Dragonheart Core

For the first time in what felt like centuries, my thoughts were finally my own.

I wouldn't even allow myself to get used to it, but it felt almost strange, after the panic from before. Floating overhead, my mana dispersing and core thrumming, I could finally—well, not breathe, given I was intangible, but pause. Take it all in.

And then, half a moment after that, I shook myself out and turned my gaze back to my floors. Because the only reason I had this brief respite was because I'd fought and bled and damn near died for it, and I wouldn't be allowing that again. Therefore—rebuilding.

My first mission was to prepare for tomorrow; though I could dream that perhaps this twelve-man invasion had blown up the Adventuring Guild to wonderful small pieces of bone and gore, I had to plan for another invasion. The endless cycle of which was my existence. And that meant sending out all those who needed to leave before they would run into anyone else.

Luckily, I was already on the right floor. All I had to do was bob over the lagoon, where kobolds swam back in petulant annoyance that they hadn't gotten to fight Shoth and Aedan before the bastards either ran or were protected, to the human standing awkwardly on the beach.

Nicau stiffened as my mana draped over him, a soothing embrace over his wired self. No combat, because he could learn a lesson or two from Shoth about speed, but there wasn't much to do about that beyond hope he would learn how to evolve more legs.

Low chance of that, unfortunately.

He straightened, stepping further out onto the sand. Over his leather coat were an array of funnel gourds, dried and hollowed out as storage containers. Maybe they would help him bring back more schemas; mostly, they made him look like an over-enterprising fool who hadn't yet shed his past skin. I supposed everyone had their tastes.

"Am I safe to leave?" Nicau asked the sky, shaking some droplets off his hands.

Yes, I said, and filled out connection with my incorrigible dreams. Gather schemas. Bring many.

He nodded, adjusting his gourds. Though he wouldn't be shoving any scorch hound heads in there, I was focused on plants now, and they would be perfect for seedlings or cuttings.

So long as he brought me more than pieces. I still remembered that gorgeous feather he'd brought back from Calarata, those iridescent blue-greens, but my inability to make it. Damnable rules.

And with feathers in mind, as Nicau made an odd hiss-whistle to call Chieftess, another came to him—the parrot, fluttering down from her perch in a cloudsire palm. She squawked, almost politely, staring at him with a passive curiosity.

"I'll be back," Nicau said, because he'd apparently decided to treat her like any other sapient monster. Considering neither of us knew what she was, that might have been a safe bet.

Chieftess emerged from the den, holding her crown of horns high. She churred with an ember's brightness, ready as bared fangs—something about leaving the dungeon was extremely exciting for her, more than even moving down to the Hungering Reefs. What was she trying to find out there? What prize was more than I was providing?

She better not be trying to leave me.

The parrot bobbed her head, still fixing Nicau with her black gaze. Awareness, but not in the way of him. Something else.

Nicau noticed that, mana thrumming in his throat. "I'm leaving," he said again. "Would you like to come with me to–" he paused, then glanced upward—his thoughts skittered over a memory of me saying I would name the jungle, though he was wise enough not to directly ask me whether I had yet, because I hadn't. Shit.

To Myvnu, I said magnanimously, like I had spent many an hour debating and not like it had been pulled from nowhere like a loose scale. A draconic word, meaning the hoard of another dragon that was impressive but, obviously, not as impressive as yours.

Dragons had many words for such things.

"The Myvnu Jungle?" Nicau said.

The parrot tilted her head to the side, preening a gold-tinged feather out of her wing. Deep in her chest, I watched that strange pocket of mana swirl, an ember unlit but waiting. Waiting for what, I didn't know—but she merely ruffled her feathers and didn't flit off the branch. "Jungle," she said dispassionately, without landing on his shoulder. "Leaving."

Nicau wilted a bit, in some genuine sadness that she wasn't choosing to go with him. But he had his other choice of companion—Chieftess, standing tall and strong, and three other kobolds, two warriors and one hunter. The last time he'd ventured out, he'd brought back my scorch hounds, mottled scorpions, fire-tongue flowers, cloudsire palms, and moonstar flowers; with five collectors, I imagined the prizes would be even greater. Either in quantity or quality, I wasn't much picky. I just needed something.

…curious that she didn't want to leave, though. That was where she had come from, guiding Nicau out, before abruptly switching from her previous route and choosing to come with him. Why didn't she want to revisit it? Was she running from it?

Gods, I was going to tear this kingdom down to the marrow so it would stop throwing things at me. If everything in my halls had a secret life of their own they weren't planning on sharing, I wasn't going to live long enough to discover them.

Faintly, the scent of redwoods drifted over my core.

Oh. Right. That little nuisance.

Also, I said, and then immediately covered up any possible sense of confusion or forgetfulness with a blast of mana. You will escort the bastard out.

Nicau blinked, first at the ceiling, then at Chieftess. "The… bastard?"

I jabbed a long, sharpened tendril of mana out of the lagoon, towards the island awash with miserable memories. Honestly, under the pretense of remaking my halls, I might sink it just for the principle of the matter.

But for now, it housed a thornless, gormless worm of a man, and since I was not allowed to kill him, I wanted him gone.

Go there, I pressed, then spread my voice so it bounced into the heads of the surrounding kobolds. Retrieve the bastard. Take him out of my halls.

Nicau furrowed his brow. "He's alive?" He asked, trying to look at the isle. "You didn't kill him?"

I was strangely offended. I left you alive, I pointed out. And Kriya. And Gonçal. I choose who I want to kill.

It just so happened that choice was often everyone.

"Kriya?" Nicau said, like he was testing the word. "Who's that?"

Shit, had he never met her? I had vaguely wondered why he didn't comment on the only other human in my dungeon; it made more sense if he didn't know she was there. Which seemed likely considering how tight a leash Veresai kept her on.

A question for a day where my imminent enslavement didn't hang heavy over my core. Later, I said, pushing his attention back to the island. Take him out of my halls. Gather me schemas.

The other kobolds, because they were wonderfully obedient, dove into the water; I swirled overhead with some burgeoning pride at their speed and efficiency, using their longer tails to whip through the currents and splaying their claws for better speed. They still weren't sea-drake descendants, none of the ease and excellence that their betters would have, but they were far and above what they used to be.

Hells, in another evolution, they might finally gain the blue scales they should have had from the beginning.

Nicau, on the other hand, stared at the water like it had personally wronged him. He ran his hands over his leather coat, waiting a moment longer as if I was going to call Seros out to escort him once again. Not a chance. If he wanted a boat, that was on him to make.

With a long-suffering sigh, he jumped in. Almost immediately, his clothes billowed around him and dragged him down, sinking him like a cut tail—his mind sparked with panic as he clawed his way back up to the surface, hauling himself forward as he blearily made his way to the noted island.

Most of my roughwater sharks slept under evolution, and the other of my more aggressive creatures were feasting on Ossega's body where it had rolled into the water in the first room. Maybe I'd shove Alda and Lanc's in to join it for some mana-rich food. Either way, it meant that while even my kobolds lapped the struggling Nicau, he made it to the island uninterrupted. Mostly. He looked the part of the bedraggled rat.

Hauling himself out of the current, he splashed onto the island with a watery groan, shaking out his sleeves and emptying his gourd carriers. Chieftess popped up alongside him, no worse for wear—of course she wasn't, that was the brilliance of scales, streamlined and perfect—and warbled curiously at the other inhabitant.

Who was currently crouched in the sand, head down, hands over the back of his neck. Lovely. I knew that Shoth had been the main demon baying at my halls, but Aedan had seemed like a threat alongside, insofar as his presence; now I saw him for what he really was. A Silver of mana, Unranked in body, entirely unprepared for invading. He needed a perfect temple with silken sitting cushions and attendants battering away anyone who would threaten him.

This wasn't that. And if I had anything to say about it, it would never be.

Blood-stained sand crunched under claws as the kobolds stepped forward, Nicau padding up from behind. The dryad's feet had left enormous scours through the surface, where she'd dragged herself away from Rhoborh's chains to go hunt Alda. My dungeon was a tapestry in memorium to its previous battles.

Aedan's eyes, pale and drawn, glanced up; saw Chieftess, flinched, and then saw Nicau.

Pure, raw relief flooded over his face. Still in the midst of the Hungering Reefs, surrounded by monsters, actively on an island with four other kobolds, he saw a human face and thought he was saved.

Well, he was, but I was electing to ignore that in face of how I could use Nicau's inherent trustworthiness to my advantage. There were reasons aplenty for a dungeon to use a human as bait.

I smelled Rhoborh's redwood scent curl around Aedan, tugging past the woven terror and panic in his moss-covered face, enough that his thoughts reconstituted into functioning beasts. Or something like that. I rather knew he didn't have a single thought of his own, not if he had truly believed Shoth was inviting him to the dungeon out of nothing but the kindness of his heart.

Slowly, Aedan clambered up to his feet; he flinched anew at every other kobold, like he hadn't noticed them, but kept his eyes fixed on Nicau. "Rhoborh sent you to save me?"

Nicau winced. At his side, Chieftess made a warble-hiss that couldn't have been more of a laugh if she tried.

"Right," he said, dubiously. "That's– that's what is happening, yes."

Aedan slumped like coral pulled from the rocks. "Thank you, Lord of Symbiosis," he murmured, again and again and again. "Oh, thank you, thank you–"

It wasn't out of Rhoborh's fucking kindness he was saved. It was my choice that it was worth more to have the god's boon instead of one more corpse.

My ire bled into the world—one of the kobold warriors hissed, raising her spear, ready to strike down whatever was upsetting their Great Voice. But I was unfortunately iron in my knowledge we couldn't kill him, and I doubted Rhoborh would accept me just leaving him to be murdered by all my hungry animals. No, he had to leave, before I was distracted enough not to tell my creatures off. On purpose or otherwise.

Entirely on purpose.

If I hadn't given Nicau a boat before, I certainly wouldn't be giving one to Aedan. He could find his one way across.

Actually–

I slipped back into Nicau's mind, soft enough not to leak out to the world. Take him through the Overlook, I said. But knock him out before you leave so he will not see where the exit lies. A pause. Leave him wherever is least convenient.

For all Rhoborh said Aedan would not claim my core, I wouldn't give him any other leeway around it. Three entrances were already known by the Adventuring Guild; they certainly wouldn't be learning of a fourth.

Nicau nodded, a slight smile on his face. He did enjoy being vindictive.

But I trusted him with Aedan, and for Chieftess with her honour guard to protect them all. They'd make it out, and I didn't have time to watch them; I left a few points of awareness overhead, an eye in case of the worst, and turned away. There was a timer set, a waiting period for the Adventuring Guild. Half my creatures evolving, my floors flooded with excess mana that I couldn't absorb with too small a pool, no idea whether tomorrow would bring a normal invasion or an armada. Cheery thoughts.

But you couldn't make gold out of sand, no matter how hard you wished on it, so all there was left to do was prepare. And build. And add.

No longer would there be patient meandering wonder for the perfect idea to come to me; no, the second that Nicau came back with schemas, I would be completing my heart tree and starting my ninth floor. I needed more room between me and invasions; I needed protection far from where others poked their miserable fucking gobs into my halls.

Did I know what I wanted the ninth floor to be yet? No. My eighth was going up, spiraling through a jungle's brilliance and adding difficulties for invaders running through, but now I needed more. Slap a pair of fucking wings on Shoth, and he'd clear that floor just as fast as he'd done the rest. My floors would be upgraded to avoid that, and I would be adding more, and I would use my mana now, rather than waiting.

And in that vein of things, my mana was freshly regenerated, and I was going to get more Named creatures. I had ideas for which, the dryad chief among them, but I wanted to at least think it over. Despite the fear that the Adventuring Guild was gathering right outside my halls. And that I was weaker than I thought. And that most of my creatures were currently sleeping.

My mana twitched towards the dryad.

I'd wait– a day. That was it. I had enough Otherworld mana for one Name minimum, and two if I lowered myself back to the mana regeneration of ages past. I called that worth it. My Named were more important than getting mana.

Especially now, when I didn't just need strength, but also cooperation.

It was impossible to miss how Akkyst and the Magelords had killed all invaders they interacted with, including Akkyst actively fighting past my raid-frenzy to allow the Magelords to kill Azkhal for mana. In contrast, while Seros was little doubt one of, if not the strongest inhabitants of my halls, he had crippled my sea serpent and that let Shoth past. That wasn't coordination. Hells, that was one step above wild animals, if only for how they hadn't been actively trying to kill each other instead of the invader.

My Named needed to be better. They needed to be leaders, someone to rely on, since I was learning with a fury that my raid-frenzy was only detrimental. If I commanded my creatures to attack, they did just that—they attacked, damn themselves or others. Kill or be killed. That wouldn't keep me free.

Gods, there were so many things to do. I had to start or else I'd be caught up in thinking them over for eternity.

Two choices—go up or go down. But it wasn't really a choice, or at least not one worth making. In a lovely contrast to my rampaging list of problems that I had either missed or ignored, the only issue with the Scorchplains was its youth; all its inhabitants were unevolved and untested, and while I had plans for adapting things once they reopened their eyes, that would have to wait to see how they reacted to it.

Instead, I coiled, spreading intangible wings woven of pure Otherworld mana, and threw myself up. When the Adventuring Guild came again, they would hit the first floor, and I needed to have that be remade beforehand.

Each floor was that—a floor. Not a room, not a microcosm. They had to be their own entire identity, their own snap-jaw traps, their own cages.

Twice I had remade the Fungal Gardens; this time would be the last.