Dragonborn Construction

The fetid mists of the Swamp of Sorrows churned beneath the morning light. Onyxia stood atop the high platform of the lair, her black robes snapping in the wind. She looked down upon the gathered dragonkin, whelps, and handful of adult black dragons, her golden slit pupils sweeping over every greedy face.

"Do you like gold?" Her voice was not loud, yet it silenced every dragon as instantly as lava seeping into ice.

A rustling of scales filled the lair—the whelps nodded frantically, the Dragon Guard unconsciously scraped his claws against the ground, and even the oldest black dragons could not help licking their fangs.

Onyxia sneered and suddenly pulled a bulging leather sack from the Void. The moment she loosened her claws, coins poured down like a waterfall, silver and gold splashing intoxicating ripples across the marsh.

"Look at yourselves!" Her dragon tail smashed a stalactite to pieces. "Hiding in rotten mud and licking your wounds, going out to raid like stray dogs every time—three warriors were lost last week, and even their bones were turned into armor buckles by dwarves!"

A broken-horned black dragon could not help growling. "But even the rats in the Swamp of Sorrows stink. Where would we get—"

"Shut up!" Onyxia suddenly flashed before him. Her Dragon Awe forced the massive creature to kneel straight into the muck. "I made a deal with the Goblins." She kicked the sack at her feet, and a gold coin rolled to the broken-horned dragon's claws. "Trade Fertilizer for gold. It's far safer than raiding. This is only part of the deposit."

"How could those skinny little weaklings possibly have gold to give us?" a whelp asked an adult black dragon beside him in confusion.

"I've heard Goblins are especially good at business. They must have plenty of gold," the adult black dragon replied lazily.

"Then why don't we rob them?" the whelp said excitedly.

"You think nobody has tried that? Too few succeeded. Far more failed. To protect their gold, Goblins hire many powerful races as subordinates. If you go, you'll only get captured and auctioned off as magical materials." The adult black dragon sounded irritated.

"This human expert will teach you how to produce it." Onyxia rested a claw on Deren's shoulder, scales scraping against cloth with a dangerous sound. "And you will serve him as you serve me."

A whelp suddenly darted forward. "But he's foo—"

Black Flame flashed, instantly carbonizing the scales on the tip of the whelp's tail. Onyxia seized the back of its neck and lifted it before her eyes. "Do you know how Goblins deal with disobedient partners? They turn them into demonstration specimens for 'Accident Insurance.'" She casually tossed the shrieking whelp back into the dragon crowd. "Now then, anyone who has smelled enough of the money can sign up to build the factory."

The sight of the Dragonborn swarming over the coins reminded Deren of hungry wolves tearing apart food in Westfall. Yet the Broken-Horn Black Dragon squeezed over to him and suddenly pulled a rusty pocket watch from beneath his scales—a yellowed Stormwind City family portrait was set inside.

"I stole it in the Redridge Mountains seven years ago." The black dragon's breath singed Deren's sleeve. "Human, can we really earn gold?"

Deren gently closed the pocket watch and placed it back in the dragon's claw. "Why do you think dragons live in the wilderness, while humans and Goblins have warm, sturdy, safe cities to live in? Because they know how to make gold."

The Broken-Horn Black Dragon nodded again and again.

Over the following days, the foul waters of the Swamp of Sorrows were stirred awake.

Onyxia's Dragon Wings spread beneath the morning sun, their shadow sweeping over the log frames under construction. Twenty dragonkin shouted rough work chants as they dragged a century-old hemlock through the marsh—their scales were caked with mud, and their claws were wrapped in hemp rope specially made by Deren.

"Raise the left side!" Deren stood atop a temporary watchtower, waving the Gnomish Engineering Primer kindly sponsored by Chromie. "Watch the angle of the crossbeam!"

"Human—" A black dragon curled his tail around several steel nails and impatiently spat sparks. "We're usually better at tearing houses down."

Onyxia's dragon breath suddenly swept over everyone's heads, welding the steel nails precisely into the mortise-and-tenon joints. When she landed, she returned to her elf form, though her black robe could not hide the wood shavings clinging to the tip of her tail.

A series of dull booms came from deep within the marsh. Several whelps came racing back to report excitedly, "We dug up clean water! Just like you said!" Tiny streams of Dragonfire slipped from their mouths, and their bodies were covered in foul-smelling mud.

By dusk, three wooden sheds covered in acid-resistant bark had risen at the entrance to the lair, where bones had once lain scattered. Ditches diverted sewage toward a deliberately preserved poisonous pool, while purified water flowed through a row of glass pipes personally smelted by Onyxia, refracting strange halos beneath the setting sun.

"We can install the Reactor here later." Deren crouched over the blueprint and circled the core area in red ink. The corners of the plans also bore crooked whelp doodles—the work of some "supervisor."

Onyxia suddenly snatched the quill from his hand. Her fingertips still carried the heat of Shadowflame, yet she deliberately restrained it when touching the human's palm. "Come see your 'office.'"

Within the easternmost wooden shed, a desk inlaid with energy crystals glowed softly. Its legs were shaped like dragon claws, while its drawer handles were miniature black dragon statues—clearly from some princess's private collection.

"More luxurious than Stormwind City Hall." Deren smiled and tapped the desktop, his knock accompanied by the muffled giggles of whelps eavesdropping outside.

The night wind swept across the marsh, carrying the scent of sulfur and fresh timber. Onyxia gazed at the industrial park beginning to take shape, suddenly recalling the primitive Night Elf villages from ten thousand years ago. The vibrations beneath her claws were not the rumble of destruction now, but the rhythm of construction.

In the distance, the Broken-Horn Black Dragon was using his tail as a ruler to measure the Reactor foundation, muttering, "Three and a quarter inches," as the human had taught him.

Dusk flowed over the newly built rooftops like molten gold. In human form, Onyxia stood atop the Observation Deck at the highest point of the lair—this "Management-Only Area" had been added at Deren's insistence—and watched the lights gradually come on below.

Steady light shone through the glass windows of the three wooden sheds, coming from the Arcane Lamps she had personally smelted. The Purification Pool to the east reflected the last rays of sunset, and, remarkably, no rotting debris floated on its surface. Farther away, the newly built Canteen carried the aroma of roasted lizard, mixed with the scent of spices Deren had smuggled in from Theramore.

She suddenly pinched her own arm with her claws.

"Feels strange?" Deren's voice came from behind her. He held two cups of alcohol—one was Dwarven Mead for humans, while the other was a dragon special mixed with powdered lava.

Onyxia took the mead and drained it in one gulp, ignoring Deren's stunned expression. She muttered to herself, "Yes, it does feel strange. It got lively all at once. Those trash heaps used to have nothing to do all day except hunt and wander around aimlessly. I spent a while living such dull, boring days myself."

Her eyes fixed on the Half-Dragon Servant patrolling below. The fellow was actually wearing a leather apron designed by Deren, with all kinds of tools neatly hanging from his belt instead of his usual bloodstained weapons.

"When I was hiding in Stormwind City," her dragon eyes reflected the lights below, "I especially loved the bakeries in the old district at dusk." The muscles beneath her scales tensed unconsciously. "The scent of freshly baked honey bread could cover the stench of the entire sewer system."

Deren suddenly pulled something from his pocket. Amid the rustling of unfolded oil paper, a delicate Music Box lay in his palm. When he opened the lid, a gentle, soothing melody flowed out—the famous Lion's Pride.

"I had Chromie commission it from Stormwind City before," Deren explained.

The tip of Onyxia's tail suddenly curled around the box. As each note danced, it felt as though she had returned to the towns and forests beyond Stormwind City.

"Childish." Though the Black Dragon Princess spoke disdainfully, she tucked the Music Box into the lining beneath her scales and let the music continue playing. Then she suddenly pointed toward the undeveloped marsh to the west. "Dig an Artificial Lake there tomorrow."

Deren raised an eyebrow. "For the Fertilizer cooling system?"

"To raise fish." Her nail traced the rim of her cup. "Red ones... they'll match the gold better."

The night wind carried laughter and chatter from the construction site—the Broken-Horn Black Dragon was boasting about how many bolts he had tightened that day. Holding her empty cup, Onyxia suddenly realized something: the scent lingering at the tip of her nose was no longer the eternal smell of sulfur and decay, but pinewood, mead, and a trace of something unique to humans...

She abruptly turned her head and found Deren grinning foolishly at the design plans, completely unaware that a dragon was smelling him.

Late at night, the new bed in the wooden cabin gave off the fresh scent of pine resin. Deren lay with both hands behind his head, gazing through the skylight at the rare clear night sky over the Swamp of Sorrows. The stars looked like crushed diamonds scattered across a black jade plate—something that had been impossible to see in this territory perpetually shrouded in mist. He could not help smiling. The satisfaction of turning the Wasted Land into a prosperous stronghold was indeed far more interesting than controlling pixelated characters in a game back then.

"Creak—"

The window frame suddenly gave a soft sound. Gaps still remained between the newly made wooden slats, and they creaked at the slightest pressure.

Deren jolted upright and saw Onyxia crouching halfway on the windowsill, moonlight outlining her sharp silhouette from behind. Her human form looked somewhat disheveled at the moment, with a blade of grass still caught in her long hair.

"Princess?" Deren's sleepiness vanished. "Is your lair leaking? Or did someone make you angry—"

"Shut up." Onyxia flipped out of bed, her black robe stirring up a gust that smelled of sulfur. She stood by the bed, her pointed ears twitching suspiciously, her dragon tail unconsciously scratching several scorched marks into the floor.

Deren's gaze moved from the hem of her robe clenched tightly in her hand to her faintly glowing golden slit pupils—the emotions within were so complex that even the most learned Blue Dragon scholar could study them for three hundred years. After guessing for a while, he silently tried lifting a corner of the blanket and scooted over.

The mattress creaked softly. Only when Onyxia stiffly lay down did Deren notice the strange cotton nightgown beneath her black robe—the collar was embroidered with crooked sheaves of wheat, clearly a "tribute" from the hatchlings.

"I only came to inspect the quality of the building materials," she said through gritted teeth, staring at the ceiling. Yet her tail quietly pinned down the corner of Deren's clothes.

Looking at the gap between them, wide enough to fit another Chromie, Deren fought back a laugh until his ribs hurt. "Of course. This bed is made of premium Ironwood."

Silence spread like night mist over a swamp. Onyxia's body heat seeped through the sheets, far warmer than a human's, yet unexpectedly not unpleasant. When Deren counted the seventeenth star, he suddenly heard the soft rustle of fabric—something cool brushed against the back of his hand.

The Black Dragon Princess's fingertips were slowly, cautiously tracing the scar on the back of his hand, left by a sickle during the Westfall famine. Her claws had retracted to their safest length, and her touch was as light as a falling dragon scale.

"Remember to go back before dawn." Deren suddenly spoke, his voice several notes lower than usual. "Our relationship can't appear too intimate. It would make me your weakness. You shouldn't show affection for a pet."

Onyxia's tail smacked Deren's foot. "Who said I love you?!"

The angle of the moonlight showed that only half an hour had passed, yet Deren heard steady breathing beside him. Turning his head slightly, he saw the Black Dragon Princess—who was said to be able to frighten an adult Red Dragon into tears—curled up like a human girl, a lock of long hair stuck to the corner of her mouth. Her hand unconsciously clutched Deren's sleeve, as though it were some precious trophy.