The dragon coiled more of its body underneath itself, dull red scales adamantly refusing to reflect the shine of light from the ceiling fixtures. The marbled stone its throne was made of was a blue shot through with green marbling. It was impressive. It was more impressive than the ornate details carved into the walls and floor, details of each conquest made across its vast lifetime. It was more impressive than the vaulted ceiling with its gothic ornation. It was more impressive than the rectangle of light formed halfway between it and the door, showing the human’s Fourth Navy trying futilely to combat a dead zone. It was not, however, more impressive than what he was seeing on the axiom screen in front of him.

  Heat Death Virabdhara’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he changed the view to another of the curious ships. When the human was fighting in the Rite of Ritual Combat, he thought, I had not expected any great victory. In truth, I had expected the human to do something that could be called a technical victory, but only in the loosest interpretation of that definition. Underestimated. That galls. I underestimated that brash and efficient organism. I did it when I thought nothing could damage our ships. I did it when I thought he couldn’t slay a dragon in its glory.

  Now, it would seem, I did it again. That dead zone just died. That doesn’t happen. Dead zones do not stop growing, they do not die, there is no way to stop them. One can only contain them and use them for energy. Every place in the Empire of Celestial Skies where this phenomena occurred had been quarantined and turned into fuel for their ships through proxy axiomatic refinement. It was not easy, it was not simple, and it was not cheap. There were very few that could manage it; those who could were one and all appointed Regional Ministers of the Interior. That was fact; immutable and unchallenged for twelve thousand years.

  Yet here was one being, one creature whose race constantly did the impossible. Axiom laced through matter; laced through reality. Axiom laced through the self! If I could manage that, I should not only live forever, but be blessed with a refined body unknown to any of our proxy methods. When they discover how to perfect that refinement, they will be as dangerous as the Wythgoesh. It was a wonder not only that I found them, but that I found them in time. I am early enough to mold their growth and development. Under my tutelage and care they shall flourish in carefully tended ways. Ways that will be bad for the Wythgoesh, bad for the Humans, and good for the Dragons; specifically me.

  However, he could feel greed and envy growing in his gut. It was not an unusual feeling, but it was an unpleasant one – to require that which was in another’s possession and yet, through no fault of his own, to be eternally forbidden the treasure. He looked around his hoard room, at the piles and stacks and heaps of precious metals, stones, gems, workmanships, and yet he felt only hollow. This pathetic lifeform was possessed of greatness that was denied him.

  Based on his observations during the Rite of Ritual Combat, this human was well on his way to actuating an axiomatic body through manifestation of will. He would truly be unstoppable in traditional combat. It would then only be half an adjacent step for him to begin to manifest axiomatic matter. That would be the end. That was the direction their growth could never be permitted to go. As a species they must be made hobbled. If they refused that, he would do all in his power to bring the might of the entire Empire of Celestial Skies down upon them to their utter ruin. Keeping them alive after they slew the Wythgoesh was unwise. They must be grown only as much as required, else they bring calamity.

  I must exterminate this entire infestation of calamity. They must not be allowed to continue. He smiled and made sure to not even subvocalise his next thought; They will make glorious fodder on my climb to perch on heavenly heights. No sky is too high to contain me, no sea too broad, no void too vast. I shall ascend above them all. And when I look down upon all I possess, this empire shall be but one small corner in my vast fiefdom.

  He winced, slight though it was. It sounded petty when put into language such as that. Petty and cliché, but such was the price of power, authority, and glory unending. It was the stuff of legends and so it was the stuff dragons grew on. Such was common. Success was so uncommon that it staggered the mind when it happened. His legend would be one such instance.

  The Wythgoesh were truly a force to be reckoned with, one their empire had no understanding to effectively or consistently combat. They were able to fight in staggered victories, but never consistently, and never with finality. He had been honest when speaking with the humans. He had been observing them for quite some time. The Throne Above the Clouds had assigned several of the Imperial Minsters of the Exterior to find the means of combating their enemy. He was the only one who thought to look for allies. He laughed, temporary allies.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  My disbelief at actually finding them is not any less than my disbelief at their accomplishments. I want so badly to study them. Something in their genetic pattern must produce their capabilities, something there must be transferrable. Their commandant exhibited the ability to change another’s axiomatic pattern, if they can do that, why not change their own pattern? Why not perform axiomatic surgery? I wish I could see within their ships.

  He looked at the screen again and saw that there were eight more dead zones beginning to form. They were active even in their nascent stage. He had never seen that. They only turned active once they were made permanent, but before they manifested their potential. He looked at readings his ship and his subjects provided on another axiom screen. They were all artificial dead zones. Not true dead zones. How did one make an artificial dead zone? These humans studied things they would be wise to unlearn. One of the lost families was lost after looking into the dead zones. No good came from that. This impulse of theirs must be curtailed.

  Moreover, each dead zone bore the taint of the Wythgoesh. That was also something his empire had never observed. It would appear that the containment workings prevented outside interference. That would explain why they sought a method to end the dead zones rather than to contain them. In this, if nothing else, there was evidence of a connection between the humans and the Wythgoesh. There had to be, they were too similar for coincidence to rule over design.

  What were the chances of not only finding the humans, but finding them in their current development, while they are being guided by the Wythgoesh? Guided. That word tasted false. They were not being guided or they would be farther along. I suspect they are instead being carefully tended, growth vectors being gently pruned before they were even aware of possibilities. Dangerous. Dangerous and potentially exploitable to reinforce their enmity.

  However, the situation he was viewing was perfect. It showed that the humans, this Operatic Empire, could do what I need them to do. They can become an effective fighting force against the Wythgoesh. That is, once they are alert to their methods. Well, he thought, I did warn their commandant. I’ve kept my word. The fact that I could see this coming does not invalidate our agreement because it was their own actions which led to the outcome. I provided enough material for them to learn what was coming. He snorted, too much material, just enough to guarantee that they couldn’t get enough of the information unless they devoted themselves only to data processing since he returned. It was not guaranteed that they would make this error, but it was mostly assured. Someone would be disgruntled and would do something unwise. It was always coming to this, it was only a matter of time. Was it going to be here, or on their way home?

  His smile grew. Their way home. He laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed from his belly like rgua. Heat Death Virabdhara laughed again. I know they want me to take them back, he thought, and I could though it would pain me and cost more than their empire is worth, almost more than my lands produce in one thousand of their years. It’s not a price worth considering. Their journey home should take two or three of their years, depending on chance, and human frailty. What are two or three years to even them? If they fail, they fail, and I establish contact again. It will be a good test of their tenacity once they’ve decided on a goal. A true goal, not merely an order from on high.

  The trick will be to get them out of the empire before the Throne Above the Clouds wishes a word with them. That would be disastrous. The Black Drake cannot come to their notice until after they are safely on their way. It would be much more enjoyable for all concerned if the word ‘rebellion’ did not become whispered in central until after the humans return with potential to fight our enemies.

  He looked at the screen and watched as one by one each of the dead zones were stabilized and their threat removed. The view shifted again. The Hidden Dagger was weaving in and around other ships in the fourth, trying to avoid destruction by one of their own. Suddenly the firing ceased, and velocity reduced. They must have stopped the mutiny from within the vessel. Why would he care so much about the lives of a barely a couple hundred humans when he had so many more at his disposal, and ones that would not fight him? That was a bit of culture that eluded him constantly. This desire to maintain connections with others beyond their usefulness. They should all be slain the moment their value dips into the red irrevocably. That was the predator’s way. That was the only safe route to lasting power and authority.

  That commandant, the Black Drake, Death’s Wings, he was consolidating power effectively. The loyalty that man commands among the rank and file of his navy is a thing of wonder, he thought, how they love him. I wonder if they will still love him when they see failure, more than once, when ships begin breaking down and their journey stretches longer than projected. When tempers rise and disaster strikes. Will they love him then? Will they obey then? Will they follow then? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

  I had hoped that they would trouble him more. I do not want to have to wait for social upheaval their return shall cause in their empire to settle. He sighed, it looks like I have to wait some more. What are more years at this point? Humans are short-lived, a few hundred years at most. I can wait that long. Death’s Wings is a worthy dragon. He saw the trap in the options I presented to him and chose to write his own destiny, just as his lost family ever did.

  Those three years served another purpose now that Death’s Wings had proved himself so competent, they would provide him the time he needed to grow his navy into a true navy of the Black Drake. It would return a force forged specifically to fight the Wythgoesh. Sure, they would try to conquer everything they could along the way, but they were only little predators, manageable so long as you kept you eye on them; and Heat Death Virabdhara intended to keep a close eye on them, a very close eye on them indeed.