Chapter 12: Gianna’s Warning

Outside the city of Theramore, the wilderness lay scorched under a blazing sun, the cracked earth radiating heat, while the air was thick with the sharp, briny scent of salt and sea breeze. On the edge of a heavily weathered boulder rested Onyxia, her jet-black scales shimmering with a cold metallic gleam under the sunlight. Her dragon tail flicked impatiently against the ground, sending up a small cloud of dust.

“You’d better hurry,” she narrowed her vertical pupils, the golden irises contracting to thin slits as she cast her gaze toward the white-walled city-state of Theramore in the distance. “I have no desire to roast here all day.” A flicker of black flame sparked at her fingertips, casually melting a nearby stone fragment into molten glass, which hissed as it dripped onto the earth.

Drelan was adjusting his collar, smoothing the “Agricultural Advisor” badge pinned there. Upon hearing her, he looked up with a sly smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just signing some papers. Won’t take long.” He patted the tailored dark-patterned robe he wore—its cuffs embroidered with wheat stalks intertwined with explosive motifs, the emblem of the “Barren Lands Agricultural Development Company,” understated yet carrying a hint of menace.

At his side, Chromie had transformed into a gnome girl wearing round spectacles, her golden twin tails tied meticulously. She cradled a thick ledger embossed in gold with the title “Chief Financial Officer,” which sparkled in the sunlight. Pushing up her glasses, a cold gleam reflected from the lenses as she spoke in an exaggerated gnomish accent, “Let’s go, humans. And remember to call me ‘Ms. CFO Miro’—if you slip up, I’ll convert your entire budget into copper coins!”

Onyxia snorted coldly, her dragon claws leaving deep gouges in the rock. “If Jaina finds out about your tricks, don’t expect me to bail you out.” Her gaze swept over the distant Theramore tower, faint arcane energies flickering there. “The ‘Daughter of the Sea’ has no love for dragons.”

Drelan shrugged, producing a heavily stamped document from a spatial pouch, shaking it slightly. “Legal procedures, legitimate business—who could refuse a merchant ‘passionate about agriculture’?” His tone was casual, but his eyes flicked toward the Theramore harbor, where several goblin merchant ships were moored—critical nodes in their plan to transport “special supplies.”

Chromie stood on tiptoe, tapping Drelan’s arm. “No dawdling, time is money—though I have plenty of it.” A faint bronze glow flickered at her fingertips. “But if we drag this out, Onyxia’s patience might be thinner than a goblin’s contract.”

Onyxia’s tail swept across the ground, stirring up a mini sandstorm. “Shut up, gnome.” Her draconic presence leaked slightly, and the air around them grew sweltering.

Drelan raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, let’s move quickly. Onyxia, you cover the extraction; Chromie, handle the paperwork; as for me...” He grinned, “I’ll accompany you to the city hall.”

The three figures split up across the wasteland, each heading toward their objective. Their shadows stretched long beneath the sun, as if heralding the dark undercurrents concealed beneath this seemingly routine “agricultural plan”—currents powerful enough to shake Azeroth itself.

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The marble steps of Theramore City Hall gleamed coldly under the midday sun. Drelan adjusted his collar to ensure the “Agricultural Advisor” badge was perfectly visible, then stepped onto the stairs. Chromie followed closely, clutching her hefty ledger, her golden eyes behind round glasses sparkling with sharp intelligence.

Pushing open the carved oak doors, a cool breeze greeted them. Inside, the hall was simply yet solemnly decorated, with the Alliance’s blue lion banners hanging on either side. Several uniformed clerks bent over their paperwork. Drelan approached the outermost counter, behind which sat a young human clerk with freckles and gold-rimmed spectacles, eyes both weary and suspicious.

“‘Barren Lands Agricultural Development Company’?” The clerk pushed up his glasses, slowly flipping through the application documents Drelan presented, brow furrowing. “You want to establish a trade relay station in Theramore?”

“Yes.” Drelan gave a merchant’s earnest smile, his fingers tapping lightly on the counter. “We specialize in high-efficiency fertilizers and soil conditioners, planning to transport them inland through Theramore’s port.”

The clerk’s gaze flicked between Drelan and Chromie, finally resting on the latter—a gnome CFO was an uncommon sight, especially one whose glasses subtly glowed with a bronze hue.

“Fertilizer?” The clerk repeated skeptically. “But the areas around Theramore are alkaline wastelands, barely able to support wild grass. What kind of fertilizer do you intend to sell?”

“Precisely because of that!” Drelan raised his voice, excitement ignited. He swiftly produced a small bag of white crystals from his satchel, pushing it forward. “Our potassium sulfate compound fertilizer is specially formulated for alkaline soils, with proven yield increases!”

The clerk hesitated but took the bag, pinching some powder between his fingers and sniffing cautiously—only to cough as the sharp scent overwhelmed him.

Chromie promptly offered a finely bound “experimental data report,” its cover stamped with a forged seal from the Dalaran Agricultural Research Institute and edged in gold trim. Adjusting her glasses, she added in a syrupy gnomish lilt, “After six months of field tests, our fertilizer doubled yields on lands reclaimed by the refugees from Lordaeron. Of course, you’re aware of the current situation in Lordaeron, so we’ve decided to expand our operations to Kalimdor.”

The clerk scanned the dense data and charts, eyes glazing over. After a moment’s hesitation, he sighed and stamped the documents firmly. “Very well, but all cargo entering and leaving the port will be subject to inspections—Theramore’s rules must be upheld.”

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Drelan’s smile broadened as he accepted the papers, his fingers discreetly brushing the clerk’s sleeve, slipping a small gold coin into his pocket without a sound.

“Of course, of course. We will fully cooperate with inspections.” His nod was so sincere it was impossible to fault.

Chromie flipped open her ledger, swiftly jotting down notes with a quill, muttering terms like “port fees” and “storage costs,” embodying the shrewd financial officer.

As they turned from the counter, Drelan caught a glimpse of the clerk furtively touching his sleeve, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his mouth—apparently, the coin had done its work.

Just as they were about to step out of City Hall, a low cough came from behind.

“Wait.”

Drelan halted, and Chromie’s ears twitched attentively.

The clerk pushed up his glasses, lowering his voice. “If you really want to do business here... best not stir trouble.” His gaze meaningfully flicked to Chromie’s glasses. “Theramore’s ‘Lady’ isn’t very friendly toward magical creatures.”

Drelan’s smile remained unchanged, and he nodded lightly. “Thank you for the warning.”

Outside, sunlight bathed them once more. Chromie exhaled deeply, snapping her ledger shut with a sharp clap. “Done!”

Drelan squinted toward the harbor, a knowing smile curving his lips. “Now, we can openly ship our ‘fertilizer’ into Theramore.”

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On the plaza outside City Hall, sunlight filtered through the clouds onto the white marble floor. As Drelan and Chromie descended the steps, a sudden unnatural ripple spread through the air. Arcane energy shimmered like water ripples, and the temperature dropped sharply.

“Watch out—” Chromie’s golden eyes narrowed, her hand already resting on the time hourglass at her waist.

A brilliant blue portal snapped open before them, and Jaina Proudmoore stepped through with a grace both elegant and dangerous. Her golden hair fluttered subtly in the residual arcane currents, the crystal atop her staff glowing with icy blue light. The ruler of Theramore wore no hint of welcome on her face.

“Bronze dragon.” Jaina’s sharp gaze locked on Chromie, her voice like a biting northern wind. “What are you doing in my city?”

Chromie pushed up her round glasses, instantly adopting the flattering smile typical of a gnome merchant. “Just doing part-time financial work, honorable Lady Proudmoore. You know, time magic is especially convenient for balancing accounts.”

Jaina’s staff tapped lightly on the ground, frost spreading out from her in a circle, stopping just before Drelan’s boots. Her gaze shifted to Drelan. “And you—a human—employing a bronze dragon as your accountant?”

Drelan spread his hands, offering a harmless smile. “A professional, with fair wages. We are merely legitimate fertilizer merchants.”

Jaina’s gaze swept between them, finally resting on the company emblem on Drelan’s chest. Her fingertips gathered arcane energy, lightly tracing the emblem’s surface, as if testing something.

“Barren Lands... Agricultural Development?” she repeated skeptically. “Theramore does not welcome trouble.”

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Chromie suddenly withdrew a parchment from her ledger, covered in various official seals. “All our documents have been properly approved! Including certification from the Dalaran Agricultural Institute!”

Jaina took the papers, her fingers pausing on one seal. Drelan noticed a barely perceptible furrow in her brow—the forged Dalaran seal was likely no match for a former Dalaran mage.

The air seemed to freeze. Guards on the plaza unconsciously softened their footsteps, and passing merchants wisely skirted the area.

Finally, Jaina tossed the documents back into Chromie’s arms. Her voice was low, yet carried undeniable authority. “It better be so. Remember, in Theramore, my eyes are everywhere.”

With a scattering of ice crystals and a flash of blue light, Jaina vanished, leaving only frost patterns on the ground as proof of her presence.

Chromie sighed, her round glasses sliding down her nose. “Did she see through us?”

Drelan wiped a nonexistent bead of sweat from his brow. “Uncertain. But at least now we’re ‘legitimate’ merchants.”

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As twilight deepened, the wilderness outside Theramore was bathed in a dark golden glow. Onyxia sat against a weathered boulder, fingers playing with a flickering black flame, her draconic eyes gleaming dangerously in the shadows.

In the distance, Drelan and Chromie’s figures finally appeared on the horizon. Chromie trotted, golden twin tails swaying, while Drelan strolled leisurely, twirling the stamped permit in his hand.

“You were late again. I might have had to consider turning this wasteland into glass.” Onyxia snorted coldly, the black flame in her palm extinguishing into a wisp of smoke.

“Sorry, ran into a little hiccup.” Drelan shrugged. “Jaina personally ‘welcomed’ us.”

Onyxia’s pupils contracted sharply. “She noticed?”

Chromie climbed onto the boulder, dusting her skirt. “Hard to say. The way she looked at me was like I was a ticking time bomb ready to blow up her city.” She mimicked Jaina’s icy tone, “‘Theramore does not welcome trouble’—ha! As if we’re terrorists or something.”

Drelan chuckled, pulling a bottle of dwarven stronghold whiskey from his spatial pouch, uncorking it and taking a swig. “The good news is, we got the permit.”

Onyxia naturally took the bottle without hesitation, drinking deeply without a flicker of change to her stoic expression—dragon physiology was remarkable that way. “Father would never have imagined his terminator would be a shipment of ‘agricultural supplies.’” A sinister smile curved her lips. “Beneath dragon scales lie all the laughable blind spots of mortals.”

Chromie pulled out her ledger, flipping to a marked page. “The first batch of raw materials arrives at the port in a few days. According to the plan, we’ll ship them as ‘soil conditioners’ to a warehouse on the edge of the Dustwallow Marsh.” She adjusted her glasses, the lenses reflecting a cold gleam. “Of course, the actual destination is your lair.”

Drelan unfolded a map, tracing a line between Theramore’s harbor and Dustwallow Marsh. “Jaina will likely assign someone to watch us. So the transport route needs to take a detour—head north first, pretending to go to the Barren Lands. You pick up the cargo halfway. No one files a report, and who would suspect the shipment was taken by a black dragon?”

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