Obsidian did not make the Bronze Dragon wait too long, though they had all the time in the world.
He slowly stood up from the broken cliff, dusting off non-existent snow, his gaze fixed on the top of the distant Bronze Sub-Tower.
Even without deliberately probing, the temporal fluctuations there were as conspicuous as a lighthouse in a storm.
Since he had been noticed, it was better to take the initiative.
Obsidian gently flapped his wings, his movements seemingly slow but imbued with power, transforming into a dark-gold afterimage that tore through the wind and snow, landing steadily on an aerial platform outside the Bronze Sub-Tower.
Waiting for him was a Bronze Dragon who had taken the form of a High Elf.
Even draped in an elegant, ancient robe, Obsidian could discern his true nature.
This was a male dragon, and deep within his eyes, fine grains of Time Sand flowed slowly.
The other party held no hostility, nor did he make any move to greet, merely standing still, evidently waiting for Obsidian to speak first.
"Who are you?" Obsidian asked first, his tone steady, carrying a hint of scrutiny.
"Chronormu," the Bronze Dragon looked up at the un-shifted black dragon before him, "a witness of time, the Bronze Dragonflight's liaison here."
"So, how did you find me? I know you Timekeepers detest 'variables' the most," Obsidian asked calmly.
Chronormu was silent for a moment. His gaze held no fear, only complex scrutiny, as if facing an insoluble riddle.
"...In my observations, your existence is a complete blank," he slowly began, "Not blurry, not distorted, but absolutely 'invisible'. You were not in the past, nor in the future, and there is no trace of you in the present. You... are like an anomaly excised by time."
"Missing the point," Obsidian's lips curved slightly, but his tone grew colder, "I was not excised; I am merely... outside your vision."
"That's almost impossible. Even Titan constructs and Old Gods leave ripples in the river of time. But you..." Chronormu paused, then used a different word, "...are like a stone not in the river."
"That only means your river isn't wide enough."
"...What did you just do?" Chronormu abruptly changed the subject, re-focusing his gaze on the black dragon.
Though his voice was calm, the Time Sand in his vertical pupils churned more violently than before.
"Just landing," Obsidian's tone was neither light nor heavy, "Didn't expect that would attract the Bronze Dragon's attention."
"You shouldn't have attracted my attention," Chronormu narrowed his eyes, his voice deep, with a hint of uncertainty, "But when you approached the Dragonshrines, the short-term future of the surrounding area began to become chaotic, like invisible pebbles dropped into a pond."
Obsidian did not deny it, but instead showed a playful smile: "This means I'm close enough."
"You... are not on the timeline," Chronormu said each word distinctly, his tone barely concealing his wariness, "We cannot see your origin, nor your destination."
"Then why are you willing to speak with me?" Obsidian raised his eyes, still unperturbed.
"Because you are a dragon," Chronormu slowly stated, "I do not know why you are excluded from time, nor can I definitively say whether you are friend or foe. But your essence, your form, is indeed that of a dragon."
Obsidian was silent for a moment, his gaze falling to his own scales, as dark as a mirror. After ascending to godhood, his soul and body had long since become one; he was a Dragon God, not the mortal he once was.
"You don't want to know who I am," he said softly.
Chronormu did not deny it, merely giving Obsidian a deep look: "Even if I knew, it might not be enough to stop it."
This time, Obsidian laughed, his voice deep like the surging of an earth 脈: "Very good, your caution is quite satisfactory to me."
"Since you have come forward," the Bronze Dragon turned and walked towards the edge of the platform, his voice trailing off in the wind and snow, "What do you wish to know?"
"Time," Obsidian answered directly, "You guard time, so I ask: which period is it now?"
The wind and snow howled, and silence fell upon the platform.
Chronormu turned around, evidently assessing whether Obsidian's question held a hidden trap.
Obsidian did not rush him, merely narrowing his vertical pupils slightly, his dragon claw lightly tapping the stone railing of the platform, emitting a dull sound.
"The War of the Ancients, it has been three thousand years," Chronormu finally spoke, with a hint of weariness, "The Dragonflights... are no longer what they once were."
"As expected," Obsidian understood.
At this point in time, Deathwing had already betrayed, the Black Dragonflight was disgraced, and the other four great Dragonflights were dormant due to heavy casualties.
The tragedy of the Red Dragon Queen being enslaved by orcs had not yet occurred, and while the Blue Dragon King had not completely gone mad, signs of his obsession were already evident.
"So, what are you doing now?" Obsidian's tone was flat, as if asking casually.
Chronormu was silent for a moment, seemingly weighing his words: "We are waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
The wind and snow suddenly intensified, swirling the accumulated snow on the platform.
Chronormu stood still like a bronze sculpture, even the Time Sand in his eyes seemed to have solidified.
A long silence stretched between them.
Obsidian narrowed his vertical pupils, his claw tips still unconsciously tapping the stone railing.
This deliberate silence itself was the answer—he did not want to say, or could not say.
Waiting any longer would be meaningless.
Just as Obsidian was about to break the silence, Chronormu spoke.
"That is none of your concern. At least, not yet."
Obsidian caught the scent of carefully concealed fear on the Bronze Dragon.
Although he tried to maintain the Bronze Dragon's speech quirk associated with time, that fear was real.
Obsidian slowly shifted his gaze, looking towards the main tower in the center of the distant Dragonshrines.
"I remember a long time ago, this was the sacred place of the Five-Colored Dragons," he murmured.
Chronormu did not respond, merely tilting his head slightly, his gaze falling upon those scales as dark as a mirror.
"You fear me," Obsidian suddenly said, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "You fear black dragons, and you fear anomalies outside of time. Especially when the two coincide—you don't even dare to ask my name."
"The Black Dragonflight once destroyed thousands of years of our efforts," Chronormu's voice was slow and calm, yet beneath its calm lay suppressed hostility, "Neltharion was once the Earth-Warder, the pride of the dragon race. But he chose to betray us."
"He was mad," Obsidian's voice was cold, "And I am not him."
Chronormu stared at him, the hourglass in his eyes slowly turning: "But you are his descendant."
"Perhaps," Obsidian sneered, "Don't worry, I have no interest in destroying the world."
"Then what do you want?" Chronormu finally asked the crucial question.
Obsidian did not answer immediately. He raised a dragon claw, and a wisp of dark-gold divine power slowly condensed at his fingertip—it was not scorching, not chaotic, nor corrupting.
"All I want is 'existence'," he said softly, "a place unbound by time, and unmanipulated by fate."
Chronormu's pupils suddenly constricted. He stared at the wisp of divine power for a long time before speaking in a low voice: "...This is not the magic of the Titans, nor a gift from the Void."
"Clever," Obsidian withdrew his divine power, his tone calm, "So, perhaps we can reach some kind of... non-interference agreement."
"Agreement?"
"I will not interfere with your timeline, and you will not disturb me," Obsidian slowly bared his teeth, revealing his snowy fangs, his voice like a deep, surging current, "Otherwise, I don't mind making your hourglass... leak faster."
Chronormu was silent for a long time, then slowly nodded: "I cannot promise on behalf of the entire flight, but I will record today's encounter... and warn all Bronze Dragons not to interfere with your actions unless necessary."
"Very good," Obsidian smiled faintly, "Smoother than I expected."
The wind and snow howled, the accumulated snow on the platform had been blown clean, leaving only a great dragon confronting an elf-shaped great dragon, time seemingly frozen.
A moment later, Obsidian spread his wings and turned to leave. He did not look at Chronormu again, leaving only a faint whisper:
"If there's a chance, tell Nozdormu to be careful of the Titans."
Chronormu was rooted to the spot by these words, slightly stunned.
When he looked up at the sky again, the mysterious black dragon had vanished into the horizon.