs. And we both know that meat with a lot of magic in it tastes better. Since cows aren't exactly known for having lots of magic that makes minotaurs the best beef in the world." Doomwing scoffed. "And if they didn't want to be eaten, their shamans shouldn't have tried to create their own demon god. So... you want me to come and get you?"

Marcus sighed and then shook his head. "I'm afraid I'll be busy for at least another couple of years, old friend."

Doomwing's brows furrowed. "Busy? It's not like you to turn down a chance for a bit of mayhem."

"Normally, I would be happy to go with you, but I found something up here. Do you remember the shadow dragon that you killed at the end of the Fourth Age?" Marcus asked.

"Yes. That bastard was incredibly annoying. He could transform his body into shadows and move through shadows as well. I had to devise several new spells to keep him from escaping me. In the end, I tore out his throat and feasted on his heart. Why do you ask?" Doomwing smiled at the memory. He'd spent weeks chasing after the other dragon, so killing him had been a truly enjoyable experience.

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"Do you remember where you dumped the body?"

"In the... far north." Doomwing stared. "Wait... did something happen with his body?" He hadn't bothered to destroy the body since he'd been needed elsewhere and destroying it would have taken time he simply didn't have. After the battle with the Catastrophe of that Age, he'd simply forgotten about the body. After all, he'd already absorbed what power he could from it, and he had injuries of his own to worry about, not to mention Marcus had been on the verge of death.

"I doubt you intended it, but the place you dumped the body became a magical nexus. Over the millennia, the body contaminated the currents of magic in the area, permanently corrupting them. Not long ago, that corruption finally gave rise to an umbral veil that covers several kingdoms' worth of land." Marcus smirked. "The presence of an umbral veil means that the sun no longer shines on this land. I'm an ancient vampire, so sunlight can't kill me. But other vampires? Oh, yeah. This place is about to be really popular with vampires, and whoever controls it can basically set themselves up as the king of the vampires since this will be the first time we've had a sun-free homeland since the end of the Fourth Age. There are at least seven other ancient vampires up here, and that's not counting the three I've already killed."

Doomwing made a face. "There are times when I feel bad about blowing up the vampire homelands... and then I remember that the Catastrophe of that Age was an ancient vampire necromancer who had an army of undead that numbered in the tens of millions."

Marcus chuckled. "Dear old dad never did know when to call it quits. Nobody would have been upset if he had only proclaimed himself king of the vampires, but he just had to try to conquer the world. Say, I never did thank you for killing him, did I?"

"Most people wouldn't thank someone for killing their father," Doomwing pointed out.

"Most people don't have fathers like mine. He was an asshole who got exactly what he deserved."

Doomwing nodded. If he remembered correctly, Marcus's mother hadn't wanted to be a vampire in the first place, but his father had turned her, and Marcus had been born soon after. "If you want, I can still go up north. It's been a while since I've eaten an ancient vampire."

"I appreciate the sentiment, old friend, but I need to do this without your help. If I'm going to call myself the king of the vampires, I can't have someone else fighting my battles for me."

"You have an army fighting your battles for you," Doomwing replied.

"An army of humans and vampires that I recruited. Having a dragon from the First Age show up is a little bit different."

"Is that why you're dressed like a barbarian?" Doomwing asked.

"That's how they dress up here. Besides, I've gotten sick of black leather."

"And the beard?"

"Thought it was time for a change."

"Is that so?" Doomwing felt a pang of disappointment but crushed it ruthlessly. His friend had finally found something that might help him stave off the existential ennui that haunted so many ancient vampires. "All right then. I'll leave you to your conquest. You'll make a good king, Marcus."

"Thank you. That means a lot coming from you." Marcus pursed his lips. "Have you considered staying awake a bit longer this time?"

"Well, I am going to smash a kingdom."

"The last Catastrophe was bad, Doomwing," Marcus said. "And people... people never really recovered. We lost too much too quickly. But you could change that."

"What do you mean?" Doomwing asked.

"If I'm going to be a king, then why don't you become a king too? The last time I was down south, things were a mess. There wasn't a single king worthy of the title, and I doubt much has changed."

"There's never been a dragon king before," Doomwing murmured. Dragons did not have kings, for every dragon was a power unto themselves. Nor did dragons seek kingship. What need did they have for kingdoms when they themselves possessed greater power than any kingdom?

"You'd be the first," Marcus said. "And, to be honest, it's not like you could be any worse than the current bunch of fools who're in charge. You're not pointlessly cruel, and you have a functional brain, as well as access to what is probably the most complete collection of books from previous Ages. Think of how many people you could help." Doomwing gave him a flat look, and the vampire laughed. "Okay, fine. But think of the tribute you would be able to collect if you were a king."

Doomwing's draconic greed stirred. He had seen just how much money a prosperous kingdom could generate. One of the biggest problems dragons faced was finding ways to increase their hoard. The quickest and easiest way was to seize treasure from kingdoms. However, that method simply wasn't viable in the long term. A dragon could only seize a kingdom's treasury two or three times before the kingdom collapsed, and it could be centuries, even millennia, before another prosperous kingdom arose in its place. Sure, a dragon could expand their territory, seizing treasure from kingdoms that were further and further away, but that would eventually bring them into conflict with other dragons, not to mention it was annoying having to travel so far.

His territory was one way of solving that issue. By leaving the villagers to their own devices for a century at a time and then collecting tribute, he could slowly but surely increase the size of his hoard without much effort. Ruling a kingdom would doubtless involve far more effort, but he could already imagine the rewards. Instead of paying taxes, the entire kingdom would be paying tribute to him. A kingdom generated money in so many different ways, and he'd be getting a slice of all of it. Even better, a kingdom was full of people who could do things. Instead of simply receiving more gold and silver, there was a chance that he could get his subjects to make him new artefacts and other treasures. Sure, he'd probably have to share some of his knowledge and wisdom with them, but it had been so long since he'd added new artefacts and treasures to his hoard.

"Perhaps I could try it," Doomwing said at last. "Dragon Emperor Doomwing does have a nice ring to it."

"Dragon emperor?"

"Naturally, I have to be above any mere king, and an emperor is greater than a king."

"Maybe I should call myself Vampire Emperor Marcus after I win then."

Doomwing scoffed. "Really? Call yourself whatever you like, but I will always be greater than you."

"You sure about that?" Marcus snickered. "Fine. How about this? We can both become kings -"

"That's dragon emperor-"

"We can both become kings, and then we see who does a better job of actually being a king."

"You think you can be a better king than me?" Doomwing asked. "Impossible. I am a dragon, Marcus. I'm naturally awesome at everything."

"We'll see."

"Fine." Doomwing smiled. "I'll keep in touch, Marcus. And if things don't work out up there, don't lose your life fighting battles you can't win."

"Worried about me?" Marcus asked.

"Not really. But a dragon emperor does need good servants..."

"Oh, shut up."

Doomwing sneered. "Bite me."

"You're only saying that because you know I can't bite through your scales."

"Of course." Doomwing's sneer gave way to a grin. "Good luck, Marcus. I believe in you. You really will make a good king."

"That's-"

"But not as good a king as me." Doomwing took a moment to savour the vampire's outraged expression before he cut the connection. Ah, the joys of being the person who operated the mirror. He always got the last word in.

Chapter 4: The Dragon Talks To A Tree

"Any word from Captain Evans?" Callan asked. He and Jarod had come from neighbouring towns, so they had stuck together another during their training days. Neither were of noble birth, so they had often found themselves squaring off against the children of nobles eager to put two commoners back in their place. They had proven themselves worthy in the end. Jarod had won the king's favour and had risen to be one of the kingdom's most famous knights. Callan had not risen so high, but his position as captain of a fort along the border was far better than his life as a farmer's third son would otherwise have been.

The soldier tasked with watching the lands to the east shook his head. "There have been no signals, captain."

"I see." Callan's brows furrowed. Jarod should already be on the way back with his men, and he was supposed to send up a beam of light as a signal.

"They have a lot of ground to cover," the soldier said. "Perhaps it is simply taking them longer than expected."

"Aye." Callan nodded more to himself than the other man. "That must be it."

He was not fond of the plan to raid the villages in the dragon's territory. The dragon only stirred once a century, so they should still have another twenty-five years before the beast awakened. Supposedly, the king had a plan in place to deal with the beast should it happen to show itself, but Callan was not as quick to dismiss the rumours of its size as others had been. A dragon a mile long? It sounded like lunacy, yet the stories over the centuries had been incredibly consistent on that point. It was entirely possible that all of their ancestors had been fools who gave the reptile's power more respect than it deserved, but he doubted all of them had been blind.

A shadow fell over them. Callan and the soldier both looked up, and the captain's mouth went dry. Gleaming like a cloud of ruby and sapphire in the silver light of the moon was a dragon. Normally, the outpost was bustling with activity, even at this time of night. Now, not a single person or animal dared to move or make a sound. The wyverns the scouts used to patrol the cruel, rugged terrain to the north and south had pressed their heads to the ground and folded their wings in a sign of obeisance.

Callan had ridden a wyvern into battle before. He had even glimpsed a dragon from afar. His wyvern had not kneeled then. It had been eager for battle, keen to prove that it deserved its place in the sky. Not this time. Faced with a dragon a mile long, the wyverns could only pay homage and hope that the dragon did not see fit to annihilate them for having the audacity to fly in its sky.

"Captain..." The soldier swallowed thickly. "Shall... shall we dispatch the wyvern riders, archers, and mages?"

Callan stared at him. "Are you insane? What would they even do against a beast that size? And look at the wyverns. Do you think a single one of them would dare to take wing when that thing is still in the air?" His fists clenched. If the dragon had crossed the border, then Jarod was likely already dead, along with all of his troops. "Send word to the capital with the communication crystal. We must warn them."

The communication crystal was one of the treasures of the outpost. It had the range to reach the capital itself although the magic involved was too delicate for the crystal to be taken out of the outpost. Instead, it had to be kept in a special room where skilled mages and artificers spent much of their time ensuring it was in optimal condition.

Had Doomwing known about it, he would have laughed. Imagine spending so much time on a crystal that utilised a spell of the fifth order. How utterly laughable! The captains of the Sixth Age had carried around pendants with far greater range and far better reliability. Elerion had even received one from his daughter that had let her speak to him even when he was on the other side of the continent.

Doomwing was tempted to burn every single outpost along the border to the ground. But if he was going to crown himself emperor, then those outposts would soon be his. There was no reason to burn them unless the people in them were stupid enough to fight him. Thus far all of them had done their best impressions of moles, hiding away in their little buildings and hoping he didn't notice them. He had also run into a patrol of wyvern riders. Three of the four wyverns had done the intelligent thing and had immediately gone to ground, bowing to him as was proper for the beasts. He had always found wyverns amusing with their mix of reptilian and avian features. Unlike drakes, however, wyverns knew where they stood in the food chain, and they had no qualms about acknowledging their betters. He had lost count of how many drakes had tried to challenge him. Those up-jumped lizards seemed to think they could defeat him if they simply gathered in greater numbers.

Of course, they didn't stand a chance. It was basic math. A thousand times zero was still zero.

On the upside, drakes were tasty. Ah, what he wouldn't give for a nice drake to come along and pick a fight. He could really use a bunch of sea drakes for dinner. They had a wonderful saltiness to them that other drakes lacked, and their scales were nice and crunchy too. Oh well. Perhaps he'd visit the coast later. There were bound to be at least a few stupid drakes there for him to eat.

The fourth and final wyvern was the only one foolish enough to challenge him. To the horror of its rider, the beast gave a shrill, keening cry and dove toward him. The beast was brave, albeit incredibly stupid. Doomwing grinned and opened his mouth. Why go looking for a snack when a snack had come to him? A moment later, his jaws snapped shut, crushing both the wyvern and its rider. Like all dragons, Doomwing consumed not only flesh but also metal. The wyvern and its rider were barely a morsel, and the scraps of metal that passed for armour and weapons were bland and tasteless. Mundane steel with a hint of magic, nothing above the second order.

As he continued toward where Jarod's memories said the capital was, Doomwing felt a familiar sliver of power. He gave a low rumble and then decided to change course. The capital would still be there later, and this power might very well prove useful to the farmers in his territory. He turned south and landed outside a complex of abandoned buildings. From the looks of them, they had been left to fall into disrepair and had not seen any real care in at least several centuries.

The power he sensed was further in, and he simply moved forward, smashing his way through the crumbling, derelict buildings until he reached the inner sanctum of the complex. There, gilded in faint emerald light, was a tree. It was a large tree, tall and thick and bustling with life. Families of ornery raccoons glared down at him, and groups of squirrels came forth to shake their little paws at him. He chuckled. How amusing. The raccoons and squirrels of this Age showed more courage than the humans. Elerion would have laughed until he could barely breathe.

The emerald light upon the tree coalesced into a humanoid shape in front of him.

"It has been a long time since I have met a daughter of the Mother Tree," Doomwing rumbled.

The dryad stared back at him. A human might have missed it, but he could see the small signs of fear she was unable to control and sense the barely concealed terror within her. Yet there she stood, resolute despite the utter disparity in power, more concerned about what he might do to the animals who lived in her branches than the ease with which he could annihilate her. It was worthy of praise, and he settled back onto his haunches, no longer looming but lounging. She relaxed ever so slightly and cleared her throat. Like most of her kind, her skin was a collage of greens and browns, and her eyes reminded him of fresh sap drawn from the maple trees of the north.

"What business do you have with me, dragon?" the dryad asked.

"I am curious about how you came to be in human lands," Doomwing replied. "You are no mere dryad. You are a daughter of the Mother Tree, and I have never seen your like outside the lands of the elves."

"What do you know of the Mother Tree?" the dryad asked.

"I know plenty." For a moment, Doomwing was lost in his memories. "I played in her branches when I was but a hatchling, yet even then, she was so tall that it seemed as though her branches held up the stars and cradled the sun and the moon. She gifted me with fruits from her boughs and stroked my scales when I was weary and my parents were far away. I knew her, little sapling, and I was there when she died."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"To dragon fire!" the dryad hissed. "Burnt to ash by your kind!" Tears prickled at her eyes, and they flowed down her cheeks in sad rivers of viridian. "I know that much, though the seed that birthed me slumbered long, only awakening when the song of the Sixth Catastrophe fell silent. But her memories are within me, passed down like they were to all her daughters."

For a long moment, Doomwing was silent. He did not see the dryad. He saw her mother. He saw her insisting that she was right up until the end, begging him to try to understand, to see that everything would better if he and the other dragons would just stop fighting and go along with her plans. She had spoken those words while standing atop a mountain of dead elves, the forest-dwellers so devoted to her that they had not retreated even in the face of dragon fire, had instead chosen to stand and fight a battle against all the free peoples of the world until their once glorious empire had been nought but ash and ruin.

And still, even on that final night, the elves had fought. They had died in numbers so great that even at the end of the Sixth Age, they had yet to truly recover. But they had been glorious. He would give them that. Never before or since had any rain threatened to pierce his scales, but the arrows of the elves had been many, and the magic woven into them had been splendid. They had slain dragons back when dragons were still mighty, and they had not turned their backs, no matter how hopeless the battle had become.

The Mother Tree was their ancestral home, and she was the one who had cared for and nourished them all their lives. To die in her defence was an honour, and Doomwing had bestowed it upon many that grim day.

And then the Mother Tree had burned, scorched with dragon fire and blasted with magic, torn asunder and scattered on the wind in a storm of ash and embers. In her dying moments, she had released her seeds, and those few elves who had not been tasked with defending her had taken those seeds and fled. Those seeds had given rise to the great forests of later Ages, and the elves had rebuilt their lives around them. He had tried to speak to a few of them, but they knew his face and his fire, and so they would not speak. But he was no senseless brute. As long as they did not follow their mother's path, they had no cause to fear him.

And he could still remember the days when the oldest of trees had offered him fruits and stroked his scales. His parents had taught him all that a dragon should know, but dragons did not know mercy or comfort or a hundred other things. They were weaknesses, and a dragon must be strong. He had not learned those things from the Mother Tree. He had been too young then, too set in his ways. But she had shown them to him all the same, and if not for her, then perhaps he would never have learned them at all.

"Will you burn me to ash as you burnt my mother?" the dryad asked.

"Not unless you give me reason," Doomwing said at last. "Speak. How did you come to be here?"

"I do not know. I think my seed was carried by elves, but some misfortune befell them. Yet it was fate that guided me to worthy hands. My seed was found by King Altarius not long after the Sixth Catastrophe fell silent. He recognised what I was and brought me here." The dryad's gaze grew distant. "Back then, dragon, there were fields here, fields as far as my eyes could see. The people were happy, and the soil was rich."

"There are no more fields here," Doomwing replied. "Only weeds. And the soil is dry and lifeless. What happened?"

"Altarius was good king," the dryad said. "And so was his son. But the son after that was a mediocre king, and the one after that was worse. The fields of produce were no longer enough. They wanted more, and so they sought to use a forgotten magic to boost the growth of their crops beyond even what my powers could accomplish. I warned them against it. When the fields died and the soil turned to dust, they cursed me and left this place to rot. They would have burned me, I think, but they feared me enough to leave me be."

"Clearly, they did not heed your advice."

"And so little grows here now except the weeds." The dryad nodded at the animals in her tree. "There were many of them back then. These are all that remain, and I do not know how long I can sustain them. The ground here is no longer meant for such as me."

"The king who found you, this Altarius, who was his father?" Doomwing asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to have it confirmed.

"His father was the last High King, Elerion the Valiant, or so he said."

"I see." Doomwing had known Altarius. He had been a good man with a son of his own. Elerion had loved all his children, but Altarius had held a special place in his heart. The boy had been born sickly, yet he had survived and thrived, growing to become a son that any man would be proud of. It was pleasing to know he had been a good king although his descendants left much to be desired. "Then the kings of this land are his descendants?"

"Yes."

"Are all of them fools?" Doomwing asked. "Has the blood of the High King grown so thin that not a single one of them is worthy of the title of king?"

"The current king is a fool, or so I hear from the birds that visit me. However, he is said to have a younger brother who is wise, and it is he who has kept the kingdom from falling beneath the weight of the king's ambition. The king's eldest daughter is also said to be more like her ancestors than her father, so perhaps there is hope for the kingdom yet." The dryad's anger seemed to have banked, like the coals of a fire being readied for a long night. "What now, dragon?"

"Now... I make you an offer." Doomwing rose up from his haunches. "Your mother was my friend, for all that I helped strike her down. If you stay here, you will die. Perhaps not for a century, perhaps not even for two centuries, but you will die. The magic that was tried has poisoned this place, and you do not have the skill or power to undo it. If you were older, maybe, but you are young for a dryad." Doomwing spread his wings wide as if to carry the whole weight of the sky upon his shoulders. "Would you like to be amidst fields again, dryad?"

"I would, dragon. But do you have any?"

"I have many," Doomwing replied. "And they are tended to by good folk. If you want, I will take you to the lands I have claimed. I will plant you in rich soil, and you will be amidst fields again. The people there are simple villagers and farmers. They do not have the greedy, grasping hands of unworthy kings. They will love the gifts you give, and they will cherish and protect you."

"How can I trust you?" the dryad asked quietly. "You killed my mother. You could kill me with less than a thought."

Doomwing took a deep breath. "What need have I for the petty tricks and deceit of lesser beings? I am Doomwing, a dragon of the First Age. I am not like the weak and cowardly dragons of later Ages. I am what dragons were meant to be, and my words are truth. I do not make oaths lightly, but I do not break the ones I make. If you will swear to aid me in my endeavours and those who serve me, then my claws, my teeth, and my fire shall defend you!" He lowered his voice. "Your mother was kind to me, and there are few indeed who offer kindness to dragons. I would repay that kindness, at least in this small way."

"How... how would you bring me to your lands?" the dryad asked.

Doomwing chuckled. "I am a mile long, dryad, and I wield magic that the bumbling conjurors of this Age could not hope to understand. Transporting you to my lands safely will be no issue."

"And them?" The dryad glanced back at the animals in her branches.

"My protection will be extended to those who rely upon you as well."

"Then..." The dryad took a deep breath. "Then I will make an oath to you."

"Good." Doomwing paused as a thought occurred to him. "What is your name, dryad?"

"You're only asking that now?" She chuckled. "Daphne. My name is Daphne."