Chapter 18: Jaina's Test

Deep within the caves of the Burning Steppes, magma slowly flowed through the ravines, filling every breath of air with the scent of sulfur. Nefarian stood before the laboratory table, shadow energy swirling at his fingertips as he meticulously cut a black dragon scale, grafting it onto the remains of a red dragon’s body.

“Hold on a little longer, my dear…” he murmured softly, a fanatic gleam flickering within his draconic eyes. “This time, it will succeed.”

The experimental subject’s muscle tissue twitched under the shadow stimulation, black-red blood seeping from the gaps between the scales. Nefarian wiped the blood splattered on his cheek without concern and casually activated another arcane containment array on the opposite side.

At that moment, a half-draconic servant approached nervously, holding a shadow crystal with both hands.

“Master, a message from the Blackwing Lair…”

Without looking up, Nefarian commanded, “Read it.”

“The Lord Deathwing orders you to confirm Princess Onyxia’s whereabouts. It is rumored she’s been acting unusually lately.”

Nefarian’s fingertips paused slightly before he sneered coldly, “Unusual? Since when was my sister ever ‘normal’?” He crushed the crystal in his palm, extinguishing the shadow energy. “Tell Father I will be ‘watching.’”

The half-draconic servant bowed and retreated, while Nefarian’s gaze returned to the experimental subject.

“Father? Sister? We’ll talk when I have time!” he scoffed, suddenly driving his fingers into the subject’s spine. “Let me see exactly what tricks you’re playing at, dear sister…”

In the Dustmire Swamp, morning fog still clung to the air as Duran stood in the newly built warehouse district, clutching a crumpled supply list, his brow tightly furrowed.

“The third batch of sulfur isn’t pure enough…” He bit the end of his quill and marked an X in the ledger. “The goblins are cheating again.”

Behind him came the soft rustling of scales scraping against the dirt. Onyxia had appeared at his back unnoticed, resting her chin on his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his ear. “Should I burn their cargo ships?”

“Don’t. Business is about steady, slow gains.” Duran turned his head, accidentally brushing his lips against her dragon horn. “The reaction vessel in Ironforge should be ready, but transportation is a headache.”

Onyxia’s tail suddenly coiled around his waist. “So?”

“So—” Duran turned to her, cupping her face in both hands. “I want Jaina to teleport it directly here.”

The black dragon princess’s pupils instantly narrowed to slits.

The air froze for three seconds.

“You want me to let you go alone with that human princess?” Her voice dropped to a dangerously low tone, her claws digging into the belt at Duran’s waist.

“It’s just teleporting equipment…”

“She’s a princess of an entire city!” Onyxia’s voice suddenly rose, shaking loose tiles from the roof. “Fountains! Gardens! Damn bakery!”

Duran’s head spun from the shaking, and he blurted out, “And you only have a stinky old dragon’s nest!”

Time seemed to stop.

The dragonborn workers dropped to the ground in unison.

Onyxia’s scales flared, black flames shooting from her fingertips to the tips of her hair. Her eyes burned with the glow of molten lava, and the low growl rolling in her throat made Duran’s bones vibrate.

“I mean—” Duran stepped forward, pressing his forehead against her brow. “That’s why you only have me.”

The black flames abruptly died out.

Onyxia’s claws still gripped his collar, but the pressure eased. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly, as if adjusting to the sudden closeness.

“…Come back as soon as you can.” Finally, she released him and turned her face away. “Or I’ll come to Ironforge to ‘fetch’ you—and burn off all the dwarves’ beards while I’m at it.”

Duran smiled and reached to his waist, pulling out a pendant polished from black dragon scales. “Hold onto this for me? I hear dwarves levy extra taxes on dragon-made goods.”

Onyxia stared at the small object in his palm—a scale carefully shaped into a heart, its edges inlaid with mithril thread. Her tail tip flicked up in delight.

“Go.” She shoved the pendant deep into her scales. “And bring back some dwarf mead.”

The forge district of Ironforge was a rolling wave of heat. Duran followed Jaina through rows of steaming brass pipes. The shouts of dwarves, hammer strikes, and bubbling lava blended into a cacophony that rattled the eardrums.

“The reaction vessel is just ahead,” Jaina’s voice pierced through the noise. “Prince Copperbeard personally supervised the final assembly.”

Duran wiped sweat from his brow but was distracted by a tapestry on the wall depicting dwarves, humans, and elves drinking together. In the corner was embroidered the phrase: “May the ale never cease to flow.”

“First time in Ironforge?” Jaina noticed his gaze.

“I’ve negotiated trades before, but it’s the first time seeing the forge district in person.” Duran smiled. “Before, I only heard about it in stories… or games.”

Jaina tapped her staff on the ground, silently casting a soundproof barrier. The surrounding roar vanished.

“Now you can tell me.” She turned, blue eyes locking onto Duran with sharp intensity. “How does a starving drifter from the Western Barrens get involved with the Black Dragon princess?”

Duran was inspecting bolts on the reaction vessel. The question made him nearly drop his wrench. “Uh… lucky?”

Jaina narrowed her eyes. “I checked your background. Duran Larsen, farmer from the Western Barrens, land seized by nobles, wandering for years, nearly starving at Sentinel Ridge. Yet months ago, you appeared in Booty Bay with the Black Dragon princess at your side and enough gold to buy half a street.”

Duran’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Trade secret?”

“Then last month,” Jaina continued, “you got the Black Dragon princess to cooperate in negotiations with the goblin prince, even made her your bodyguard.” She stepped closer. “So… dark magic? Soul pact? Or…” A gleam of gossip sparkled in her eyes. “Is your relationship more than business?”

In the distance, Prince Copperbeard directed dwarves pouring ale into the reaction vessel to test its seal—a dwarven style quality check. Joyful dwarven songs faintly filtered through the barrier, stark against the tense atmosphere here.

Duran was silent for a moment, then laughed. “You’ve done your homework. Don’t tell me you’re interested in me?”

Jaina raised an eyebrow threateningly. “I’m deciding whether to send you straight into the magma.”

“Alright, alright.” Duran raised his hands in surrender. “It’s simple—I gave her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

“What kind of offer could sway a black dragon?”

“A chance to make big money. What’s better than gold to a world-weary dragon?” Duran’s voice dropped. “Bathing in piles of gold coins every day—even dreaming about it makes her smile.”

Jaina conjured an ice rose on her fingertip, pondering. “So you won her over with ideals?”

“No.” Duran grinned. “I won her over with fertilizer formulas.”

“...What?”

“She was bored, and didn’t have much gold to play with,” Duran shrugged. “I told her, instead of rotting in the swamp, why not go into agriculture and fertilizer business together? So we became partners.”

Jaina’s expression froze. She had imagined dark pacts, forbidden magic, even romantic entanglements—but never something so… practical.

Outside the barrier, Prince Copperbeard’s loud voice cut through: “Human! Come sign! Your ‘big barrel’ passed inspection!”

Jaina lifted the silence spell, and the clamor returned instantly. As she approached the signing table, she whispered, “You know? I’m a bit disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“I thought I’d hear a more exciting story.” Jaina showed a rare trace of human frustration. “Like dark rituals or forbidden love.”

Duran blinked. “Want me to make one up now?”

“No need.” Jaina’s staff glowed with teleportation magic. “But next time Onyxia burns your backside, be sure to invite me to watch.”

Duran: “...”

That night, Jaina wrote in her journal: “Investigation results: 1. No trace of dark magic; 2. No soul pact; 3. Suspected flirting behavior. Conclusion: More boring than expected, but more interesting than politics.”

In the Dustmire Swamp’s receiving area, a hundred-yard clearing had been cleared. Dragonborn traced a complex hexagram with magical powder on the ground. Onyxia stood at its center, her tail tapping impatiently, each strike sending sparks of dark red fire scattering.

“You’re late,” she growled at the air, claws gouging deep claw marks into the rock wall that melted the stone.

Suddenly, the magical powder at the hexagram’s edge ignited without wind. Ghostly blue flames raced along the rune paths. The air crackled with the sound of shattering crystal, as if an invisible hand tore open a rift.

First came a hair-thin blue light, expanding rapidly into a massive oval portal crackling with arcane lightning.

Within the portal, kaleidoscopic scenes twisted and shifted: the fiery glow of Ironforge’s forge district, snow-capped peaks of Dun Morogh, shadows of circling gryphons—all rearranging at dizzying speed.

Jaina’s staff pierced the void first, the Azeroth diamond at its tip bursting with sunlight-like brilliance, illuminating a hundred yards like midday.

The arcane energy formed blue silk-like bands wrapping around the reaction vessel. The metal giant, weighing hundreds of tons, disassembled into countless luminous threads before reassembling mid-transport. Every rivet and weld was enveloped in a honeycomb magic matrix, its surface flowing with tens of thousands of Titan runes—the highest spatial stabilization magic of Dalaran.

“Bang!”

The ground trembled slightly as the reaction vessel landed precisely in the center of the array. Upon impact, the arcane bands exploded like fireworks into countless blue light butterflies, elegantly tracing arcs in the air before dissolving into the twilight.

Duran tumbled out of the portal, still adorned with a few lingering arcane crystals. He somersaulted thrice midair before Onyxia’s tail caught him firmly. The blue crystals hissed sizzingly as they touched her black dragon scales.

“Completely intact!” Duran struggled upright, excitedly patting the vessel’s shell. The metal shimmered with an eerie blue glow, the dwarven craftsman’s signature gleaming in the arcane afterglow: “Copperbeard Family Honor, Dragon Breath Certified.”

Jaina emerged last from the portal, her golden hair flowing as if alive in the magical currents, each strand sprinkled with stardust. The runes embroidered on her robe’s hem still glowed faintly, leaving luminous footprints on the mud as she walked. Behind her, the portal collapsed into a miniature black hole, swallowing the residual arcane energy before vanishing with a soft “pop.”

“Remember to settle the shipping fees.” She landed lightly, tapping her staff to dissolve the teleportation anchor. Blue magical ripples spread from the staff’s tip, straightening all the reeds bent by the teleportation spell. “Theramore Harbor always welcomes ‘legitimate’ trade.”

Onyxia stepped forward suddenly, hurling a massive pouch of coins at Jaina, the bag tracing a splendid arc in the sunset.

“Next time, the teleportation fee better be discounted,” the black dragon princess said, raising her chin proudly. “Use my personal seal.”

As Jaina caught the pouch, a faint spark of arcane fire flickered between her fingers. She broke into a rare, genuine smile, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes. “Looks like I should start a logistics company.” Her staff began glowing with the light of return travel—softer this time, like tides beneath moonlight. “I suggest you stay away from the reaction vessel for at least three days…”

Before she finished, the vessel’s exhaust valve suddenly hissed, releasing a steam puff scented faintly of malt, which condensed into a tiny dwarf beard shape in the air.

Onyxia fixed her gaze on the spot where Jaina had disappeared, her dragon ears twitching slightly. “Did she just make a joke?”

The sun set in the west, the reaction vessel’s shadow enveloping the playful pair of dragon and human.