Dragon-Shaped Bear Kid

Morning mist hung like gauze, and the workshop district of the Swamp of Sorrows was still shrouded in hazy vapor. Deren carried a stack of formula sheets as he trudged toward the Sulfur Burning Zone, stumbling through the mud. His boots sank into the mire with squelching sounds.

"Everyone, get up and get to work!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice jarringly loud in the silent swamp.

Yet the only response he received was a few lazy dragon roars.

Before the furnace, Onyxia was bent over a large pile of sulfur ore. Her slender fingers gently toyed with the golden crystals, her nose nearly pressed against them. As Deren approached, he saw her take a deep breath, her dragon eyes narrowing slightly as the corners of her lips rose unconsciously into an intoxicated expression.

"Hey!" Deren kicked a pebble on the ground with the tip of his boot. "What are you doing?"

Onyxia lazily glanced at him, the tip of her tail lightly tapping the ground. "This smell is quite special."

Deren frowned and was about to speak when he suddenly heard rustling behind him. He whipped around and found that over a dozen Dragonborn had somehow gathered around them. Like cats that had caught the scent of catnip, they all lay flat on the ground and buried their faces in the sulfur pile.

"Hiss—haa—"

The Broken-Horn Black Dragon picked up a large chunk of sulfur and took a deep breath, then let out a satisfied sigh. His dragon eyes dilated, his expression dreamy as though he were drunk. The other Dragonborn followed suit, and soon the workshop district was filled with waves of inhaling.

Deren's jaw nearly hit the floor. "You... what are you doing?"

"Sulfur," a young black Dragon Cub murmured. "It smells like sunlight."

"Bullshit! It clearly carries the scent of lava!" an older Dragonborn retorted, taking another huge sniff.

Deren stood frozen in place as the formula sheets in his hands fell to the ground with a slap. To his left—the Broken-Horn Black Dragon was rubbing his cheek against a sulfur chunk; to his right—Onyxia had secretly taken another sniff; ahead of him—a group of Dragonborn was already rolling around on the ground in bliss.

"Enough!!!"

Deren grabbed an iron bucket nearby and struck it viciously with a wooden stick. The deafening clang made several hatchlings nearly jump out of their skins.

"Get up and work!!" He waved the stick, herding the junkie dragons like sheep. "Sulfur is for burning! Not for sniffing!!"

Onyxia gracefully straightened up and patted nonexistent dust from her hands. "What's the rush?" With a light sweep of her tail, she sent several Dragonborn still immersed in their sulfur high stumbling. "Didn't you hear what the human said? Work."

The Dragonborn reluctantly climbed to their feet, their eyes still lingering longingly on the sulfur pile. The Broken-Horn Black Dragon even tried to stuff several small pieces into the gaps between his scales, only to be stopped by a glare from Deren.

"Light it!" Deren ordered through gritted teeth. "Collect the fumes to make sulfurous acid! If anyone dares sneak another sniff..." He shot Onyxia a vicious look. "Have your princess throw him into the acid pool for a bath!"

The corners of Onyxia's lips lifted slightly as a wisp of Black Flame ignited at her fingertips. "That's not a bad suggestion."

As the Black Flame fell into the furnace, the golden sulfur slowly began to burn, giving off pungent fumes. The Dragonborn worked while coughing, and no one dared sneak another sniff—but Deren noticed that Onyxia always happened to stand downwind.

That night, Deren wrote in his journal: "Today's discoveries: 1. The Dragon Race has an inexplicable obsession with sulfur. 2. Onyxia is the ringleader of these addicts. 3. Security around the sulfur warehouse needs to be improved."

The Sulfurous Acid Pool bubbled away, its pale yellow liquid gleaming with an eerie sheen under the sunlight. Deren rolled up his sleeves, gripping a long-handled wooden paddle, fine beads of sweat covering his forehead.

"Watch closely!" he shouted to the Dragonborn gathered around the pool. "Stir gently! Slowly! Let the oxidation reaction proceed evenly!"

He bent over and carefully drew circles in the pool with the paddle, his movements as gentle as if he were stirring a cup of hot tea. The Dragonborn tilted their heads as they watched, their faces full of confusion.

The Broken-Horn Black Dragon scratched his chin. "That's it?"

"That's it." Deren straightened and handed him the paddle. "You try."

The Broken-Horn Black Dragon took the paddle, stared at the pool for two seconds, then suddenly swung his arm wide—

SPLASH!!!

With one stroke, he sent waves half a man's height crashing through the Sulfurous Acid Pool, splattering liquid everywhere. Deren jumped back in a panic, but his trouser leg was still soaked, and several wisps of blue smoke immediately rose from the fabric.

"My—pants!!" Deren's roar sent the swamp birds flying.

The Broken-Horn Black Dragon looked utterly innocent. "Wasn't that how it was done?"

Deren took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to smash the paddle over his head. "Gentle! Slow! Like this!" He demonstrated once more.

The Dragonborn looked at one another, then finally nodded as if they had just reached an epiphany.

What followed nearly made Deren cough up blood—these guys did lighten their movements, but far too much. Their paddles merely swayed lightly across the surface, as if they were fanning the pool. The oxidation reaction visibly slowed.

"Put some strength into it!!" Deren flailed his arms in frustration.

"But you said to be gentle," one Dragonborn replied pitifully.

Deren wiped his face in despair, then jumped onto the work platform beside the pool without another word and took over himself. Gritting his teeth, he stirred stroke after stroke, sweat dripping from his chin into the pool with soft sizzling sounds.

By the time he climbed out, exhausted and gasping for breath, he found all the Dragonborn squatting by the pool with their chins in their hands, watching intently—but not one of them had lifted a finger to help.

"You..." Deren's voice trembled. "You're just watching?"

"We're learning!" the Broken-Horn Black Dragon answered righteously. "Human techniques must be observed properly."

Deren turned toward Onyxia, who was leaning against a tree, and sent her a pleading look. The Black Dragon Princess lazily yawned, flicked the tip of her tail, and sent the nearest dragon soaring into the sky like a bright star before it fell into a distant swamp.

SPLASH!

"Now," she said, narrowing her eyes, "either work or fly. Choose."

The Dragonborn immediately grabbed their paddles and began stirring with all their might, their movements as precise as those of professional alchemists.

Deren slumped down beside them, watching the suddenly diligent Dragonborn and muttering to himself, "So this is Dragon Race management..."

Inside the Ammonia Workshop, Deren was pouring bucket after bucket of fermented ingredients into the reaction pool. The strong, pungent smell of Ammonia Water instantly exploded through the enclosed space, like a heavy punch smashing into everyone's nostrils.

"Blegh—"

The Broken-Horn Black Dragon was the first to surrender, clutching his nose as he staggered back three steps, so startled that even his scales lost their color. The other Dragonborn fared even worse. Some directly reverted to dragon form and flapped their wings as they tried to rush outside, only to get jammed together in a heap at the doorway.

"Get back here!" Deren grabbed a certain black Dragon Cub by the tail. "Put your mask on and get back to work!"

"No! It stinks worse than a dead lizard!" The Dragon Cub struggled desperately, its claws gouging several deep furrows into the ground.

Veins bulged at Deren's temples as he turned toward Onyxia, the only one still standing. The Black Dragon Princess had wrapped her head in a magical barrier, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth gave away the fact that she was holding back too.

"You can't handle it either?" Deren incredulously raised the gas mask—a crude piece of equipment hastily made from linen soaked in spices and activated charcoal.

Onyxia's dragon eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your words, human."

"Then help me keep these deserters in line!" Deren pointed at the Dragonborn rolling all over the floor. "Didn't you say the Dragon Race wasn't afraid of foul stench?!"

A black shadow flashed past, and the Broken-Horn Black Dragon, who had fled first, was swept back beside the Reactor by a dragon tail. Onyxia's claws dug deeply into his shoulder armor. "Take one more step, and I'll soak you in the Ammonia Water pool until you molt."

The brutal suppression lasted a full ten minutes. In the end, every Dragonborn stood at their station wearing a crooked mask, their eyes brimming with tears. As Deren inspected their gear one by one, he found that every dragon face beneath those masks was scrunched up like a steamed bun.

"Move faster!" Deren rapped on the Reactor. "Wait for the nitric acid solution—"

Splash—

A hatchling's hand trembled, and it poured an entire barrel of raw materials over itself. Thick smoke instantly hissed out through the gaps in its scales. It howled as it frantically flung its body around, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Deren closed his eyes in despair. When he opened them again, he found that Onyxia had used Shadow Chains to tether every Dragonborn around the reaction pool.

"Now," she said, licking her sharp fangs, "if anyone moves even once."

The chains promptly tightened, squeezing several Dragonborn until their eyes rolled back.

Under the threat of death, the Dragonborn finally displayed astonishing efficiency. By the time the last bag of Ammonium Nitrate had been sealed, Deren had collapsed into a corner, a weak laugh coming from beneath his mask. "I should've used this trick to manage the sulfur from the start..."

Onyxia dismissed her barrier and elegantly dusted off nonexistent dirt. "I told you. A stick works better than reason."

The setting sun shone through gaps in the workshop roof, gilding the mountain of Ammonium Nitrate sacks with golden edges. Deren leaned against the pile, lightly tapping his knee as he calculated the day's output.

"At least three and a half tons..." he murmured, the corners of his mouth rising unconsciously. "That'll be enough."

Onyxia approached with graceful steps, her claw tips scraping across the sacks with a rustling sound. She bent down to sniff them, her dragon nose wrinkling slightly. "Smells like a failed product."

"Chemicals never smell very good." Deren smiled tiredly and patted the sack beside him. "But these can change the course of the war."

The Black Dragon Princess snorted. With a flick of her tail, she effortlessly lifted several sacks of Ammonium Nitrate. "The lair is ready."

Deren nodded and pushed himself to his feet with his hands on his knees. His movements were sluggish—an entire day of directing, demonstrating, and shouting had nearly drained him dry. Onyxia glanced at him, then suddenly pressed the tip of her tail against his back, quietly supporting him.

The Dragonborn formed a line and set out for the lair carrying sacks of Ammonium Nitrate. The Broken-Horn Black Dragon walked at the front, occasionally glancing back at Deren with a measure of awe in his eyes—the nightmare of the Ammonia Water had clearly left a deep impression on him.

Onyxia's lair lay deep within the swamp. After all the renovations of recent days, it was no longer the dark, damp cave it had once been. A magical barrier shimmered across the entrance, completely isolating the interior from the outside world. Deren followed the Dragonborn inside and was surprised to discover that the lair had already been transformed into a standard storage area.

"When did you...?"

"Last night." Onyxia's tail lightly brushed his wrist. "If we're storing 'important supplies,' it should at least look the part."

Deren looked at the neatly arranged shelves, the moisture-proof Magic Array, and even the temperature and humidity monitoring equipment, momentarily speechless. These were clearly not arrangements the Dragon Race normally used—the shelves were precisely the right height for human operation, the monitoring equipment was standard Dalaran issue, and even the rune patterns of the moisture-proof array had been drawn in strict accordance with the Alchemical Storage Standards.

"You..."

"Shut up, human." Onyxia turned her face away, but the tip of her tail honestly curled around his wrist. "It's only to keep your lousy bags from getting damp."

After the final sack of Ammonium Nitrate had been placed in its designated position, Onyxia waved a claw. Shadow Runes intertwined in the air into a net that enveloped the entire storage area.

"Now," she said, gazing at her handiwork with satisfaction, "apart from you and me, anyone who touches it dies."

Deren nodded with a smile, then suddenly went weak at the knees. The sustained high-intensity work had finally made his body protest. Before he could fall, Onyxia's tail had already wrapped securely around his waist.

"Humans really are fragile," she said disdainfully, though she carefully adjusted the pressure of her tail. "Go sleep."

Deren was groggily carried toward the resting area deeper within the lair—somehow, there was now a stone bed covered in soft fur, just large enough to accommodate one person and one dragon.

In the final moment before sleep claimed him, Deren felt something warm gently wrap around him. The scent of sulfur and obsidian lingered beneath his nose, while Onyxia's steady breathing sounded in his ears.

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