Chapter 30: A Brief Respite

Inside the Theramore council chamber, the quarreling was loud enough to lift the roof.

"Thirty percent?! On what grounds does Theramore deserve the lion's share?!" Prince Gallywix slammed a foot onto the conference table, the chain of his gold-rimmed spectacles rattling. "Advertising, logistics, marketing—it’s us goblins footing the bill! Goblins demand forty percent."

Jaina tapped her crystal ball with a fingertip, sending out a ripple of frost that froze the goblin’s boots solid. "Theramore provides the venue, political asylum, and patent protection for the technology—" Her blue eyes swept across everyone present. "Thirty percent. Not a fraction less."

Thrall crossed his arms, the thick muscles of his orcish frame slightly bulging. "The Horde hunters are gathering fur and dung. Who among you can provide more raw materials than us? Twenty percent is the bottom line."

Nefarian, in the form of a high elf, looked on with indifference. "Blackrock sulfur is in high demand—" He paused. "Fifteen percent. No bargaining."

"Impossible. We are contributing the technology; at least twenty percent," Onyxia insisted.

The chamber erupted into chaos.

"Ahem..." Dren coughed a few times to draw attention.

All eyes turned to him. Dren shrank into his chair, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He looked at Jaina, then at Gallywix, and finally at Onyxia—whose gaze held a silent warning.

"I... fifteen percent is fine. I'll take the first step back; otherwise, this will go on forever."

The chamber went silent.

"What?!" the goblin shrieked. "Are you crazy?! Only fifteen percent for proprietary technology?!"

Dren wiped his brow. "If Lord Nefarian also steps back to ten percent, I shouldn't really be asking for more than my brother-in-law... er, the Black Dragon Prince, right?"

Onyxia slapped a gold coin onto the table with a sharp *clack*, the corners of her mouth curling upward.

Thrall frowned, but eventually nodded. "Fine. Ten percent for the Horde, on par with Blackrock Mountain."

Gallywix frantically tapped his calculator, then suddenly looked up. "Wait! Thirty plus thirty plus fifteen plus ten plus ten equals ninety-five! What about the other five percent?!"

Dren took a deep breath. "Reserved for the Dragon Aspects."

"What?!" the goblin flew into a rage. "Why give free money to those dragons who have nothing to do with this?!"

Dren slammed the table—an action that startled even himself. "Do you still want to use the 'Blackwing Fertilizer' brand name or not?!" His voice rose sharply. "If Deathwing comes to wreck the shop again, do you plan to handle it yourself, or are you counting on the Bronze Dragonflight to save the day?!"

The room fell deathly silent.

Gallywix’s ears twitched, his eyes darting around twice before he suddenly grinned, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. "...Fair point! Five percent for a life insurance policy—worth it!"

Jaina’s crystal ball glowed brightly, and the contract documents appeared, the shares clearly listed:

Theramore (Jaina) — 30%
Bilgewater Trade Prince (Gallywix) — 30%
Dren Lawson (Technology Equity) — 15%
Blackrock Mountain (Nefarian) — 10%
The Horde (Thrall) — 10%
Dragon Aspects (Chromie as proxy) — 5%

Onyxia’s gold coin flipped into the air with a *ding*, spun several times, and landed firmly back in her palm.

"Deal."

Privately, Jaina gave another two percent to Nefarian to repay him for returning Derek. Nefarian nodded in satisfaction. Jaina then gave Dren an additional one percent personally, thanking him for his mediation.

***

Pandaria, Jade Forest Coast — Dusk

The sun sank into the horizon, the last rays of golden light dancing on the crests of the waves. The campfire crackled, the aroma of roasted fish mingling with the cloying sweetness of pandaren mead, drifting on the slightly salty sea breeze.

Dren lay back on the beach, slightly tipsy, gazing at the star-filled sky. *Life as a dragon-adjacent man—what more could one ask for?* He raised his glass and swirled it toward the moon.

"Cheers!"

"Hiccup~"

Chromie let out a loud, drunken hiccup beside him, her face flushed red as she hugged an empty keg and muttered, "Why... why is the timeline spinning..."

Onyxia let out a soft huff, flicking her slender fingers—*Snap!*

The keg suddenly flipped over, splashing the remaining mead all over the bronze dragon’s head.

"Oops, my hand slipped," she squinted, her mouth curling into a dangerous arc.

Chromie’s hair stood on end. "You did that on purpose!"

Onyxia stretched lazily, the strap of her silk dress sliding down an inch. "Evidence?"

The little bronze dragon stomped her feet in anger, a temporal rift tearing open behind her. "I—I’m going back to write my report! You two can go be lovey-dovey by yourselves!"

*Whoosh!*

She vanished without a trace, leaving only half a squid skewer stuck in the sand.

***

The Night Breeze grew cooler.

Dren was about to pour another drink when he felt a weight on his back—Onyxia had pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I think... I’m a little drunk." Her breath brushed against his ear, smelling of sweet mead.

Dren stiffened.

The Black Dragon Princess’s body temperature was higher than a mortal's; he could feel the scorching heat through his clothes. She rubbed gently against his back, the faint silhouette of dragon scales flickering across her skin.

"Does it hurt?" she asked suddenly.

Dren was stunned. "What?"

Onyxia’s fingertip traced his shoulder—there was an old scar there, left behind from an accident during an experiment in the Dustwallow Marsh.

"I am a dragon, you are a mortal," her voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "If I’m not careful, I will hurt you."

Her arms tightened unconsciously. Dren reached back and pushed, pinning Onyxia beneath him.

"I haven’t been that weak and frail for a long time. Azeroth’s blessing isn't just for show!"

Onyxia let go immediately, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

Dren laughed, turning to cup her face. Under the moonlight, this once-tyrannical Black Dragon Princess appeared, for a moment, somewhat... at a loss.

"Listen," he rubbed his thumb against the corner of her eye, where a tiny, obsidian-colored scale rested. "Titans can reshape stars, bronze dragons can manipulate time, and Old Gods can corrupt worlds..."

He leaned close to her ear and whispered softly:

"Do you think it's so difficult for a dragon and a mortal to stay together? Immortality isn't out of reach for me, after all. I am, after all, the one chosen by Azeroth."

Onyxia’s pupils contracted sharply.

Amidst the sound of the waves, she suddenly bit his earlobe; the sharp pain of dragon teeth piercing skin made him grunt.

"This is the contract," she licked away a bead of blood. "If you go back on your word, I’ll eat you."

***

The sea breeze rattled the windowpanes, and the fireplace crackled.

Chromie suddenly appeared in the room, sitting cross-legged on the wool carpet, clutching a handful of dried squid, her face full of mischievous amusement.

"So—" she drew out the syllables, swinging her feet, "—the first mortal Dragon Knight in history is about to be born?"

Onyxia pushed Dren off her, grabbed a crystal goblet, and threw it at Chromie.

"Bronze dragon, are you itching for a beating? What kind of Dragon Knight?" Her voice was terrifyingly gentle.

Chromie stuck out her tongue. "You know exactly what kind of 'riding' I mean!"

Dren sat to the side, sighing and rubbing his forehead. "Can you two just give it a rest?"

Onyxia suddenly narrowed her eyes at Chromie. "Do you think you can escape?"

With a flick of her finger, the hourglass at the bronze dragon’s waist suddenly floated up, hovering between the three of them. As the sand flowed, it faintly revealed an image of Chromie in the future—standing on tiptoe, leaning against a dark-haired man.

Chromie’s hair stood on end as she lunged to grab the hourglass. "No way, it’ll break!!!"

The campfire on the beach crackled, the smell of roasted squid and mead carried away by the wind. Dren lay on his beach towel, tipsy, gazing at the stars. Chromie hugged the empty keg, muttering nonsense about timelines, while Onyxia stretched lazily, gleaming with a pearl-like luster in the moonlight.

Suddenly—

"You all look quite relaxed."

A cold voice came from the shadows of the coconut grove.

Dren sat up with a start, his straw hat falling into the sand. Jaina Proudmoore stood on the shore, the moonlight gilding her edges, arcane sparks still lingering at the tip of her staff—clearly, the runaway fire from Onyxia’s squid roasting was her doing.

"I’ve just finished processing three trade agreements, five letters of inquiry from Dalaran, and mediated a brawl between goblins and orcs at the docks." Her blue eyes scanned the grill, the wine bottles, and Chromie’s wet footprints. "And you—you’re having a barbecue party?"

Chromie let out a drunken hiccup, a temporal rift tearing open behind her. "I—I’m leaving!"

*Whoosh!*

The bronze dragon disappeared, leaving only half a squid skewer stuck in the sand.

Dren laughed awkwardly and offered a skewer of freshly grilled lobster. "Talented people work harder, right... saving the world depends on you!"

Jaina stared at the lobster for two seconds before grabbing it and taking a bite. A bit of oil stained the corner of her lip, which she wiped away with her thumb—a slightly unrefined gesture that made both Dren and Onyxia raise their eyebrows.

"...It tastes good." She sat by the campfire, her voice softening. "I came to thank you."

The firelight reflected on her profile, the shadows cast by her eyelashes trembling slightly.

"Father is coming to Theramore tomorrow to pick up Derek..." her fingertips unconsciously rubbed her staff. "I’m afraid he’ll clash with the Horde."

After Chromie vanished, the beach fell into a brief silence.

Jaina’s gaze drifted between Dren and Onyxia, finally settling on the gold coin in the Black Dragon Princess’s hand—the lucky coin gifted by Azeroth, now reflecting the campfire light, spinning between Onyxia’s fingers like a star being toyed with.

"So," Jaina broke the silence, "do you have any good suggestions? How should I receive my father?"

Dren scratched his head, most of his tipsiness already gone. "Admiral Daelin... he really is a stubborn old sea dog."

Onyxia suddenly chuckled, the coin flicking into the air in an arc. "But black dragons specialize in curing stubbornness." Her golden slit pupils contracted in the firelight. "Do you need me to 'visit' him?"

"No," Jaina shook her head, her fingers rubbing the staff. "I was thinking... Dren, could you accompany me to meet my father?"

Dren’s wine glass hung mid-air.

The sound of the waves suddenly became very clear; the tide washed up onto the beach, soaking the tips of Jaina’s boots. She didn't seem to notice, only staring at Dren, a rare, earnest plea hidden in her blue eyes.

Onyxia’s gold coin suddenly stopped on her thumb.

"Ha!" Chromie’s voice came from mid-air, her messy golden head poking out of a temporal rift. "No way, no way, why is Dren so popular! Onyxia, are you jealous?"

"Oof~" Dren’s ear was pinched by Onyxia. "Ouch, ouch, ouch~" Dren begged for mercy.

"Do you want me to pack Dren up and send him to your room? Human princess," Onyxia asked with a dark face.

"No, no," Jaina gripped her staff until her knuckles turned white. "I just feel that Dren gives me a sense of reliability. Thinking about Father coming, I don't know how to face him." Her voice dropped. "When I encounter such problems, I just intuitively feel that Dren can give me some good advice."

Dren let out a long sigh and drained the remaining wine in his cup. The sweetness of the mead melted on his tongue, but he tasted a hint of bitterness.

"Fine," he stood up and brushed off the sand. "For the sake of friendship—tomorrow I will go meet the 'Grand Admiral' himself. Let’s see if I can convince him to give up on declaring war against the orcs of Kalimdor."

Onyxia’s lips curled into a dangerous arc, the gold coin vanishing in her palm. "Remember to bring the coin."