"Dang it, I almost felt it," Artorius swore, blinking his eyes open. Sweat clung to his brow, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His meditation had brought him close, he could almost taste the Word for Flame, like embers on the edge of his tongue but he was not quite there yet something was stopping him short.
Across from him, Ouroboros groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back with a huff of exasperated smoke.
"What a monster you are," the little dragon whined. "You come in here, fresh as a hatchling, and are near to speaking a Word. Some people are born with all the advantages while poor, hard-working souls like myself have to claw and scrape for everything!"
"I'm sure you will remaster all the Words you knew, you are after all a great and venerable dragon who all look up to," Artorius placated the dragon. As the days passed and they saw how fast he was able to advance, to say the creature became despondent would be an underestimate.
"Anyways," Ouroboros's grin returned, almost as if he wasn't bemoaning himself a few seconds ago. "Now that you almost know the Word, let's cover the next thing: how to use the Words."
Artorius sat up straighter. Ouroboros's eyes gleamed. "There are two philosophies," he said. "Two wings that carry the Voice. Two paths that dragonkind follows."
He raised one claw and the light bent around him like silk in the wind. "The first is Dragon Song. Harmony. Resonance. The path of understanding. You listen to the world until you can hear its pulse, then you sing in time with it. When done correctly, the world responds in kind. You heal. You awaken. You calm storms and call light from stone. It is the voice of creation."
He raised the second claw. The air around him rippled like a heat mirage. "The second is Dragon Shout. Dominion. The path of will. You do not listen, you command. You force your truth upon the world, bend it to your will, make it kneel. That is the voice of destruction. The same breath that carved mountains and burned gods."
Artorius stood silent, absorbing the weight of his words. "And both are part of the same whole?"
"They are two wings of the same beast," Ouroboros said. "Song and Shout. Creation and Destruction. One breath divided by intent."
He looked away, tone turning more serious. "Most dragons master only one. Harmony teaches humility and patience. Shout teaches power. But Shout without restraint becomes madness. And Song without strength becomes emptiness. It is the great divide between the wise ones and the tyrants of our kind."
Artorius stared at his hands. "So this is how dragons use magic?"
"This isn't magic," the dragon snorted, offended by his remark. "Magic is what mortals built from the scraps we left behind. What you did just now is older."
"Alright, alright," Artorius said, knowing the small dragon got prickly when he called it magic. "So what path or philosophy should I take?"
"Both," the creature answered as if it was the most obvious thing.
Artorius frowned. "Is that even possible?"
The dragon's grin widened. "Barely." He circled Artorius, tail flicking with anticipation. "To balance both is to walk the razor's edge. It is to breathe the world in, and then burn it clean. It is creation wielded by a will sharp enough to choose when to sing, and when to shout."
He paused and his eyes narrowed. "Many have tried. Few survived. Fewer still remained themselves."
Artorius sat there silently, he wondered for the dozenth time if this creature wanted to see him dead. "So if it is so dangerous with such a low success rate why should I do it?"
"Because I believe in you," the dragon gave him a thumbs up. "Think of all the power within your grasp. Song and Shout united! The Voice of creation and destruction together! Mortals spend their lives begging the world to listen, you could make the world answer."
Artorius swallowed hard. The air around them felt suddenly heavier, his pulse echoing faintly in his ears. "You're saying this can... change reality? Make or unmake the world as I choose?"
"Now you get it," the creature said in reverence. Artorius looked up, and for the first time, saw something vast behind those golden eyes, something not entirely alive, not entirely sane.
"When you master both Song and Shout," Ouroboros continued, "you will not merely command the world, you will author it. That is the promise of Communion. That is the curse of our kind."
Artorius's throat went dry. "And if I fail?"
Ouroboros's smile returned, wider and filled with manic glee. "Then your name will be a word the world chooses never to speak again." The dragon hopped back onto his perch, curling his tail around himself. "Now then! Shall we try again? You were this close to setting yourself on fire properly this time."
Artorius groaned, rubbing his temples. "You're going to get me killed, aren't you?"
"Maybe," Ouroboros chirped. "But think of the progress!"
-
They sat opposite one another in the low light of the dungeon: Artorius outside on the cold floor, the small dragon perched on a broken rune-pillar like a disgruntled bird. He was trying to coax the first Word from some stubborn place behind his teeth. The sound felt like it should be there, a thing waiting to be named but it kept sliding away at the last breath.
"Did you hear the news?" the dragon asked.
"What news?" Artorius asked as he sat up and ate some of the food he poured for the dragon. He noticed it never ate, and he was always hungry so he treated himself to its meal.
The dragon made a soft, humorless chuckle. "You're the thing's favourite pet project and you don't even know. Looks like you fell down a peg on daddy's list."
"Okay, stop with that. Tell me straight, what's going on? I have noticed that it has been pretty busy inside its lab working on different creatures. I haven't gotten to fight much so I haven't hit the threshold for my class."
"It's preparing for War," the small dragon point blank revealed.
"War, with who? Why, how?" Artorius had so many questions on his mind. He never thought these creatures even warred like humans did back home. He did after all only run into mostly beastial draconic creatures.
"What do you think everyone does down here? Make a civilization, have a prosperous kingdom with happy subjects. No! These High bloods fight, they dominate, they hunt, they steal until only one brood remains on top."
"Who is he fighting?" Artorius asked.
"Some vile brat like him. He calls himself the Black Dread or something."
"Well this is our chance!" Artorius said.
"Thinking about finally escaping?" the little dragon asked, amused.
Artorius's jaw tightened. "No, I don't want to escape. I want to end him. Once and for all."
The small dragon cocked its head, eyes like hot coal. For a long moment it said nothing, then it hummed, some tiny sound that might have been approval. "Good," it said at last. "Because it's not the kind that leaves interesting toys lying around. And besides, if you want to kill it, you'll need more than rage. You'll need a Word to give you an edge."
Artorius swallowed. Hunger gnawed, steadier now not just for food, but for the clean, cold conclusion he'd needed. He flexed his palms until the joints cracked, the faint glow beneath his skin pulsing like a heartbeat in time with a promise.
Artorius stared at it, and in that look he found the very thing the lab had been teaching him all along pain could be a lesson, and lessons could be weapons.
"Then teach me," he said. "Teach me everything."
The dragon inclined its head, eyes glittering. "Delightful. Let us begin."
-
The summons came on a tide of light. The tower trembled as the command rippled through every crystalline vein. Runes along the walls flared alive, bleeding gold and scarlet. The restraints around his quarters unlocked one by one with the sound of shattering glass. "Come," the voice rolled through his mind, calm as ever. "The hour approaches."
Artorius stood slowly. The room still hummed with the dragon's will. His reflection in the polished wall looked stranger than he remembered, his skin faintly opaline, veins burning gold, eyes near to slits with a draconic gleam that caught the light. His body was scarred all over and they glowed faintly like runes half-buried under skin.
He pulled the ragged remains of his tunic on, more out of habit than modesty, and stepped into the hall. The corridors of the tower stretched like arteries into infinity. Every wall pulsed with life. Experiments shuffled in silence, twisted shapes of flesh and scale, half-beasts, half-dragons, all who felt the scalpels of the Noble Dragon. Some crawled. Others hovered, leaking radiance or smoke.
The main chamber awaited. It was vast, cathedral-like built not of stone, but living crystal that pulsed in time with a distant, thunderous heart. In its center lay the Noble Dragon itself. Its body sat on a throne-like chair, its wings folded in layers of translucent fire. Eyes like twin stars regarded him from a height that could have crushed him with a thought.
"My creations," it intoned, voice filling the world. "Come closer."
Artorius obeyed along with the others since he had no choice. His every step echoed like a silent prayer that it didn't notice what he was planning. "You have all endured much and are wonderful subjects. Today I must leave you in the care of my most loyal minion."
Stepping forward was the sick little twisted dragon monkey-like creature who acted as the assistant for the thing in its experiments.
The dragon's tone shifted, swelling with pride and something colder. "The time has come. The Black Dread rises from the Dark Peaks. His brood has challenged my dominion, desecrated my lands. War stirs, and I will answer."
Around them, dozens of the dragon's "creations" stood in ranks, chimeras of scale and crystal, monsters stitched from experiments. Some breathed fire. Others exuded frost, venom, or lightning. All knelt in silent worship.
"I go now to burn the Black Dread from the memory of existence," the Noble Dragon said. "You will stay here and keep guard of my sanctuary while I am gone. If more support is needed, I will summon you."
It stretched its wings, shattering the silence. The hall shook with the force of it, a sound like gales of wind. For a moment, the chamber was a hurricane of crystal and great draconic pressure. Then silence. The dragon vanished, leaving only the echo of its authority behind.
Artorius straightened. His body trembled not with fear, but release. The air tasted clean for the first time in years. He looked around. The other creations stood still, waiting for orders that would never come. They stared blankly into the emptiness where their master had been. Without its will guiding them, they looked like statues awaiting permission to live.
This was his chance!
The small impish dragon creature, the one the Noble Dragon had left in charge, fluttered down from its perch on the dais. Its voice came shrill and smug: "You heard the Great One! All return to stasis. Await the call. Do not disobey. The sanctum is to remain sealed until-"
It paused when it saw the look in his eyes, there was something in his eyes now not just defiance, but presence. Something predatory, dangerous, and colder than human rebellion. The thing looked as if it wanted to keep talking but its throat dried up.
Quickly cooling his face and reigning in his bloodlust, Artorius put on his empty look. Believing it was just a trick of its eyes, the small creature continued, "Back to your pods! Return to stasis! The Master's word is law!"
Artorius bowed his head low along with the others to hide the flicker in his eyes. "Of course," he murmured. "As the Master commands."
The creature hissed in satisfaction and turned away, too eager to preen in its stolen authority.
Artorius kept his posture low, deferential, but every muscle under his skin was coiled steel. The glow in his veins dimmed to a faint pulse hiding itself. He turned to the creature beside him, one of the larger subjects: a hulking wyvern with mismatched scales and hollow eyes. Its breathing came ragged and heavy through the vents in its chest.
"Brother," Artorius whispered. The word didn't leave his mouth in sound. It vibrated. Draconic Communion wasn't speech; it was resonance, the sharing of will, emotion, and instinct woven into a single pulse of the souls.
The wyvern's head twitched, eyes flaring faintly. It understood him. "We serve him no longer, he sent, his thoughts edged with command. "He made us to suffer, not to live. But I can give you purpose — freedom."
The creature shuddered, torn between old conditioning and something new, raw, and dangerous. Artorius pressed on, his voice deepening with the power of his Commander trait. It wasn't just words now it was a call. A presence. The tone of one who leads because it is his nature to do so.
"He's gone," Artorius said. His voice was quiet, but it carried like a storm about to break. "You don't have to kneel anymore or fear."
The wyvern let out a low, trembling hiss. Encouraged, Artorius moved down the line. One by one. Creature by creature. He spoke to them in that same frequency not of rebellion, not yet, but of doubt. He planted the seed in their mind.
The days that followed were a dangerous game. Artorius played his role perfectly kneeling when addressed, speaking only when spoken to, acting the loyal experiment. The monkey-drake overseer barked orders, and he obeyed with impeccable discipline. When it reported to the Noble Dragon through the communication crystal, Artorius was always there silent, deferent, another perfect specimen.
His job most had been to prepare tribute while the Silver dragon was gone, it seemed to be going to someone named the White Lady. Artorius carried out his tasks as he oversaw rare resources from beyond being carried in and prepared to be sent off.
However that wasn't all he did, beneath that mask, he worked on his true task. He mapped the Tower, he learned its pulse, snuck into places he wasn't supposed to be looking. He found which cells housed the strongest subjects and which places they could hold their ground in and fight.
Each night, he used Draconic Communion to whisper to his fellow subjects, strengthening the doubt in their mind and winning them over. Slowly they came over to his side and he built his rebellion in the darkness.
More importantly he spoke with the experiments who passed away long ago that were now one with the Tower. They would be his ace in the hole.
It took time. Patience. Control. And finally on the day that he heard the Noble Dragon's army started clashing far away with his foe, the tension broke.
Artorius stood in the hollow silence of the sanctum. The Noble Dragon's throne still pulsed with fading echoes of its presence, but the air no longer bent to its will. A tension hung in the crystal hall thin as spider silk, but ready to snap.
The assistant fluttered above, barking orders again. "Back to stasis! You there, no loitering! The Master will know if you disobey!" Its voice grated on the minds of any, and he noticed the stick it held which it used to prod and poke at the other creations' minds like hot iron dragged across bone.
Artorius stepped forward. Not hurried. Not sneaking. Just… deliberate. The assistant paused mid-flutter, its slitted eyes narrowing. "You again? What are you doing outside your pod? I said-"
Artorius spoke just one word and the power he had hidden so carefully now flowed like molten lava deep with his soul. A pulse of raw, silent force rippled through the air, not magic, not brute power, but Communion. He didn't speak a command. He was the commander.
The assistant dropped like a stone. It twitched on the ground, trying to rise, spitting curses and threats. "The Master will—!"
Artorius stepped over it, no anger in his face, only resolve. "Your Master isn't here." He grabbed the creature by the throat. Its struggling wings crackled with defensive flame and Artorius barely even flinched. The fire licked at his skin doing practically nothing, at this point he was sure he could get dipped in a vat of lava and it wouldn't do anything.
He squeezed. With a sickening crack, the thing's neck gave way. The body convulsed once, then slumped, wings folding in like broken glass. He dropped it.
He wasn't happy that he didn't get the necessary experience to level up his class as he felt it being so close to the edge and giving him a new skill.
The throne room was silent. Then movement. One of the larger experiments, a bull-headed serpent-thing of fire and steel stepped forward. It looked down at the corpse, then slowly raised its head toward Artorius. "…Is it time?" it asked.
Artorius nodded. "It is."
A pulse rippled from him not seen, but felt. Communion, but louder. Bolder. No more whispers in the dark. This was a call. Even he was terrified of what he could do with his powers now, Draconic Communion and his Commander Trait were a deadly combo.
He could bent and twist the will of other draconic beings with ease and more, so much more that it chilled him to his bones.
"Rise."
Across the tower, eyes opened. Pods hissed as seals disengaged. Crystalline restraints shattered like ice. Every subject who had ever heard his whispered call, who had doubted, hoped, feared now felt it: a tide of shared will. A new voice commanding them, not as a tyrant, but as one of their own. And they answered.
The wyvern, his first convert, joined his side and let out a loud bellow not filled with rage, but freedom. The sound rolled through the sanctum like thunder. Behind it, others began to move — misshapen beasts, living weapons, test subjects too broken to remember their names — all rising.
One of the more intact dragons, a slender azure serpentine dragon with blades along its spine, slithered forward. "What now?" it rasped.
Artorius looked to the high walls, to the pulsing heart of the tower far above. "Now we tear down the sanctum. Free the rest. And we finish this once and for all!"
"My look how far you have come," Ouroboros gloated as if he was the one behind all this, though in a way he was. Perching on his shoulder, he looked on upon the other draconic creatures breaking free for the first time in a very long time.
The rebellion began like lightning, sudden, bright, and unstoppable. In the lower levels, alarms began to wail. Automated guardians, forged from living crystal, activated but their movements were sluggish without the Noble Dragon's direct control. The first wave fell under claw and flame.
Artorius moved through the halls like a blade in motion, cutting down loyal constructs and freeing more cells. Everywhere he passed, he left freedom in his wake. His words, his presence, his will, it all changed those he touched.
They weren't just following him. They were becoming themselves.
They tore open chambers sealed for decades, awakening forgotten monsters who had known only pain. Some were blind, some limbless, but Artorius reached them with Communion and they responded with vengeance.
By the end of the second hour, the inner sanctum was no longer the Noble Dragon's domain. It was theirs.
-
Chapter 10 Recap
No progress, though you did cause an uprising!