Chapter 8: Seeds & Snacks
Elara stopped at the palace gates, the weight of her discarded title heavy as her ruined armor. She turned, ash still clinging to her lashes. Behind her stood Sir Gareth and the nine survivors, their hollow eyes fixed on her, not the sun-drenched spires of Aurelion.
"Why?" Elara's voice was raw gravel. "The Church will brand you deserters. Traitors."
Sir Gareth stepped forward, his own armor scarred by more than battle – by the memory of silent annihilation. He glanced back at the gleaming palace, its grandeur now seeming like painted lies. "Where else would we go, my lady? The men who marched into that... void ... died in that crater. What walks with you are ghosts who only understand the truth you spoke in there." He met her gaze, a spark of defiance in his own exhaustion. "We follow the truth. We follow you."
Elara closed her eyes for a moment, the image of the smooth, glassy crater flashing behind her lids. A bitter laugh escaped her. "The truth is I'm no longer the Holy Hero. I renounce it. I'm heading to the Free City of Meridian. Joining the Adventurer's Guild. Scraping by on goblin bounties and haunted ruins sounds infinitely safer than His doorstep."
A flicker of grim amusement touched Gareth's lips. "Goblins sound delightful, my lady. And haunted ruins? Positively restful. The Luminous Guard is disbanded. But we, " he gestured to the ragged nine, "are yours. If you'll have ghosts for company."
Elara looked at them – broken, loyal, the only ones who understood the scale of the abyss they'd glimpsed. A weary acceptance settled over her. "Fine. Try to keep up, ghosts. And ditch the shiny tin cans. Guild rules frown on traumatizing the locals." She turned and strode towards the city gates, the ten "ghosts" falling into step behind her, leaving the Sunstone Throne and its dangerous illusions behind.
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High above the Obsidian Reach, the wind whistled past Leo's ears. Beside him, Obsidian – in his imposing human form – hovered uneasily, still not quite accustomed to flight without wings. Below, the landscape was a desolate expanse of cracked obsidian plains and jagged peaks surrounding the lonely fortress.
Leo scratched his chin, peering down like a dissatisfied landlord surveying a fixer-upper. "So, Ignis," he corrected himself. "You've been around since... dirt was new, right? Did you, like, see how all this got made?" He gestured vaguely at the barren world below.
Ignis blinked, his golden eyes wide. "The... creation of the world, Master?" He puffed his chest out slightly, the ancient wyrm in him surfacing. "The primordial forces! The clashing of elemental chaos! The Great Songs sung by the First Ones! It was a time of–"
"Eh, never mind," Leo cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. "Sounded complicated. Probably took ages. Watch this." He cracked his knuckles theatrically." By the way am going to show you something amazing "
" Hm!... what master?"
"You will see".
"Okay, reality. Let's build a city. Central feature: My Place. Obviously."
Leo raised his hands. Not with dramatic flair, but with the focused intensity of a gamer selecting 'City Builder' mode. The air thrummed. Not with destruction, but with profound, terrifying creation.
Directly below the obsidian fortress, the cracked earth groaned. Then, with a sound like a million shovels striking stone at once, foundations erupted. Not just stone – gleaming, dark marble shot through with veins of volcanic glass. Walls soared, towers pierced the sky, intricate archways formed faster than the eye could follow. A vast, magnificent city materialized, sprawling outwards in perfect, impossible symmetry, centered around the now even more imposing Black Citadel, seamlessly integrated and elevated.
Ignis's jaw dropped. Literally. His mouth hung open, golden eyes bulging.
"'Out of thin air!? "Not even the Gods weave existence like cloth! They nudge, they shape... they don't just WILL IT INTO BEING!'".
He gripped the empty space where his dragon-scale armor usually felt reassuringly solid, finding only his human tunic.
"'I mocked him. I CALLED HIM WEAK. Saints preserve me... if he can do this... what was he holding back when he crushed me?!' A cold sweat, utterly human and utterly terrified, broke out on his brow.
"Joining him wasn't just smart... it was the single luckiest near-death experience in draconic history!'"
"Hahaha.... And I'm his Frist follower, those old guys will be so jealous when they find out that my master is super strong. Hahaha."
"Needs trees," Leo muttered, oblivious to his First Follower's existential crisis. He wiggled his fingers. Emerald light pulsed downwards. From the cracks between the new marble streets, from the barren plains surrounding the city, mighty oaks, whispering willows, and towering pines sprang forth, fully grown, their leaves a vibrant, impossible green against the dark stone. Crystal-clear rivers snaked into existence, carving paths through the city and the new forests, sparkling under the sun, feeding into suddenly deep, azure lakes.
"Better," Leo nodded, then frowned. "Needs... snack bars. Or maybe a really good tavern district. Later."
Ignis finally found his voice, though it came out as a strangled squeak, utterly unbecoming of an Ascendant Wyrm. "M-Master... this power... it defies... everything." He stared at the bustling, impossible metropolis below, where moments ago there was only wasteland. "The Gods themselves would weep to witness such... such effortless genesis!"
Leo looked sideways at him, a confused frown on his face. "Effortless? Nah. Took concentration. Had to make sure the plumbing routes didn't cross the main dragon-flight paths." He paused, thoughtful. "Do you guys need flight paths? Maybe add some aerial boulevards... floating park islands...?"
Ignis just stared, his mind reeling. Plumbing? DRAGON-FLIGHT PATHS?! He's worried about DRAGON COMMUTING while casually birthing a metropolis?! He opened his mouth to express his awe, perhaps suggest a nice volcanic vent district for fire-drakes, but all that came out was another faint, bewildered whimper.
Leo patted his shoulder, mistaking the dragon's stunned silence for shared enthusiasm about urban planning. "Don't worry, Ignis. We'll workshop it. First things first." He pointed towards the gleaming new city center, right next to the Citadel. A structure was rapidly forming – part coliseum, part arcade, with flashing, magical sigils above its entrance. "Gotta test the new dungeon instance. You," Leo grinned, a spark of pure gamer mischief in his eyes, "get to be the first raid boss. Try not to wipe the party too fast. I spent hours coding your lava breath mechanics."
Ignis, the ancient Black Dragon King, Ascendant Wyrm, Scourge of the Peaks, looked from the impossibly created city to the dungeon entrance, then back to his Master's expectant face. The concept of being a "raid boss" was utterly alien, but the sheer, absurd power on display... and the casual mention of coding his breath weapon? He swallowed hard, the memory of being crushed like a bug vividly warring with the dizzying sight of creation from nothing. ''Lucky,'' he thought, the word echoing in his awestruck, slightly terrified mind. "So very, very lucky he wanted a follower and not a rug."
"Y-yes, Master," Obsidian stammered, squaring his shoulders with newfound, if bewildered, purpose. "I shall... endeavor to be... adequately challenging?" He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but for the god-like being who built cities before breakfast, he'd figure it out. Or be turned into a very fancy rug.