Chapter 26: Cover-up

The morning light pierced through the smoke and haze above the Dustwallow Marsh, gilding the blackened crater in a bloody hue.

Deren stood at the edge of the pit, his boot crushing a piece of soil fused into glass by the intense heat. The buzzing of the explosion still echoed in his ears, and his nostrils were filled with the pungent scent of combusted ammonium nitrate.

They had succeeded. And they had failed.

Success meant that Deathwing had indeed been blown to pieces, dragging a mangled half-body into the Void. Failure meant—

"It’s all gone."

Onyxia’s voice came from behind. Deren turned to see her standing on the scorched earth in human form, the hem of her black dress stained with mud and ash. Her fingertips brushed lightly against her waist—where the runic blade of the Black Dragonflight should have hung, there now remained only a charred, broken scabbard.

Deren followed her gaze.

The dragon lair, once built against the marsh, was now nothing more than a crater nearly a hundred meters in diameter. The meticulously designed fertilizer workshop, the stockpiles of raw materials, even those dragonkin guards forced into service—all had been reduced to ash in the explosion. Fragments of elementium armor lay scattered at the bottom of the pit, resembling the burnt scales of a dragon.

Chromie was squatting at the edge, happily collecting shards of elementium armor. Deren had told her to gather them; they could be traded for money or rewards later. "Wow, another one! Great, this can be traded for gold coins!" She whistled. "This stuff should be sellable to the goblins for a decent price; otherwise, the losses would be too heavy."

Deren’s stomach sank.

It was too conspicuous.

This explosion was the equivalent of announcing their location to all of Azeroth. The Alliance, the Horde, Dalaran, and even those minions of the Old Gods lurking in the shadows—everyone’s eyes would be fixed upon this scorched earth.

Onyxia suddenly let out a cold laugh.

Deren turned to see her using the toe of her boot to nudge something at the crater’s edge—a piece of a charred dragon horn, from which viscous, molten blood still oozed.

"He escaped," she said softly, her golden slit pupils constricting in the morning light. "But he left a souvenir."

Chromie hopped over and curiously poked the dragon horn. "Whoa! A limited-edition Deathwing collectible! This could fetch a high price—"

"Chromie," Deren interrupted, his voice hoarse. "Can you forge the scene?"

The bronze dragon girl’s smile vanished. She stood up, her golden eyes turning uncharacteristically serious. "What kind of forgery are you talking about? 'Accidental marsh gas ignition' level, or 'Titan experiment gone wrong' level?"

"Black dragon infighting," Onyxia interjected. She kicked the piece of dragon horn. "The evidence is already here."

The three exchanged a silent look.

In the distance, the panicked cries of marsh birds rang out—the first wave of creatures sensing the anomaly had begun to stir. Further away, the observation crystals of the Theramore mage tower had likely already turned toward this scorched wasteland.

Deren took off his cracked goggles and wiped them with the hem of his shirt. "We must be fast."

Chromie took a deep breath and pulled a pocket watch inlaid with bronze scales from her robes.

"Temporal Reflection: Forgery Mode, initiate!"

The moment the watch sprang open, countless golden grains of sand poured out, winding around every trace of the explosion like living things. The residue of ammonium nitrate was rewritten as black dragon breath; the metallic jets from the armor-piercing shells were disguised as claw marks; even the trees flattened by the shockwave now bore the brand of draconic runes within their growth rings.

Onyxia was not idle either. She sliced her palm, dripping black dragon blood onto key locations. With every drop that fell, it manifested into the marks of a fierce struggle.

Chromie’s time magic instantly "stitched" these elements together into the appearance of a full-scale draconic brawl.

When the final grain of time sand returned to the watch, the entire blast site had been completely transformed: to anyone who looked, it would appear as a brutal, life-or-death struggle between black dragons.

"Perfect!" Chromie snapped the watch shut. "Deathwing versus... uh, his daughter? An infighting dispute over a hoard of gold coins?"

Onyxia stared at the forged battlefield and suddenly chuckled. "I should probably act as if I’m severely wounded. A poor daughter who was brutally taught a lesson by her old father. Oh, and he destroyed my fertilizer enterprise."

***

Deren was about to nod when a hum of space tearing apart erupted in the distance.

A brilliant blue portal was taking shape. The tip of Jaina Proudmoore’s staff had already emerged through the gate.

"The audience has arrived," Chromie whispered, ducking behind Deren. "Get your acting ready!"

Before the blue light of the portal had fully dissipated, Jaina Proudmoore stepped through.

The ruler of Theramore was not wearing her iconic mage robes today, but a leather travel coat thrown on in haste, her blonde hair tied back carelessly—clearly, she had come in a great rush. Arcane energy still crackled at the tip of her staff, casting flickering, cold light upon the scorched earth.

"By the Arcane..."

Jaina’s voice caught in her throat.

Viewing the site from the mage tower in Theramore was one thing; standing at the edge of this hundred-meter-wide crater was quite another. Her boots sank into the soft, charred soil, each step kicking up fine ash. The morning light filtered through the lingering smoke, illuminating the crisscrossing cracks at the bottom of the pit like scars on the earth.

Deren instinctively shrank behind Chromie—then realized the bronze dragon had become shorter than him—and had no choice but to brace himself and step forward.

"My Lady! You... uh... arrived very quickly..."

Jaina’s gaze swept over the three of them. Her staff suddenly glowed with a warning blue light.

"What exactly happened here?"

Onyxia suddenly stepped forward, the blood oozing from her wound leaving smoking footprints on the scorched earth. "As you can see, a... disagreement between black dragons."

"A disagreement?" Jaina’s fingertips brushed against the residual energy turbulence in the air. "A 'disagreement' that could blast a new lake into the Dustwallow Marsh?"

Chromie suddenly hopped up. "Deathwing was here! He was giving his daughter a hard time. Onyxia was doing agriculture, making fertilizer, and he thought it was degenerate and a disgrace to the dragon race. He even snatched away all the gold coins she earned!"

"Deathwing?" Jaina’s eyebrows nearly vanished into her hairline. "The mad Dragon Aspect of the Black Dragonflight?"

"That’s right!" Chromie gestured wildly. "Father-daughter drama! Extremely intense! Look at this—" She trotted over and dragged the charred dragon horn over. "—a trophy!"

When Jaina took the horn, Deren’s back was already soaked in cold sweat.

The mage’s slender fingers traced the cross-section, arcane micro-light shimmering at her fingertips. The break was too clean, as if it had been pierced by some kind of... conical energy and then forcibly torn apart.

Her gaze slowly shifted to Deren. "Were you present at the time?"

"Just passing by! Purely passing by!" Deren’s voice hit a higher octave. "Our fertilizer factory just happened to be built nearby, and suddenly we saw two black dragons—"

"—descending from the sky," Onyxia continued smoothly, "and I fell into the marsh while fighting my father."

"And then, BOOM!!!" Chromie opened her arms wide in a gesture of a blossoming explosion.

Jaina’s gaze darted back and forth between the three faces. Suddenly, she tapped her staff, and a deliberately buried metal fragment flew out from the scorched earth—it was half a rocket shell casing.

The air froze.

Deren’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Onyxia’s fingertips twitched slightly. Chromie began to reach stealthily for her pocket watch—

"So," Jaina turned away, facing the giant crater with her back to them. "What do you suggest Theramore... should do in response to this 'black dragon infighting'?"

Deren blinked. "...Issue a public statement?"

"Express deep concern," Onyxia added.

"And send a few observers!" Chromie raised her hand. "Preferably human mages; black dragons are rather... sensitive to arcane energy."

***

Jaina suddenly raised a hand, and everyone fell silent instantly.

In the morning light, the shoulders of Theramore’s ruler trembled slightly.

She was laughing.

"And what will you do from now on?" Jaina asked as she turned back, her face composed once more. "This explosion destroyed everything, except for those few big iron contraptions."

Deren said calmly, "...Are you referring to the fertilizer business? This interference by Deathwing has already caused irreparable losses to Her Highness’s enterprise. We could collaborate: we provide the technology, and Theramore provides the manpower and raw materials to resume fertilizer production."

"Of course." Jaina elegantly brushed the ash off her staff. "I think that is quite reasonable. It would also help avoid the wrath of Deathwing. But how will the profits be divided?"

With a flick of her finger, the rocket debris dissipated into blue motes of light in the wind.

Deren said in a low voice, "In light of the sudden circumstances, I think it is necessary to convene a meeting of all stakeholders. We should properly discuss the future of the fertilizer business. I can guarantee that Theramore will receive at least a 30% stake."

Jaina nodded, signaling her agreement. "I will handle the investigation teams that might come from various parties. As for resuming production, I will convene a meeting as well. Oh, you have nowhere to stay for now; any thoughts on that?"

The three dragons exchanged a look, and it was Deren who spoke. "We’ll have to trouble Theramore, then. Provide us room and board for a while, and once the meeting on fertilizer production is concluded, we shall talk further."

Chromie said wearily, "I’m going back to the Caverns of Time. This whole affair has given me a headache for so long; I need a good rest."

Deren patted her on the shoulder. "Go back to face the questioning of the Dragon Aspect? Better to stay with us, on the company’s tab."

"Well, that’s not entirely impossible," Chromie choked, immediately changing her mind.

The night sky of Theramore was lit up, and boisterous laughter drifted from the Blue-Roof Tavern in the Mage Quarter.

Deren sprawled on a cushioned bench, his table piled high with empty tankards and gnawed lamb bones. He had spent over half a year desperately fighting for survival, never daring to let his guard down. Now that the major task was achieved, he felt an indescribable exhaustion.

"Hiccup... one... one more!" He raised a wooden mug, the amber liquid sloshing and spilling halfway.

"Human bodies are truly fragile." Onyxia was elegantly slicing a whole roasted lamb on her plate, the tip of her knife precisely carving out every sliver of meat. She had changed into a deep blue dress in the style of Theramore, charming and seductive.

Chromie was draped over a beer barrel, her short legs swinging in the air. "Another barrel! Time dragons don't fear alcohol!" Her twin ponytails had come undone, and wild flowers—given to her by someone unknown—were tucked into her golden hair.

Jaina leaned against the bar, her fingertips tapping the oak barrel, and magical frost mist instantly cooled the freshly opened ale to the perfect temperature. She watched these three survivors, the corners of her mouth curling upward involuntarily.

"To our new partners!" Deren suddenly raised his mug high. "To Theramore! To... er..." His gaze met Onyxia’s slit pupils. "To the joy of being alive!"

The clinking of crystal mugs startled the nightingales outside the window.

At midnight, Deren stumbled back to his guest room. The master of Theramore had prepared a luxury suite for him—though "luxury" was a stretch; it was merely a room with a balcony overlooking the sea.

He collapsed onto the feather bed without even taking off his boots. Moonlight flowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, paving a silver path across the floor. The scent of ale, roast meat, and gunpowder still lingered in his nostrils, and Chromie’s off-key dragon war song seemed to echo in his ears.

They had won.

Deathwing was severely wounded and in retreat, and the power of the Old Gods had temporarily receded. The shadow of the apocalypse that had weighed on his shoulders... had dissipated.

Deren’s vision gradually blurred.

"Hey, Deren! Do you know who I am?" An ethereal voice drifted into his mind.

"Get lost, I’m sleeping. We’ll talk tomorrow," Deren waved his hand impatiently.

"..., fine, I’ll find you another time." The voice in his head vanished.