Gawain could understand Tarlonnd's current predicament—not the predicament caused by the post-disaster wasteland, but the predicament of dragonkind itself.
A race raised by Omega for 1.87 million years, a race that had lived in a cradle for 1.87 million years—although they had maintained the most basic observation of the outside world and had a habit of sending "agents" like Melita to operate on other continents, such limited, high-level contact had almost no effect on a society that needed normal development. They had long since drifted away from normal social order, neither advancing nor regressing, neither under pressure nor driven by motivation. Like animals raised in a greenhouse, they still had sharp fangs and claws, yet had degenerated to the point of no longer knowing how to use them.
After the cradle collapsed, babies had to start by learning to crawl—this had little to do with how powerful dragons themselves were.
But Tarlonnd still had hope of its own: "Primordial Dragons" like Andar had survived, and they possessed experience of past survival; members of the "new generation" like Melita, who had been exposed to the outside world, had also survived, and they possessed the drive to change their race. As long as these two groups retained a certain voice among dragonkind, Tarlonnd's revival would be only a matter of time.
For Gawain, who urgently needed to strengthen this world's overall "disaster resistance," Tarlonnd's revival was a welcome sight, and the sooner the better—put bluntly, he needed powerful races like dragons to help "weather disasters."
Gawain shook his head and temporarily cast aside these thoughts unrelated to the current matter. He looked up at Melita, suddenly showing a slightly awkward expression. "Actually, I hesitated a little when I first brought this up to you—I was worried that this topic might upset you,