A Short Rest

Inside the Theramore Council Chamber, the arguing nearly blew the roof off.

"30%?! What gives Theramore the right to take the biggest share?!" Prince Rivendare planted a foot on the conference table, the chain of his gold-rimmed glasses clattering wildly. "GG ad placement, transport channels, market promotion—all the money is being put up by us Goblins! The Goblins want 40%."

Jaina tapped the Crystal Ball with her fingertips, sending out a ripple of frost that froze the Goblin's boots. "Theramore provides the venue, Political Asylum, and patent protection for the technology—" Her blue eyes swept across everyone present. "30%. Not one percent less."

Thrall crossed his arms, the veins on his thick Orc arms bulging slightly. "Horde hunters are gathering beast fur and dung. Who can provide more raw materials than us? 20% is the bottom line."

The High Elf man Nefarian had transformed into spoke with an indifferent expression. "Blackrock Sulfur is in short supply—" He paused. "15%. Non-negotiable."

"Impossible. We're contributing technology as equity, so we need at least 20%." Onyxia stood firm on that share.

Before long, the meeting room had descended into chaos.

"Ahem..." Deren had no choice but to cough a few times to draw their attention.

Everyone turned to look at Deren.

Deren shrank into his chair, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He looked at Jaina, then at Rivendare, before finally letting his gaze settle on Onyxia—there was a warning in her eyes.

"I... 15% is fine. I'll take a step back first. Otherwise, if we keep arguing like this, it'll never end."

The meeting room instantly fell silent.

"What?!" the Goblin shrieked. "Are you insane?! Only 15% for a technology contribution?!"

Deren wiped away his sweat. "Lord Nefarian can step back a little too and take only 10%. I can't exactly take much more than my brother-in-law... uh, than the Black Dragon Prince, can I?"

Onyxia's gold coin slapped onto the table with a sharp smack, and the corner of her lips lifted slightly.

Thrall frowned, but eventually nodded. "Fine. The Orcs will take 10%, the same as Blackrock Mountain."

Rivendare frantically punched numbers into his calculator before suddenly looking up. "Wait! 30% + 30% + 15% + 10% + 10% = 95%! What about the remaining 5%?!"

Deren drew a deep breath. "Leave it to the Aspect Dragons."

"What?!" The Goblin flew into a rage. "Why give free money to those dragons who have nothing to do with us?!"

Deren slammed the table—startling even himself with the motion. "Do you still want to use the Blackwing Fertilizer name?!" His voice suddenly rose. "If Deathwing comes to smash the place up again, are you planning to handle him yourself, or are you counting on the Bronze Dragon to save you?!"

The meeting room fell deathly silent.

Rivendare's ears twitched, his eyes rolling twice before he suddenly grinned, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. "...Makes sense! Trading 5% for our lives is worth it!"

Jaina's Crystal Ball shone brilliantly, and the contract document automatically appeared, the share distribution clearly listed:

Theramore (Jaina)—30%

Treasure Bay Trade Prince (Rivendare)—30%

Deren Lawson (Technology Equity)—15%

Blackrock Mountain (Nefarian)—10%

Horde (Thrall)—10%

Aspect Dragons (Held by Chromie)—5%

Onyxia's gold coin sprang up with a ding, spun several times in midair, and landed steadily back in her palm.

"Deal."

In private, Jaina gave Nefarian another 2% to repay him for returning Derek. Nefarian nodded in satisfaction. Jaina also gave Deren 1% personally, thanking him for mediating the matter.

Pandaria · Emerald Forest Coast—Dusk

The sun sank beneath the horizon, its last ray of golden light dancing over the wave crests. The campfire crackled, and the aroma of grilled fish mixed with the cloying sweetness of Pandaren Mead, drifting through the slightly salty sea breeze.

Deren lay on his back on the beach, pleasantly tipsy as he gazed up at the sky full of stars.

Life was good as a dragon—what more could a husband ask for?

He raised his cup and waved it at the moon.

"Cheers!"

"Burp~"

Chromie let out a loud drunken burp beside him, her little face flushed red as she hugged an empty barrel and muttered, "The... the Timeline is spinning..."

Onyxia gave a soft snort and flicked her slender finger—smack!

The barrel suddenly tipped upside down, splashing all the remaining Mead over the Bronze Dragon's head.

"Oops, my hand slipped." She narrowed her eyes, a dangerous curve rising at the corner of her lips.

Chromie bristled. "You did that on purpose!"

Onyxia lazily stretched, and the strap of her silk gown slipped half an inch from her shoulder. "Where's the proof?"

The little Bronze Dragon stamped her foot in fury as a Time Rift tore open behind her. "I-I'm going back to write my report! You two can keep being lovey-dovey!"

Whoosh!

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

The warmth of dragon and mortal

The night wind gradually turned colder.

Deren had been about to pour himself another drink when he suddenly felt a weight settle against his back—Onyxia had pressed herself against him, her arms circling his neck.

"I think... I'm a little drunk." Her breath brushed his ear, carrying the sweet fragrance of mead.

Deren froze.

The Black Dragon Princess's body temperature was higher than an ordinary person's; even through their clothes, he could feel that scorching heat. She gently rubbed against his back, and the phantom image of dragon scales flashed across her skin before vanishing.

"Does it hurt?" she suddenly asked.

Deren blinked. "What?"

Onyxia's fingertips traced across his shoulder—where an old scar remained from the accident during the experiment in the Swamp of Sorrows.

"I'm a dragon, and you're mortal." Her voice was so low it was nearly inaudible. "If I use even a little force, I could hurt you."

Her arms tightened unconsciously, and Deren shoved back hard, pinning Onyxia beneath him—

"I'm not that scrawny, helpless person I used to be. Azeroth's blessing isn't just for show!"

Onyxia immediately let go, a flicker of remorse passing through her eyes.

But Deren smiled, turning to cup her face in his hands. Under the moonlight, the once-violent Black Dragon Princess looked somewhat... at a loss.

"Listen." His thumb stroked the corner of her eye, where a tiny black scale rested. "Titans can reshape stars, Bronze Dragons can toy with time, and Old Gods can corrupt even the world itself..."

He leaned close to her ear and whispered:

"Do you really think spending a lifetime with a mortal is such a difficult thing for a dragon? Immortality isn't beyond my reach either. After all, I'm the one Azeroth chose."

Onyxia's pupils suddenly contracted.

Amid the sound of waves, she suddenly bit Deren's earlobe. The sting of dragon teeth piercing his skin drew a muffled groan from him—

"This is a contract." She licked away the bead of blood. "If you go back on it, I'll eat you."

The sea breeze carried the roar of waves against the window lattice, while the fire in the hearth crackled.

Chromie suddenly appeared in the room, sitting cross-legged on the wool rug with a handful of dried grilled squid in her hand, her little face full of mischievous delight.

"So—" she drawled, swinging her feet, "the first Dragon Knight with a mortal identity in history is about to be born?"

Onyxia shoved Deren off her. At Chromie's words, she grabbed a crystal goblet and hurled it at her.

"Bronze Dragon, is your skin itching? What Dragon Knight?" Her voice was terrifyingly gentle.

Chromie stuck out her tongue. "You know what kind of riding I mean!" She was practically an old hand at this.

Sitting to the side, Deren rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Can you two settle down for a second...?"

Onyxia suddenly narrowed her eyes at Chromie. "You think you'll get away with it?"

With a curl of her finger, the hourglass at the Bronze Dragon's waist suddenly floated up and hovered between the three of them. As the sand flowed within it, it vaguely reflected a scene from some future day in Chromie's life—

—in some humanoid form, she was standing on tiptoe and draped over a black-haired man.

Chromie's fur instantly stood on end. She pounced for the hourglass. "Impossible! It'll break!!!"

The bonfire crackled on the beach. The aroma of grilled squid mingled with the cloying sweetness of mead and was swept into the distance by the sea breeze. Deren lay on his back atop a beach towel, pleasantly tipsy as he gazed at the stars filling the sky. Chromie hugged an empty barrel, her little face flushed as she muttered drunken nonsense about Timelines, while Onyxia lazily stretched her body, gleaming like a pearl beneath the moonlight.

Suddenly—

"You certainly have it easy."

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

Deren jolted upright, his straw hat falling into the sand. Jaina Proudmoore stood on the shore at some unknown moment, moonlight outlining her in silver. Fading arcane sparks still lingered at the tip of her staff—clearly, when Onyxia's fire for grilling squid had gone out of control earlier, Jaina had been responsible.

"I just finished handling three trade agreements, five letters of inquiry from Dalaran, and mediating a brawl between Goblins and Orcs at the docks." Her blue eyes swept over the grill, the bottles, and Chromie's damp footprints. "And you lot—are having a barbecue party?"

Chromie let out a drunken "Burp," tearing open a Time Rift behind her. "I-I'll be going now!"

Whoosh!

The Bronze Dragon vanished without a trace, leaving only half a squid skewer stuck in the sand.

Deren gave a couple of awkward laughs and offered up a freshly grilled lobster skewer. "Those who can do more should do more... Saving the world depends on you!"

Jaina stared at the lobster for two seconds before suddenly snatching it and taking a bite. Grease smeared the corner of her lips, and she casually wiped it away with her thumb—this slightly rough gesture made both Deren and Onyxia raise their brows.

"...It tastes good." She sat beside the bonfire, her voice lowering. "I came to thank you."

Firelight illuminated the side of her face, and the shadows cast by her lashes trembled faintly.

"My father will arrive in Theramore tomorrow to pick up Derek..." Her fingertips unconsciously rubbed her staff. "I'm afraid he'll come into conflict with the Horde."

After Chromie disappeared, the beach fell into brief silence.

Jaina's gaze shifted between Deren and Onyxia before finally settling on the coin between the Black Dragon Princess's fingers—the Lucky Gold Coin bestowed by Azeroth. Reflecting the bonfire as it flipped between Onyxia's fingers, it looked like a star being idly toyed with.

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

Deren scratched his hair, most of his drunkenness gone. "Admiral Daelin..." He gave a bitter smile. "He really is a stubborn old sea dog."

Onyxia suddenly chuckled. The coin sprang up with a ding, tracing an arc through the air. "But Black Dragons specialize in handling the stubborn." Her golden vertical pupil narrowed in the firelight. "Do you need me to 'visit' him?"

"No." Jaina shook her head, her fingers unconsciously rubbing her staff. "I was thinking... Deren, could you come meet my father with me?"

Deren's wine cup stopped in midair.

The sound of the waves suddenly grew clear. The tide washed up onto the beach, soaking the tips of Jaina's boots. She seemed not to notice, merely staring at Deren, her blue eyes holding a rare, pleading look.

Onyxia's gold coin abruptly stopped on her thumb.

"Ha!" Chromie's voice came from midair as her messy golden head poked out of the Time Rift. "No way, no way—Deren's really that popular? Onyxia, aren't you jealous?"

"Mmm~" Onyxia pinched Deren's ear. "Ow, ow, ow~" Deren begged for mercy repeatedly.

"Do you want me to wrap Deren up and deliver him to your room, human Princess?" Onyxia asked darkly.

"No, no." Jaina tightened her grip on her staff until her knuckles turned white. "It's just that Deren gives me a very dependable feeling. Thinking about Father coming, I... don't really know how to face him." Her voice lowered. "When I run into a problem like this, I just feel like Deren could give me some good advice."

Deren let out a long sigh and tipped back the remaining drink in his cup. The sweetness of the Mead melted across his tongue, yet he tasted a hint of bitterness.

"Fine." He stood and brushed the sand from himself. "For friendship's sake—tomorrow, I'll go meet that 'Admiral.' See if I can persuade him to give up on waging war against the Orcs of Kalimdor."

A dangerous curve lifted at the corner of Onyxia's lips. The gold coin vanished into her palm. "Remember to bring the gold."

The burst of inspiration was over; now came the post-climax cooldown. Two chapters today—I'm starting to build up a backlog. Still humbly asking for recommendation votes; a little click to add it to your favorites would help too.