Chapter 6: Choosing a Location

Chromie stood amidst a swirl of suspended grains of time, her twin ponytails fluttering without a breeze. Her hourglass staff tilted slightly, projecting a blurred image into the void. In the scene, Drelan and Onyxia stood to one side, pinching their noses as a group of goblin laborers loaded barrels of yellowish-white substance onto a wagon. Nearby, the goblin Groz rubbed his hands together, his face alight with greed.

“As you can see, Lord Nozdormu,” Chromie cleared her throat, striving to keep her tone light, “the disturbance in this temporal branch perfectly fits the ‘Goblin Commercial Activity Fluctuation Model!’” She waved her hand dramatically. “It’s just a bunch of green-skinned little dwarves who suddenly had the bright idea to start mass-producing… uh… ‘high-efficiency organic fertilizer!’”

A deep dragon’s growl echoed from the void, and a face shaped from grains of time slowly materialized—Nozdormu, the bronze dragon king, his eyes like miniature stars, silently fixed on her.

“Fermented excrement… capable of generating such intense ripples in time and space?”

Cold sweat trickled down Chromie’s neck, yet her smile remained firm. “Of course! Have you forgotten last year when the Rustwater Consortium tried to make perfume from felhound waste? That caused the collapse of three entire timelines!” She hurriedly summoned another image—goblins cheering around a smoking barrel of manure. “See? Traditional craftsmanship! Nothing unusual!”

Nozdormu’s expression twitched, his gaze causing the surrounding grains of time to begin solidifying.

“Then why is the black dragon princess involved?”

“Well…” Chromie’s eyes darted. “Onyxia has been undercover in Stormwind for so long that she might’ve… uh… picked up some strange habits of human nobility? Like investing in agriculture?” Suddenly, she clapped her hands. “Oh! Deathwing’s been even crazier lately—maybe she’s trying to find herself a fallback plan and become a farmer!”

A long silence followed.

Finally, the grains of time flowed again, and Nozdormu’s voice came with weary concession: “Continue monitoring. If further temporal deviations are detected…”

“Understood! I’ll report immediately!” Chromie snapped to attention, nearly stabbing her staff into her ear.

Only after the bronze dragon king’s form fully dissipated did she exhale deeply, slumping onto a floating shard of time. Drelan’s fertilizer, black dragon agriculture—how was she going to spin this? She angrily tugged at her hair. She had boarded the pirate ship for sure. One lie led to endless weaving of more; if the boss ever found out she’d been deceiving him, she had no idea what punishment awaited. Sigh… ugh~

At that moment, Drelan spread an aged map of Azeroth on the table, pointing with a finger. “We need somewhere remote enough—no dragon influence, no spies from the Alliance or Horde…”

Onyxia’s eyes lit up. Her dragon tail—though disguised in elven form—twitched excitedly as she pounded the floor. “The Dustwallow Marsh!”

Drelan’s quill clattered to the floor. “...What?”

“My lair is there!” The black dragon princess proudly lifted her chin, as if proposing a brilliant idea. “It’s spacious, with ready-made experimental grounds, and my half-dragon servants can help—”

Drelan covered his face, squeezing sound from between his fingers. “...Do you really think any of your minions would keep a secret if your father or brother asked?”

Onyxia’s smile stiffened.

“Uh…” Her tail slowly drooped. “...No.”

The princess, unconvinced, scratched her head—making her look more like a sulking elven girl than Deathwing’s fearsome daughter—then suddenly pounded the table. “The Badlands! It’s all rocks; even goblins won’t bother!”

Drelan sighed, poking at the map near the Thalassian Pass. “Forgot who lives there?”

“Who?” Onyxia blinked.

“Your own black dragon hatchling training camp.”

“Oh.” Her dragon ears—subtly twitching beneath the illusion—dropped in disappointment. “...Right.”

After a pause, Onyxia brightened again, her tail flicking up. “Elwynn Forest! When I disguised as Countess Prestor, I often hunted there! Lots of trees, familiar terrain, and—”

Drelan pressed his forehead against the table, a muffled groan escaping. “...Stormwind’s heroes patrol there daily. Are you trying to get us surrounded by Varian’s troops the moment we light the fuse?”

Onyxia’s proud grin froze. She pouted, fingers unconsciously scratching at the table’s edge, leaving claw marks in the oak. She muttered, “...Humans are such a nuisance.”

Drelan rubbed his temples, pointing toward Kalimdor. “Feralas isn’t bad—ogres, elven ruins, even goblins—”

“Too far!” Onyxia interrupted like a petulant child, puffing her cheeks. “Flying there takes a whole day! My scales would dry out in the sea wind!”

Drelan: “…”

Realizing her outburst, the black dragon princess quickly straightened her face, though the reddened tips of her ears betrayed her embarrassment. She stared at the map for a long while before scratching a scorch mark with her nail. “...Then here.”

Drelan looked down—The Shimmering Expanse.

“No dragon nests,” she said gloomily, “no heroes, just crocodiles and slimes… That’ll have to do?”

Drelan finally smiled. “Perfect.”

Onyxia turned away with a snort, but her tail betrayed her with a gentle sway.

“But there’s the Temple of Hakkar,” Drelan scratched his head.

“What’s wrong?” Onyxia asked, confused.

“Those evil demigods are always trouble. If you, a black dragon, stir things up there, it might attract their attention. Feels risky.”

In the stone house, the flickering lamplight cast their shadows against the mottled walls. Drelan’s fingers traced the map, eventually settling on a cluster of scattered islands northwest of Booty Bay—like pebbles casually tossed, lonely among the waves of the Broken Isles.

“Here,” he tapped the paper lightly, pointing to the coastline inked in black. “The Broken Isles, southeast of the Western Wilderness.”

Onyxia folded her arms, leaning on the table. Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the light. She leaned forward slightly, her draconic eyes scanning the waters, a subtle lift at the corner of her brow.

“Bloodsail pirates’ turf?” Her voice dripped with disdain, as if speaking of bothersome mosquitoes.

Drelan nodded, a sly smile curling his lips. “A few ships wander through occasionally, but it’s mostly deserted at night.” He paused. “Even if they hear an explosion, they’d just think some unlucky ship ran aground—happens often in the Broken Isles.”

Onyxia’s tail tip flicked once, betraying her interest in the suggestion despite her elven guise.

“Most importantly—” Drelan lowered his voice, leaning in, “you can fly there directly. No boat hassle.”

A faint smile tugged at Onyxia’s lips, but she quickly stiffened, feigning haughtiness. “...Not bad.”

Drelan grinned, revealing a chipped tooth. “And we move under cover of night, back before dawn. Just pick an uninhabited island, set the charges, and vanish without a trace.”

Onyxia studied the islands, her dragon pupils narrowing as if mapping the flight path in her mind. After a moment, she nodded. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Drelan sighed with relief, reaching to fold the map, when suddenly she grabbed his wrist, her sharp nails pressing lightly against his skin.

“But if you waste my time—” Her voice dropped, a dragon’s hiss lacing her words, “I’ll throw you into the sea to feed the fish.”

Drelan blinked, undeterred and even more radiant in his smile. “Rest assured, Your Highness, this time I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

Onyxia squinted, as if weighing the truth of his promise. Finally, she released his hand and turned to the window, moonlight outlining her slender form.

Night deepened, the lights of Booty Bay dimmed, and the moon cast silver streams over the cobblestones. Drelan, carrying a large pack filled with specially prepared ammonium nitrate mixtures, stood at the cliff’s edge, excitement barely concealed at the corners of his mouth. The night wind teased his tousled hair, revealing eyes that gleamed brightly in the dark. A few steps brought him to the now fully revealed true form of Onyxia.

“Try not to dive in like last time,” he teased, patting the black dragon’s scales. “After all, the princess wouldn’t want me to lose control of my bladder.”

Onyxia’s dragon eyes contracted dangerously under the moonlight. Her long neck tensed, black smoke curling from between her scales. “One more word and I’ll toss you to the fish.” Yet her body obediently eased, allowing him to climb into position.

As Drelan’s fingers brushed the cool scales, a suppressed growl rumbled overhead. He could feel the muscles beneath him trembling—not from fatigue, but from a tightly repressed rage. After all, having a human ride a black dragon princess was an unbearable humiliation.

“To kill Deathwing,” Onyxia suddenly said, her voice grinding through clenched teeth. This was both an explanation to Drelan and a warning to herself.

Drelan hesitated, then laughed softly. He gazed at the taut lines of her spine. “Relax. We’re just partners carrying out a necessary mission. We’re a team—missing one of us would spoil everything.”

“Hmph!”

A low black dragon growl, expressing reluctant acceptance.

“Hold tight.” Onyxia hissed the words through clenched teeth. As her wings unfurled, the gust swept away his unfinished jest.

The night wind howled past as Drelan’s startled shout was swallowed by the clouds. Clinging to the dragon’s scales, he let the salty sea breeze fill his robes, as though embracing the entire starry sky. Beneath him, every scale told of resistance yet bore him steadily through the clouds—a paradoxical submission more eloquent than any words. Their bond tightened, growing deeper.

After a dozen minutes of flight, islands of varying sizes flickered below, matching the map’s marks.

“Left! That island looks like a turtle!” Drelan shouted into the bony ridge behind Onyxia’s ear, his warm breath brushing sensitive scales.

Onyxia spun sharply, sending Drelan hurtling into her neck scales by inertia. “Keep giving me wrong directions and I’ll throw you off like a bomb.”

Drelan laughed, clutching her neck, fingertips accidentally brushing a reverse scale. The black dragon stiffened, nearly forgetting to flap her wings.

“S-sorry!” he drawled insincerely, a mischievous grin hidden in the shadows. Moonlight caught the dark crimson sheen behind her ears—revealing that even the proud black dragon princess could be flustered by such a touch.

As the silhouette of the deserted island emerged on the horizon, Onyxia nearly dove with impatience. Her claws touched the ground, and she shifted back to elven form, silver hair tousled over her shoulders, cheeks flushed unnaturally.

“Next time,” she growled, grabbing Drelan’s collar fiercely, “I’m putting a leash on your neck.”

Drelan blinked. “So the princess enjoys this sort of play—”

An elbow to the ribs turned his teasing into a muffled groan. Onyxia turned toward the island’s center but couldn’t hide the heat in her ear tips. Moonlight cast her shadow long on the beach; her restless dragon tail flicked irritably against the sand.

Drelan rubbed his belly and stood, watching her retreating figure with the smile of a cat caught stealing cream. Working with the black dragon princess was both dangerous and thrilling. Dancing on the edge of disaster was the only way to ensure trust—and survive in this perilous world of Azeroth.