ã€ŠWings of Fire: Dragons, Steel, and Pom-Pomsã€‹


 I - Pilot

    >PART ONE_

    >Aboard USS Sampson, US Navy Destroyer,  somewhere in the North Atlantic._

    Captain Robert Drake frowned as he surveyed the endless Atlantic swells. The gloomy gray sky hung above. He raised his binoculars and zeroed in on a particularly auspicious bit of spray off in the distance.

    Doesn''t look like anything... he thought after a few moments.

    He glanced over the other various escort ships shepherding the transatlantic supply convoy through the treacherous seas, a collection of US Navy Destroyers and Destroyer Escorts, and some Royal Navy Destroyers and Corvettes. None of them were signaling danger.

    He picked up an intercom phone and keyed navigation.

    "ASDICS, are you seeing any potential contacts?"

    "Negative, sir. Nothing on hydrophones." Came the succinct reply.

    Captain Drake frowned. He knew there were U-boats shadowing the convoy, stalking them like a wolf, waiting for one of the herd to fall behind or for night to fall.

    The blasted things always attacked at night, using the cover of darkness to slip past the escort screen and sink their teeth into the vulnerable cargo vessels that he and his were charged with protecting.

    Captain Drake had heard the rumors. Listened to the stories. The horrific tales recounted by survivors. The sudden, warning-less explosions; broken keels, mangled steel, crippled ships, fires, ammunition explosions. The few that made it off the doomed ships in time were met with freezing water, burning oil slicks, and follow-up attacks.

    The lucky ones, that is.

    Drake averted his gaze up towards the featureless Grey sky. Dusk was coming.

    He was nervous.

    He wouldn''t let it show, as much for the sake of his crew and convoy he was protecting as for his own.

    "Sir?" An ensign approached him and stood at attention.

    "At ease, what is it?"

    "Meteorology just picked up a storm forming directly ahead of us, sir. At our current heading, it will hit us in about 5 hours, sir."

    Sure enough, a wind picked up and swept over the bow of the small Destroyer, and the white-capped swells grew slightly.

    "You are only telling me about this now?"

    "Uh, yes sir. We only just picked it up on RADAR, sir." The ensign slightly shifted uncomfortably.

    Captain Drake turned and looked out over the Destroyer''s bow and narrowed his eyes at the opaque horizon, which stubbornly failed to clear under the force of his glare.

    "Will it be bad?" He asked the ensign.

    "They don''t think so sir," he responded. "The techs said they can''t see very far into the storm, but from what we can see they''re pretty sure that the convoy can take it, sir."

    Drake considered the situation. On one hand, steaming headlong into an hitherto unseen and unusual storm seemed a fool''s game, but on the other...

    "Such a squall would throw off any U-boats following us, wouldn''t it?" He mused.

    The ensign perked up, "Why, yes sir, it should!"

    Captain Drake wasn''t particularly known for taking risks. When opportunities presented themselves, he had always found himself partial to the less risky option. That was how he got placed as the acting CO of an escort group. The options were straightforward, at least. Either face the relatively unknown potential danger of the opaque storm or face another night of potential U-boat attacks.

    "Signal the other escorts and the supply ships to maintain course; we''re sailing through that storm."

    "Yes sir!"

    ***

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea._

    Storms were quite the fascinating event, when you spent the majority of your time underwater.

    At least that was what Cuttlefish thought, as he deftly paddled through the deep blue waters. Lit an interesting array of colors by the setting sun.

    While he personally wasn''t very affected by the occasional passing of a storm, he was rather interested in what they left behind. The random debris left floating on the surface or strewn about the seafloor. Some of them are familiar to where he lived, other stuff seemingly coming from far-away places.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    What could he say? It just seemed cool to him.

    It was an interest that was at least partially reciprocated in his two friends, the siblings Oyster and Clam, who were following closely behind him.

    ["How much longer are we just going to swim around out here? We have a scroll-report for school due soon and should probably go work on it...] Oyster signed in the language of luminescent flashes and talon gestures that SeaWings used for communicating underwater, Aquatic.

    ["Oh, come on!"] Clam quickly responded, ["That''s not due for like three days! You can''t seriously want to work on it now!"]

    ["It''s better than just swimming around in circles out here, looking for driftwood."] Oyster retorted, ["Also because Mother and teacher said that it''s bad to procrastinate, so we should to go back."]

    ["Swimming around in circles out here is better than working on a scroll report!"] Came Clam''s reply. ["Right, Cuttlefish?"]

    ["Maybe Oyster can go back to get a head start on the report, if she wants."] Cuttlefish mediated.

    Oyster grimaced slightly at that. ["Maybe, but it would be awkward to be the only dragonet around the enclave, while the adults are all busy and only the hatchlings for company."]

    Cuttlefish couldn''t disagree. At the small SeaWing enclave they lived at, the current trio were the only dragonets their age around. Which made it rather boring and lonely when only one of them was present at any one time.

    ["Maybe we can keep looking around for a couple more minutes, then we can go back to work on the report together."] Cuttlefish said.

    ["Hey! What''s that over there!?"] Clam suddenly signal-shouted.

    Oyster and Cuttlefish both glanced suspiciously at him, expecting him to just be trying to change the subject away from schoolwork. But they both followed his gaze to see that he had indeed seen something; a rather large shadow, floating at the surface.

    ["... Is it a whale?"] Oyster said with the visual inflection indicating a question after a moment.

    ["Maybe? It doesn''t appear to be moving..."] Cuttlefish responded with his luminescent scales slowly dimming corresponding to a statement trailing off.

    ["Is it dead?"] Clam asked.

    ["Maybe, hang on. I''m going to get a closer look..."] Cuttlefish gave the siblings a sign to hold back as he cautiously swam closer, eyeing the strange shape closely.

    The thing did look kind of like a whale, at least in general shape, but it was much bigger than any whale Cuttlefish had seen or heard of. And it was on the surface for some reason, which lent credence to Clam''s theory of it being dead. But didn''t whales and other sea mammals sink when they died?

    As Cuttlefish swam closer, he realized that he could see other similar shapes in the distance- barely visible through the dim water. and if he thought about it, some of the farther away ones seemed to be wider and fatter than the closer ones. On top of that, they all seemed to be facing, and moving he realized, in the same direction...

    What in the great currents...? He thought.

    But before he could contemplate the collection of strange creatures much further; one of the sleeker ones, Cuttlefish noted, broke off from the sparse pod and turned... Towards them.

    Now Cuttlefish and the two siblings really held still, as the strange whale-thing hovered near over them, almost as if it were waiting. The size disparity between the three dragonets and the strange creature now menacingly apparent.

    However, the closer proximity of the huge creature gave Cuttlefish a better look at it. He could see that aside from the general rounded shape of the creature''s underbelly, it did not actually have that much in common with an actual whale.

    For starters, the front of the creature tapered off to a kind of wedge shape, kind of like a fish but... not.

    The creature also did not have any kind of pectoral fins to speak of, like you might see on any kind of fish or whale, but it did have two short fin-things that ran along the length of it. Similar to his own frill that ran down his neck, back and tail, and likely served a similar purpose, he thought.

    Perhaps most strangely of all, however, was the rear end of the thing. It did not seem to have any tail fins to speak of, but it did have a cloud of bubbles coming from the back of the creature. And Cuttlefish swore that he could almost see a... spinning thing? At the front of the bubble trail. He could also now see a small vertical fin-looking thing just behind the bubble trail.

    After the silent stand-off persisted for a few minutes, none of the dragonets willing to move or flash even a bit to break the equilibrium of stillness, the creature turned back to the pod of other creatures and moved off, staying on the surface all the while. All of the creatures promptly sped up a little and continued on their way.

    The three dragonets floated in stunned silence for a little while, trying to contemplate what exactly they had witnessed.

    ["...What... what was that?"] Oyster eventually broke the stillness, her luminescent scales subdued in brightness.

    ["I don''t know."] Cuttlefish answered.

    ["Was it a sea monster?"] Clam asked, looking pale.

    I don''t know...

    ***

    >Captain Robert Drake''s personal log._

    ~

    All convoy and accompanying escorts made it through the storm without major damage, it appears. No vessels were lost, and nothing was damaged to the point of putting any ships in immediate jeopardy. (Which I am grateful for)

    However, there are a few matters that are pressing, which seem to be a collective malfunction of many navigational and other electronic equipment. For instance, the ship''s magnetic compasses appear to be off.

    Even more concerning, the master and various auxiliary gyrocompasses appear to have suddenly lost their calibration.

    On top of that, communications report having lost seemingly all background radio traffic, which is odd.

    While unusual this could hypothetically be chalked up to the malfunctioning of one ship''s systems due to faulty manufacturing quality or just bad luck, but other ships are reporting similar issues.

    Techs are speculating that electromagnetic interference from the storm, which did have a heck of a lot of lightning for any typhoon I''ve seen, is likely to blame for the malfunctions. I''m not a scientist in that field, so I''ll leave it up to the egg heads to speculate.

    We are not going to break radio silence any time soon to find out what is going on with the lack of radio noise, in case any U-boats or Kondors are nearby.

    In the meantime, the convoy was on a course for the British Isles before we entered that storm, so we should be able to just maintain heading and eventually reach our destination even with navigational equipment gone haywire.

    I don''t want my men to panic.

    ***

    Action Report:

    Royal Navy Castle-Class Corvette broke formation, presumably interrogating ASDICS contact, radio silence maintained.

    Royal Navy Corvette signaled potential underwater contact, interrogating.

    Royal Navy Corvette signaled Negative contact, rejoined formation, no depth charge attacks launched.

    Radio silence was maintained.

    ***

    After-Action Report

    One of the Royal Navy Corvettes, HMS Lancaster Castle, broke formation suddenly, later confirmed to have been investigating a SONAR contact.

    The vessel maintained radio silence as she maneuvered, and did not signal what she was doing.

    After approaching the position of the supposed contact, the vessel signaled that it was indeed interrogating a potential submarine contact.

    However, the Lancaster Castle''s crew later reported that the contact was fuzzy and "strange," and quickly disappeared.

    No other vessels reported any such vessels.

    The false contact has been chalked up to be a malfunction similar to the ones plaguing the radio and navigational instruments.

    Great, another important piece of tech that we need going haywire, how could this get better?

    ~

 II - Sea Monsters?

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea_

    Cuttlefish, Oyster, and Clam quickly swam through the darkening water. Making their way back to the enclave to tell the others what they had found, and wanting to know if anyone could make sense of what they had discovered. If anyone had ever seen anything like it; and what, if anything, the creature''s were up to.

    It was an added bonus that the way back to the enclave was the exact opposite direction the pod of creatures were moving in, in the three dragonet''s opinions.

    ["What were those things!?"] Clam frantically signaled for the fifth time.

    ["They were HUGE! What were they doing here? Where are they going? Why has nobody said anything about giant pods of huge whale-things that only swim on the surface!?"]

    ["How would we know!?"] Oyster retorted, ["That''s why we are going to ask the adults if they know what those things are!"]

    ["You''d think that they would warn us about any ginormous whale-things lurking around before-talon! Those things are probably dangerous!"]

    ["I don''t think those were whales¡­"] Cuttlefish interjected. ["They didn''t look or move much like whales do."]

    ["Well, what else grows that big!?"] Clam flashed.

    ["I''ve never heard of a whale that grows that big, either."] Cuttlefish countered.

    Oyster''s jaws suddenly hinged open, as if she gasped, and she froze in place. ["What if they were Sea Monsters??"]

    Clam and Cuttlefish now frozen too, Clam''s light blue scales looking decidedly more pale, his eyes boggled like a squid''s. ["Sea Monsters?"]

    Cuttlefish was a little more skeptical, and calm; ["Sea Monsters?"]

    ["Yeah!"] She flashed, visibly excited. ["Other than being big like a whale, they didn''t really look or move like one."]

    That¡¯s what I said¡­ Cuttlefish thought, but he kept that to himself. He wanted to see where she was going with this.

    ["What- what do you mean?"] Clam asked, his apparent fear not at all placated.

    ["You''re the one who suggested they were sea monsters first, Clam, so I don''t know why you''re freaking out so much. Anyway, it didn''t have a tail fin, or any big fins, for that matter. But it did have that trail of bubbles behind it, which reminds me of this thing that, what''s the word? Cephalopods? Yeah that''s it, use to move around. They squirt water out of tubes at speed to move around. Kinda like Cuttlefish, actually."]

    Giant cephalopods? That actually does kind of sound like real sea monsters from story scrolls¡­ Cuttlefish thought, now feeling pretty nervous himself. The maybe intentional rib going over his head.

    Clam had clearly come to a similar conclusion judging by the look on his face, and shot off at full speed towards the enclave. Oyster and Cuttlefish promptly followed suit.

    That is, until they came across something that made them all stop in their swirls.

    Another one¡­

    Another of the creatures, (sea monsters?) Was before them. Just barely visible in the slowly diminishing Ocean light.

    This one, however, was swimming underwater.

    It was smaller than the other creatures, but still much larger than any of the three Seawing dragonets. It was much sleeker than the other creatures, and several other differences that could be seen. Apart from the fact that it was swimming underwater.

    This creature did have fins, clearly. Two small pectoral fins to the bottom front of the creature, similar to the fins that one would see on a whale or shark, but much smaller and closer to the front of the thing. It also had a sort of giant dorsal fin on the top, but it was weirdly wide, and centered far away from the other fins. Cuttlefish could also see something on top of the creature, just in front of the giant dorsal fin, but he had no idea what it was.

    The whole creature had a silhouette that was much leaner and decidedly more¡­ predatory¡­ than the other creatures they saw earlier.

    And it was coming right towards them.

    The three dragonets floated in place, petrified with terror, and a bit of morbid curiosity, on Oyster''s part. None of them dared to move a muscle or flash a blink. Their bodies and minds weren''t used to this kind of fear, the fear induced by a predator watching you.

    Dragons never were on the receiving end of that interaction, after all.

    The creature continued to move towards them¡­ slowly.

    Actually, really slowly. Almost lazily slowly, now that Cuttlefish thought about it. He sort of figured that if a great sea monster were hunting, it would probably move with a bit more urgency.

    And so he, and so probably by extent Clam and Oyster, held fast while the creature slowly swam closer.

    They watched with wide eyes as the thing passed by them, not once deviating from its course or seemingly paying them any mind at all.

    This was the closest any of the dragonets had been to one of the creatures, and now that it wasn''t silhouetted against the surface, they could get the best look they had of one of them so far.

    And well, they did not really get any less confusing up close.

    It was hard to tell exactly what color the creature was, given that they were underwater and it was dark. But the thing appeared to probably be light-gray in coloration, pretty similar to a shark.

    Similar to the other creatures, the front of it tapered off to a kind of wedge shape, but it had two¡­ rectangular divots¡­ on the side, and presumably two more on the other side, which served an unknown purpose. It also had a single jagged horn angled backwards that sprouted from the upper tip of the front end, which itself was angled forwards.

    Come to think of it, just behind the tapered wedge that made up the front of the creature, it had a series of weird, perfectly rectangular holes that Cuttlefish could not imagine the purpose of or where they went. They ran almost the whole length of the creature near the top of it. Which itself was strangely flat.

    Speaking of the top of the creature, the dorsal fin and strange thing in front of it were even more bewildering up close.

    Cuttlefish still had absolutely no idea what the thing in front of the bloated dorsal fin was supposed to be, or what it was supposed to do. It was long, its length ran along the same direction as the creature''s length, the end facing the front being shaped like a tube and having a hole at the end of it, while the other end that faced the dorsal was kinda more square and blocky in shape.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The dorsal fin was even stranger, it was almost as wide as the creature itself was, and had a bunch of smaller things all jutting out from it. Cuttlefish could see small, thin tubes that stretched out the top of the thing pointing towards the surface. On the side of the fin, he could see strange patterns made from a different coloration than the rest of the creature that looked suspiciously like symbols¡­

    He could also see strange things on the back of the fin that looked somewhat similar in shape to the thing in front of the fin, but smaller. He could also see another one set behind the entire dorsal fin, this one pointing towards the back of the creature.

    Cuttlefish could also now see the distinct bubble stream that Oyster was referring to earlier, but it was a lot more subdued than the ones behind the other creatures. At the base of it he could clearly see that it was not coming from some sort of tube like cephalopods use, but rather some kind of¡­ weird spinning thing¡­ that spun rapidly and produced the bubble stream. That thing clearly had to do with the creature''s movement, as he could see no other moving parts that would indicate propulsion.

    The three dragonets continued to stare at the creature as it slowly passed by them, seemingly paying them no mind, and continued on its way, following the same direction as the rest of the creatures before it.

    What in the great currents¡­

    Oyster was the first to break the stillness, turning towards the other two to cast a far too excited glance, considering the circumstances.

    Clam interpreted it first. ["DON''T!"] He flashed, frantically waving his talons.

    But before either he or Cuttlefish could make a move to stop her, she turned and dashed off in pursuit of the creature, swam up alongside it, and to both Clam and Cuttlefish''s horror, she roughly rapped its side with her talon.

    ***

    >Aboard U-178, Kriegsmarine Submarine, unknown location._

    Korvettenkapit?n Klaus Witt glanced over the various instruments that indicated bearing in the U-boat''s conning tower, and then at his wristwatch. At their current speed, they had several more hours of battery life. The Type IXD was built for range, but it shared the comparative weakness all submarines shared of limited underwater endurance.

    They were unable to get a radio signal to or from Lorient to report the situation with the supply convoy they were following, and thus Witt decided to act on standing orders to keep tabs on the convoy''s position and follow it through the storm.

    He had ordered the boat to submerge, wishing to avoid risking damage to the vessel from the waves in trade for the slower running speed.

    However, by now the storm should be well past, and surfacing should be safe. The convoy has most likely made some distance from them; They''ll need to catch up.

    And probably recalibrate the gyrocompasses, because they had been acting a little strange since they passed through the storm.

    He took a long draw of¡­ interesting¡­ coffee from one of the cheap mugs they have aboard and prepared to order an ascension to periscope depth.

    And nearly choked on it as a loud banging noise rang out throughout the boat''s hull.

    His training kicking in, still coughing, he activated the general quarters alarm and the crew scrambled to battle stations, ready to seal the watertight bulkheads if necessary.

    "Are we under attack!?" He shouted down to the control room, carefully keeping any panic under control.

    "I don''t know, sir! That didn''t sound like a depth charge!" The hydrophone technician, Otto Reinhard, responded.

    U-178 and most of her crew had only been on two war patrols, and had only endured depth charge attacks once. However, the sounds of heavy explosives falling into the water then exploding nearby was absolutely unmistakable, and that sound was not it.

    "Was it a mechanical failure?" Witt shouted back down.

    "Crew reports no compartments leaking, sir!" The head engineer, Eric Krupp, hollered back. "All systems seem to be working as well, aside from the compasses anyway, whatever that was, it was outside the pressure hull! But I''m not seeing any loss of ballast or air pressure, either!"

    The edge gone and adrenaline fading, Witt found himself more puzzled and a little concerned than anything. "Is it possible that we hit something?" He asked more calmly.

    "Unlikely, sir!" This time his First Officer, Olaf Reimer, replied. "We still should be in the open ocean!"

    Witt pondered the odd dilemma a moment longer, then announced; "We will ascend to periscope depth, get a bearing of our surroundings to make sure no one is nearby, then surface to take stock of the situation and recharge the boat''s batteries."

    His order was met with a chorus of ''Yes sirs!'' From the control room and "Hans! You''re going up on deck to check things out, it was supposed to be your turn on watch, anyway!" From his First Officer.

    ***

    Cuttlefish and Clam both stared with slack-jawed horror as Oyster turned back towards them, an excited grin plastered about her face.

    ["It feels really hard! Like really hard, like it has a shell made of metal or something!"]

    Cuttlefish and Clam swam forth and grabbed Oyster, quickly pulling her away from the strange creature.

    But the creature did not retaliate towards the sudden contact, nor did it much seem to care, as it just continued on its way as if nothing happened.

    ["Did it even notice?"] Clam asked.

    ["I think so,"] Oyster mused, ["I heard more noises coming from inside after I knocked on it, but they weren''t very loud. The loudest noise was this kind of¡­ weird wailing noise¡­"]

    The dragonets all floated in place contemplating this information, when the creature in question finally did something other than swim in a straight line.

    The small fins at the front of the creature angled upwards and the whole thing began to swim to the surface.

    It did not actually breach the surface, however, but instead leveled out again with its strange dorsal fin close to the air.

    They watched with confusion as one of the thin tubes positioned at the top of the fin suddenly extended, the tip of it the only part of the whole creature breaching the ocean''s surface.

    The dragonets couldn''t fathom what the creature could possibly be doing, but they weren''t able to ponder it for very long, as after a couple minutes the entire creature again began to ascend. This time fully surfacing.

    Cuttlefish noted how much the creature suddenly looked like the ones they saw earlier now that it was swimming on the surface.

    ["What is it doing?"] Clam flashed, much less fearful than before, but still clearly very nervous.

    ["I have no idea. Cuttlefish, go up there and see what it''s doing."] Oyster said, apparently much less eager to investigate the creature after literally poking a reaction out of it.

    Cuttlefish, for his part, was rather curious as to what the creature was up to as well. And why it looked so¡­ strange. The creatures that they''ve seen had all acted more or less passively, so the risk of getting up close to it again was probably minimal.

    Without another word, Cuttlefish followed the creature up to the surface. The spinning things at the creature''s rear had stopped spinning, and the thing was gradually slowing down. Lending credence to the theory that they were somehow responsible for the creature''s movement.

    Cuttlefish poked his head above the water and took in the creature''s appearance. Only the flat top and the huge dorsal fin were above water. It was much easier to see its exact color, which was indeed similar to that of a shark. Primarily light gray in hue.

    It was also easier to see the strange patterns on the side of the fin structure, which did not become any less confusing above water.

    The thin tube at the top of the fin had also retracted back into the creature now that it was surface, which Cuttlefish supposed should probably not have been surprising.

    What was surprising, however, was the series of rather metallic clanking and clattering sounds, followed by a hissing sound, followed by yet more clattering, that came from the top of the fin structure.

    Cuttlefish just floated and stared at the thing, wondering if he should try to lift out of the water and fly up to see it from above. When suddenly, to his complete and total surprise, a small scruffy head poked up from the structure, which he now realized had a lip kinda like a window fixture would have, and looked around, muttering something unintelligible.

    Until it turned around and locked eyes with him, it froze completely, eyes as wide as moons, and Cuttlefish got a good look at its face.

    A flat, muzzle-less face, forward facing eyes, small nose, fur only on the top and back of the head, not on the face. Comically unthreatening teeth.

    A scavenger. What.

    Cuttlefish was flabbergasted. He had never seen a scavenger in real life, as they didn''t get many of them in, well, the ocean. But he had seen pictures and read some of the, albeit very limited, literature they had on them. Their appearance was unique and unmistakable. They were notorious as treasure thieves, typically lived in secluded ''dens'' scattered across the mainland, and known just as much for being a delicacy as they were for being feisty among dragons.

    They weren''t known for riding on strange sea monsters underwater!

    HOW. WHAT.

    Cuttlefish and the scavenger held the stunned staring match for a full minute longer, both appearing utterly unable to comprehend the sight of each other. Until the scavenger made a weird drawn out "uhh" sound and backed down, disappearing back into where it came from. Never once breaking eye contact with Cuttlefish. More metallic clanking and clattering sounds could be heard.

    Cuttlefish continued to stare, completely at a loss for coherent thought, much less words, when his ears cued him into two splashes coming from behind him, one later and slower than the other.

    "Cuttlefish!" Oyster cried after clearing the water from her gills. "What happened!? What did you see!?"

    "Are you alright?" Clam followed up, "You froze!"

    "Uhhh¡­" was all Cuttlefish could formulate. Reminiscent of the scavenger that had just disappeared, though his brain was still probably too shock-addled to realize that.

    Before either of the two dragons could ask a follow-up question, a strange rumbling, growling-esque noise came from closer to the back of the creature, and the two siblings, Clam especially, jumped back in surprise.

    Adding to Cuttlefish''s, and now the other two dragonet''s, perplexed surprise, blackish, weird-smelling smoke came from holes behind the creature''s¡­ fin? And the entire thing accelerated forwards, moving much faster than it had been underwater.

    "Cuttlefish, what¡­?" Clam started, before he was cut off by yet more clanking coming from the creature.

    This time two scavengers popped out, and Cuttlefish wondered how many of them there were on that thing. One looked like the one that he had already seen, the other one was new.

    Now all three dragonets floated still, all staring, all shocked and flummoxed beyond words. The two scavengers on top of the thing stared back, looking for all the world as dumbfounded as they were. The creature continued to swim off, seemingly aloof to the sheer confused shock permeating between the two races.

    None of the dragonets opted to pursue the creature this time, as it steadily made its way off into the distance, away from them.

    They all just exchanged glances, dove underwater, and resumed swimming back to the enclave as fast as they could reasonably go.

 III - Three Moons

    >Aboard USS Sampson, US Navy Destroyer, unknown location._

    Captain Drake once again found himself standing in the Destroyer''s bridge, surveying the horizon with his binoculars. A horizon that, to its credit, was much clearer than it was before they entered the storm.

    Which was odd¡­ as the Northeastern Atlantic wasn''t exactly known for being clear this time of year. Regardless of whether or not a storm was brewing.

    It also wasn''t known for being this warm.

    It reminded him of his time in the Pacific fleet actually, back when he was a lieutenant on a Heavy Cruiser stationed off Hawaii.

    Until Pearl Harbor was bombed, and the US entered the war properly.

    Which, somewhat ironically, led to more direct Navy involvement in the battle for the Atlantic.

    Which is eventually how Robert found himself in this position, captain of an escort group assigned to protecting a high-value convoy transporting fuel, oil, various vehicles and infantry equipment across the North Atlantic.

    One would think that such useful and comparatively expensive cargo would merit a bigger escort group, bigger than a handful of USN and Royal Navy Destroyers, Destroyer escorts, and Corvettes, Robert sometimes mused to himself. But after the sinking of the Bismarck, German surface raider action had seen a drastic decrease.

    On top of that, the recent deployment of U-boat hunter-killer groups had started getting results. So the need for heavy escort groups was beginning to diminish.

    At least that was the case for convoys like the one that he was protecting, which were not actually that big in the grand scheme of things.

    Robert shook himself from his internal musings, there are more pressing matters to focus on.

    Such as, for instance, the radio still not working. The techs still haven''t picked up on virtually any background traffic. Just ambient static noise coming from space.

    Which was concerning to say the least.

    While it wasn''t unheard of for storms at sea, especially electrostatically charged ones, to interfere with radio transmission, the storm had not only passed, but had dissipated behind them.

    They should be picking up on radio traffic, especially since, at their current heading, they should be getting closer to the British Isles.

    Or maybe they are a little off course, given the compasses not appearing to be working properly either. But then they would be getting closer to either the Scandinavian or Spanish peninsula. Either way, getting closer to land in general. Thus closer to radio transmitters.

    An equipment malfunction was of course possible, but the Sampson wasn''t the only ship picking up only static. All of the ships, including the civilian haulers, were reporting the same problem.

    So either they were victims to perhaps one of the most statistically improbable malfunctions in history, or something else was afoot.

    On a more positive note, however, several ships including his own had reported catching sight of a landmass on RADAR, so hopefully they won''t have to wait long to figure out what''s going on.

    Which is good, Robert though as he glanced back to the various supply ships in tow. Those old wheezers won''t run forever.

    The cargo ships that supplied the Allied war effort were notorious for being old dilapidated junk-traps as much as the U-boats that hunted them were infamous. Between the hastily-built Liberty ships to the woefully outdated civilian steamers, the merchant-marine vessels weren''t much to write home about as far as performance and reliability were concerned.

    The Liberty ships in particular were only built to have a 5 year operational life under the best circumstances.

    It was nothing short of a miracle that all of the ships in the convoy had already made it this far without any breakdowns, and that they all had made it through the storm relatively unscathed.

    Robert didn''t want to push their luck by being at sea any longer than they needed to.

    To that end, it looked like, at their current speed, they would probably reach land by nightfall, all else being equal.

    Which also meant that the possibility of U-boat attack was significantly unlikely, as they rarely struck so close to the English coast, and any boats that were shadowing them likely lost track from the storm, anyway.

    Hopefully all will be well. Robert thought, hoping that his decision to endure the storm would prove worthwhile.

    ***

    >Deep SeaWing enclave, somewhere in The Kingdom of the Sea._

    ["Sea monsters? scavengers? Are you dragonets alright?"] The enclave''s tutor, Mako, asked somewhat condescendingly, as much as a visual language could even convey contempt, anyway.

    ["YES!"] Oyster flashed, a bit too brightly. ["Well, probably. We know what we saw!"]

    The dragonets had just arrived back at the enclave, and frantically got to explaining what in the currents they saw to the first adult who would probably listen. That dragon happened to be Mako, the enclave tutor that the trio had been inadvertently avoiding by going on that expedition to look at storm aftermath in the first place.

    It was pretty clear that she wasn''t exactly buying their spiel, however.

    Which is probably understandable, to be honest. Cuttlefish reflected to himself. He didn''t flash that out, as both Clam and Oyster were getting pretty animated over the whole thing.

    ["YEAH! WE DO!"] Clam added, ["A bunch of sea monsters came out of that storm that came through earlier, like, A LOT of them! And they were HUGE! Way bigger than a blue whale! And- and one of them was swimming underwater! It snuck up on us! Well, not really, it kinda just- we sort of¡­ that''s not the point! You gotta believe us!"] He flashed and gestured frantically.

    Frankly, he probably wouldn''t have believed it either.

    ["Was that the one with the scavengers riding on it?"] Mako said with a smirk.

    ["Listen dragonets, this all sounds¡­ interesting¡­ but it''s absolutely ludicrous. You all should be a bit old to be making up stories like this."]

    Before any of the dragonets could protest, another set of flashes came from their peripheral vision.

    ["Hey now, what''s going on here?"] The relaxed lights came from Grouper, one of the enclave elders, his faded dark blue scales making him blend in well with the dim lighting.

    The four dragons all turned and regarded him. Elders were figures of respect in SeaWing enclaves, mainly due to the wisdom they accrued through their long years.

    Grouper in particular was an interesting figure. While he was rather large in regards to any other dragons present by virtue of being as old as he was, he was still smaller compared to other dragons his age. He also didn''t really possess the grim bitterness and general moodiness that characterized old dragons.

    Mako was the first to answer the dragon.

    ["These dragonets claim to not only have seen a sea monster, but several. A whole pod of them, apparently."]

    ["Really now? That certainly would be quite the sighting. Well dragonets, what was it that you saw?"] He said, seeming amused.

    It seemed the old dragon was willing to humor them, even if only for entertainment value.

    Therefore, Cuttlefish decided to butt in and tell him the whole story from the beginning, as both Clam and Oyster were getting a little hysterical.

    ["Well, it all started after that surprise storm swept through."] Cuttlefish started calmly. ["We were swimming around the area looking for anything the storm might have carried in, or scattered around the seafloor or surface. Until we saw a great shadow in the distance."]

    Grouper nodded, seemingly appreciating Cuttlefish''s professional demeanor. Clam, Oyster, and Mako all stayed dark.

    ["Clam saw it first. We at first thought that it might have been a whale, given its large size and general shape. We also wondered if it was dead, since it was on the surface. But as we got closer, we noticed that it was moving.

    Slowly, but definitely moving. I''m also pretty sure whales sink when they die."]

    Mako nodded emphatically. Apparently that was a part of their curriculum.

    Grouper nodded again, with a cocked eyebrow. He didn''t say anything, however.

    Cuttlefish took that as a cue to continue. ["We also noticed, as we approached the shadow, that it was not alone. There were more. Potentially dozens more. All huge. Some of them were visibly different from others in terms of size and shape, but all generally similar. They were also facing and moving in the same direction."]

    Cuttlefish paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. ["They didn''t seem to take notice of us, except the one we saw initially, which was also the closest one to us. It broke off from the¡­ pod¡­ and came towards us. It didn''t do anything, though. Just kinda hovered on the surface over us and seemed to¡­ wait. Now that it was closer, we could see that it didn''t seem to have much in common with a whale. For starters, as Clam said, it was much bigger than any whale I''ve heard of. Also, it didn''t have fins, not even a tail fin. But it did have a stream of bubbles coming out the back of it. Oyster speculated it to be something similar to a thing Cephalopods use to move around."]

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ["Well? What happened next?"] Grouper flashed, enjoying the story. His facial expression, which before only betrayed casual bemusement, was showing some genuine interest.

    ["Well, when the creature came close, we all held still. Not knowing what it was going to do. But it just turned around and rejoined the rest of the pod after a few minutes, not doing anything to us. The entire pod then picked up speed slightly and moved off. We didn''t follow it."]

    Grouper, for his part, looked thoughtful, which was surprising to Cuttlefish.

    ["Hmm¡­ could you point to where you saw these things on a map?"] He asked.

    Cuttlefish was not expecting the question. ["I- I think so¡­"]

    While they obviously didn''t have a map with them at the time, he was pretty good with directions, and could probably make a fairly accurate guess judging by how long they were swimming.

    ["Good. Mako? Could you fetch a map from your supplies?"] Grouper turned to the tutor.

    Who seemed to be equally surprised as the Dragonets that the elder seemed to be going along with their monster story.

    ["...Sure."] She answered, probably not wanting to get on his bad side by arguing, and swam off to get a map.

    ["Do you have an idea of where the pod was going?"] Grouper asked, turning back to Cuttlefish.

    ["Uh¡­ Yes, actually. It was going directly away from the enclave, from where we were at the time."]

    ["Well, I suppose that''s probably a good thing."] Grouper said with an amused ''snort'', a few small bubbles rising from his nostrils.

    ["But didn''t I see something about there being an underwater one? The things you just described seemed to stay on the surface, if I remember correctly."]

    ["Um, yes. After the pod moved off, we all started swimming back here. But on the way, we came across another of the creatures. This one was underwater. It was a lot leaner and smaller than the other ones, but still really big."]

    He continued, ["We didn''t move as it came closer, and it passed by us without even seeming to notice. That is, until Oyster swam back up to it and knocked on it."]

    ["Oh? Well, swimming up and poking the possible sea monster probably wouldn''t have been my first choice, but I admire your bravery."] He said to Oyster, who ducked her head, her face contorted with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

    ["It felt really hard when I knocked it, kinda like metal."] She said simply.

    ["Er¡­ yes"] Cuttlefish continued. ["I should clarify; when Oyster knocked on the thing, it did something, but not to us. It just went up to the surface, and continued on its way the same direction as before, just on the surface. After it did that, we came back here, and here we are."] He finished. Opting to leave out the bit with the scavengers, as it just made the already wild story more crazy.

    Grouper thought for a moment, his luminescent scales strobing slowly.

    ["Are you certain the creature''s you saw¡­ were actually creatures?"]

    Cuttlefish was taken aback by the question, and by the looks of it, so were Oyster and Clam. They were all expecting something along the lines of; ''Are you sure those were sea monsters?'' or ''Are you certain those weren''t whales?'' Not that!

    ["What¡­ What do you mean?"]

    Grouper seemed to be expecting the question.

    ["Well you see, long ago, well before the war, before any of you three or even your parents or even I were hatched, the Seawing kingdom had Diplomatic envoys from other dragon tribes to discuss deals, negotiate trade, damage reparations, and resolve conflict. To accommodate these other dragons, who can''t breathe underwater of course, we would build these sort of special artificial structures called¡­ What was it? Ah, yes, called "boats" made from wood that can float for a long time and hold a lot of weight without sinking."]

    ["The visual description you gave lines up somewhat with recounts I''ve heard of those boats being viewed from underwater. And I''ve even heard stories of scavengers, of all things, using something similar to get out on the water!"]

    ["However, there are some things that I''m unsure about. For example, I haven''t the foggiest idea what that trail of bubbles you described is, unfortunately.

    I also distinctly remember that the boats were made exclusively out of wood, and you would probably have noticed if the things you saw looked like wood.

    The boat''s that I remember hearing about also sounded much smaller than what you described.

    Not to mention how these mysterious things were able to move around, and the one you saw that was submerged, which I also remember boats couldn''t do unless they were broken."]

    Cuttlefish found himself agreeing with the stereotype surrounding the elders for their propensity to monologue.

    Still, if what Grouper was describing was true, that would mean¡­ Cuttlefish had no clue what it would mean. The concept of an inanimate object not only being able to float on its own, but seemingly holding the weight of an entire dragon or more was totally new to him.

    Is it possible the things that we saw weren''t creatures, but something along the lines of these ''boats?'' But that would open up so many questions! Who made them? Why? How did they move around on their own? Why was one of them underwater?

    ["Ah, it looks like Mako is coming back with a map, perhaps if you can give a rough determination of where you found the things and where they were going, can we reach a more definitive answer to what they are."] The old dragon broke Cuttlefish out of his internal dialogue.

    Sure enough, Mako was indeed approaching, looking somewhat incredulous to be going along with this whole thing, but she had a rather large scroll with her nonetheless.

    She carefully unfurled the waterproofed parchment, and laid it out atop a flat stone.

    It was indeed a map, a map of the continent of Pyrrhia, with all the different dragon tribe palaces and major settlements marked. Unlike most maps that would be found on land, however. This map had the Seawing Deep and Summer Palaces and several enclaves marked as well. Including the one they lived at.

    Their enclave was one of the most distant enclaves, barely within the sea kingdom''s borders. Though, to be fair, they weren''t exactly neatly defined. Besides the continental shore, of course. Their enclave was on the other side of the ''tail peninsula'' that outlined the Bay of a Thousand Scales, which mainly comprised the Kingdom of The Sea. Far away from either palaces.

    The five dragons gathered around the map scroll, and after minutes'' thought, Cuttlefish pointed with his claw the rough location he guessed they found the things. He then traced an imaginary line along the direction the things were going; straight away from the enclave.

    Which also happened to be towards the continent.

    There didn''t appear to be anything special in the direction they were heading, however.

    Grouper reached up and stroked his chin with his age-dulled claws for a moment, thinking.

    ["You know, there actually happens to be a seaside scavenger den in that direction. A rather large one, too. It doesn''t appear to be on the map, though¡­"] He said.

    ["Well of course not,"] Mako looked slightly offended, ["this is a SeaWing map, what use would we have for scavengers? It''s not like they can breathe underwater and steal our treasure."] She retorted.

    ["How do you know about it?"] Oyster asked, looking curious.

    ["I wasn''t always this old, you know."] Grouper chuckled.

    He clasped his talons together. ["I suppose we might as well go take a look."]

    ["Wait, what? Surely you don''t believe that these dragonets saw sea monsters!"]

    ["Well, maybe not¡­ but it''s still probably worth it just to go make sure. Worst case scenario is there''s nothing out-of-the ordinary, and you can go scavenger-watching. It could be an educational experience! Are you not all about that, Mako?"]

    ["...I suppose not¡­"] She said,

    ["Good! You all should leave in the morning, be sure to let me know what you find when you get back"] Grouper said with a smile.

    ***

    >Aboard USS Sampson, US Navy Destroyer. Off an unknown coast._

    The sun was about to set. The moon was only just beginning to peak out from over the horizon, half of which was obscured by a wide shadow.

    Land.

    The convoy had come well into visual range of the shoreline, and held fast, not wanting to risk running aground on unseen rocks or sandbags.

    There weren''t any visible lighthouses that would serve to warn of such dangers, but better safe than sorry.

    The geography of the land that they could detect betrayed little in terms of their location, but they could see a cluster of lights appearing on and just above the shore.

    A city.

    Well, a town, I guess. Captain Drake thought to himself.

    There weren''t very many lights, and they weren''t very bright. At least by the standards of a 20th century seaside town.

    Then again, they could be under lights-out curfew protocols, both to conceal from Luftwaffe aircraft overhead and lurking submarines underneath.

    If so, they weren''t doing a terrific job on that front.

    Whatever the case may be. A town is civilization. Civilization means radios, which means they can hopefully figure out what on Earth is going on.

    It was also entirely possible that the inhabitants of said town were using said radios to signal an alarm, given the entire group of ships that had suddenly appeared unannounced off their shore, many of them clearly warships. Then again, no spotlights were pointed at them, and they could neither hear nor see any signs of alarm coming from the town. Nevertheless, they should announce themselves and their allegiance to the town.

    To that end, Captain Drake ordered his Destroyer to signal the town with her signal lamps their identity, situation, and request support if possible.

    Robert watched as the rapidly flashing light signaled the town, transmitting their message visually in Morse code.

    ["ALLIED SHIPS. AMERICAN. ENGLISH. NO RADIO. NO NAVIGATION. LOCATION? SUPPORT REQUESTED. OVER."]

    The light emitted from the ship was too dim to illuminate the town, so those on the convoy ships could not make out any of the town''s features aside from the dimly glowing lights coming from it. But it was still easily bright enough for those on shore to see it.

    The signal was repeated a second time. It took over an entire minute to transmit it, even given the expertise of their signalmen.

    The entire convoy watched and waited for several minutes. But no response came from the town. Radio was still picking up nothing but dim static, no new lights shown from the town indicated they understood or even received the message.

    They''re a portside town, fishing boats are likely a major part of their economy. Surely they are used to communicating with vessels via signal lamps? Robert thought to himself.

    The Sampson once again transmitted the signal with her lamps twice. Once again, they awaited a response. And once again, nothing came.

    Nothing. No strobing lamps, no break in radio static, no new lights at all. Nothing to give away that they received them. The lights that glowed from the town continued to do so unabated.

    Confused, concerned, and a little annoyed, Drake ordered the Sampson to this time point her searchlights upon the town to fully illuminate it so they could see what was going on.

    His crew dutifully obeyed. He was certain they too wanted to get to the bottom of this oddness. The incredibly bright, directed cone of light was directed upon the cluster of lights onshore, and a few other convoy ships quickly followed suit, likely having had the same idea.

    What the searchlights revealed, however, wasn''t what any of the men aboard were expecting, not by a long shot.

    A castle?

    There, illuminated by the ship''s searchlights, the source of the cluster of lights were revealed. A case. An honest-to-God medieval-looking castle.

    Robert supposed it was possible, given they were probably off the English coast. But still, what?

    It also didn''t look much like any British, Irish or Scottish castle he''d seen in a history book. In fact, looking closer, he realized that the castle seemed to lack any of the structures that made a castle particularly dangerous to invaders. No slitted windows, no apparent moat or reinforced gate, even the archers'' blocks on top seemed entirely the wrong size and consistency for archers shooting downwards. It was just a structure.

    On top of that, the structure seemed to have a small village of huts clustered around it towards the water. Which was also unusual as surviving castles did not tend to have recreated medieval villages around them either.

    The weird medieval reenactment of a town did appear to have piers that extended out into the water, but they looked dilapidated. Far too small and rickety to moor anything larger than a dinghy or small fishing trawler at most.

    Other than that, Robert certainly couldn''t see anything else in the town that would tend to watercraft.

    He couldn''t even see any boats anywhere.

    He was broken from his pondering when a horrified cry came from the deck of the ship; some men were looking back to the horizon and pointing.

    He and the bridge crew turned to look where the men were pointing, and Drake felt his spine turn to ice. His XO gave a slew of obscenities befitting of any seasoned sailor.

    He nearly did himself.

    ¡­

    How did they not see this sooner?

    Several other men on the bridge and across the ship''s deck gave gasps and cries of shock echoing the first.

    One of the other convey ships pointed her searchlight towards where they were looking, the cone of light bringing it further attention from the entire convoy.

    Drake swore he could hear more shocked noises echoing from other ships over the sound of the Sea.

    He could feel a shocked numbness spreading from his spin throughout his veins to his very fingertips.

    ¡­

    There were two moons.

    The moon they had initially seen had risen well above the horizon. Behind it, followed a smaller, but still easily visible second moon. Its crescent shape mirroring the first.

    Drake numbly tracked his eyes across the horizon.

    There were not two, but three moons. The third was just peeking out over the dark skyline, smaller again than the second moon.

    It cast its baleful light across the calm waters, coldly mocking the horror-struck sailors.

    Three moons.

    Drake turned to the bridge crew.

    They turned to him.

    They all exchanged glances.

    They all saw it.

    Drake turned back to the window and looked out upon the deck. The men down there saw it too. They weren''t hallucinating.

    ¡­Where are we?

 IV - First Contact

    >Excerpt from the memoirs of Lord Talem, Acting Mayor of Safe Harbor._

    ~

    I often like to think that every major human settlement had something that they are colloquially known for.

    For the Indestructible City, it is for being the largest, most heavily defended settlement in existence, carefully built into a defensible location up a mountain slope and bristling with weapons.

    Hence the name.

    For smaller towns like Talisman or Valor, they are known for being relatively quiet, peaceful places where dragons rarely encroach. Also for being the residence of the famous Dragonslayer, for the latter town''s case.

    Safe Harbor, on the other hand, is largely known for two things. Perhaps three.

    The first was that it is generally known for being, well, safe.

    Although I, and many other residents, might contest that point. At least on a technicality. Safe Harbor is not really a very defensible city. It is easily visible from the sky. There is little benefit from the physical terrain the city was built on; Rather than being built under a dense forest, or into a massive cliff overhang, or even underground, Safe Harbor was largely built on a shallow hill. And onto the shoreline, of course.

    And other than Safehold, the large castle that makes the city so distinct and the defense provided by both it, the light ballista and the archers it housed; There isn¡¯t much that the city has to offer in terms of direct defensive capability.

    What truly makes Safe Harbor safe is mostly its geographic location, and a little bit of luck.

    You see, the principal dragon territories that Safe Harbor is situated nearby are the Ocean, Rainforest, and Great Swamps. Which in turn are known to be home to the Sea Dragons, Rainforest Dragons, and the Swamp Dragons respectively.

    None of the dragons on that list are particularly known for venturing far from their habitats.

    The Swamp and Ocean dragons seem content with their traditional hunting grounds, and no one has even reported seeing a Rainforest Dragon for centuries.

    That is the true reason Safe Harbor is safe. Because it is ignored.

    Which really isn''t all that reassuring, and a little depressing, I sometimes think.

    The second facet that Safe Harbor is known for is also a source of pride for the locals, a pride that I myself admit to share. Though it is less known colloquially among those that do not regularly interact with us. (Which is a lot of people these days, to be honest)

    Safe Harbor was, and still currently is, perhaps, a very industrious city.

    Safe Harbor has been known for its adept blacksmiths for a long time. It is with the sizable and considerably powerful HarborForges from which they forged the majority of quality tools and weapons of bronze and iron found everywhere on the continent!

    Not only is Safe Harbor known for its metalworks, but it is also known for its aptitude in the invention and production of masterful contraptions.

    ¡­Boats that sail couldn''t exactly be cobbled together by monkeys, after all.

    Not only that, but the huge ballistae that defend the Indestructible City, and the more modest downscaled versions that adorn the Safehold, were all designed here.

    However, being able to design impressive machines and forge exquisite tools of metal are feats of expertise that are all well and good, but simply being able to only do those things would be of little use if you had no materials to work with, and no practical use for them after you made them. As it would seem, by far the easiest way to remedy those problems is through trade.

    Which leads to the third facet that Safe Harbor is more widely known for.

    It''s a harbor.

    The only harbor, actually.

    Safe Harbor is the only port city in existence. There are some fishing villages, sure. But Safe Harbor is the only city with Deep-water piers. Which means it''s also the only city really capable of facilitating meaningful maritime trade.

    Or, at least, it was.

    Safe Harbor''s docks have long since fallen into disrepair. There are no boats for them to facilitate. In the long past, Safe Harbor was a thriving trade center.

    As much as it could have been, anyway, given the ever present threat of dragons.

    Even then, boats went out. Reliable trade took place.

    To be certain, some craft were lost, but it wasn''t as though the dragons were circling overhead at all times. Our Sailors were smart. Only sailing at night, deliberately setting out sporadically and at random to avoid forming recognizable patterns. Places where dragons frequently flew or swam were charted and carefully avoided. Storms that dragons dare not fly in were readily braved.

    It even is said, in the surviving history books, that long ago, Safe Harbor was so strong that it had its own fleet of ships, huge vessels absolutely armed to the teeth built to directly enforce trade routes in spite of the dragons.

    I admit to knowing little about these ships on a level of specifics, as so much about them was lost when during one of the times the Harbor was attacked and burned by dragons. The attack that is said to have taken the ships also destroyed most of the written information we had on them, including technical details and pictures. All we have left are mere mentions found in personal accounts not unlike the one that I am presently writing.

    In any case, the days of the ships are long gone. No one, not even the oldest of elders alive today, or even their elders, or theirs, so much as knew what the legendary ships even looked like.

    And nowadays, all boats that set out don''t come back.

    Even if every precaution was taken, even if the brave men that crewed them were absolute experts in the art of navigating, evading, and even fighting off dragons, they disappeared.

    It became clear that the only real reason we could take to the waves was probably the same reason Safe Harbor is generally known for being safe in the first place. It was because the dragons had largely ignored us.

    But for the past decade and some, a new equilibrium has been in place. One that, judging from stories shared by new travelers entering the city, and by what is shared by traveling messengers, is in place across the continent.

    Humans that are caught outside of the large and protected cities, are doomed. Hunted down with a vengeance

    That is why Safe Harbor''s harbor has rotted. There are no boats more to moor.

    They had all been destroyed.

    With no vessels to facilitate trade, the iron veins had run dry. We could no longer move our heavy machines to those who might need them.

    At least we can feed ourselves. We can still farm small crops, raise just enough livestock and fish just enough to keep ourselves and the ominously increasing number of refugees fed.

    Still, one has to wonder what Safe Harbor could be if we still possessed the great ships of old. If we could not only cower away from dragons but stand up and fight back. To not only hide away and remain still, lest you be caught and killed, but to boldly go out and explore the majesty of the lands and the great seas.

    ¡­Wishful thinking.

    Those machinations were long ago constrained to the pages of history. No man in his own mind would reasonably think that they could ever come again. That anyone else would ever hope to lay eyes upon-''

    ***

    Lord Talem was interrupted from his bitter writing by a rapidly blinking light coming through the window, close to the waterline.

    He at first feared it was a lurking Sea Dragon, brightly flashing its luminescent scales at them for whatever reason. But he quickly realized that was unlikely, as the light was too stable to be a dragon hovering above the water. Also, there only appeared to be one light, and it was the wrong color; being yellowish-white in hue, whereas Sea Dragon scales typically glowed blue.

    What in the thrice-cursed moons¡­?

    There was a knock on the door. Loud and frantic. Before Talem could so much as turn around, a Castle Archer Guard barged in, looking somewhat panicked.

    "Lord Talem, there''s-"

    "None of that ''Lord'' trite!" He interrupted the Archer Commander, judging by the uniform and rank color on his left sleeve that Talem could now get a better look at. He gestured to the nightgown he was wearing.

    "Do I look like I''m in stately attire? Just say ''Talem,'' it''s faster. Or ''sir'' if you must, commander."

    Talem tended to disregard formalities when he was agitated, a habit that harkened all the way back to his days as a boat skipper.

    "Uh, alright, Lor- Ta-... sir." The now somewhat flustered commander stuttered, before quickly sliding back into a more professional posture.

    "There''s something out in the harbor waters that we think you should see."

    "Is the city in danger?"

    "We don''t know sir, but we do know that whatever it is out there, they aren''t dragons. It should be safe to go up to the roof to take a look."

    Lord Talem followed the Archer Commander without further comment or complaint. The Castle Archer Guard were experts in determining how much danger any given threat would immediately pose to the city. If they thought that whatever this was was an imminent danger, alarms would have been raised and citizens would have been rushed into the Safehold. That they had instead decided to take the city''s mayor up to the castle roof to get a personal look hopefully meant that the city wasn''t in immediate jeopardy.

    The two men quickly scaled the numerous staircases that led from the hold''s interior to its level roof, and emerged into the moonlight.

    The Safehold wasn''t built like a traditional castle that many might think of, with multiple series of walls and outer walls and towers surrounding a central citadel. The Safehold was instead a singular large box-shaped building, with reinforced exterior walls and flat roof, and large circular towers that made up the four corners of the structure that provided extra structural stability. The ballista that defended the structure from aerial attack were positioned in turrets atop the four towers. The entire huge building was designed to give shelter to the city''s whole population in case of an emergency.

    To that end it has performed admirably so far.

    Talem quickly glanced around, taking stock of the situation atop the Safehold. What looked like most of the castle''s on-duty Archer Guards were all standing at the south wall, which faced the ocean. Several of them were pointing at something and speaking amongst themselves. Only two of the four ballistae were manned, the two with a line of sight to the ocean.

    They approached the line of Guardsmen. One of them noticed their presence and broke off from the line of onlookers to meet them. He snapped off a quick salute.

    "What''s the situation?" The commander demanded. All vestiges of his previous fluster with Talem gone.

    "Nothing new sir, er, sirs" the Guardsman responded, correcting himself to address both men.

    Talem felt like waving him off, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

    "One of the weird shapes was just flashing its light for the third time. It stopped just before you got up here." The Guardsman pointed back out to the harbor.

    Talem followed his gaze to where the man was pointing. Sure enough, just outside of the harbor area, several large, dark shapes were silhouetted against the waterline. The increasingly bright moonlight from the rising moons was making them only slightly more visible than ethereal black blobs where the moonlight reflecting off the water and stars behind them were blotted out. There seemed to be quite a few of them, actually. Talem thought he could make out at least seven shapes from the gloom. They didn''t appear to be moving.

    "Uh, I''ll explain further." Talem was cut off from his silent observation by the Guard Commander.

    "We first saw the shapes less than an hour ago. The lead one, at least, the one we think is in the lead, was the one rapidly blinking that light at us. It only flashed twice, one series of rapid blinks, then a pause, then another. Then it went dark. Unti, ,that is, it seems to have done it a third time?" He turned to the Guardsman.

    "Yes sir." He nodded affirmatively. "This time appeared to be the same length as the other two times. Some of the others are certain they can see patterns in the flashes, too."

    Before either man could respond, yet another series of flashes came from one of the shapes on the water, and it seemed as if the entire world held still and watched it.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The blinking continued for about a minute, by Talem''s reckoning. When it stopped, nothing but darkness came from the shadows.

    One of the men near the wall turned back towards them. "That was the same as the other times! There''s definitely a pattern!"

    "What could it be¡­?" The Commander mused aloud.

    "Is it possible, whatever it is, that it''s trying to communicate?" The Guardsman asked.

    Talem had no idea. He supposed it was possible, but the only things known to communicate with each other via light flashes were Sea Dragons. And whatever those huge shadows were, they weren''t Sea Dragons.

    Before he or anyone else could say anything, a great blinding light shone forth from the black shape that was previously flashing, aimed right at them. More painfully bright lights from other nearby shapes quickly followed suit.

    "What in the thrice-scorched moons!?"

    Talem quickly shielded his eyes with his hand, and cursed, the other Archer Guards on the roof did the same, a chorus of surprised cries and profanity ringing through the previously quiet night.

    The oppressively bright lights held their gaze for a few minutes. All the men atop the Safehold did the same, none of them willing to break the stare despite the discomfort.

    Until the lights eventually looked away on their own, turning away from the town. They turned eastward, towards the rising moons.

    Now that the blinding light had gone, Talem''s eyes began to slowly readjust to the resting darkness of the night, and he realized he could make out the shapes on the water better.

    The slowly-brightening light from the moons was beginning to reveal more about the mysterious shapes. Now he, and surely the other men on the roof, were able to recognize the distinct outlines of what were almost certainly naval vessels. Huge ones.

    Thinking quickly, he grabbed the attention of one of the Guardsmen near the wall. "You there! Go to my quarters and fetch the looking glass from atop my dresser so we can see these things better!"

    The Guardsman nodded his understanding, and ran off to fulfill the quest.

    Talem turned his attention back to the shapes on the water, wondering why they had turned their lights upon the rising moons.

    "What are they doing¡­?" He asked aloud.

    "I''ve no idea, sir." The Commander replied, not breaking his gaze from the waterborne shapes.

    Talem found his excitement growing, despite his wariness and general confusion. If the hulking shapes were indeed giant watercraft as they appeared to be, it would mean the vast ships of old could have somehow returned. It could spell an end to Safe Harbor''s stagnation!

    Suddenly, something happened that surprised every man present for the umpteenth time that night. From the dark shapes appeared more lights. Dozens of them. These lights weren''t blinding or directed like the previous ones, and they didn''t appear exclusively from the tops of shapes either. Instead, they were dim. Being closer in brightness to most traditional lanterns. There were also multiple colors that Talem could see, ranging between pale white, warm yellow, as well as green and red.

    Just then, the Guardsman returned with Talem''s looking glass, an impressive work of glass, wood and metal that was another testament to Safe Harbor''s technological prowess. A handheld device that could enhance the user''s eyesight by making far away objects appear larger via a series of specially shaped lenses.

    He took the looking glass and quickly aimed it at one of the clusters of lights. He peered through. After quickly adjusting the device''s focus, he centered it on the glowing outline.

    There, sitting on the water, highlighted slightly by the moonlight glow, partially illuminated by the glow of its own lights, was surely, clearly, absolutely the biggest water going vessel Lord Talem had ever conceived of.

    A Ship¡­

    He let out an overwhelmed exhale. The ship was huge, with a sharply angled bow and many smaller structures built atop it. He could hardly imagine their purposes. The green and red lights, he realized, were on the right and left hand sides of the ship respectively. If he was indeed looking at the ship''s bow. If he looked carefully, he swore he could see human shapes moving around aboard it.

    Open-mouthed, he lowered the looking glass from his eye and absentmindedly passed it to the Archer Guard Commander, who eagerly took it and peered through it himself, promptly gasping as he no doubt came to the same realization Talem had.

    "Ships¡­" The man breathed.

    They were indeed ships. Even with the naked eye, Talem could easily make out many more of the vessels. There were dozens. Now that their lights were appearing, They could see many more ships that they hadn''t noticed before.

    Between the slowly rising moons dimly backlighting them, and the appearance of their own luminance, Talem could now get a reasonable idea he thought of their general sizes. Based not least on how high up the small lights were above the water. While some of the ships were smaller than the one that had originally lit up, others, close to the middle of the formation, looked to be possibly larger than the Safehold itself!

    Talem found his excitement tempered when he thought of what this development possibly meant. These were ships. Ships that were built by unknown people. They certainly weren''t built by anyone on Pyrrhia, as Safe Harbor was the only port city on the continent, and they obviously didn''t build these vast vessels. These ships were built by foreigners. Foreigners that must have come here for a reason.

    He, and all the men atop the Safehold, and possibly the entire city at this point, could be looking right at an invasion fleet.

    Significant Human on Human conflicts were very rare on this continent. Most people and states were too preoccupied with just trying to survive against the dragons to pick quarrels with one another. There weren''t really enough humans around for people to have to fight over territory or resources. And even if there was, fielding large amounts of troops in pitched battle against other troops was simply suicide for all involved, as it would inevitably attract the attention of dragons.

    But given whoever built these ships was even able to conjure up the sheer amount of manpower and resources it would take to build such a large fleet, they must have such control over wherever it is they harkened from that dragons were not a concern. They''re operating on a different playing field entirely.

    At least their vessels are far too large to dock with our piers¡­ He thought grimly, taking back the looking glass from the Archer Commander, who looked like he may just have come to a similar conclusion as Talem, judging by his now nervous expression.

    He once again centered his gaze through the glass onto the initial ship, and was able to make out some activity on one side of it.

    Ah, it looks like the foreigners have thought of that.

    On the side of the ship facing the moonlight, the green-light side, Talem could just make out the shapes of what was clearly a boat, closer in size to the boat''s he was used to, being lowered over the side of the ship into the water.

    Well, it looks like we''re about to find out what their intentions are.

    He handed the looking glass back off to the Guard Commander, and set off back for his quarters. If he was going to meet the potential invaders, he was at least going to do so dressed like the city¡¯s mayor.

    ***

    >Aboard a Utility boat deployed from the USS Sampson, approaching an unknown town._

    The initial shock and panic on deck from realizing there were suddenly multiple moons had quickly been replaced by relatively collected professionalism. You weren''t a trained sailor if you couldn''t stay calm under strenuous circumstances and think quickly. Nobody lost their heads, and those that came close to doing so were calmed by the presence of their more stoic comrades.

    Radio silence and darkness protocols had been broken during the initial confusion of the multi-lunar discovery, with ship commanders frantically requesting to know if anyone knew what was going on. Deck and navigation lights had been turned on as well, because it was pretty clear they probably didn''t have to worry about hiding from U-boats any longer.

    The shock was certainly going to come back and hit them later, though.

    In the meantime, there were things that had to be done. Such as establishing contact with the medieval-looking town. To that end, Captain Drake volunteered himself to lead an ad-hoc envoy, which his crew had initially protested. Citing the obvious potential danger of meeting an entirely unknown group of people, in an entirely unknown location. He had overrode them; As the senior most commanding officer in the convoy, he was responsible for his men''s safety. He also felt responsible for getting them into this situation, as it was his decision to sail into that mysterious storm in the first place.

    The next man to volunteer was the next-highest ranking officer of the convoy, Commander Arthur Johnson of the Royal Navy. Drake had initially himself protested that in turn, himself citing that, in case something happened to him, the next highest officer, meaning him, would take command. Johnson politely but stubbornly refused. Citing the same responsibility Drake felt to his men, and that: "It just wouldn''t be proper to let you Yanks have all the fun."

    It took a little while of inter-ship movement to get all the men deemed necessary on board, but here they were.

    Other than the enlisted men that crewed the Utility boat, and the handful of US Navy Armed Guardsmen stationed to provide a modicum of protection to those going ashore, the only other passenger aboard the boat was one Signalman Darren Olson, who had a reputation among the enlisted crew for being something of a multilingual prodigy, reportedly being both fluent and literate in English, German, Dutch, and knowing a fair amount of Cantonese and Russian. And while none of those languages would probably help us here, Olson had also said he was also apparently rather good at communicating with people whose languages he couldn''t speak.

    So there''s that.

    They all waited silently as the boat steadily approached the town''s decidedly disused docks. There was comparatively little chance the people currently not working there would help them moor the boat, so they would have to maneuver in and secure the boat on their own, which would be an arduous process even considering the 40 ft craft''s relatively small size.

    At least we didn''t try to come in on one of the Destroyers, DEs or Corvettes. Drake thought. While there was a good chance that the harbor was deep enough to accommodate the larger vessels, it wasn''t a risk he wanted to take. The rickety piers they had weren''t enough to reliably secure them, anyway.

    As the Utility boat motored closer, Drake could make out a handful of decidedly humanoid figures standing illuminated by lantern light on a short cliff where the water met the land, in between the two piers. The boat''s helmsman noticed them too, and maneuvered the boat to reach the pier closest to them. More lights had appeared from the town, it seemed they probably had an audience.

    Drake reasoned the center figure was possibly the town''s leader, given the somewhat ornate nature of the clothes he wore. The other men nearby him appeared to be guards of some sort, as they seemed to be uniform with one another. The guards wore a kind of long sleeved overcoat over what was probably a tunic and baggy pants and an odd looking helmet, all colored a drab gray. Except for one who stood next to the probable leader, who had a bright blue cuff on one sleeve.

    Probably an officer of sorts.

    Drake thought he could see spikes jutting out from the shoulders, helmets, and upper arms of the guards, which was odd. The guards did not carry spears, halberds, clubs or anything that you might typically see a medieval city guard carry, but rather had longbows, which was also odd. The probable leader wore an attire that was more in common with a robe than an overcoat, and was bright blue in color.

    Drake could at least say with certainty that the figures all appeared human, which was a plus. They also appeared nervous, even the probable leader who was clearly keeping his expression steady. Though Drake supposed that was understandable, given the convoy that was possibly larger than anything that they had ever seen which had just shown up at their doorstep with no warning.

    Well, here we go. I guess that short course on diplomacy in the Naval Academy will hopefully come on useful after all. He thought as the boat slowed on its final approach to the pier nearest to the onlookers.

    ***

    >On the Docks, Safe Harbor._

    Lord Talem watched as the stranger''s boat moved on its own up to one of the piers, relatively close to them. He had no idea how the craft was able to move, as no oars were rowing and he couldn¡¯t see any kind of waterwheel. A sort of rumbling could be heard from the boat, but that didn''t offer much in terms of specifics, to say the least.

    The boat itself was partially enclosed, certain sections of it had a kind of shelter that looked as if it were made to shield the passengers from spray more than anything else. He couldn''t tell what exactly the self-moving boat was made of. It certainly wasn''t wood, however. Talem counted at least ten men aboard the vessel.

    The boat slowed down and drifted up to the pier, and one of the men, who was wearing an outfit he didn''t recognize, deftly leapt onto it carrying a mooring line and tied it onto a wooden column.

    Once the boat was reasonably secured, another man stepped off. Then another, then another, then another. All in all 7 of the 10 men aboard the vessel disembarked. Two of them were dressed distinctly different from the others. They were clad in dark blue overcoats that were so blue that they appeared almost black, both with eight brass colored buttons and similarly blue smooth pants. One of the men had gold colored stripes on his sleeve cuffs and crisp short-brimmed hat that was white on the top, while the other had deep brown cuff stripes and an entirely dark blue hat that matched the rest of his outfit. Both men''s hats had ornate ornate decorations positioned just above the brims of the hat. And while Talem couldn''t discern what exactly the decorations were supposed to symbolize, he could tell the white hat''s decoration depicted an anchor, while the other man''s blue hat had a sort of bird on it. He wondered what those meant.

    The other five men were dressed much more simply. Their attire consisted of a light blue long sleeved shirt that was close in color to his own official robes, and pants that were darker blue, but not as dark as those worn by the other two men. Their dress wasn''t as refined as the other two, so Talem guessed they were lower ranked. If he was indeed looking at members of a foreign navy.

    The two immaculately dressed men carefully stepped towards them, quickly followed by one of the men in the light-blue shirts. The other four stood back and eyed Talem''s procession warily. They were holding a sort of wooden¡­ tool(?) that was about as long as their arm resting on their torso, with a wide end positioned near their shoulders. Looking closer, Talem realized the strange wooden objects were not simple sticks or short staffs; he could see intriguing bits of metal work near the end of the object pointed towards the ground, and the part just above where the men had one hand placed under the object. He had no idea what they were, but he suspected they were somehow weapons.

    The man with the bird on his cap approached him, cleared his throat, and spoke:

    "Gree-tings. Ah am Cap-tane Rawbert Drae''k uhf thuh ooeu-ess naevee. Whee arr plees''d too mee''t ooeu. Whee meen ooeu awll noe harrm."

    Talem stood dumbfounded. Although he knew he really shouldn''t be. Of course the strangers spoke a different language which he had never heard before. That wasn''t really a surprise. On top of the radically different technology and clothing, the stranger''s looked different, too. While all the humans Talem had ever seen had brown skin, eyes, and brown or black hair, these people had pale white skin, and the man trying to speak to him had bright blue irises, not brown.

    He decided to respond in turn, anyway. "Uh, hello, strangers. I am Lord-Mayor Talem. Welcome to Safe Harbor."

    Now it was the other man''s turn to stare dumbly, he clearly couldn''t understand a word he said, either.

    The other sharply dressed man chuckled mirthfully, amused at the shared confoundment. Despite himself, Talem found himself reciprocating the amusement. And soon, all the men present joined in on the short laugh, finding levity in the absurdity of the situation.

    They were all in the same boat, so to speak.

    Talem looked back at the man who had originally spoken, and pointed towards him, his cohorts, and the rest of the ships behind him. "You." He waved with his arms around, gesturing to the world around them and looked around. "From where?"

    The man raised a hand and stroked his cleanly-shaven chin in thought. Talem hoped he understood the question.

    The other man with the light blue shirt that had followed closely behind whispered something to the man that had spoken, who nodded.

    The man stood in thought for a few moments.

    "Heer." He said, pointing to the ground they stood on. "Iss whear?" He mirrored the same gesture Talem used to ask ''where.''

    Answering a question with a question. Is it possible they are lost? Talem thought.

    Fortunately, Talem had anticipated the question. He motioned to the Archer Guard Commander, who was carrying one of their maps of the continent.

    The Commander approached the strangers, unrolled the map and presented it to them. The map had every major known human settlement marked and warnings where dragons were known to dwell.

    Talem pointed at the ground the same way the other man had. "Here." He pointed on the map where Safe Harbor was marked. "Safe Harbor." He then traced a wide circle over the entire continent and then made another wide gesture that encompassed the land around them. "Pyrrhia."

    The strangers were staring at the map as if it were a ghostly apparition. They looked like they probably had never seen it before. None of them said anything.

    So Talem repeated his earlier question. "You." He again pointed towards them and their ships. "From where?" He then gestured to the map, then to the rest of the world around them.

    None of the strangers did anything for a few moments. Then, the speaker came forth and pointed at the sea just southeast of Safe Harbor''s marker, presumably where the fleet of ships currently sat, and traced a straight line off into the ocean, probably the direction the fleet came from, Talem reckoned, and then his hand left the map with a waving gesture. The man looked at Talem with wide eyes, shook his head and shrugged. "Nott heer¡­ "

    ¡­So they are probably lost¡­

    Talem thought of another pressing question to ask.

    ¡°You,¡± he said, once again gesturing to all of them. He had to think for a couple of moments, as he thought of how to act out his next question. He stepped over to one of the Archer Guardsmen, and took his longbow. He held out the weapon to the strangers, and pointed to their ships out in the harbor, then back to the bow, then back to the ships again. He repeated the process a couple more times. ¡°War-vessels?¡± he said.

    The strangers watched his miming and clearly thought for a few moments, before once again the light blue shirted-man nearby the one that spoke whispered again to him, and he nodded.

    The man then shook his head emphatically, and pointed to a loose pile of old wooden crates sitting nearby, then he pointed back to the ships in the water.

    Cargo vessels? Those massive things are cargo vessels!?

    The man who had chuckled cocked his head to the side and made a considering ¡°well¡­¡± sound. The speaker sighed, and seemingly amended himself by nodding and gesturing to the bow Talem was still holding, then to some of the ships, but again pointed to the old wooden crates.

    So¡­ they are war-vessels? Or are they cargo vessels? Are they cargo ships being escorted by ships of war? Talem thought, though he supposed that would be similar to the purpose that the legendary ships of old had.

    Still, he needed to be sure. Nervously, he took the bow, pointed once again to the ships, and pointed the bow at the city, drawing the sting slightly back. He looked back to the strangers.

    This time they all seemed to get his message quickly, and they unanimously shook their heads in the negative. Even the men with the odd wooden staffs did so, as well.

    So they probably aren''t an invasion fleet, then. Talem nodded, relieved. But that still left one to wonder, why did they come here? Are they lost? How did they get here? Who in this blasted world were they trying to trade with that would require such a large procession?

    ¡­What are they even carrying?

    One of those questions would be more easy to answer right here, and now, however. Talem passed the inert bow back to the Guardsmen, and pointed towards the strangers again. ¡°You,¡± he then pointed to the map held by the Commander, and then threw his hands up in a dramatic shrug. ¡°Are you lost?¡±

    The man nodded again, pursing his lips grimly. ¡°Whee hav noe ai-dee¡¯a whear heer is.¡±

    Well that probably answers that question, at least.

 V - General Quarters

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea, approaching a scavenger Den._

    Dawn had broken through the deep a few hours ago, which was when the dragonets had agreed to set off together towards where the group of maybe-creatures-maybe-boats had been speculated to have been going.

    They should be approaching the shore soon, by Cuttlefish''s reckoning. He had thought to bring a map on this outing, to more accurately assess distances and locations.

    Traveling along with the three dragonets was Mako, who had been ''voluntold'' to accompany them by Grouper. Because even though the three dragonets were technically old enough to be going about and swimming outside of the enclave, they were still dragonets. And they were swimming somewhere that could potentially prove dangerous.

    Mako herself was less than thrilled to be chaperoning the trio on what she believed to be a meaningless endeavor, but the enclave tutor knew better than to constantly snap at and nag them over it. It wouldn''t really make her feel any better, and it wouldn''t make the trip go any faster.

    ["At the very least¡­"] She said ["This can be a convenient opportunity to observe and study scavengers in their natural habitat, which would surely be a benefit to your three¡¯s education. I''ll of course be expecting a written report about what you learned at the end of the day and you can expect a quiz in the coming week."]

    It didn''t mean that she wouldn''t exact any toll on them for this, to be sure.

    Cuttlefish held steady, as he in turn knew better than to grant her any satisfaction by a negative response. A lesson that was certainly not shared by Clam, who flopped dramatically.

    ["AW, WHAT!?"] He flashed, ["More homework!? Whose bright idea was it anyway to go chasing after Sea Monsters? Isn''t just seeing them once enough!?"]

    ["Because we have to be sure."] Oyster snapped. ["It would be a shame if we just left it up in the currents if these things are still around or not. Besides, Grouper suggested that the things may not even be living creatures, so we should get up close to them to find out."]

    ["Fat chance¡­"] Mako flashed dimly.

    ["How do we even know they''ll still be there?"] Clam asked. ["All we know is that this is the direction they were going last, according to Cuttlefish, and that this direction happens to lead to a scavenger den apparently. These things didn''t look like they could go up on land, so why would they be going this way? What if they just reached the shore and turned? What then?"]

    ["I don''t know."] Cuttlefish flashed. ["If the things are still near the Den, we can maybe figure out what they are doing and why they went there. If they moved on, then we''ll have to try to determine which direction they went by any clues they might have left behind. If they didn''t leave any, then I don''t know."]

    ["Then I guess we''ll just go look at scavengers or whatever."] Oyster said.

    No one else said anything as they continued to swim through the calm morning waters. Eventually, before they came into visual range of the continental shore through the blue, Cuttlefish waved his map and signaled they should be getting close to the shore and should surface. The four carefully made for the surface to get a look around.

    Mako gestured to the dragonets to move behind her. If there was indeed a risk of danger, she wanted to be in front of them.

    Mako slowly slid her head above water, and froze in place. The dragonets quickly followed her and popped their heads up almost in unison.

    They all froze too.

    There, on land, wedged between a strip of beach and short cliff into the water and some foothills, was what looked to be an actual castle, but sized smaller, and a collection of small huts around it. That in of itself was surprising enough, because that was probably the large scavenger Den that Grouper had mentioned. Since when did scavengers build castles!? Cuttlefish could make out a bunch of scavengers on and around a weird flat wooden structure-thing that jutted out from the short cliff off into the water that looked kinda like scaffolding. The scavengers on it looked rather busy, judging by how they were moving around. Cuttlefish also thought he could see them carrying things.

    But that discovery was paltry compared to what was on the water: An entire swarm of massive, hulking, floating things.

    The creatures they had seen before.

    But now they''re seeing them on the surface.

    Cuttlefish vaguely remembered reading an analogy about icebergs, massive hunks of frozen water that drifted in the seas near the Ice kingdom, saying that only a relatively small amount of the iceberg''s mass is visible on the surface. Most of the iceberg is underwater.

    These strange things were the opposite it seemed; most of their size somehow rested above the waterline. When the dragonets saw them from below, they appeared big to be sure, but suffice to say they didn''t see how huge they truly were.

    They towered out of the water, the larger ones, which there were a lot of, were taller from the waterline up than any artificial dragon-made building Cuttlefish had personally laid eyes upon.

    And there were so many of them! Counting quickly, Cuttlefish tallied there to be approximately forty-four of them. forty-four! That was about how many dragons lived in their enclave!

    Not only that, but the strange things appeared complicated, as well. At the tops of all of the things Cuttlefish could see whole manners of different colored shapes, sizes, and structures that he could hardly guess the purpose of. Nevertheless, he could at least say that all of them looked artificial, and many of them looked distinctly¡­ mechanical.

    Cuttlefish also thought he could see what looked like scavenger-shapes moving around on several of the things as well.

    "Three moons¡­" Mako hissed. The dragonets remained in stunned silence.

    The four dragons stared for a few moments longer, before they all slowly slipped back under the surface as carefully as they appeared.

    Mako turned back to them. ["Well, dragonets¡­ I guess you were right. I have no idea what those things are."]

    ["Can we go get a closer look?"] Oyster asked ["Underwater, I mean."]

    Mako considered the proposition for a moment, while Clam looked alarmed.

    ["... I guess we probably could. We should at least try to learn what we can about the things while we''re here¡­ just remember to stay quiet and stay behind me. No sudden moves."]

    All three dragonets, even Clam, signaled their agreement, and they moved out.

    They stayed underwater, and approached slowly. Cuttlefish remembered that one of the things seemed to notice them when they approached it from underwater yesterday, but it didn''t actually do anything to them. He didn''t want to count on the strange things remaining passive again, so going unnoticed if possible would be for the best.

    As they swam closer, the shadows the things cast under the sea became visible, and the familiar shapes of the underwater portions of the things came into view. None of the things appeared to be moving. The dragons couldn''t see the telltale bubble stream that they created when they moved around. They could, however, see a sort of line that hung from each of the mysterious things and draped all the way down to the seafloor. As they got closer, they realized it was a chain.

    An actual, metal chain. Cuttlefish had no idea what they were for, and judging by the expressions on the other three dragons, neither did they.

    ["What in the Great currents¡­?]" Mako flashed, looking the chain up and down.

    ["Maybe it has something to do with it staying still?"] Clam suggested.

    Cuttlefish supposed it was possible. Was the thing¡­ chained the seafloor somehow? That seemed unlikely. Why would it be chained? Who chained it? How would they release it if they wanted? How would it have been chained in the first place? It also looked like the chain came directly out of the thing, as well.

    Cuttlefish suggested that they follow the chain to the bottom, so they did. They found that the chain did not go directly to the Ocean floor in a mostly straight line, but rather kind of¡­ drooped like a slack rope a considerable distance before ending at a weirdly complicated piece of what looked like metal just resting on the sandy bottom.

    Oyster swam forth and placed her talons on the thing, feeling it around and pushing on it slightly. ["It''s definitely made of metal, and it''s very heavy. It also seems to be stuck into the sand somewhat. I imagine that it could just be picked up, though. If you''re strong enough."]

    ["It definitely has something to do with the things above holding still."] Cuttlefish said, ["But I don''t think it''s meant to chain the things into staying still per say¡­"]

    ["It''s probably more to do with stopping the wind and waves from moving them around than anything."] Mako interjected, before she shook her head. ["I don''t know dragonets¡­ I think Grouper had a point about these things being artificial ''boats'' as he called them. But if they are, it would stand to ask¡­ who built them? Why? How? What are they doing here?"]

    ["What they even made of¡­?"] Cuttlefish said, looking up the chain line.

    ["I have no idea. I don''t know anything about these ''boats'' anyway, and these things appear to be in a whole new category entirely. The only thing we know is that at least part of them is made of metal, as Oyster pointed out. But then again, metal obviously doesn''t float. I truly don''t know."] Mako flashed.

    ["Is it possible that scavengers built them?"] Cuttlefish asked, both him and the two siblings turning to look at Mako.

    Mako at first looked like she wanted to scoff that off, but then she appeared to consider the question further.

    ["...I''m not sure."] She said after a few moments, ["Normally I would consider such a statement to be preposterous, and I still do¡­ but I would also consider the notion of dragons being able to build these things to be ridiculous as well¡­ I truly don''t know."]

    She gave the dragonets a concerned gaze. They had never heard her say "I don''t know" so many times in their lives, much less in one conversation.

    ["... I thought I saw scavengers moving around on top of the things¡­"] Clam offered, Oyster and Cuttlefish both nodded, and to their surprise even Mako did too.

    ["I thought I did too."] She said, ["Let''s make some distance and go back to the surface to get another look¡­ carefully. Then I think we should report this back to the enclave leaders, and maybe even the Royal authorities. These things could be a threat."]

    The four dragons moved towards the surface and away from where the probable ''boats'' floated, once again carefully peeking their heads above water, and looked.

    Something was different this time. None of the things were moving, but they could hear this odd¡­ wailing noise¡­ coming from some of the floating objects. Cuttlefish also thought that he could see the shapes of scavengers moving around and odd small boxy structures on top of a few of the floating things were somehow moving as well.

    The four dragons backed up slowly, afraid that the wailing sound was an alarm that meant they''d somehow been detected, but none of the things broke off from the large group and came towards them.

    What is going on?

    ***

    >Captain Robert Drake''s personal log:_

    Let it be known that an awful lot can be communicated just through a series of dramatic hand gestures and body language, if you''re determined enough and patient.

    The first contact meeting went about as well as could have been reasonably expected. We couldn''t speak with the locals obviously, but we could get basic messages across via the aforementioned game of not-charades.

    The locals appear to be indeed human, which is both fascinating and a relief, in my opinion. Their spoken language is¡­ interesting to say the least. I''ve never heard anything like it. It has a lot of almost chittering and chattering noises, and frequently goes into falsetto. It reminds me somewhat of the strange languages spoken by remote tribes in the African Congo that I read about in college, but it''s still much different. By their skin tones, these people also look like they''d be home near the Persian Gulf, not the middle of Africa. Or wherever this is.

    Speaking of where this is¡­ I have no idea. The locals helpfully had a map to show us when we first went to meet them, which was some surprisingly good foresight on their part. I''ve never seen the landmass depicted on their map in my life.

    Then again, I''ve never seen more than one moon in the night sky, to be fair.

    The continent itself is somewhat reminiscent of a map of North America, but drawn all wrong. Our location on it, as pointed out to us, looks to be on an oddly shaped peninsula on the southeastern-most side of the continent.

    We don''t know anything else about the continent other than its general shape at this time. The local¡¯s map had writing on it, a fair amount, but we obviously couldn''t read it.

    We still have no idea where we are relative to Europe, The Atlantic or the Americas, however.

    On a more positive note, the locals have been surprisingly eager in their reception of us. They were evidently a bit apprehensive of us at first, which is understandable given that we showed up in a, at least to them, massive fleet of ships probably bigger than anything they had ever seen with little warning. However, once we established that we weren''t a hostile invasion fleet that wariness pretty much evaporated.

    I returned to my ship after our first ''meeting'' with the village''s leader, who I believe is probably named "Talem." Several enlisted men and some officers from various ships across the convoy were authorized to go ashore after the first contact meeting and mingle with the locals. And by all accounts reported to me, it''s going pretty well. Requests from the enlisted personnel to go ashore skyrocketed when rumors that the locals had alcohol started to spread. I doubt anyone would have gotten any sleep tonight anyway, either on the shore or on the ships. Hopefully our first contact legacy won''t be a series of spectacular bar fights. Or rather, tavern fights, in this case.

    Signalman Darren Olson, the multilingual prodigy, reported just earlier that the ad-hoc language team that had been thrown together last night had been making surprisingly good progress in learning the basics of the local language. Reportedly, their language isn''t actually that hard, but it is very alien. It also apparently isn''t helping that the locals are apparently just as eager to learn English as they are to teach their own tongue. Which is fine by me, to be honest. Many of the phrases and concepts that we would need to communicate effectively on a technical level might not even exist in their lingua yet. Either way, the priority is getting to the point where effective communication is possible in the first place.

    On the note of the local people being more than willing to do stuff, they got to work refurbishing and reinforcing their old run-down piers after these sun rose over the horizon. Evidently they want us to be able to dock more than just small utility craft with their piers. Which will be good.

    We also learned that their harbor is indeed deep enough for our ships to enter, as per the word of the locals, so we did. None of the ships are moored with their docks yet, obviously, but we moved as many ships as we safely could close to them.

    Although that was perhaps a given. If the locals wanted to build a port town, of course they would have been smart enough to do so where the water was deep enough to facilitate larger craft. But still, better safe than sorry.

    Even now, I could see the local workers busily hauling lumber and other construction materials around and utilizing small rafts to shore up their piers by replacing parts that have rotted or reinforcing existing ones with stronger beams.

    I have to say that I find myself impressed by their work ethic.

    Still, if I didn''t know any better, I might say that, by the surprising eagerness to which they have taken to these self-imposed tasks, it''s almost as if they were waiting for an excuse or reason to have something to do. Like they indeed weren''t happy with the state that their docks had fallen into, and/or that they hadn''t gotten any visitors, and had been waiting for an excuse to remedy that.

    But that begs the question, why? Why don''t they have ships to moor? Why don''t they have visitors? What is it that is keeping them from operating like a normal harbor town? I saw the location of the city on the map of the continent they showed me; it looked to be situated in a pretty advantageous place to be, as far as coastal trade is concerned.

    The locals clearly aren''t apathetic to maritime operations of any sort, by how much they''ve taken to us and have already begun with fixing their piers. So what was it?

    Some of the men that went ashore reported that many of the local residents were probably warning them about something, and that others seemed to have taken objection to our presence in their harbor. They also said that whatever it was that they were afraid of, it was probably airborne. They also said that the people either warning or objecting were rather frantic with their tone and hand gestures, so whatever it was that they were worked up over must have made them pretty afraid. The fact that whatever they''re afraid of seems to come from the air is also pretty concerning, in my opinion.

    ***

    >Aboard USS Sampson, US Navy Destroyer, officer country, anchored outside an unknown settlement._

    Captain Robert Drake stood up from the typewriter in his cabin, and was met by a knock on the cabin door.

    "Enter." He said.

    One lieutenant Mike Evans opened the door, and stood at attention with a salute.

    "At ease." Drake said, and the lieutenant''s posture relaxed somewhat.

    "We''ve spotted multiple air contacts on RADAR, sir. Approaching from the southwest, slowly. They haven''t responded at all to radio interrogation attempts, sir."

    Drake grew serious. "What''s their altitude and speed?"

    "Hard to say. The RADAR techs said there was potentially interference from the terrain, which the air contacts appear to be over. But the numbers they gave were around fifteen-hundred feet and sixty-nine knots Low and really slow."

    That was¡­ interesting. 69 kts was well below the stall speed of any serious monoplane he knew of. Many outdated biplanes could certainly fly that slowly, but it wasn''t generally considered to be a good idea.

    Could this be what the locals were afraid of?

    It was possible. Any airborne threat would be a danger to a medieval-level city, no matter how sluggish.

    "Go to general quarters. Sound the air raid sirens. We''ll meet these unknown aircraft ready. But make sure no one fires unless they confirm to be hostile."

    "Yes sir!" The lieutenant said, and made off with another quick salute.

    Drake made his own way up to the bridge, through the crew mess where several seamen were on break, up into the ship''s superstructure and to the plotting room via ladder just as the air raid klaxons began to wail.

    He spoke into the ship''s intercom:

    "General quarters, general quarters, all able personnel clear the AA guns for action."

    The alarms began to ring.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    He scanned the sky in the direction the air contacts were reported, which was also unfortunately concealed by cloud cover. He couldn''t see anything yet.

    He moved out from the bridges and looked aftwards. He could see the controlled chaos of the crew moving around to ready the various 20mm and 40mm autocannons, and no doubt the 5"/38 guns were being readied below deck, out of his direct line of sight. The other escort ships were doing the same.

    "Sir!" A shout came from the radio room, "CAM ship Novelist is clearing her fighter to launch!"

    Son of a¡­ "They were not authorized to do that!" He shouted back.

    ¡°Look!¡± Someone outside shouted.

    Movement and a bright light from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning, he could see one of the distinct visual spectacle of a Hawker Sea Hurricane being launched via rocket-catapult off the deck of one of the transport vessels.

    Well, too late now. He thought ruefully. Let''s hope that the pilot can find a place to ditch safely¡­

    ***

    >Earlier¡­

    >Aboard the SS Novelist, CAM ship._

    RAF Flight lieutenant Jeremy Hill clamored into the cockpit of his Sea Hurricane Mk.I c, and busied himself with the preflight checks. The other airmen on deck had already spun up the plane''s engine, which was now humming smoothly.

    Convincing the ship'' master to authorize the launch once the unknown air contacts had been detected was surprisingly easy. It was standard operating procedure to deploy the fighter once hostile aircraft had been spotted, after all. Jeremy also figured the ship''s master probably wanted to impress the locals with the technological demonstration of the aircraft launch as well. A sentiment he could very much understand.

    From the plane''s cockpit, he could see the flag code Foxtrot being raised up the ship''s mast. That flag could very much be the only prior warning their ship was giving for his launch, he figured.

    One of the airmen working the catapult stood up beside the cockpit and raised in his hand the locking pins for the catapult system so Jeremy could see them. He nodded his acknowledgement. The airman then moved off to show the pins to the Catapult Duty Officer.

    Jeremy worked the flaps lever with his hand to apply 30 degree flaps, and pushed on the pedals below him to apply ? right rudder.

    The CDO, seeing the movement of the plane¡¯s control surfaces, raised a blue flag to inform the ship''s master of their readiness to launch.

    Normally, the ship would then maneuver into the wind to launch if it were underway. But the ship was at anchor, and there wasn''t much wind to maneuver into, anyhow. They would just have to launch as is and hope for the best.

    The ship''s master raised his own blue flag from the starboard side of the ship¡¯s bridge to signal his readiness.

    The CDO then waved his blue flag to signal to Jeremy that they were ready, and waiting for his cue to launch.

    Jeremy pushed the throttle to full, and the Rolls-Royce Merlin engine roared in response. He tightened the throttle friction nut with his gloved fingers, and pushed his head back into the seat''s headrest. He pressed his right elbow against his hip to steady it, and braced himself. He lowered his left hand quickly to signal he was ready for launch.

    3 seconds.

    Jeremy grunted as the rockets that propelled the catapult fired, and the entire aircraft abruptly accelerated forwards.

    The Sea Hurricane cleared the catapult before Jeremy could so much as realize it, and he gently pulled the flight stick back to raise the elevators and pitch the plane''s nose into a shallow climb after gaining some airspeed.

    It would take time for the unknown aircraft to reach them, and he wanted to have an altitude advantage on them when they arrived.

    He loosened the friction nut and eased the throttle off WEP, but kept it open for the climb. He brought the plane around in wide, lazy circles around the convoy ships, as his altitude and airspeed slowly began to climb.

    Jeremy looked back down to the strange town they had found. He wished he could see their reaction to the mysterious flying machine taking flight from one of the ships and climbing up into the sky.

    ***

    >Atop the Safehold, Safe Harbor._

    Castle Archer Guardsman Robin stared in sheer, unadulterated dumbfoundment as a weird, buzzing flying thing shot off with a small blaze of fire off the front of one of the strange ships in the harbor and began to slowly fly in wide circles, getting higher all the while.

    What¡­ is that thing¡­? He thought dizzily.

    Was it a bird? The wings didn''t seem to flap or even move once. Was it somehow a kind of¡­ flying machine? Was that even possible?

    Just who are these strangers?

    Him and the rest of the Archer Guards atop the roof were pulled from their transfixed reverie by the sound of distant bells ringing.

    Bells. Alarm bells. That could only mean one thing.

    Safe Harbor had a series of small and concealed bell towers with watchers that would ring them in case of a dragon sighting as an early warning system for the city.

    "DRAGON!" Someone shouted. Robin wasn''t sure who. Probably their Commander. "Raise the alarms! Bring the Citizens Into the Safehold! Man the ballistae! Archers at the ready!"

    Robin rushed to do his job. He was part of the division of the Archer Guard that operated the four ballistae that were placed atop the Safehold. It was he and his fellow operators, and the two dozen or so longbow archers stationed up here that provided the city its only real measure of defense against attacking dragons.

    It was a risky job, to be sure. Not only being where dragons flying overhead would have the easiest time seeing and getting to you, but actively shooting back at them. But it was a job that had to be done, and it was his duty to do it.

    That didn''t mean that he wasn''t scared.

    On the contrary, he was terrified.

    But he and the other young men up here were all well-trained and conditioned enough to do their jobs through the terror.

    He and another Guardsman ran over to a small ready-use pile of huge spears that were designed as projectiles for the ballistae. Bracing their backs, they heaved the oversized polearm up onto their shoulders and trucked it over to one of the ballista in a manner like lumberjacks would carry felled logs.

    Another two men were already cranking the device''s arming mechanism back, and the pair of oversized iron-reinforced bows placed in tandem which gave the ballista its shooting power and the thick lines connecting them to the sliding block were drawn taut. One of them placed a sturdy locking pin into the machine, which held it from releasing tension until they were ready. Robin and the other Guard lifted the spear up and slid it carefully onto the firing tray, a long flat bit of wood that the spear would slide upon as it was accelerated to speed. They fitted the butt of the spear against the sliding block, the piece of wood connected to the taut lines of the ballista that would push the spear along as it was released.

    The four Guardsman then removed the locking pins from the heavy hinge pivots on the ballista''s base that allowed it to traverse both horizontally and vertically. They all grabbed onto handles positioned to give them just enough mechanical advantage to move the thing, and grunted again with effort as they manually hauled it around and up to face the direction they figured the alarm bell came from.

    And from there they waited.

    And they waited.

    The archers were ready to, arrows nocked and ready to draw their longbows.

    Not one soul uttered a word to break the silence.

    Robin thought he could hear an odd wailing sound coming from the ships in the harbor.

    They waited.

    People in the city proper were scrambling around, women and children were moved into the Safehold with priority. They didn¡¯t have enough time to evacuate everyone, however, so many people were just taking cover where they could.

    They waited.

    It felt like hours, but in reality it was hardly two minutes they waited.

    Robin snapped his head up when he heard it. He could see the other guards did the same.

    A strange sound. The flapping of wings. The archers drew their bows.

    "Steady¡­" the Commander said again.

    There. Just breaking through the clouds, the black, hulking shape of an adult black dragon emerged.

    A Night Dragon¡­

    Then another emerged, then another, then another. All in all eight winged shapes appeared.

    8 of them¡­ Robin counted, dread creeping through his veins.

    One dragon is bad enough. Even the collective efforts of the ballista and Castle Archers are yet to bring down even a single dragon in remembered history. The best they had managed is scaring them off with volume of fire before they could do serious damage.

    But 8 of them?

    No one had even seen a single Night Dragon in years!

    "Oh, no¡­" one of the men beside him murmured, they were all looking pale.

    The dragons stopped and seemed to stare at the huge collection of ships in the harbor, as if confused.

    Robin found himself glancing out to them as well. Was it possible the appearance of the ships attracted the dragon''s attention? He didn''t know.

    Fat lot of good they did, either way. He thought bitterly. Safe Harbor was probably doomed. Destroyed before they could even realize any of the benefits those ships could have wrought.

    The dragons above seemed to almost shake themselves, and pulled their wings in to dive on the city with splitting roars. Robin felt like they were aiming right for him.

    Robin thought he could hear screams coming from below, through the shaking sound of the dragon''s roar and the clanging of the alarm bells. Screams of terrified villagers, young men, women, and children now fearing their brutal demise.

    He gritted his teeth and he and his comrades hauled the ballista around slightly to adjust its aim. They had enough discipline to wait until given the order to fire. They also had just enough to not lose themselves to fear as the great flying predators bore down unto them.

    The order came.

    "RELEASE!" The Commander yelled, and the ballistae crew ripped out the locking pins that held the great bows fast. Four thick spears as long as two grown men were tall shot forth into the air and towards the diving dragons.

    They all missed. That wasn''t really a surprise, all things considered. It wasn¡¯t as though aiming the cumbersome things at rapidly moving and flying targets was easy, after all. Two of the projectiles looked to be on course to hit, but the dragons they were heading towards were able to easily dodge them by adjusting their courses slightly.

    The longbow archers fired next, while the ballistae crews scrambled to reload. The arrows loosed by them also either missed or were otherwise ignored.

    Robin looked up from the spear that he and the other guard were hauling to the ballista. The dragons were closing too fast. They wouldn''t be able to reload in time. The archers loosed another volley of arrows, to little effect.

    Robin braced himself. The Night Dragons would probably start by setting fire to the Safehold¡¯s roof, where he and his comrades were.

    But suddenly, before that could happen, an odd shrieking sound cut through the air, coming from above. The dragons all faltered in their dive and spread their wings out, banking up before hovering in place and looking around.

    Robin then heard a series of booms coming from the direction of the ocean, and he himself glanced back. One of the ship''s in the harbor, one of the smaller ones, had small plumes of smoke rising from 5 weird small box-looking structures spread across the top of it. He didn''t know what that meant. Perhaps they were somehow trying to help?

    The dragons didn''t seem to care. They shook themselves off, flew back up a little higher, and restarted their dive on the human city. The delay had given them some seconds, though. Precious seconds where hopefully more citizens were evacuated into the reinforced citadel of the Safehold.

    Not that it would do him much good.

    Robin once again braced himself as the dragons all closed in on the city, this was probably going to be it for them, and perhaps the entire legacy of Safe Harbor as well. If the dragons moved on to burn the city.

    But once again, something strange happened. The sky seemed to decide that it would stop favoring dragons, because it exploded.

    Massive black explosions appeared from nowhere and shook the sky around the Night Dragons. They in turn all veered off course, or were forcibly thrown off course, and had their hunting cries turned to cries of pain. Robin thought he could see small spouts of red mist appearing from the dragons as well.

    One of the dragons had one of the explosions appear right next to it, and as a result its glittering black right-hand wing was reduced to frayed tatters. The dragon then spiraled out of control from the sky like a lopsided leaf with a pained shriek, and plummeted for the forest just outside the city below.

    The explosions kept coming.

    Robin again glanced back to the harbor, and could see multiple flashes of fire and light coming from several of the ships. We''re they somehow doing this?

    The dragons above scattered, flying wildly. Clutching limbs and apparent injuries or flapping erratically.

    The explosions kept coming.

    Suddenly, the weird flying buzzing thing showed itself. It had apparently flown up into a cloud bank after the alarm bells started to ring. Appearing out of the clouds and diving at a ridiculous speed at the dragons like a peregrine falcon would dive on a fowl. Streams of bright red staccato fire spewed from four points on its wings, which still did not flap once. The stream connected with one of the dragons that was still flying strong with a rapid sound of repeated impact, and it lurched and flailed with a roar that was quickly cut off. The dragon''s limbs, tail and neck suddenly went slack and that dragon too plummeted from the heavens.

    The flying thing buzzed past the remaining six dragons, never once deviating from the smooth diving curve it was following, and screamed back into the clouds above, far faster than Robin thought any dragon, or really anything, could fly. But what did he know?

    The explosions kept coming.

    One of the dragons realized where the flying thing went, and looked to make after it. But before it could so much as pick up speed, another explosion appeared directly on the dragon, and said dragon was blown apart. Limbs, blood, scales, muscles, organ tissue and bone fragments flew in a macabre confetti of gore in all directions.

    Robin surprised himself by wincing. That was brutal¡­ Before now, he didn''t even really know if dragons could even bleed. Much less, well, that.

    The explosions kept coming.

    Another one of the dragons, who had a direct line of sight to the morbid firework, saw what happened and uttered what Robin might have thought was a scream. Until three more explosions suddenly appeared in series relatively nearby it. The midnight black dragon was thrown around by each blast as if it was being punched. The dragon then fell from the sky without another sound.

    The explosions kept coming.

    Three of the four remaining Night Dragons seemed to realize that the explosions were coming from the ships on the water, because they dove for them. At this point even Robin could tell that was probably suicidal.

    Before the dragons could so much as clear the shoreline, the ships revealed they too could release rapid staccato streams of fire of their own similar to the ones thrown by the flying thing. Those glowing red fire streams erupted forth from places all over many of the ships hulls and met the charging dragons with fury.

    The dragons all flew into a blazing hailstorm of fire and were literally ripped to pieces for their efforts. Scales flew, many small explosions appeared, limbs were forcibly amputated, and the three dragons invariably collapsed in on themselves as quickly as they initiated the dive and slammed into the water at speed almost simultaneously.

    The remaining streams of red fire that missed their marks flew well over the city, and off into the yonder distance.

    The explosions stopped coming.

    The last Night Dragon didn''t follow its brethren on their death charge, but instead turned and fled. Fled! From humans! Before the dragon could get far, however. The flying thing buzzed back from the clouds at high speed and unleashed another stream of fire into it. The dragon staggered, and it too fell. Never to take to the sky again.

    No one said anything for a time. The cacophony of the repeated explosions gave way to a stunned silence, broken only by the buzzing of the strange flying thing and the ringing of their ears.

    That was it. The dragons were¡­ dead. It was over so quickly. The city wasn''t destroyed. Not even a single house was burned. Were there even any casualties?

    The stillness persisted for hardly a moment longer, before it was abruptly broken.

    "HOW''S THAT FOR PUNY HUMANS YOU MONSTROUS LIZARDS!?" someone yelled.

    And then all the humans roared.

    The entire Guard stationed atop the Safehold broke into raucous cheering, whooping, and shouting.

    They were not used to using their vocal chords like this.

    Fully grown adults jumped and hollered and embraced each other like overexcited children. Several of them spat and threw random junk over the roof''s edge towards where several of the dragons fell.

    The flying thing turned back towards them, and made to fly by the Safehold. They all ran to the side it would pass by, and jumped, cheered and waved as it passed them. The strange buzzing sound it made sent vibrations through their entire bodies. Robin could see the shape of a human inside a strange glass cage in the center of the flying thing, in between and above the wings. The flying human waved back at them with a gloved hand.

    So it is a flying machine! Robin thought as they were all buffeted by turbulent wind from the machine. Amazing!

    The flying machine looped over the city proper and rolled back and forth to rock its wings, before flying out to the water to buzz over the ships as well.

    Robin looked over the Safehold''s edge down to the village, and saw the people that had taken cover in the houses, as well as the women and children that had managed to be evacuated into the Safehold in time rushing out to join in on the noisy celebration.

    This was the loudest he¡¯d ever seen any human acting ever. Himself included.

    Robin looked back to the flying machine. It had circled over the floating formation of ships a few times and was making its way back to them. It banked slowly around and flew parallel with the beach strip, visibly slowing down. The buzzing noise it made became much quieter and slower. Robin watched as what looked like a pair of wheels slowly extended from the bottom of the stiff-winged machine and it gently touched down onto the sand. The thing then rolled for quite a distance, nearly crossing the entire length of the sandy strip. But it came to a rolling stop just before the beach became the rocky cliff where the piers were built.

    Robin watched as villagers sprinted out en masse onto the beach to meet the human figure that was currently clamoring out of the machine. The first to reach him was an adolescent boy that Robin didn''t recognize. The young man just stood before the heavily clad figure and seemed to stare in awe at him.

    The flying machine operator gave the boy a sort of small courtesy, before the rest of the crowd caught up and some of the larger men in the group hoisted the figure onto their shoulders and began to parade him back to the town, all of them hooting and clapping rambunctiously all the way. Many of them were chanting ¡®Dragonslayer!¡¯ and ¡®Flying man!¡¯

    Looks like that guy will be getting quite the hero''s welcome. Robin thought with no small amount of amusement. He would not want that much attention on him, no matter how positive it was.

    He turned his gaze back to the harbor where the ships lay. He could see them rapidly deploying more of the odd self-propelling boats they used to move people off the ships and onto the shore. More villagers were gathering on the piers and the shore to greet them.

    Looks like they all will.

    He focused on the small box-structures atop some of the ships, many of them still had small clouds of smoke rising from them. He looked back to the ballista he was supposed to help operate, which was still stuck halfway ready to fire.

    I would however like to see how those¡­ whatever they have that made those explosions work.

    Whatever it was that the strangers had, it was evidently quite a bit more effective.

    ***

    >After-action report, USS Sampson._

    Air contacts were detected by RADAR mid-morning. Exact time indeterminate, as the clocks are inaccurate in relation to this planet''s day/night cycle. Therefore, the time measured when the contacts were detected will be referred to as 00:00 for the sake of this report.

    0000: air contacts spotted.

    0008: General quarters raised, Air raid sirens activated and all AA guns cleared for action.

    0010: CAM ship Novelist deployed her Sea Hurricane fighter craft on her ship master''s own discretion, convoy commanders not consulted.

    0012: All air defense sectors reported ready and on standby. Order given to hold fire until contacts proven hostile.

    0018: Activity spotted on local castle structure. Reports of alarm bell sounds from the town were heard.

    0019: Crew on shore confirm via radio the town was under a state of emergency, and that women and children were being rushed into the castle structure. Able-bodied men were reportedly acquiring various weapons or taking shelter. They were all directed to do the same. Quote: "They were all really scared."

    0021: Acquired visual contact. The unknown air contacts appeared to be a collection of 8 large, flying, pitch-black European dragons (Yes, really). About 2000ft above the town.

    0022: The dragons maneuvered to dive on the town. The town engaged the dragons with archers and ballista-type artillery positioned atop the castle structure.

    The arrows and javelins launched by the town appeared ineffective at deterring the diving dragons, and an inert warning salvo was fired from Sampson''s 5" guns.

    The shells passed nearby the dragons, which evidently detected them and broke off from their dive. They reoriented themselves, regained some altitude, and resumed their attack dive on the town.

    0023: All ships cleared to engage; Fire-for-effect authorized.

    Hostile dragons rapidly sustained damage by flak shrapnel, 1 immediately fell after the first flak salvo from multiple ships.

    Novelist''s Sea Hurricane dove from cloud cover and engaged another dragon with 20mm cannon fire, scoring the second kill. Sea Hurricane leveraged airspeed to quickly climb back into cloud cover, outside the presumed attack range of the remaining dragons.

    0024: Direct hit confirmed to have been fired from Sampson''s No.3 gun turret violently scored the third kill.

    120mm flak barrage from HMS Tyrian scored the fourth kill.

    3 of the remaining 4 dragons made to dive on the convoy. A collection of 12.7mm, 20mm and 40mm autocannon fire rapidly scored the fifth, sixth, and seventh kills.

    0025: Final dragon made to flee rather than fight. Novelist''s Sea Hurricane once again dove from cloud cover and scored the eighth kill with autocannon fire.

    All hostile targets neutralized

    Cease fire order given.

    Total active engagement time: Approximately 3 minutes.

    Personal notes:

    Actual dragons. Real, flying, scaled, possibly fire-breathing dragons. Where are we?

    I recommend that Flight Lieutenant Jeremy Hill should be reprimanded for insubordination and unsafe flying. Novelist was not cleared to launch by me or Captain Arthur Johnson. Neither of us were even notified of their plans until the plane was already careening into the air. It''s a miracle he wasn''t killed by friendly flak fire. At least he was able to seemingly get the plane down safely, landing on the beach, rather than ditching the plane. It will probably be a Herculean effort to get him back from the locals, though. Last I looked, they looked to be making him into a new folk-hero.

    On that note, many more men from across ships were sent ashore to assess damage and assist where needed. Personally, I just hope they''ll do more than party.

    The upside of all this is that we seemed to have gained a significant amount  of goodwill with the locals. I''ll give Lt. Hill that.

    I''m also going to commedate the turret crew and fire directors of turret No.3 for their aiming skills. That direct hit on one of the black dragons was as impressive as the aftermath of the hit was gross.

    We should also consider potentially providing the locals with some upgrades to their air defense capabilities. Repurposing some of the 20mm Oerlikon cannons and 3" dual-purpose guns from the Liberty ships could be a good place to start.

 VI - Aftermath and Lingua

    >In the waters beside a large scavenger Den._

    Mako floated with only her eyes just above the surface and stared with horror at the scene that had just played out. Reverberations from the sky explosions were still echoing back from the hills up the land. She and the dragonets were a good distance away from the swarm of strange boats floating around, but still close enough to easily see what happened above the shore.

    A small group eight or so of NightWings had appeared from low-hanging clouds over the den, which was confusing enough in of itself. What were NightWings doing here? What did they want with a scavenger den? They were not involved in any way with the War, and went to the pains of never revealing the location of their kingdom, or indeed themselves, to project that fact. That was common enough knowledge amongst all read dragons.

    At first, she would admit that she was a little bit disappointed at their appearance. The reclusive dragons clearly intended to burn the den, and probably the swarm of ¡®boats¡¯ in the water as well. Which would obviously mean that she and her pupils wouldn¡¯t get the chance to observe them.

    While the declaration she had made earlier to the dragonets that the monster-chasing quest turned scavenger-watching trip would entail homework was indeed a means of exacting a small amount of revenge on them; She was also serious that it would have been a benefit to their collective education.

    After all, not many dragons got to, or rather even bothered to, observe a scavenger Den in its natural, non-panicked state.

    But unfortunately, it would seem as though that opportunity would not come to fruition.

    She wasn¡¯t going to lose sleep over it though. scavengers were still just pests, after all.

    But then something happened that she just might indeed lose sleep over.

    The sky around the diving NightWings had suddenly exploded.

    Mako winced as the leading dragon¡¯s wing was torn asunder, and they plummeted shrieking to the forest below.

    She had the place of mind to shield the dragonets from the awful sight by ordering them underwater, as an inexplicable flying creature dove from the sky and did something to another dragon that sent them spasming down to the ground below. While all dragons were accustomed to the sight of blood and gore at a young age, Mako didn¡¯t think that they needed to see other dragons dying like that.

    She was glad she got them all underwater before another one of the NightWings was violently eviscerated by another blast, and she nearly lost her stomach. She had never imagined that a dragon could die like that.

    When she looked back, the sky explosions had stopped. All the NightWings were dead. Ripped apart in midair less than five minutes after they had appeared.

    The three dragonets all resurfaced once they had detected the end to the continued smoky blasts. They collectively gasped, no doubt spotting the horrible flying thing that had turned back and was flying over the swarm of massive boats.

    ¡°What is that?¡± She heard Clam ask.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Said Oyster.

    Mako took a few moments to even register their questions, much less formulate answers.

    ¡°The¡­ The NightWings were killed. I think the scavengers on the boats somehow summoned explosions onto them. I don¡¯t know what that buzzing thing is, nor do I really even know exactly what happened.¡±

    ¡°The scavengers killed the Nightwings? How?¡± Oyster whispered fretfully.

    ¡°Well¡­ they did attack them.¡± Clam replied.

    ¡°But how?¡± Oyster returned. ¡°scavengers can¡¯t kill dragons! It¡¯s like a rule of nature, right? And besides, why did the NightWings even try to attack them? Shouldn''t they have foresaw that the scavengers were going to explode them or something? Mako, you said that the NightWings could see the future!¡±

    That was¡­ indeed true. They can. That raises a whole new set of questions¡­

    Cuttlefish didn¡¯t say anything, which was odd. While he was typically a dragon of fewer words compared to the other two, he would almost certainly have had something to say in this situation.

    Mako paddled around, and the two siblings did too.

    Cuttlefish was behind them. He was staring intently at one of the boats on the water. He said nothing nor made any indication that he even noticed their attention on him. The boat he was staring at had multiple scavengers visible across it. Mako had no idea what they were up to, but they didn¡¯t seem to notice the dragons floating in the water a distance away from them. She looked back to Cuttlefish, who hadn¡¯t flinched his gaze.

    What is he looking at?

    ***

    Cuttlefish considered the situation. He had slowly, carefully swam behind Mako after she ordered them underwater, behind the two siblings that were hovering close to her tail, and had surreptitiously peeked his own head above the calm water. He didn¡¯t surface in time to see exactly what had happened to the NightWings, but he knew they had been killed.

    He didn¡¯t have a clue as to how the scavengers did it. Mako had told him and his friends that if they came across something that posed a question they could not answer, they would move on to another question that they could. So, he moved on to the next question; why.

    He figured he at least knew why. It was self-defense. The Nightwings attacked them first.

    His own parents had sometimes said that violence was usually better only used against dragons that attacked you first.

    Cuttlefish didn¡¯t know a whole lot about scavengers, but he figured the same logic should apply to them.

    How they had managed to act on that logic was another question entirely.

    However, that wasn¡¯t what really caught his attention. Which was rather strange, in hindsight, if you asked him.

    He had seen, on the tops of the boats that they were closer to, that the scavengers on them were doing something other than working the weapons that threw the streams of fire and explosions into the air.

    A few of them, across all the boats, were holding and waving various brightly colored fabrics on sticks in very clearly deliberate positions and postures. A few others were standing by some weird small cylinder things mounted on scavenger-sized rails that were somehow able to emit light like his very own luminescent scales did, and were flashing them at other boats. Which in turn had other scavengers on them controlling lights that blinked back.

    It tickled something in the back of his mind that he hadn¡¯t noticed in a while. When he was younger, he could remember Mako congratulating him to his parents on how quickly he had learned Aquatic, the language of flashes and talon gestures that SeaWings used to communicate underwater. He remembered his parents later told him that she had said he had a natural affinity for it.

    He thought they might have been right. In more ways than they had perhaps noticed. Sure, he learned it quickly enough, but he also always had a certain deep interest in the language itself. An interest he thought most other SeaWings didn¡¯t really share. To them, it was just a means of communication. A tool.

    To be sure, it was a tool for him as well, but he had a weird fascination with it that he could not really articulate into words yet.

    Perhaps he at least could say that the act of speaking through a series of flashes and gestures rather than through voice was simply¡­ cool to him.

    When he watched the scavengers aboard the boats waving colored fabrics and flashing strange lights at each other, he almost got that same intuitive tingling interest he used to get when watching other dragons speak to one another in Aquatic, and he found his attention latching onto them.

    Most dragons would probably have just seen a bunch of crazy hairless monkeys waving small colorful fabrics and flashing lights nonsensically at one another, but Cuttlefish could see a rhyme in the rapids.

    He could see patterns in the blinking of the lights and the waving of the fabrics, changes in flash frequency, deliberate differentiations and repetitions in which the fabrics were raised and how they were waved. Patterns that were almost similar to the ones employed in the flashes and talon gestures that made up the language he spoke when under the sea.

    He had read that scavengers were supposed to make a rapid series of chittering and squeaking noises with each other, and that no one knew what they meant. Most thought that they meant nothing.

    But these scavengers were communicating with each other, he was sure. In a manner that was reminiscent of the way that SeaWings communicated.

    Cuttlefish was broken from his reverie when a gray-blue wing waved in his face. ¡°Cuttlefish? Are you all right?¡± He heard Mako¡¯s voice.

    He shook himself and turned to regard the dragons. They were all looking at him with expressions ranging from concern and confusion. Mako gestured that they should dive underwater, so they did.

    [¡°Are you all right?¡±] Oyster flashed once they were all under.

    [¡°You were staring wall-eyed at one of the boats.¡±] From Mako.

    [¡°What were you looking at?¡±] Clam said.

    Cuttlefish took a moment to process the simultaneous questions. [¡°I saw some of the scavengers on the boats using flashing lights and waving colored fabrics to communicate with the scavengers on other boats. I think they were talking with each other via light signals like we talk in Aquatic.¡±] He said.

    Clam and Oyster¡¯s eyes widened, Mako looked skeptical. [¡°Well, I saw eight fully-grown dragons just get ripped to pieces by said scavengers on those boats.¡±] She flashed cynically. [¡°We need to get back to the enclave to warn everybody. Those things are indeed dangerous. Hopefully, they¡¯ll stay near that scavenger Den and leave us alone. We will however need to send a messenger over to one of the Royal palaces, as I know SeaWing patrols sometimes fly nearby here. They¡¯ll need to be warned of the danger. Perhaps they can even come up with a potential solution¡­¡±] Mako then set off in the direction of the enclave, making an effort to stay away from the water¡¯s surface. The dragonets all followed after her.

    ***

    For two hours they swam through the blue featureless waters.

    One of the reasons, Cuttlefish had learned, that the Kingdom of the Sea proper was positioned within and around the bay of a Thousand Scales was that the entire huge area was made up of comparatively shallow water. Which, combined with the warm temperatures of the area and a bunch of other factors meant that the area was populated by numerous coral reefs. Islands of life and color in the comparatively empty abyss that was the deep sea.

    This, combined with the many warm-water currents that flowed between the various islands of the Bay, were why so many Seawings made their residence there. Why the Kingdom itself was situated there.

    The enclave that they called home was far separated from any of that.

    Which meant that the route back from the den to their home was long, due to the lack of currents that would aid in their travel, and boring thanks to the lack of anything but the silt and rock of the seafloor and an endless blue void to look at.

    The upside, Cuttlefish had been told, about living out in the middle of nowhere was that they were largely left alone by the affairs of the Kingdom and the wider world. Other than the talonful of guards that used the enclave as a kind of outpost for their long-range patrols, the great War had mostly overlooked them.

    The downside was that it was absolutely boring to look at, and frankly dull to live in. You had to swim a considerable distance land-wards before you could come across anything that wasn¡¯t another desolate outcropping of rock sticking out like a craggy island in the middle of a large lake.

    It was on a particularly large undersea rock outcrop that the enclave was positioned on, large enough that it would perhaps be more accurate to refer to it as a small undersea mountain. With Seawings making homes out of small caves that were either dug out or formed naturally. From here, the local Seawings that lived here subsisted on hunting for species of deepwater migratory fish and other sea creatures, and marketing the excess to the shallow-water reef or palace dwelling SeaWings in order to get other things that they would need.

    It was a comparatively stable existence, but far from what any reasonable dragon would call exciting. Whether that was a good or bad thing depended on who you asked.

    As the quartet of dragons made their final approach on the enclave''s perimeter, they caught sight of a rather large dull blue shape swimming about at a leisurely pace.

    It was Grouper, the elderly dragon that had suggested they seek out the floating things in the first place. They swam their way over to him.

    ["Why, hello again, young dragons!"] He flashed with a smile when he noticed them. ["How did the expedition go? Did you find anything?"]

    ["Clam, Oyster. Go tell your parents to call for an enclave meeting. Tell then it''s urgent."] Mako flashed, ignoring Grouper'' query. The siblings dutifully swam off. Their parents were distantly related to Seawing royal nobility, and thus had a position of relative authoritative sway amongst the enclave dwellers. Enough that they could call for a meeting amongst the enclave elders and adults, anyway.

    ["Oh, dear. It''s that bad?"] Grouper said, now more serious, and looking somewhat surprised.

    Mako turned back to him. ["You were right about the things that the dragonets claimed to see being boats. They''re definitely real, and they''re definitely dangerous. And there''s a lot of them. I''ll explain in more detail to everyone at the meeting."]

    Mako started to swim off, but stopped and looked back at Cuttlefish. ["You should be at the meeting too, as you are also an eyewitness and saw the things before they were near the den. I also don''t trust the other two to know when to hold their scales."] She paddled off with a strong flick of her tail.

    After she left, Grouper turned to Cuttlefish as well ["Well, whatever it is you''ve all seen, it''s certainly got her wound up. Not that she was ever particularly known for being laid back in the first place."]

    Cuttlefish could help but snort a few bubbles at that remark. But he quickly went back to being fully serious as well. ["...She''s right, those things, and we think they are boats¡­ are dangerous. Although, there are some other things as well."]

    Grouper stopped him before he could go on. ["As much as I am curious for the details of what you all discovered, I think you should wait to explain it to the rest of the dragons at the meeting in a moment. We should go."] He swam off in the direction that Mako had gone, and Cuttlefish followed him.

    It was rare that Grouper would appear this serious. He had a  reputation for taking a relaxed attitude to, well, just about everything.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Grouper led Cuttlefish to the enclave''s usual meeting area, a relatively flat plateau of stone atop the large outcrop of rock. Dragons were already beginning to gather around, with Mako at the center of a loose circle of floating dragons. The dim strobing lights and subtle gestures of dragons muttering in Aquatic was the only break in the terse stillness.

    Once a sufficient number of enclave residents had gathered, one of the dragons in the small crowd flared his scales and spoke up. ["Why did you call this meeting, Mako? What''s the big deal?"] Many others dimly signaled their agreement.

    ["Yeah! What''s the big deal!? We got important work to do around here, you know!"] Another dragon flashed.

    ["Like fish you have better things to do, Gato."] Yet another dragon shot back.

    ["You watch your scales!"]

    ["SeaWings."] Mako interjected ["There has been a serious development that requires our immediate attention and action. Yesterday, Cuttlefish, Clam, and Oyster happened across a group of very strange objects moving across the ocean''s surface. A decent distance from the enclave. Cuttlefish is here with us right now, so I''ll have him explain what they came across."]

    She called Cuttlefish forward, and he summarized with some degree of trepidation what he and the others had first seen of the things. He gave a rough location, some visual descriptions, and went over what the things actually did when they could see them and some of their initial theories as to what they were. Including the supposition that they were sea monsters.

    Mako then explained yesterday evening''s interaction between the dragonets, herself and Grouper. She referenced her skepticism at their story, and mentioned Grouper''s suggestion that the strange things were some sort of large boat. Grouper himself then clarified what boats were to any dragons that weren''t in the know.

    Mako then summarized their short expedition that morning to follow the trail of the strange boats, their sighting of them near the scavenger den.

    ["They were huge. Larger than any dragon-made structure, sans the palaces, that I''ve seen. And there were at least 40 of them. As per Cuttlefish''s reckoning."] She said.

    She then described the abrupt NightWing incursion on the den, and how they were all quickly ripped apart in midair by explosions and fire thrown up by unknown weapons on the boats. As well as the inexplicable flying¡­ thing that dove from the clouds and attacked the NightWings as well.

    ["I don''t know how the scavengers on those boats were able to do that. Or even what manner of weapon could possibly do that. I do know, however, that whatever it is, it''s dangerous. And very much can kill flying dragons. We should avoid flying near that den. I don''t know if they have weapons that can attack things underwater, but I doubt it. We also need to extend that warning to the wider kingdom, as I know we have guard patrols that sometimes fly nearby there."]

    Her scales dimmed as she finished her announcements. Facial expressions on the gathered dragons ranged from concern, bafflement, skepticism, and just blankness.

    Before everyone erupted into speech all at once in a visual cacophony that made Cuttlefish¡¯s eyes hurt.

    ["scavengers can''t do that, that''s ridiculous!"]

    [¡°You expect us to believe all that!?¡±]

    ["That''s too crazy to be true!"]

    ["Wait, what? I zoned out¡­"]

    ["What would a bunch of NightWings want with some scavenger den, anyway!?"]

    [¡°What was that flying thing?¡±]

    ["I say we go destroy that den ourselves!"]

    ["ONE AT A TIME, PLEASE!"] The especially bright flash came from Barnacle, Clam and Oyster''s father. Everyone darkened down promptly.

    Barnacle wrung his talons together for a few moments, deciding what to say next. ["Sailfish? Have you ever heard of scavengers possessing weapons anything like that?"]

    The dragon in question was a rather large and well built deep blue adult renowned in the enclave for his hunting experience and prowess. He was one of the main bringers of large fish like tuna, and had even done a few hunting sorties into land.

    ["Well¡­ sort of."] He said. ["I''ve heard of dragons that went hunting close to the big scavenger dens having long pointy sticks and other things thrown at them, and that many of said things were far too large for most dragons, much less scavengers, to be thrown like they were. But I''ve never heard of anything like what Mako has described."]

    ["It it possible it was magic?"] Someone suggested, which was met by visual scoffs.

    ["scavengers can''t be magic, that''s ridiculous!"]

    ["So is whatever else it is Mako is talking about!"]

    ["Well, yeah¡­"]

    ["I doubt it was animus magic. No one''s even seen an animus dragon in centuries!"]

    ["Well what about the boats? Did the air explosions come from the den, or from the boats?"]

    ["Yeah, what about those boats? Grouper said that boats were artificial constructions, which meant someone had to have built the ones that you all supposedly saw. Who made them?"]

    [¡°What about the flying thing?¡±]

    ["Are the dragonets all right? What Mako described happening to those NightWings sounded pretty¡­ visceral."]

    ["They didn''t see it happen. I made sure."] Mako finally interjected back into the hubbub.

    Cuttlefish''s head was starting to hurt a little. He had never been to one of these enclave meetings, and hadn''t really been around so many SeaWings talking over each other in Aquatic.

    ["Mako,"] Barnacle said ["If what you''re describing is true, then that area should indeed be considered dangerous, and so anyone going there should do so with caution. Not that we made a particular habit of swimming in that area, anyway. But I have to ask; Are you sure that you and the dragonets saw all that? It all still sounds pretty far-fetched."]

    ["Of course I¡¯m sure, I saw it with my own eyes."] Mako responded. ["I wouldn''t just make up this whole thing as a story to get everyone worked up for the fun of it! Moons, that''s what I accused the dragonets themselves of doing yesterday. I even continued to think they were until I saw the boats myself."]

    ["Well¡­ Alright. I would still prefer to have as many dragons confirm seeing them as possible, but it sounds like these boats don''t take well to large groups of dragons suddenly appearing."] Barnacle said with an amused snort.

    ["Either way, we should take this up with the royal authorities. We wouldn''t want any SeaWing guards to fly near that Den, unbeknownst of the danger. Bonefish, Sailfish, you''re coming with me. We''re going to the Summer Palace. I want you along as well, Mako, as you were an eyewitness. Cuttlefish can stay here. We''ll leave tomorrow morning, and should get back by the end of the day. Meeting adjourned, everybody. You can get back to you''re ever-important business."]

    A few dragons chuckled at the remark as they dispersed, most were just muttering amongst themselves. No doubt questioning the validity of anything Mako or Cuttlefish had said. The dragon who had asked about the flying thing continued to do so. Cuttlefish decided he wouldn¡¯t bother trying to answer him, as he wouldn¡¯t really have real answers to give.

    As Cuttlefish himself turned to leave, finding himself dreading the day when he too became an adult and so had to attend the meetings on a regular basis. He stopped when he laid eyes on a large light-blue figure. Dolphin, his mother.

    [¡°Cuttlefish!¡±]

    ["Hi, mother."] Cuttlefish said simply.

    ["Hi yourself, are you all right?"] She retorted. She took his talons in hers and looked him up and down. [''''Are you all right? Why didn¡¯t you tell me any of this yesterday? I thought you and your friends were going on a short field trip with Mako, and it turns out ot be¡­ whatever this is?¡±]

    He ducked his head, feeling a little bad. He indeed didn¡¯t give his mother any real details on what was happening, or what he had seen.

    [¡°...Sorry, mother. I just didn''t want you to worry. It wasn¡¯t as though we went deliberately chasing after sea monsters or anything. Elder Grouper had said that the things we saw were some manner of large boat.¡±]

    [¡°I saw. What Grouper said, anyway. Although judging by what Mako described happened to those NightWings, I¡¯m tempted to say they were indeed sea monsters.¡±] She pointed over to where Mako was now, flashing in muted glow to a small group of dragons that had gathered around her. They were likely discussing the very thing his mother was referring to.

    [¡°It¡¯s all right, mother. I didn¡¯t see anything. Mako had us dragonets duck underwater before the explosions started.¡±] That was at least mostly true. Cuttlefish and the siblings had only been above water long enough to see the first diving NightWing get their wing shredded by a nearby blast, which was before the really gory carnage apparently started. Cuttlefish also didn¡¯t reemerge until just as the last dragons were ripped apart and plunging into the sea below on their dive. He was more focused on the scavenger boats and their signals at that point, anyway.

    She visually sighed, and lowered her head with a small amount of exasperation. [¡°That¡¯s not the point¡­ I¡¯m saying¡­ You really need to just be more-...¡±] She sighed again. [¡°I know you''re smarter than to go swimming headlong into danger like that. Please listen to that intelligence, next time.¡±]

    Cuttlefish ducked his head again and nodded, this time more sincerely.

    [¡°...Any word on Father?¡±] He asked, wanting to change the subject.

    His mother¡¯s wings drooped. That probably wasn¡¯t the best thing to say, at least on the front of trying to improve his mother¡¯s mood. The earlier assumption that their enclave had avoided the effects of the direct effects of the war was not entirely true. Several able-bodied adults from the remote enclave had been enlisted by the SeaWing general army to fight in the War for SandWing Succession alongside Princess Blister and her forces after they lost the allegiance of Queen Morhen and the MudWings to Princess Burn and her allies, the SkyWings. Cuttlefish¡¯s father was one of those dragons. They hadn¡¯t heard of him since he had to leave some months ago.

    [¡°...No.¡±] His mother flashed dimly.

    [¡°Sorry.¡±] Cuttlefish said again, his wings now drooping as well. Before he quickly thought of something else to say. [¡°Hey, Barnacle, Sailfish, Bonefish and Mako are going to the Summer Palace to warn them about the strange boats we found. They can ask about father there.¡±]

    His mother perked up a minute amount at that, and gave him a small smile. She nodded over to where Mako was still speaking with a dozen or so other enclave dwellers. Cuttlefish paddled his way over to them.

    Mako didn¡¯t seem all that happy when he approached. [¡°What¡¯re you doing? I have a lot that I need to prepare now, traveling to the Summer Palace to convince a bunch of dragons of something unbelievable thanks to this whole crazy mess you three started.¡±] She flashed irritably. Although, her expression softened when he asked her if she could ask about a dragon named Argonaut.

    [¡°...Sure.¡±] She said with a gentle nod.

    Cuttlefish thanked her, and swam off to find his friends. He felt absolutely exhausted.

    ***

    >In a wood, a short distance from Safe Harbor._

    Petty Officer First Class Darren Olson was not somewhere he¡¯d predicted he would be a couple months ago.

    With his aptitude for foreign languages, he always figured he was going to be an interpreter. Preferably for international diplomats. It just seemed right, and there would have been a market for his talents, as well. With all the attention around international negotiations and peace treaties following the near-apocalyptic catastrophe that was the Great War.

    Although, the War To End All Wars turned out to be a misnomer. Because not 20 years later, Europe was imbued with warfighting once again.

    That wasn¡¯t what got Darren to enlist. The United States wasn¡¯t directly involved with the War in Europe. he did consider joining up, though. Becoming an interpreter for the US military for a little while seemed to be a fairly good way to climb the government-employee social ladder and get a pretty high-up job with the civilian government.

    He didn¡¯t join, though. Until Pearl Harbor was surprise-attacked by the Japs, the Germans formally declared war on the US. It was then that the US officially entered what was becoming known as World War II. Darran joined the Navy, expecting to be stationed in the Pacific, and planning to start learning Japanese so that he could translate intercepted radio transmissions or something. However, that wasn¡¯t to be. He found that he had enlisted after a very long line of people, and as such wasn¡¯t exactly given much say in where he was stationed. Even with his multilingual skills. He eventually found himself memorizing Morse Code and stationed as a signalman aboard a Destroyer running convoy escort in the North Atlantic waters. Thankfully after the brunt of the Kreigsmarine spear had largely been blunted on the shield that was Royal Navy surface action, Allied air power and Merchant sailor¡¯s lives.

    But none of that compared to the whiplash he had been feeling for the past day or so.

    He was now an interpreter for a collection of various Allied sailors and a never-before encountered race of people, on a never-before seen land, speaking a never-before heard language. Oh, and he was also in charge of the effort to interpret that never-before heard language and translate it into English.

    And he was doing all that on a world with three moons.

    Most people would, and should, feel overwhelmed. Darren certainly did, to an extent. But Darren had found long ago that he was really good at managing an overload of intellectual stimulation without freaking out. Part of his multilingual talents, he supposed.

    That, as well as a bit of the local¡¯s weirdly strong, and rather nasty alcohol he drank may be helping in that regard.

    When he wasn¡¯t getting bombarded with questions he couldn¡¯t understand from the locals, he was doing his level best to get as many of their basic words, basic enough that the meaning of said words could be communicated nonverbally or through context, translated to English and written down. As well as just trying to make sense of their language itself to the best degree that they reasonably can.

    On that font, he would tentatively say that he and his team of relatively similarly talented people were doing a fairly good job. They had been working tirelessly all night and into the morning with any locals that understood their task and wished to help, which was a surprisingly large amount. For every one person in his team, of which there were 17 currently, there were at least 5 locals that were willing to sit down with them and work out the meanings of as many easy to describe concepts and objects as possible. The locals also spent a fair amount of time clearly debating the exact meanings of certain words, and probably the best way to describe them to someone that could not understand their speech. All in order to ensure as few misunderstandings as possible.

    All in all, they had translated about 100 simple words across. Words like ¡°tree,¡± ¡°happy,¡± or ¡°hello.¡±

    The locals helping them had learned just as many words in English. They were co-translating, after all. Darren was impressed by their enthusiasm to pick up English, which rivaled their own resolve to learn the local¡¯s language.

    They also wrote down each word they had managed to interpret, both the English word and the equivalent local word, in order to start the beginnings of a dictionary between them. Darren was also working on writing out the local words phonetically in English, so that other people aboard the convoy ships could study them and hopefully learn that way. He knew the locals were doing the same.

    It was difficult, though. The local¡¯s verbal language was so different. Not really different from a grammatical standpoint, as their languages were actually very similar in grammatical structure, as far as he could tell. But they were different in the way that the speakers, well, spoke.

    It was proving difficult for each group of people to pronounce each other¡¯s words.

    The local¡¯s spoken language largely consisted of odd chittering, clicking, and high-pitched almost squeaky sounds. If he thought about it, it was a language made up of almost exclusively consonant sounds, and nearly void of most long vowel sounds, excluding some short ¡®i¡¯ and ¡®e¡¯ sounds.

    English speakers, and indeed most languages on Earth, for that matter, mostly used their throat, voicebox and tongue to pronounce words. These people seemed to mostly use their lips, teeth, and tips of their tongues to pronounce their words. The fronts of their mouths. It was very interesting to listen to. Darren had heard of some languages spoken by remote tribes in the middle of nowhere that had some similarities, but these people took it to a whole other level.

    It was very awkward to speak for him and the other sailors, and even harder to use English letters to write their words down phonetically. It was equally difficult for the locals, which seemed to have similar difficulty figuring out how to transcribe our words into their own written language. Which was a fascinating literary conundrum in of itself, and they often broke into coughing fits after pronouncing lots of English words in a row.

    That wasn¡¯t the only thing, however. Some of the locals, when either listening to the sailors speak English, or when they themselves were pronouncing English words, seemed to get almost subconsciously nervous. Shuffling in place, wringing their hands, flitting their eyes about and up to the skies. Darren couldn¡¯t figure out why.

    He did have a suspicion that it may have had to do with the noise level, as the local¡¯s language tended to be much quieter in standard conversation. Due mostly to many of their words not having long vowels.

    While paranoia about noise was a possible explanation to the local¡¯s trepidation towards speaking loudly, it was just an answer that brought up more questions than it resolved.

    Namely  why they would be afraid of speaking in a way that would let your voice carry over distance.

    After what happened this morning, Darren thought he now had a potential answer to that question as well.

    Now he, and a few other sailors as well as a group of locals that had been participating in the cross-language learning effort, were making their way over to one of those potential reasons right now.

    At least, where said reason had been projected to have crash-landed.

    It had been but a few hours since the town had actually come under attack by a bunch of dragons. Dragons! Actual living, flying, probably fire-breathing dragons! He wouldn¡¯t have believed it if he hadn¡¯t seen it, and even then he probably still would not have believed it if it weren''t for the entire town, allied anti-air crews and RADAR clearly seeing them too.

    He and the posse were currently walking through the moderately sparse forest towards the probable location of the first dragon that had fallen to the onslaught of naval artillery airburst shells.

    They could still hear the sounds of raucous celebration from the town, which had gone positively ape after everyone realized that the flying beasts attacking them had all been felled without getting the chance themselves to destroy anything. Darren wasn¡¯t exactly one for parties, and so was glad when the radioman assigned with him and his team on shore told them that they had been tasked with tracking down and analyzing the crash sites of the dragons that had been shot down over land. He was also glad that he¡¯d been given one of the closer sites for investigation.

    The people he was walking with hardly said anything. Him and the other sailors hadn¡¯t the slightest clue what to expect. While he thought the locals were at least more familiar with the dragons, he got the feeling that this was probably the closest any of them had ever been to one.

    There. Signs of foliage deformation on the forest floor. Something weird-smelling up ahead. They were close.

    They pushed through a particularly large bush, and all froze when they came into sight of their quarry. The locals seemed to reflexively duck and take a few steps back.

    A big, winged, black dragon lay sprawled in a clearly unnatural position on the forest floor. Young tree saplings and shrubs had been knocked over and back from when it impacted the ground. It appeared to have landed on its chest. Its wings, legs, and tail were spread out around it. Its head was turned away from where they were standing.

    Darren and the sailors with him began to approach the clearly dead dragon. The locals soon followed. Darren had heard that this dragon was downed when a 5¡± flak shell exploded nearby and destroyed its right-hand wing. From what he could see of the damage, that assessment seemed to be accurate. The right wing membrane was in tatters. Parts that were left at all were full of tiny holes created by shrapnel, and contrasted by huge gaps where it looked like the overpressure wave formed from the explosion itself just took portions of the flexible membrane with it. Parts of the long wing ¡®fingers¡¯ were also bent and crooked at places where joints clearly were not present, indicating bone fracture as well. Deep red dried blood was present at all places where the membrane had been breached, and at several places where the wing itself was broken.

    He was kind of impressed that the dragon had not immediately died from brain hemorrhaging or some other physical trauma inflicted by the huge shell exploding right next to it. Then again, it may have suffered catastrophic internal bleeding that he just isn¡¯t seeing.

    Several of the locals flinched back when he laid his hands upon the wing, and lifted it out of the way slightly so he could see the dragon¡¯s body better. He found that it was surprisingly lightweight, given its size.

    The black dragon¡¯s scales were not just black, it seemed, but rather a shade of incredibly dark green, with a similarly colored underbelly that appeared to be made of very tiny smooth scales rather than the big plated scales that covered the dragon¡¯s shoulders, back, and neck. Or the more standard-fare but large reptilian scales which covered its four legs. Said scales were also probably not as resistant to damage as the bulkier ones, as Darren could clearly see many small wounds and spouts of red blood where shrapnel had impacted all over the dragon¡¯s side. Once again, he was surprised and a little bit impressed that all that shrapnel didn¡¯t just kill the dragon instantly. Clearly, these creatures are very survivable.

    Darren was by no means a doctor, but even he could tell that the dragon¡¯s ribcage had been shattered and partially collapsed. The flak shell didn¡¯t do that, as an explosion that powerful would mean this dragon wouldn¡¯t still have all of its limbs still attached to it. This dragon died on impact with the ground. He imagined the docs aboard the convoy ships would probably have a fun time giving this creature a proper autopsy. Or at least as properly they could manage, anyway.

    Darren moved towards the creature¡¯s head, while the other people scattered about to examine the fallen dragon from multiple angles. The beast¡¯s non-lidded eyes were still mostly open, and its draconic face appeared to be frozen in what the empathetic part of his brain was telling him was¡­ pain.

    Maybe even fear, but that was probably just him anthropomorphizing it.

    Still, getting one of your appendages and side shredded by an explosion mid flight and dying from the resulting fall was not exactly a pleasant way to go.

    Not that being burned and/or eaten alive really is, either. Darren thought, thinking back to the town. Even still, he would be lying if he said that he felt no pity towards the dead creature whatsoever.

    He was broken from his thoughts by another of the sailors gasping and calling out his name. ¡°Darren! Come look at this!¡±

    He quickly made his way over to the man who had shouted, who was standing just beside the dragon¡¯s non-perforated wing. He was pointing to something under it with wide eyes. Darren gasped as well, when he saw it too.

    Under the dragon¡¯s left wing, positioned against its body was a kind of¡­ big satchel thing. Made from what looked like some kind of rough fabric. Very rough. It was crazy enough that a giant lizard would have that. But what was just sticking out of said satchel is what really grabbed their attention.

    Something that looked distinctly like rolled-up paper. Everyone present gathered around as Darren and the other sailors carefully pulled out the large parchment scroll, and it was indeed a scroll. They moved it clear of the dead dragon and slowly unrolled it out onto the ground. The thing was more like a tarp made from parchment than it was a scroll.

    They gasped again when they saw what was on it. It was a map, crudely scratched out by what looked suspiciously like claw marks and charcoal, but a map that roughly mirrored the one shown to them by the local townspeople. With several clear ¡®X¡¯ and ¡®O¡¯ shapes on several places on the landmass depicted at seemingly random places. Not only that, but there were strange symbols all over parts of the scroll sheet and map as well. Symbols that looked like a collection of claws, wings, and moons at various stages. Giving it an appearance reminiscent of the ancient hieroglyphic languages of Ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian civilizations.

    They all exchanged shocked glances with each other. The sailors were the more shocked ones, while the locals just seemed confused. What they were looking at was clearly a written language and a map of the continent.

    Darren looked back to the felled dragon. A written language of dragons.

 VII - Pufferfish and Handshake Diplomacy

    >Approaching the SeaWing Summer Palace, somewhere in the Kingdom of The Sea._

    Well, what a fine use of my time this all has been. Mako lamented to herself for the umpteenth time on this trip.

    Barnacle, Sailfish, Bonefish and herself had departed from their enclave in the mid-morning hours the day after Mako and the dragonets had returned with news of what transpired at the scavenger den. The dragons at the resulting meeting had decided it would be best to at least warn SeaWing guards at the palace of the inexplicable but nonetheless very real danger the scavenger den now posed to dragons flying or hunting near it.

    To that end, the four dragons had been flying for a few hours now. They had opted for flying the majority of the considerable distance rather than swimming, so that the trip would go by faster. SeaWings were unrivaled across the dragon tribes for their swimming prowess, but being even the most powerful swimmer on the entire continent wouldn¡¯t cancel out the universal principle that water was far denser than air.

    So even with their natural swimming talents, the Sea dragons found that it was just easier to cover the same distance in the air than it was in the water.

    This didn¡¯t mean that the SeaWings were the unabated masters of both the waters below and the heavens above to be certain. Due to their bodies being optimized for swimming, with denser and heavier muscles in their tails and legs and less streamlined wings and flight muscles meant that SeaWings had a proportional disadvantage in the air compared to other Dragon tribes.

    Even the MudWings, whose bulky bodies which provided them armor and physical strength on the ground but served an ailment in the air. They still nonetheless held a slim advantage over the SeaWings in the sky.

    All this meant that SeaWings could not maintain long distance flying for as long as most other dragons, and meant that the quartet of dragons currently flying over the calm water would tire relatively soon.

    Fortunately, they weren¡¯t far from where they knew their intended destination to be, the Summer Palace. The large secondary abode of the Queen and her royal council. The Summer Palace was known largely for two things. Not just among SeaWings, but dragons across the continent of Pyrrhia. The first was that it was actually above water, and the second was that its location was a closely guarded secret. With only SeaWings at all privy to its location.

    The quartet of dragons making their way over there now of course knew where it was. They were going there rather than the Deep Palace, the underwater palace that was the primary seat of the SeaWing Royalty, because it was, for one: slightly easier to get to from their enclave without going near the scavenger den that started this whole mess, and two: because it was less likely that Queen Coral herself was currently present there. All these dragons wanted to do was hopefully run into a relatively high-ranking dragon in the palace and pass off their warning to them, rather than go to all the trouble of getting an audience with the Queen set up only to tell her that they¡¯re afraid of a scavenger den and that she should be to.

    After flying for a little while longer, they approached a rather large and particular island along the chain that made up the Bay of a Thousand Scales that towered high out of the water and had a small grove of trees growing atop it. Barnacle signaled with his talons that they ought to begin their dive, so they collectively pulled their wings in close and plummeted-with-purpose to the sea below.

    A comparatively risky maneuver, but one that these adults had all pulled off before. Seconds before hitting the water, they flared their wings to slow themselves, before quickly pulling them and their legs back as close to their bodies as they could, and braced their necks and spines for impact.

    The four dragons all met the water with violent splashes despite their practiced form. Once their momentum had carried them a decent distance under the waves, they once again spread their wings and legs. SeaWings mostly swam using their powerful tail and leg muscles to paddle through the water, relegating their wings to directional control unless they needed a burst in speed.

    The four dragons adjusted their course and made to swim for the Summer Palace¡¯s entrance, a small concealed underwater tunnel that led to a great space within the island. Mako had only personally been to the Palace once in her life, and it was when she was but a dragonet. She knew it was likely a similar case for the others she was traveling with. Nonetheless, she and the other dragons with her could still locate the telltale cave entrance, wedged between two long rocky spikes that resembled a dragon''s horns, with minimal difficulty.

    They paddled their way through the dense yellow kelp growths that surrounded the tunnel and made their way in one at a time. There were few dragons swimming around in the waters around the entrance or out of it, so hopefully their bet that the Queen herself was not present would indeed pay off.

    Mako found herself grateful for every SeaWing¡¯s natural gift for night vision, which proved itself useful in the dark confines of the narrow connecting tunnel. The tunnel that served the only gateway in or out of the Summer Palace was just wide enough so that two moderately sized adult dragons could squeeze past each other if need be, but fortunately there were no dragons that were attempting to exit as they made their way though.

    Mako couldn¡¯t help but notice a series of small caverns and holes dug into the rock at intervals at the tunnel¡¯s ceiling, which confused her. Those almost definitely were not there the last time she was here, and they looked almost to be¡­. Air pockets? What use would SeaWings have for those? She didn¡¯t point it out, though, as they had a job to do.

    Eventually, they broke out from the darkness of and into the greenish light of the cavern proper. They all swam up to the water¡¯s surface.

    Even though she had seen it before, Mako found herself in awe of the magnificent scene before her. The Summer Palace structure itself was a tall spire formed from 4 immaculate pillars of blueish-white stone that spiraled gracefully around each other many times and converged to form a pavilion where Mako knew the Queen¡¯s throne to be. The entire structure had 12 similar level pavilions positioned in tiers above one another. With every tier smaller than the one below it until it all converged at the top.

    The area around the beautiful structure was a shallow seawater lake within the island, surrounded on all sides excluding the cave tunnel entrance by a small beach of fine sand. The whole place was encompassed by sheer cliffs on all sides, which served as walls for the whole Palace. Said cliffs also had several small caves and indentures used for various means. Some of the caves and small waterfalls cascading out of them. The streams of water that fell from them broke up into mist and spray by the time they hit the surface of the saltwater lake below, which then spread around and gave the entire place a beautiful, mystical aura.

    The Palace was lit by a wide sort of natural skylight where the sheer cliffs on all sides did not converge, but rather left a large opening that was then covered by an incredibly dense layer of jungle canopy that spread over the cliff¡¯s edges, concealing the whole place from the sky and giving it a sea-green light tint.

    The entire place was surprisingly empty, given its usual population. Most of the dragons that dwelt here must have been out on other business. Hopefully they could find who they were looking for.

    The four dragons waded in the calm water for a few moments longer, taking in the sight of the amazing scene around them, before Bonefish pointed to one of the lower tiers of the palace structure. There was a sizable amount of dragons on that level, and most of them looked to be guards or other soldiers, judging by how they held themselves and that a few of them had weapons. They didn¡¯t seem to be in a particular hurry.

    The four enclave dwellers propelled themselves from the water with powerful swats of the tails and legs, and flapped their wings hard to lift off. They slowly flew over to where the guards were stationed.

    They were unlikely to get in trouble for flying about the Palace without permission or escort, as the Queen was clearly not present here, and many SeaWing visitors frequented the Summer Palace throughout the year to simply see it. Them being here wasn¡¯t really an anomaly.

    As they approached the collection of guards, Mako noticed something was off. The guards they were going to meet were acting strange. They could already see from where they broke the water¡¯s surface, that the guards were probably acting lackadaisical. But from up closer, they could see unfocused movements, strange gestures, and nonsensically strobing scales.

    The four landed on the platform, catching the attention of one of the closer guards, who made his way over the perfectly smooth surface towards them with slow, stumbling steps and a bobbing head.

    ¡°Whyyy¡­ Hello there, new drrragons! Wha- what brrrings you- you all to the¡­ to the Summerrr Palace!?¡± The dragon¡¯s voice slurred rather heavily, his eyes were dilated and unfocused. He didn¡¯t seem able to look in any one direction for long. On top of that, he seemed to have trouble standing still, swaying on his talons and his wings drooping.

    The enclave dwellers stood with no small amount of shock, and Mako glanced around the level they were on. Her eyes landed on several round, spikey things floating about in several of the small wading pools positioned around the pavilion tier.

    Pufferfish¡­

    She fixed the dragon before them with a piercing glare, while Barnacle rubbed his face with his wing in exasperation. ¡°We have important news to discuss. Something you guard folk will definitely want to hear about. Where are your superiors?¡± He said to the wobbling dragon.

    The dragon¡¯s whole face lit up as if smelling the ocean for the first time. ¡°WHYY! Youss guyss have sssuch funny accents! Yousss must be fr- from one of the enclavesss!¡±

    Barnacle looked a little uncomfortable, Bonefish looked amused, Sailfish and Mako both wore faces of unbridled disgust.

    ¡°Er, yes.¡± Barnacle eventually said. ¡°We are indeed from one of the far-out enclaves. And we may have discovered something that is rather concerning and dangerous. We came urgently to inform you of the potential threat.¡±

    The zoned-out dragon¡¯s face fell, and his head drooped low. ¡°Threat? Urrrgent?¡± His once overly cheerful voice now laden with the weight of eons. He waved an unstable wing over to where several other dragons, presumably also soldiers, were strewn about the pavilion. A good amount of them were loopy, wobbling or stumbling and slurring to one another. The others looked to be rather badly beaten up, with numerous cuts, burns, scratches and bruises visible all over their bodies. Many others were wearing splints and bandages over their limbs and wings.

    ¡°We- We¡¯ve alrrrready been fightin¡¯ the¡­ The urgent threatsss here, enclavers. Been gettin¡¯ beat up real bad.¡±

    Mako felt a pang of pity and a small amount of horror at the sight, but she wasn¡¯t really all that surprised. SeaWings were uncontestably powerful in the water, but in the air against other dragon tribes the odds were turned more against them. Not being able to breathe fire meant that SeaWings were relegated exclusively to short-range combat, which was a massive tactical disadvantage further compounded by the fact that SeaWings also could not forge metal weapons reliably capable of fighting other dragons as well. Spears and daggers employed by the SeaWing general army were either made from bone, coral, as well as the horns and teeth of other sea creatures or weapons pilfered from the tribes gifted with fire.

    The SeaWing¡¯s heavier stature and less optimized flight muscles meant that tribes built exclusively for flying, especially SkyWings, could maneuver circles around them in the air.

    Their webbed talons, while still very sharp, had proven less efficient for slashing and stabbing than the non-webbed claws of other tribes.

    SeaWings did have a slight advantage with their powerful tails, which could deliver crushing blows to other dragons when in range. Unfortunately, getting into tail-swatting range with SandWings and IceWings with their poison-barbed and whip-like spiked tails respectively was very inadvisable in the best of situations. Not to mention all those dragons could breathe fire or freezing ice, anyway.

    SeaWings did have a slight advantage in brute strength, but were outclassed again by the even bulkier MudWings (who could also breath fire).

    The only place where SeaWings were unmatched in combat was in the water, which was all well and good until you had to meet your enemy in the air or on the ground.

    ¡°Oh¡­ I see. Is that why you¡­ well, you all, are up to¡­ this?¡± Barnacle gestured to the scene around them.

    The dragon bobbed his head up and down emphatically. ¡°Ye- Yeeup¡­ yup. Makes usss feel a little better. Though¡­ It might, ungh, might be more accurate to sssay that it just makes us feel¡­ less. Less is betterrr¡­ I think.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯d they even get all these pufferfish, anyway?¡± Mako heard Sailfish mutter.

    ¡°You know that¡¯s really bad for you, right?¡± Barnacle said to the loopy dragon.

    He haphazardly raised and lowered his wings in what could have been approximated as a shrug, if one used a little imagination. ¡°Eh¡­ not as unhealllthy as having f-fire breathed in your face. Heheheheh¡­¡± He chuckled at his own joke, before craning his head back to the collection of guards and soldiers behind him with a snort.

    ¡°One of you say somthin¡¯?¡± He said back to no one in particular.

    ¡°No. They did not.¡± Mako said coldly.

    Before anything else could be said, the sound of loud splashing came from behind and below them, the same direction the enclave dragons had come through. The enclave dwellers turned around, to see a group of six or so SeaWings rise from the water and clamor onto the nearest sand beach, where they began to disgorge water from their lungs.

    Mako winced slightly, that was one of the reasons that the quartet of enclave dragons-turned messengers had opted out from taking their warning to the Deep Palace. In order to dive deep underwater, or to stay that deep for a long period of time, SeaWings had to flood their own lungs full of water lest their buoyancy prevent them from going very deep without actively swimming downwards at all times. The really deep divers had to basically rid their entire bodies of any air, or they would be crushed by the immense pressure down in the Abyss.

    It was a very uncomfortable sensation, especially for young dragonets that lived near the surface. To flood your lungs and ¡®drown¡¯ yourself. It was even worse when you came back up to the surface, where you had to cough all that water back up out of your lungs so that you could breathe again, as gills don¡¯t work in the air. That left for a rather nerve-wracking minute or so where a SeaWing had to entirely focus on getting a successful breath in, lest they suffocate out in the open.

    It was also yet another disadvantage SeaWings sometimes had to deal with in a tactical scenario. Albeit one that was typically less prevalent than the other more obvious ones, because it wasn¡¯t as though all SeaWings always had to go through that process whenever they emerged from the water. Only when they had come up from the deep after a while.

    It was one of the reasons that their enclave, and indeed the rest of the Kingdom of the Sea, was positioned in relatively shallow water.

    These dragons, though, had clearly come from the Deep Palace.

    The first dragon to recover was a dull grayish-green adult male, with jagged scales on his forehead and horns that curved inwards towards each other and a severe expression. He stood fully and narrowed his eyes at the enclave posse.

    Mako felt a tingling flash of recognition strike through her spine. She knew those scales and those cold eyes anywhere.

    The spaced-out SeaWing behind probably recognized him as well, because he made a choking noise and rushed back as well as he could manage to hiss something unintelligible to the other indulgent dragons. They all then scrambled about to swipe away the pufferfish and stand at some semblance of attention.

    Mako didn¡¯t think that it would help them any.

    Once the entire Deep Palace procession had recovered their breath, they lifted off from the small beach and flew over towards them, with the dull-green at the lead.

    They landed, and he surveyed the scene of the haphazard soldiers with cold eyes, now seemingly ignoring the unfamiliar enclave dragons. He let out a low, continuous hiss as he slowly stalked towards them, eyes never focusing on any one dragon. His hiss persisted as his wings visibly quivered and his talons flexed.

    Suddenly, quick as a flash, he darted forth and stamped his talon down hard on the tip of the tail of the soldier they had been speaking with. The soldier let out a cry of pain, which was abruptly silenced when his assailant clamped his snout shut with a talon.

    The irate dragon continued to slowly track his eyes across the rest of the guards and soldiers, his low hiss unabating. He leaned his head closer to the dragon whose snout he was restraining, who looked to be fighting desperately to not squirm.

    ¡°...Having a good time, are we?¡± He hissed through the deadly quiet.

    The soldier only responded with a ¡°mmph.¡±

    ¡°Fighting hard? Fighting valiantly? Been needing a break, are you? Is the strain of fighting for your home too much for you to bear? I don¡¯t see any injuries on you¡­¡± he hissed to the soldier.

    Letting out a disgusted snarl, he released the dragon and shoved him back to his comrades, who stumbled out of the way so that he crashed to the floor unfettered.

    The dull-green continued to stand glowering at the rest of the puffers for a few long minutes, still hissing.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°...Well.¡± he finally hissed. ¡°Since you all seem to like pufferfish so much¡­ Those blasted fish will be the only thing you eat until the next full moon.¡±

    He looked over to the wading pools where the battered dragons lay, some of them appeared to be in a state of trance as well, although it was slightly harder to tell than it was with the supposedly healthy soldiers. His scowl deepened.

    ¡°They get immediate medical attention first, or else you all will need a healer very soon.¡± He said through gritted teeth.

    The soldiers scrambled about, trying to find healers or medical equipment more substantial than the loose bandages and splints the wounded SeaWings were already wearing.

    The irate dragon then turned back towards the enclave dwellers, and his furious expression morphed into something that wasn¡¯t any more pleasant, but less overtly hostile.

    Then again, ¡°overtly hostile¡± was a pretty good way to summarize this dragon¡¯s personality in a clam shell.

    ¡°Mako.¡± He said.

    She met his gaze ¡°Hello, Shark.¡±

    Shark stared at her and the dragons she was with for a few quiet moments, before finally speaking again.

    ¡°So¡­ You¡¯re finally back from the backwaters? Been having a good time? What are you doing here?¡± His voice had largely lost its cold, furious edge, but was still deeply unsettling to any dragon unfortunate enough to have it directed to them.

    ¡°Yes, Shark, I¡¯m back. Are you a Commander now? I take it the war effort probably hasn¡¯t been going all that well. Given, well, all this.¡± She gestured with her wing to the remaining injured dragons on the pavilion.

    Shark hissed again at that, and scowled at her. The relatives held the standoff for a couple terse moments. Before Shark surprised her by lowering his gaze a minute amount and releasing a small sigh, laced with exhaustion.

    ¡°Well, at least your time in the boonies hopefully didn¡¯t dull your strategic mind, Mako.¡± he glanced back at the dragons with him, who didn¡¯t give any visual cues.

    ¡°No, things haven''t been going smoothly. But you did not hear that from me. After the venerable Commander Tempest was killed, and the tides-cursed MudWings switched sides, the expeditionary assault lines into the Sky Kingdom broke down. Without MudWing support the SkyWings were able to overrun and burn our positions. We could hold out in and around various lakes and rivers, but we were unable to resupply or replenish our troops as the now-reinforced SkyWings could attack any SeaWings that tried to fly through the air. A flanking attack from Blaze¡¯s IceWings allies finally routed us and we had to retreat back to the Ocean.¡±

    Shark¡¯s teeth were gritted, and his face was harder than usual. He clearly hated what he was saying, and hated saying it. But Mako had to grant him some respect for being able to admit such tactical and strategic defeats. Defeats that occurred under his command.

    ¡°Blister¡¯s contingent of SandWings have not been very effective on a strategic scale, either.¡± Shark begrudgingly continued. ¡°Tactically, they counteract many of the¡­ disadvantages¡­ that SeaWings have in combat. They can breathe fire. But there are not that many of them, and I suspect that Blister is withholding the bulk of her forces. Although, you once again did not hear that from me.¡±

    Shark lashed his tail with another snarl. ¡°In the span of months, we went from pushing into enemy territory on a successful offensive, to being trapped within our borders and barely able to keep up attrition rates. More and more SkyWings patrols have been encroaching further and further into our territory. I fear they will eventually discover the location of the Summer Palace.¡±

    He looked back with a cold glare to where the dragon puffers used to be. ¡°Which is why the troops here need to keep alert, and not fall into this nonsense.¡±

    Shark looked back at her and her posse. ¡°So¡­ why are you here? I know you like your little backwater too much to stay, and you¡¯re too pragmatic to come here without a reason.¡±

    Well at least he¡¯s still perceptive. He¡¯s a lot less arrogant than I remembered, though. Which is odd.

    Mako looked back to the other three dragons she came with, who all looked to her. She sighed and turned to fully face Shark and his procession.

    ¡°Well, we did come here for a reason. To bring news, actually. How bad that news is is up to you.¡±

    She then recounted the events of the past few days, the initial sighting of the boats, their later encounter with them at the scavenger den, and what Mako witnessed happening to the group of NightWings that tried to attack the den. Just as she had at the enclave meeting, she finished her story with her and the dragonets returning to the enclave, but this time she also summarized the contents of the meeting, and their collective decision to come here to warn them of the potential danger that scavenger den could pose.

    ¡°And so, here we are.¡± Mako finished.

    Shark¡¯s expression was unreadable, as always. But the dragons behind him, presumably also officers in the SeaWing army, predictably looked skeptical, and even a bit astonished.

    ¡°Do you seriously expect us to believe that!?¡± One of them said,

    ¡°That was the craziest story I¡¯ve ever heard. And I have to listen to soldiers ramble after they¡¯ve gone all smoke-headed on pufferfish.¡±

    ¡°Did you four come all the way over here from wherever you¡¯re from to feed us that bunch of foam?¡±

    ¡°This was a scavenger den we¡¯re talking about here, right?¡±

    Shark didn¡¯t say anything, other than simply fixing Mako with a hard, unwavering stare that made her feel as though he was seeing directly through her.

    ¡°Shark, you cannot seriously be taken whatever it was that she said seriously.¡± One of the dragons said.

    ¡°...Throughout my years of knowing her¡­ I¡¯ve never known Mako to lie. Even when she was much younger. I find it unlikely that she would have gone to all the trouble of making that entire spiel up, and coming all the way over here to convince us of a bunch of unbelievable manatee-crap.¡±

    He paused, seemingly weighing what he was going to say next. Mako had no idea whether what he just said meant he believed her or not.

    ¡°...So¡­¡± his gaze on her intensified ¡°Did you really a bunch of NightWings get torn apart by scavenger weapons mid-flight?¡±

    Is he really taking this seriously? If he is, then I should probably take this all the way.

    ¡°I saw it with my own eyes.¡± Mako stated matter-of-factly. ¡°Three dragonets were with me as well, if you want to corroborate the information I gave with them. Although I doubt that you feel particularly inclined to take a talonful of dragonet¡¯s word over mine.¡±

    Some of the dragons from the Deep Palace snorted quietly at that.

    ¡°Alternatively,¡± Mako continued, ¡°I mentioned that three of the NightWings went down into the water. If you were to sneak into the bay where all this happened, you would not only see a massive pod of huge boats but probably three rather gruesomely destroyed NightWing corpses underwater.¡±

    Shark and the group of dragons behind him seemed to actually consider that information. Well, the dragons behind him at least appeared to consider the information. Shark was unreadable as ever.

    ¡°In that case¡­ I guess we could find out the validity of that story ourselves.¡± One of them said

    ¡°Is it worth the risk? What Mako described does sound pretty deadly¡­¡±

    ¡°We would be underwater, squids-for-brains. Those weapons attack dragons in the air.¡±

    ¡°Shark? What do you think?¡±

    The severe SeaWing tapped his claws on the floor, but didn¡¯t say anything for a time.

    ¡°If true¡­ it would certainly mean that sending air patrols over that area would be¡­ inadvisable for the foreseeable future. We¡¯ve already been losing enough SeaWings on those patrols to SkyWing ambushes.¡± he paused again, before Mako saw something flash in his otherwise unreadable eyes.

    ¡°On that same token¡­ Other tribes should likely have a similar difficulty crossing over that area. At least, for a while, depending on how long those scavengers have that supposed ¡®superweapon¡¯ active. So perhaps this may turn to our benefit, in a way. Most of the MudWing and SkyWing scouts launched into our territory often come from the direction of that peninsula, anyway. That said, we should probably go see these ¡®scavenger weapons¡¯ for ourselves before we make any real plans around them.¡± Shark said as he turned to leave.

    ¡°I won¡¯t be taking this up with the Queen, by the way. Not until we can confirm beyond reasonable doubt what you have claimed to see.¡±

    He turned to the other dragons he came with. ¡°To address your doubts¡­ This story is one the craziest I¡¯ve heard. But I know Mako to be largely trustworthy, and the potential risks of ignoring her warning outweigh the cost of just going over there to confirm it with our own eyes. That said, we should get to the business we came all the way over here to deal with in the first place.¡±

    He then stalked off, and his procession slowly followed him. Mako remembered something Cuttlefish had said to her, and gambled on whether or not she should pitch it.

    ¡°There¡¯s something I should mention, Shark.¡± Mako said.

    Said dragon stopped in his tracks, and turned an eye to face her.

    ¡°One of the Dragonets with me, Cuttlefish, said that he saw the scavengers on the boats that were using the strange weapons flashing lights at the scavengers on other boats, and that those scavengers flashed their own lights back. He claimed that he could see patterns in the light flashes that were similar to how we speak Aquatic. I didn¡¯t really believe him, for the record. But you can do with that information what you will.¡±

    Shark¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, which wasn¡¯t really a surprise. However, some of the other dragon¡¯s brows furrowed.

    ¡°And another thing, have you heard of a Dragon named Argonaut? He should be a recent recruit that may have been stationed around here.¡±

    Shark¡¯s unreadable eye became unfocused for a moment. ¡°The name brings some recognition. I believe I heard of a dragon with a similar name being stationed as a patrol guard. I am unaware of his current state.¡± He turned away fully and stalked off.

    Well, that doesn''t give a whole lot as far as specific information goes, sorry Cuttlefish. I suppose that this whole interaction could have gone a lot worse, to be fair.

    She turned back to the dragons she had come with, ¡°We should go back to the enclave.¡±

    So they set off.

    ***

    >On the Docks, Safe Harbor._

    Lord-Mayor Talem stood once again adjacent to Safe Harbor¡¯s now refurbished piers. He had ordered them to be repaired as soon as possible after the initial first meeting between him and the sharp looking men that were probably in charge of the entire ship formation.

    The city¡¯s carpenters and related artisans had worked tirelessly throughout the night and into the morning, only stopping when the city¡¯s dragon alarms began to ring out.

    Talem still clearly remembered the cold dread he had felt when Archer Guards barged into his quarters, telling him that he needed to be evacuated into the Safehold¡¯s citadel immediately. At that moment, he found himself terrified beyond rational thought for the city, his family, and himself. It had been the first time in years that the city had fallen under attack, and he had no idea whether Safe Harbor would even continue to exist. Normally, dragon attacks on human cities consisted of one to three dragons appearing, a few homes being set on fire, and a few people, sometimes entire families, being carried off to their deaths. That was awful enough on its own, but more recent reports told of the entire town being razed, and large groups of dragons slaughtering every last man, woman or child they could find.

    Talem had feared the latter fate was in store for the city, as even it was well-defended enough to deter a couple of hunting dragons.

    If they were under attack by dragons, it was more probable that the dragons coming intended to destroy everything.

    That wasn¡¯t what happened, however. Within the reinforced citadel of the Safehold, Talem, along with the few dozen women and children that managed to be evacuated into there with him in time, did not hear the sounds of screaming, raging fire, and buildings collapsing. Instead, they heard a long series of booms. Like unnaturally rapid thunderclaps. Those sounds persisted for only a few minutes, and then they could hear nothing from outside. After a couple more minutes or so with nothing but the sounds of muttering people fearfully, crying children and infants, the decision was made to crack open the citadel and take stock of the situation outside.

    One could imagine their surprise when they were met by the boisterous sound of roaring cheers.

    They had emerged from the depths of the Safehold not to the horrible sight of dragon-wrought massacre, but to the entire village wildly celebrating like children who¡¯s teacher announced they¡¯d managed to somehow acquire ice cream. Talem could see a strange flying¡­ thing¡­ buzzing through the air over the ships.

    One of the Castle Archer Guards that wasn¡¯t caught up in the foray informed him that the city had indeed come under attack by dragons. Eight Night Dragons, to be exact. Eight! Surely the city should have been doomed!

    But it wasn¡¯t. According to that Archer Guard, the attacking dragons had all been killed. Killed before they could even get into fire breathing range, by weapons of unknown type on the ships in the harbor as easily as an experienced shepherd would ward off a coyote from his livestock.

    The celebrations continued through the day, and the city¡¯s carpenders resumed their work on the piers as more strangers from the ships came ashore on more small boats. Probably to assess damage and help with repairs in any way that they could. Although there was no real damage to the city to repair, thanks to their efforts.

    The refurbishment efforts continued throughout the day.

    Lord Talem now stood upon one of Safe Harbor''s docks the following morning. He watched as one of the ships, the one that had been the first to flash its lights at the city, and the probable command ship of the formation, slowly made its way over to the harbor via unknown means.

    He truly didn¡¯t know how those ships were able to move. There were no sails or oars. While watercraft that could perhaps move like that had been theorized in the years long past, those hypothetical designs always proposed using a sort of paddlewheel, and most likely hand-driven cranking mechanisms within. He could see signs of neither present anywhere on any of the ships!

    The only visual giveaway for anything happening within the vessel that would allude in any way to propulsion was a pair of tall smokestacks placed roughly amidships. Each stack had a small cloud of blackish smoke rising from it.

    After the meeting with the strangers last night, Talem had taken it upon himself to sift through Safe Harbor¡¯s archives for anything related to machines and mechanics in order to try to glean any information possible on the mechanisms these strangers used in their gargantuan ships.

    He had found an entry filed long ago that was a proposed idea from one of the city¡¯s great inventors about a kind of contraption that used high pressure steam to pump levers and cams to create a spinning motion. Talem didn¡¯t know a whole lot about the technical details behind such a machine, but was it possible that the strangers used something similar?

    As the great ship slowly, carefully, closed in on one of their docks, Talem remembered something else that puzzled him with regards to the massive watercraft, its construction.

    At this much closer range, and in broad daylight, Talem could clearly see that the ships before him were clearly made almost entirely from metal. All of them.

    Now, to be clear, Talem wasn¡¯t bewildered in the slightest as to how a ship made completely from metal, probably iron, could float. He wasn¡¯t an imbecile, he understood how the principles of buoyancy worked. Every Safe Harbor resident did. Any object that weighs less than the water it moves aside will float. Talem would, however, like to know how the strangers dealt with the stability issues that having such a heavy craft would produce.

    What Talem really could not get his head around, however, was how these foreigners had managed to acquire the sheer amount of iron it would take to construct all these. Much less how they would manage to forge and shape all of it into the precise shapes that would be needed to build a vessel of that scale!

    Questions that can be asked. I really hope our language learning efforts go quickly.

    Talem watched as the great ship adjusted its bearing slightly to run parallel with the dock, and gradually drifted to a stop alongside it. One of the much smaller boats, one that had previously ferrying people to and from the ships onto the shore before the docks had been repaired, moved up alongside the ship and carefully drove its small bow against the larger vessel''s starboard side, and literally pushed it beam wards towards the pier. Cheers rang out once again from the crowd that had gathered behind him as thick ropes were thrown over the side of the ship, and people on the dock quickly bound them to several vertical pillars in order to properly moor the ship for the first time.

    A ramp was lowered over the side of the ship, secured in place, and more people began to disembark their vessel directly onto Safe Harbor. The first man down the ramp was the figure Talem had ¡®spoken¡¯ with the other night, still wearing the same immaculate dark blue clothing he had been then. The man looked over at the crowd gathered to greet him and his men, and rubbed his own forehead as if bracing himself for what was to come. Talem found himself smirking with amusement.

    The man nonetheless began to approach them, walking with the purpose only an experienced sailor could, Talem thought.

    Talem reached out his right hand as the man drew closer, and the crowd cheered again as the two groups shared a proper handshake for the first time. Both he and the man across from him grinned.

    ¡°Hel-oe, well-come too Sae¡¯f Harr-b¡¯r.¡± Talem said in the newcomer¡¯s language, just as some of the interpreters working to figure out their language had instructed him. It was a little difficult to say, as their language was rather loud and throaty, using sounds seldom used by humans he knew when speaking. The only word he knew that used those kinds of sounds was his own name. He had felt rather sore in the throat after practicing that phrase.

    ¡°Than¡¯k oueo, Talem.¡± The man before him said, his grin not breaking. They released their handshake, as more and more people from the city came to meet, and thank, the newcomers that were departing their vessel.

    The aforementioned interpreters from both the city and from the ships came forth to assist in any way they could with communication, using the loose collection of understood words they had. It would be a good while before either party could speak with each other properly, but that day would come. According to the people who were working on learning and translating the foreigner¡¯s language, that day may come sooner than later.

    The man gestured towards a few more of the ships in the harbor, ones that Lord Talem now noticed were moving towards them, slowly. These ones were larger and much bulkier than the one that had just docked. One of the three vessels had what looked to be a bunch of masts and rigging lines sticking out at weird angles all over the ship that, at first glance, looked to be spread out randomly. However, absolutely no sails were visible, despite the ship moving. Which probably meant that those strange masts were meant for something else. Talem could see a large box-shaped structure built on top of the deck amidships, and only one of the smokestacks sticking out of it. Two of the three approaching ships did not have all of the extra apparent rigging the other had, but was otherwise incredibly similar to the other one. These ones also had a lot of people on their decks, many of whom were leaning over the railing of the ship and waving at the people on shore.

    The three heavy ships all slowly maneuvered in in much the same way that the first one had, with several of the small boats also moving in to assist as well. The entire process took almost an hour, to get all three of the huge watercraft moored to Safe Harbor¡¯s two piers. One ship on each side of the piers.

    Talem looked to the massive swarm of 40 enormous ships still out in the harbor. Clearly, they were going to need to upgrade their docks.

    And probably a lot more than just the docks¡­ He thought to himself. There were probably enough people on those ships to more than triple Safe Harbor¡¯s population!

    Lord Talem clutched his forehead as the sheer weight of the logistical and infrastructural reality of the appearance of all these people fell on him. Safe Harbor barely had enough food, homes, and supplies to sustain its current population! He really hoped that these foreigners had some magical, completely unprecedented methods for building houses and increasing crop yields like they apparently had for building ships at that scale and bringing down dragons.

    While he was still zoned-out, one of the city¡¯s budding interpreters approached him and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. ¡°Lord Talem, are you alright?¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­ what?¡± He said numbly.

    ¡°Uhh¡­ I believe the newcomers said that the vessels that just docked are cargo and troop transport ships.¡± She said.

    Troop transport vessels? Are they an invading force or not?

    The young woman continued. ¡°I think they said they can give us weapons, weapons similar to the ones they had just used to protect the city, and knowledge. They said that they want to help us.¡±

    Well, there¡¯s that, at least. If there¡¯s a will, there¡¯s a way. Maybe if we all pitch in, we can solve this whole dilemma. Humans are good at solving problems, anyway.

    Right now Talem just wished that they could actually talk with one another beyond a handful of words and phrases, so that they could communicate and coordinate how they were to go about solving these upcoming problems together.

    He turned to the interpreter, ¡°By the way, what¡¯s the name of that man who¡¯s their probable leader?¡± He pointed to the man whose hand he had just shaken.

    ¡°Oh,¡± She said. ¡°I believe the newcomers said his name was Cap-ten Drae¡¯k.¡± She pronounced. ¡°Although, I¡¯m not sure what either word means. And I¡¯m pretty sure Cap-ten is a title of sorts.¡±

    Talem watched as one of the newcomers, coming through the crowd of Safe Harbor residents, rushed up to Drae¡¯k and frantically whispered something to him. Drae¡¯k¡¯s eyes widened, and he said something back to the other newcomer, who straightened his back like a board, whipped his right hand up to his forehead before lowering it again, and rushed back off.

    What was that about?

    Talem sighed, he probably wasn¡¯t going to get much anything productive done here, not like this. So he informed the couple of guards who had come with him to escort him back to the Safehold, and told them they could go on leave after that. He should let the city residents have some fun with the strangers while it lasts.

    He looked back to the ships that had docked, two of them had long, organized lines of people wearing uniforms streaming off the vessels, down ramps onto the piers. While it lasts, indeed.

 VIII - Scavengers and Wasserdrachen

    >At a SeaWing enclave, on the outskirts of the Kingdom of the Sea_

    Cuttlefish, Clam, and Oyster peeked their heads into Mako¡¯s cave. Normally, they would only be here when they were required to attend her lessons and study.

    While the case could be argued that was still the case in this given scenario, the dragonets were here on their own volition.

    [¡°No one¡¯s here.¡±] Clam dimly flashed.

    [¡°Of course no-one¡¯s here, you dolt. Mako went to the Summer Palace with Father.¡±] Oyster flashed back.

    Cuttlefish didn¡¯t say anything as he slowly paddled into the cave room. It was sparsely filled, the only decorations being a relatively large waterproof map of Pyrrhia and the Kingdom of the Sea that was pinned to a wall, a rack of waterproofed scrolls about as long and tall as he was against another, and a bunch of random scrolls and papers that belonged to Mako herself on a natural shelf of raised rock up against another flat-ish wall.

    The three dragonets made their way over to the scroll rack. [¡°Okay, so we¡¯re looking for anything Mako¡¯s scrolls have on scavengers, right?¡±] Clam said.

    [¡°Yes.¡±] Cuttlefish responded. [¡°Specifically, anything on what they¡¯re known to build. Although any information we find could be helpful.¡±]

    The dragonets began to search through the scrolls for anything having to do with scavengers. The rack wasn¡¯t terribly well-organized, so they would have to individually pull each roll off and check its contents rather than looking in any specific section. Fortunately, there weren¡¯t all that many scrolls to go through. It wouldn¡¯t take them more than an hour to at least give every scroll on this rack a cursory glance.

    Not two minutes into the search, Oyster¡¯s scales lit up. [¡°Hey, guys! I found something!¡±]

    Clam and Cuttlefish both paddled over to look at the scroll over her shoulder. It did indeed look like she found something useful.

    Scavengers: Everything you need to know!

    The scroll¡¯s title was scrawled in big, dark words. Loudly advertising its contents for all to see. The ink was a weird off-bluish black, denoting it as being written in the special waterproof ink that only SeaWings use.

    [¡°Well, let¡¯s see what it says!¡±] Clam flashed.

    Oyster took the scroll over to the rock shelf, and unrolled it in its entirety. It was long enough so that it spilled over the side, but it was by no means the longest scroll that any of the dragonets had ever seen.

    They all crowded around the top paragraphs of the scroll, and began reading.

    Scavengers are one of Pyrrhia¡¯s most well known creatures! Every dragon has heard of them, as the animals have indeed gained some notoriety. Even you, dear reader, have almost certainly heard of them before. Perhaps you¡¯ve even seen one, and are curious or confused enough to want to learn more!

    Well, fear not, because you¡¯ve picked up the perfect scroll! This scroll represents a comprehensive and authoritative view on everything that every dragon should know about these enigmatic creatures!

    The scroll then had a sort of table of contents, which displayed a list of the scroll¡¯s main sections. Each section pertained to a different aspect of what was known about scavengers.

    Part 1: Scavengers, an introduction and overview

    Part 2: Scavenger appearance

    Part 3: Known habitats

    Part 4: Behavior habits

    Part 5: Sounds

    Part 6: Weapons - metal claws

    Part 7: Treasure

    Part 8: Building habits

    Part 9: Breeding & Pets

    Part 10: Intelligence

    Part 11: Impact on dragon culture

    Part 12: Rumors and The Scorching

    Cuttlefish¡¯s eyes brightened. Building habits! That would be the section that would tell how scavengers were somehow able to build all those massive boat-things!

    He moved further down the scroll to find that section. Part 3¡­ Part 5¡­ Ah, here it is! ¡­It¡¯s a little short¡­ He thought, but went on to read nonetheless.

    Part 8:

    The only thing that scavengers are known to build are the little dens that they live in. More information on that topic can of course be found in part 3. The creatures are somewhat similar to beavers in that they use natural materials, mostly wood from trees, to build shelters for themselves across the continent. The only other things that scavengers build are the metal claws that they sometimes use to attack dragons. More information on that in part 5. Some SeaWings have reported that scavengers have on occasion been sighted in ¡°weird, floating bowl-shaped wooden things¡± on the water close to shore. It stands to reason that they built those. Moons know why they would though, though. As those SeaWings also reported that the scavengers out on the water were rather easy targets.

    That was it. Cuttlefish didn¡¯t see any further information in that section. The only potential clue was the note about scavengers maybe being able to build what sounded like small boats that float? That didn¡¯t sound anything like the hulking metal constructions that they saw the other day.

    Not to mention, the scavenger boats that the SeaWings referenced in the scroll reported to have seen were also very obviously implicated to not be dangerous. The ones they saw were absolutely very dangerous.

    Perhaps he ought to read other sections of the scroll, in order to get any additional information that might be written there.

    He decided to simply read the whole scroll from the beginning, as it was likely that any relevant information was scattered throughout the paper, and it would take a while to sort through it anyway.

    Part 1: Scavengers: An Introduction and Overview.

    Scavengers are one of the most confusing creatures on this continent. Despite their notoriety, very little is actually known about them. They are known primarily for their propensity to try and steal treasure from dragons, and to be very aggressive. Nobody knows why exactly they like treasure so much, but the little thieves certainly do, and will sometimes go to rather foolhardy lengths to get it. Everyone has heard of what happened to Queen Oasis of the SandWings. scavengers snuck into the SandWing Stronghold, stole treasure, and somehow managed to kill the Queen herself when she attempted to exterminate them. Her three daughters were unable to determine who had the right to be the next queen, and therefore opted to settle that dispute by combat. The war that we fight to this day is the result of that. But this scroll isn¡¯t about the War of SandWing succession, it¡¯s about scavengers.

    In order to first understand scavengers, we have to understand the principal point of Dragon history, The Scorching. It is said that, before The Scorching, scavengers were the dominant species on the continent. It is said that they were everywhere, and had managed to kill the dragons that existed a lot more often. Sources disagree heavily on what actually happened during that time, as there is very little information that survives from then. More on that topic later.

    Part 2: Scavenger appearance

    Scavengers are lanky, ape-like creatures that walk along on two legs. They almost exclusively stick to the ground, but can rarely be seen going up into trees for various reasons. They have two arms that end with weird-looking claw-less paws that hang down from their shoulders, as they walk completely upright. When standing, scavengers have an appearance that is somewhat similar to the posture of a meerkat that is scanning the area around its burrow for predators. The difference is that scavengers look like that at all times. The only times they have been observed to walk on all fours like normal creatures is when they are either looking desperately for something on the ground, or are cripplingly weak. Whichever the case, they are not known to be able to move very quickly in this configuration.

    Another well-known feature about scavengers is that they are almost hairless excluding a patch of fur on the tops of their heads. No one knows why this is the case. A scavenger''s skin is usually light brown in color, somewhat similar to the underscales of some MudWings. However, it can also be noted that there have been rumors of scavengers with a ghostly white appearance in some areas. These sightings are exceptionally few and far between, and are unreliable.

    It is also known that scavengers always wear strange coverings on their bodies, usually made of a kind of fabric. No live scavenger has ever been seen without those coverings on, to my knowledge. It is entirely unknown why the strange creatures always wear these coverings.

    Part 3: Known habitats

    Scavengers are not known to have any specific habitat, as they have been seen living in places all over the continent. Even on occasion in the Ice Kingdom. There are even old rumors of scavengers living in the Rainforest Kingdom, but they are sparse and unreliable at best. The only continuous factor that pertains to where scavengers live is that they always tend to live together in small dens, known to you most likely as a scavenger den, in seemingly random places across Pyrrhia. The dens they build are made from wood, similar to beavers. They are very much flammable.

    It is unknown what sort of things scavengers do within these dens, and there are few who actually care enough even to ask, much less investigate it themselves. Those who do attempt to investigate or to hunt the dens will find that the scavengers that live there will defend their dens fiercely, and often with their lives. It is generally considered inadvisable to venture near one of these dens unless you are ready for a fight. (Albeit, not a very hard one)

    It should also be noted that many scavenger dens are camouflaged from the air by foliage and other things.

    Part 4: Behavior habits

    While there is plenty known about what scavengers do, very little is known about why. It is widely known that scavengers are attracted to treasure, and some say metal in general, but we don¡¯t know why.

    We know that scavengers always live in dens, but we don¡¯t know why. Asking around various scavenger experts across different tribes, the only conclusion that I could reach is that the only ones that know why scavengers do what they do are probably scavengers.

    What we do know is that scavengers are very aggressive, and will invariably either attack or flee from any dragon that approaches them. We also know that they seem to be social, as they are rarely seen alone. It is also known that most of what scavengers do is inexplicable and strange.

    A decent rule of claw to follow is this: If you come across a scavenger in the wild, it will most likely flee as soon as it notices your presence. If you encounter scavengers nearby one of their dens, or if you have treasure on you, it will attack you.*

    It is also unclear as to what instincts govern scavenger behavior, or even if there are any instincts whatsoever, as scavengers have been noted to disregard instincts even as basic as that of survival. On top of generally acting erratically and illogically compared to other animals.

    *It should also be noted that adult scavengers, particularly males, will attack a dragon if their mate or cubs are nearby, which has been discovered to be often the case when a scavenger attacks dragons out in the wild.

    Part 5: Sounds

    Scavengers are rather noisy creatures when they aren''t trying to hide. They have been noted to produce lots of rapid chittering and chirping noises, similar to a mouse or bird, with each other or sometimes towards dragons. The noises they make are not very loud, but can be easily discerned if you listen for them. The sounds are utterly incomprehensible. It had been rumored that these noises may possibly be a form of communication, but no reasonable evidence to back up such a claim has been discovered by dragons to memory.

    Nonetheless, it is true that scavengers are very ¡®chatty.¡¯ They make much more noise than other creatures of their size, or any other creature I¡¯ve heard of, for that matter.

    Part 6: Weapons - metal claws

    It is well known that scavengers often wield sharp metal things. It is also known that the creatures possess no real natural weapons of any kind. They have no claws, and their teeth are useless in a fight. Thus, it has been determined by dragons that are experts in the field that scavengers are in fact helpless without the fake metal claw things they use.

    The sharp metal things used by scavengers usually come in two forms: The first, and better known, is a sort of long shiny metal claw either made from a brownish, copper-colored metal, or a shinier silver colored metal. It has been noted that the silver colored metals seem to be stronger than the copper colored ones. The other, and more common, type of sharp thing found is a small bit of very sharp metal on a long stick. Scavengers will use this weapon to stab things, or they will sometimes throw them.

    *It can also be noted that some scavengers have been rumored to use a kind of sharp-projectile weapon on occasion, particularly when near their dens. These projectile throwing weapons have been described as a kind of long, curved stick and a string. How exactly scavengers can get a curved stick and a string to launch things at dragons is unknown to this writer, however.

    Part 7: Treasure

    Easily the most famous aspect of scavengers is their attraction to treasure. It is unknown why scavengers like treasure so much, but it has been theorized that it has to do with its shininess, as scavengers have been noted to also be often seen with other shiny metals that are clearly not treasure. I have also heard from a couple of dragons that scavengers actually tend to go after those metals more than they do real treasure.

    I will say, on a personal note, that this dragon does not understand why scavengers would also be attracted to non-treasure metals. I, like all other dragons, can of course understand to an extent one why would like treasure, but why would one go to such lengths to acquire metal that is clearly not treasure?

    Part 8: Building habits

    The only thing that scavengers are known to build are the little dens that they live in. More information on that topic can of course be found in part 4. Scavengers are somewhat similar to beavers in that they use natural materials, mostly wood from trees, to build shelters for themselves across the continent. The only other things that scavengers build are the metal claws that they sometimes use to attack dragons. More information on that in part 5. Some SeaWings have reported that scavengers have on occasion been sighted in ¡°weird, floating bowl-shaped wooden things¡± on the water close to shore. It stands to reason that they built those. Moons know why they would though, though. Those SeaWings also reported that the scavengers out on the water were rather easy targets.

    Part 9: Breeding & Pets

    I am yet to hear of any scavenger farming venture being successful. The creatures have a very long breeding cycle, at least 16-18 years before they are mature enough to produce offspring. Even then, it takes a little less than an entire year for a female scavenger to actually give birth to a cub (No, scavengers do not lay eggs). It should also be said that, even if one is patient enough to wait that long, the odds of you actually being able to even get the scavengers to breed in the first place, much less keep them alive for that entire span of time, are very low.

    On top of that, an alarming number of scavengers in environments such as that have been known to self-terminate for whatever reason. No one is certain why.

    That said, if one wants to keep a scavenger as a pet, it has been done before. Though I personally would advise against it. The things have been known to make very poor pets, for a number of reasons. Here are a few:

    -Scavengers are very high-maintenance.

    -Scavengers are very spirited creatures, and often maintain their aggression long after they¡¯ve been captured

    -It will likely attack you

    -It will try to escape constantly

    -Other dragons will almost certainly eat it. It¡¯s not a matter of if, but when (In my experience)

    -If no dragons kill it, it will probably kill itself eventually*

    *As mentioned before, scavengers that have been in the presence of dragons for extended periods of time, whether as a pet or livestock, have been known to self-terminate. There is no leading consensus as to why. One theory suggested that scavengers associate dragons with death, and if they are near dragons for a long time but aren¡¯t killed by them, then it will just do the job themselves. I have yet to encounter a more plausible theory.

    Part 10: Intelligence

    A talonful of dragons I¡¯ve spoken with theorize that there is more to scavengers than we know. Usually, that statement is then followed up by a proclamation declaring scavengers being clever or even somewhat intelligent. While I would grant that scavengers are almost certainly smarter than your average rodent, from all my observations I would not deign to call them intelligent, or even particularly clever. Sure, they can use weapons that aren¡¯t natural, but how could they be intelligent?

    Even a bear has the sense to flee when a dragon is approaching its den. Why would scavengers even dare to face a dragon, something it could not hope to surmount, and inevitably die, unless there¡¯s truly little going on in that little head of theirs?

    Part 11: Impact on dragon culture

    Despite their weakness, it is safe to say that scavengers, to their credit, have had a noticeable impact on dragon culture. Scavengers are one of the most well known animals out there. I would safely say that every dragon alive has at least heard of them once. Everyone is aware of their treasure-thieving reputation, and of their feistiness.

    However, certainly the biggest impact scavengers have had on dragon culture is on dragon cuisine. Scavenger is considered a delicacy across the continent, even in the Kingdom of the Sea. The diminutive creatures are often served at important ceremonial banquets and dinners.

    Many cooking recipes have been spawned from preparing their flesh, containing all manners of portions and cooking styles! Cooking styles such as frying, smoking, boiling, steaming, grilling and traditional cooking are all encompassed! Not to mention, there are yet more ways of preparation. Including pulled, steak, ribs, legs, and countless more! Tenderized scavenger meat is a very popular snack in particular, and scavenger veal has always fetched a high price.

    It is even rumored that the very first recipes ever were created for cooking scavengers!

    Part 12: Rumors and The Scorching

    Much of what is known about scavengers is surrounded by rumors. I suppose that would be inevitable, given how much is simultaneously known and unknown about the creatures. I have addressed some of the more prominent rumors already, but there are a few more that are worth referencing.

    One of the more prominent allegations that you may hear about scavengers are the supposed weapons that have been noted to be present in and around their largest dens. Some dragons have told of large spears being thrown via unknown means at them when trying to hunt near the dens. While I personally have never seen any device that should be capable of that, I have heard enough corroborating information from enough dragons to at least take the claim seriously. Any dragons going near a large scavenger den to hunt ought to do so with due caution.

    Regarding The Scorching, it is said that scavengers were somehow the dominant species on the continent before us dragons banded together to exterminate the majority of them in an event known as The Scorching. Stories about what things were like before the Scorching vary wildly. It is incredibly difficult for even the most dedicated of historians to form the beginnings of a cohesive narrative.

    Personally, I find it very difficult to imagine a world ruled by scavengers rather than dragons. Partially because there is simply no way in which scavengers would ever be able to organize themselves like we have to be able to do that. But also because, how could one imagine a world where scavengers are more than just common prey as they are? Even if their numbers were increased tenfold, they are just too weak and puny to be able to actually fight against us with any degree of success other than the occasional freak accident like with Queen Oasis.

    If you want more information, or a deeper dive into the intricacies of scavenger-based dishes, or an overview of the historical role of them in royal banquets, or even a list of relatively well-known scavenger-Dragon battles, you can find them in some of my other published works!

    Cuttlefish looked up from the bottom of the scroll, and to the other two dragonets. Clam appeared to still be reading his own section of the scroll, while Oyster had moved back to the scroll rack to search for anything else.

    That was it? He thought to himself.

    There wasn¡¯t anything in there that would explain what they saw! The only clues were the offtalon mentions of scavengers being known to use some kind of projectile weapon, which sounded nothing like the streams of fire and explosions that Cuttlefish saw at the den.

    The only other clue was the tiny boat-sounding things that were also mentioned. The things that he and the others had seen most certainly were not tiny, and they were not made of wood.

    It sounded like the dragon that wrote that scroll had no idea of anything like the massive boats those scavengers had existing, so was it even possible that the scavengers built the things? But if they didn¡¯t, then who did?

    The only others that could have built them were dragons. If dragons were able to build constructs such as those weaponized boats, everyone would have been hearing a lot more of them for a long time.

    In fact¡­ Cuttlefish couldn¡¯t even remember reading about something new being invented by dragons in¡­ well, ever.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Well, if no one else knows anything about these things, then I¡¯ll guess we¡¯ll just have to write the scroll on them ourselves. He thought with a small amount of dragonet-like eagerness rising up within him.

    [¡°I can¡¯t find anything else scavenger-related here.¡±] Oyster said. [¡°That scroll seems to be everything Mako has on scavengers.¡±]

    [¡°Well, there¡¯s nothing in here that has anything to do with the weird monsters we found!¡±] Clam flashed in.

    [¡°How about we go find another one of them ourselves, and be the ones to write about these new things.¡±] Cuttlefish flashed to the two of them.

    Both Clam and Oyster looked skeptical. [¡°Uh, Cuttlefish, don¡¯t you remember what happened to those NightWings who went close to said things?¡±] Oyster said. Clam nodded his agreement.

    [¡°We don¡¯t need to go near those ones.¡±] Cuttlefish shook his head. [¡°Remember the one that was traveling underwater? Remember how the scavengers on it just stared at us without trying to attack us? We could just go find that one ourselves.¡±]

    [¡°What if it attacks us this time?¡±] Clam flashed.

    [¡°Then we can just dive underwater. Those weapons looked like they could only attack things in the air.¡±]

    Both the siblings drifted silently, considering his proposition. Cuttlefish hoped that they would agree, as he didn¡¯t like the idea of going out on his own into the blue to find something that could in fact be dangerous.

    He was also a little excited about maybe-potentially getting to see the scavengers using those light-flashing and fabric-waving patterns that he had seen yesterday.

    It was for that reason that he was also a little disappointed that they would probably not be able to go near the big group of things safely for a while. It was rather unlikely that the scavengers on a boat-thing that was probably by itself would be using those signals.

    [¡°Alright, we can go try to find the underwater-boat-thing.¡±] Cuttlefish was surprised to see that it was Clam that flashed that. Oyster nodded her agreement.

    Cuttlefish gave them both a grin, and they set off. Following in the direction the underwater-boat-thing was most likely to have gone.

    ***

    >On the docks, Safe Harbor._

    Captain Drake winced as an M3 half-track was lowered from the transport ship SS Stephen R. Malroy onto the pier she was moored to with a heavy thud. He didn¡¯t know if the local¡¯s port structure could handle that kind of stress.

    The officer directing the offloading operation clearly had the same idea, judging by his irate shouting towards the crane operators aboard the ship.

    He watched as the lightly armored vehicle was quickly unlatched from the palette it was on, and some other impromptu longshoremen started pouring gasoline from an ad-hoc reservoir made from a bunch of jerry cans that had also been offloaded onto the pier into the vehicle. After it had been sufficiently fueled, an Army driver jumped into its seat and started up the engine.

    The half-track then slowly trundled its way down the pier, and onto the shore proper. It joined up with the growing procession of US Army personnel who were making their way off the troopships SS Robert Eden and SS William A. Graham, which were both moored to the other pier. The two ships had about a battalion of US Army soldiers between them.

    It''s a good thing that pier can take that truck¡¯s weight, because that certainly ain¡¯t the heaviest thing we got in store.

    Captain Drake had suggested to the battalion¡¯s Lieutenant Colonel, one LTC Stuart Speirs, that they set up a Forward Operating Base, usually better known as a tent city or a FOB, just outside the area that was considered the limits of the local town, which Robert now knew was called Safe Harbor. He knew the town¡¯s name because he had just been told it by the leader of the town, who was something approximating a lord or mayor.

    He had suggested setting up the tent city for a couple of reasons. The first was that the process of setting it up, and simply having it there, will give the Army grunts something to do, and somewhere to rest that wasn¡¯t the troopship they had been on all this time.

    Drake of course knew the stories about what grunts tended to get up to when they were bored, and figured it would probably be best to get them off that ship as soon as possible, lest something eventually get permanently damaged.

    Having that tent city set would also allow more sailors granted shore leave to have somewhere to go, at least for the time being.

    The other reason he wanted to offload the Army troops, and have them set up shop here was that Captain Drake did not honestly think they were going anywhere anytime soon.

    They were clearly on an entirely different world, with a completely different landmass, that had three moons orbiting above it and dragons on it.

    They had no contact with anyone back home, no way to get back as far as he could tell. They were stranded here.

    While Drake knew that many other sailors held out hope that they would be able to return eventually, probably through the same method they had arrived here, Drake was not so sure.

    He was thinking from the perspective that they may be stuck here permanently, and that made this town they had found their best hope at survival. Therefore, it was probably in their best interest to help the locals out in any way that they can, and in doing so hopefully jumpstart their industrial development so that they could be entirely self-sufficient.

    Drake rubbed his forehead with exhaustion. He wasn¡¯t cut out for this kind of long-term decision making. He was a Destroyer Captain, running convoy escorts in the North Atlantic. If you want a long-term strategic mind, you should go talk to an Admiral, or a politician.

    But there was no Admiral here. No command structure. Nothing. He was the senior most commanding officer in the entire convoy right now, so the responsibility was his.

    He hated that.

    In fact, he even feared it a little.

    But he wouldn¡¯t let that stop him. There were people that relied on him, a lot of people that needed him to keep his head so they could keep their own. Nothing about how he felt about the situation would change that. He would assume the yoke of this responsibility, for the sake of his men.

    They were stuck here, and needed to make the best out of a terrible situation, and hopefully not lose it in the process.

    That led to the third reason why Drake had suggested setting up the FOB, because it would simply give them something to do and think about. If the sailors and soldiers were allowed to wallow in their own reveries for too long, it is likely that the realization that we were all trapped on an alien world with no clear way back, no way to see our families, friends or homes ever again would sink in. Despair would take hold.

    Robert knew, because he was waging war against himself to keep the cold dread from taking him. And he didn¡¯t even have a wife or children to never go back to. He knew many of his subordinates did.

    The stop-gap that was work would not last forever, obviously. Robert just hoped that, by the time it did take hold, the blow would be tempered somewhat.

    He also knew that he wasn¡¯t fooling anyone. He could see it in their eyes, in the thousand-yard stares that sometimes crossed their faces as they worked. They all knew what situation they were in, and they were all also doing what they could to distract them for as long as possible.

    It was actually rather strange to watch, if one thought about it. All those people, hundreds of them, all trying to stave off a pain they know is coming, that is already here, by keeping themselves busy.

    Robert shook himself, and looked back to the local townspeople that had gathered to watch, in order to distract himself. The celebrations from yesterday had ebbed, and now many of them were just standing and staring with awed expressions at the large procession of uniformed soldiers marching and at the few vehicles carrying supplies uphill along with them. A few of them were tentatively walking up and clearly trying to ask questions, though the troops obviously couldn¡¯t understand them.

    I really hope we can overcome this language barrier soon. Robert thought to himself. He really wanted to get a tour of the town from one Mayor Talem, who had just walked off, in order to get an idea of its actual size, population, and resource situation.

    He could tell from where he was that the town had nowhere near enough houses to shelter the sailors, but that was to be expected. It was also a problem that could be remedied, as they all could just build more housing and barracks and whatnot else.

    Perhaps a more pressing matter was the food situation. It was unlikely that this small town had enough farming infrastructure to feed everyone. In fact, it was almost impossible. That was a problem that would need to be fixed soon, as the provisions that they had with them on the convoy ships would not last forever.

    Between each ship¡¯s provisions, and the various foodstuffs they had with them on the transport ships, which wasn¡¯t a lot, they had maybe two months at best on their own. They would need to ramp up the local¡¯s agricultural production significantly before then.

    Fortunately, Robert had an idea on how to do that.

    But that would come later. In order to even get to that level of cooperation, they would need to learn each other¡¯s languages. The upcoming interpreters from the convoy and their local counterparts were doing their best, and had made rather amazing progress so far.

    But goodness, they certainly couldn¡¯t go fast enough.

    Impatience wouldn¡¯t get them anywhere. Until they learn each other¡¯s languages, all everyone else can do is wait. That, and set up a land base. And keep their anti-aircraft guns at ready.

    Which reminded him¡­

    Drake had no idea what to think of what Petty Officer Olson had told him.

    According to him, they had found a giant piece of parchment rolled into a scroll, with a shape of the same continent that the locals had shown him and some writing in a language that was clearly and massively different from the local¡¯s written language on one of the giant black dragons that had been shot up.

    He said that he thought it was a written language of dragons. What were they supposed to do with that information? It wasn¡¯t as though they could read what the scroll said. They were having enough of a hard time trying to learn the local human language!

    Moreover, that they had found a scroll on a dragon, a scroll that was likely written by a dragon, it stands to reason that the dragon was smart enough to be able to write. It was sapient.

    Which also of course meant that the dragons they fragged could think. While that certainly made it more of a shame, Drake wasn¡¯t going to let himself lose sleep over it. They were still enemy combatants, after all.

    Even then, being torn asunder by flak and autocannon fire isn¡¯t exactly an enviable way to go.

    There were plenty of human pilots that could attest to that.

    Then again, if those dragons were indeed sapient, then why did they try to attack the town? They clearly came with the intent to destroy.

    If those dragons were just beasts, and they attacked and destroyed a town, then they¡¯re still just beasts. Animals do as animals will do, there is no choice there. But if they could think, and therefore presumably had free will, and decided to destroy a town, then that makes them evil.

    He certainly wasn¡¯t going to let himself lose any sleep over them.

    Still, it would be quite dandy if they could decipher that scroll, and possibly try to establish some sort of communication with any other dragons that are out there. If only to attempt to convince them that trying to attack this town is a bad idea.

    Trying to figure that scroll out, though, would have to be a lower priority for the time being, as there were much more pressing matters to attend to.

    He had to go talk with his machine shop officers.

    ***

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea._

    Well, I probably should have expected this... Cuttlefish thought to himself.

    They had been swimming for a long while now in the direction the boat-thing had gone, and hadn¡¯t found anything. That wasn¡¯t really a surprise, given the enormous size of even the relatively small corner of the Ocean they lived in. There was simply so much area to cover.

    It made Cuttlefish wish somewhat that he had tried to organize an actual search party, but it was very unlikely that he and his friends would have been able to do so if they tried.

    It wasn¡¯t like dragons particularly liked spending an entire day combing an entire area of ocean to find something that sounds impossible, and might kill them if they do manage to find it on the request of a talonful of dragonets.

    So here the three were, continuously swimming through the endless blue, not a sign of that strange boat-thing in sight.

    [¡°We¡¯re going to need to go back, soon.¡±] Oyster flashed. [¡°It will be getting dark in a few hours, I think.¡±]

    Cuttlefish sighed internally. He knew she was right, but it still sunk to have been out here for so long with nothing to show for it. Especially since it had been his idea to come out here once again.

    If only they could see further. Vision range was alway limited underwater, no matter how bright the sun was.

    Actually, that gives me an idea¡­

    [¡°Alright, we¡¯ll head back. Just let me try something first.¡±] He flashed to his two friends.

    Cuttlefish rapidly paddled to the water¡¯s surface with a massive stroke of his wings, picking up as much speed as he could. He broke through with a strong flick of his entire tail, and shot out of the water and up into the air some distance. He flared his wings and began to flap with as much force as he could muster, and slowly began to climb up.

    After his take-off, he looked down to see both siblings sticking their heads out of the water, watching him.

    He pushed himself higher up into the air, climbing vertically. It was extremely exerting to fly like this, and he would not be able to keep it up for long. Thankfully, he shouldn¡¯t need to.

    Once he had gotten high enough, he started to survey the water with his gaze. Scanning the horizon for any sign of a rather large thing moving along the surface of the water, as that was where he remembered the boat-thing was the last time they had seen it.

    There. A white trail in the distance, clearly visible against the backdrop of slowly rolling deep blue waves.

    It¡¯s a lot easier to spot these things from the air¡­

    He slowly dove back down for the water, and performed as gentle of a landing with the water as he could manage.

    Once the resulting bubble cloud had cleared, he could see Clam and Oyster both staring inquisitively at him. He addressed them:

    [¡°I saw something over that way, I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s what we¡¯re looking for!¡±] he pointed in the direction he had seen the white trail.

    They both shrugged and signaled for him to lead the way, so he did.

    Before long, the dragonets came into view of another of the now-familiar shadows that was one of the great objects. Like before, it was moving along in one direction, never deviating from its course. It didn¡¯t look any different than it had before, although Cuttlefish noticed this time that most of this thing¡¯s mass appeared to be underwater. Contrasting the many other objects near the den that had most of their size above the waterline.

    He motioned for the other two to wait behind him for a moment, just as they did the first time they came across this thing, and Cuttlefish swam up and peeked his head above the water just beside the thing, continuously paddling to keep up with its momentum.

    The above-water portion of the boat-thing did not look any different from last time, still the same stark grayish color all over, with the exception of the strange huge dorsal-fin-thing, which still had the strange colored shapes etched onto its side. He also noticed one of the colored fabrics hanging from a small rod that he didn¡¯t notice before. The fabric was mostly red, and divided into four sections by black lines, with a white circle and a strange four-sided shape in the center. Cuttlefish wondered what it meant.

    There was also a scavenger standing alone on top of the strange dorsal structure, staring off in another direction. Cuttlefish noticed that the scavenger was indeed wearing coverings  just like the scroll had described. However, this scavenger had very pale skin, almost white. Maybe this one was super rare, like the scroll said?

    The scavenger noticed his splashes, and whipped around to face him. Its eyes went wide, and Cuttlefish realized this was probably the same scavenger he had seen last time he surfaced next to this thing.

    The scavenger let out a rather comical sounding yell of alarm and almost fumbled the thing it was holding, which looked to be two small cylinders stuck together, but managed to catch it before it actually fell.

    Cuttlefish and the scavenger stared at one another for a few moments, neither moving. The scavenger flitted its blue-colored, surprisingly dragon-like eyes towards something that was probably near its feet. Then the creature opened its small mouth, and Cuttlefish wondered if he was going to hear the chittering noises the scroll said scavengers were known for.

    "?hhh¡­" Kapit?n? "Die Wasserdrache ist zur¨¹ck..."

    Now Cuttlefish¡¯s eyes went wide. That was not what the scroll described scavengers sounding like.

    Rather than being all chirpy or chittery and high-pitched like the scroll said this scavenger sounded¡­ harsh, barky, and hissy. Its vocal tones and pitch was much closer to what Cuttlefish normally associated with dragon speech.

    Eerily close, actually.

    He heard some faint clanging noises coming from below the scavenger, and another scavenger-sounding voice, which quickly became louder.

    "Das schon wieder?" "Hans, ich schw?re bei Gott...¡±

    Another scavenger head popped up, the same color as the last one, and abruptly froze when it saw him.

    ¡°Schei?e¡­¡± The new scavenger said quietly.

    ¡°Ich habe es dir gesagt!¡±

    Cuttlefish was confused. While he had never heard scavenger noises before now, this was wildly different from what was described by the scroll that he had read, or indeed what any other dragons had said scavengers sounded like.

    He could hear all sorts of nuances and enunciations within their barking sounds that made the creatures sound as if they were really talking.

    If they were, he still couldn¡¯t understand a thing they were saying.

    ¡°Was ist das, das will ich sehen!¡± Cuttlefish¡¯s ears picked another scavenger voice, accompanied by a clambering sound.

    A third scavenger head popped up, and looked down at him with wide eyes.

    ¡°Wow!¡±

    Cuttlefish could hear more sounds, and more and more scavengers started to appear from within the boat-thing. Eventually, there were six of them all crowded onto the dorsal structure, all a similar pale-sandy color, all pointing at him and barking and clamoring over one another.

    ¡°Was ist es?¡±

    ¡°Es ist ein Wasserdrache!¡±

    ¡°Wo ist er hergekommen?¡±

    ¡°Warum starrt er uns an?¡±

    ¡°Ist er freundlich?¡±

    ¡°Oh, nat¨¹rlich w¨¹rde Hans das fragen¡­¡±

    ¡°Werfen wir Hans ¨¹ber die Seite, um zu sehen!¡±

    ¡°Nein danke!¡±

    The scavenger¡¯s barking match was concluded by all of them releasing a loud, throaty revving sound that reminded Cuttlefish somewhat of laughter. Can scavengers laugh?

    The one that had first seen him, however, was looking slightly paler than before.

    The scavengers all turned their attention back to him, and stared at him. As if they were waiting for him to do something.

    Cuttlefish found himself oddly uncomfortable with so many dragon-like eyes trained on him, so he slowly raised a webbed talon out of the water and waved it at the group of tightly-packed creatures.

    The scavengers all made rather funny sounding ¡®oooooh¡¯ noises in response. A few of them stuck one of their odd clawless paws out at him and waved it back at him.

    "Hallo, Wasserdrachen!¡± One of them barked.

    He had to say, these scavengers were pretty cute.

    Cuttlefish brought his talon back and tapped it against his chin thoughtfully, considering what to do next. He had an idea he wanted to try with them.

    That little talon-waving thing proved that the scavengers could respond to things that he did, and the fact that none of them seemed to be panicking or trying to flee like the scroll said they would probably meant that they weren¡¯t very afraid of him.

    He lit up the luminescent scales on his snout and on the parts of his neck and talons that were visible, giving them a steady, fairly-bright glow.

    The scavengers, that Cuttlefish had noticed had been staring rather intently at him again, made more funny ¡®oooooh¡¯ sounds and other noises probably approximating surprised fascination.

    Cuttlefish then started to strobe his scales in a manner similar to how he saw the other scavengers on the large boat-things blinking their strange lights at each other. The scavengers all went quiet as they continued to stare, their round eyes now looking¡­ confused.

    One of the scavengers muttered something quickly to another one, which then bobbed its head up and down in a gesture similar to a nod, and made its way over to another part of the dorsal structure.

    The scavenger then placed its paws on what Cuttlefish now recognized to be another one of the light-cylinders, pointed it at him, and did something with its paws that made the cylinder light up. The scavenger then rapidly blinked the light at him, following his pattern.

    Cuttlefish grinned as he and the scavenger flashed their lights nonsensically at each other. This is communication! Granted, I haven¡¯t the slightest clue what is being communicated, but this is still totally communication I think!

    The other scavengers on the structure turned their heads to shift their forward-facing gaze between Cuttlefish and the light-cylinder scavenger. A few of them appeared to be excited, by the way their eyes kind of lit up and how they lightly bounced on their feet, others just seemed confused.

    ¡°Was macht er?¡±

    ¡°Kennt er den Morsecode?¡±

    ¡°Nein nat¨¹rlich nicht.¡±

    ¡°Er versucht offensichtlich, etwas zu tun."

    "Vielleicht versucht er zu reden?¡±

    The scavengers stopped their latest barking exchange with gasps. Cuttlefish heard two small splashes coming from behind him.

    ¡°Es gibt drei davon!¡±

    ¡°Meine G¨¹te¡­¡±

    ¡°Whoa!¡± Cuttlefish heard Clam¡¯s voice. ¡°Since when did scavengers sound like that!?¡±

    ¡°Cuttlefish, what¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°Be careful not to scare them!¡± Cuttlefish shushed them with a flick of his tail. ¡°Check this out.¡± He then started to blink his luminescent scales once again, and the scavenger on the light-cylinder blinked back at him, albeit much more tentatively this time.

    ¡°...What are you doing?¡± Oyster said.

    ¡°Flashing a scavenger.¡± Cuttlefish answered with a grin.

    ¡°And they¡¯re flashing back at you. How¡¯d you get them to do that?¡± Clam said

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. All I did was start blinking my scales at them like how I saw the scavengers on the other boat-things flashing lights at each other, and these scavengers started blinking their light at me.¡±

    ¡°Are you actually talking with them?¡± Oyster asked.

    ¡°No, not really.¡±

    The scavengers on the boat-thing started to bark at one another again.

    ¡°Leute, h?rt es sich so an, als w¨¹rden sie miteinander reden?¡±

    ¡°Es h?rt sich an wie knurrende und dr?hnende Ger?usche.¡±

    ¡°Ja, aber es h?rt sich an, als w¨¹rden sie miteinander reden.¡±

    ¡°Vielleicht reden sie in der Drachensprache miteinander?¡±

    ¡°Das ist verr¨¹ckt.¡±

    ¡°Nun, Drachen sollten sowieso nicht existieren, also denke ich, dass alles m?glich ist.¡±

    ¡°That is definitely not what that scroll described scavengers sounding like!¡± Clam said.

    ¡°It kinda sounds like they are talking to each other. They sound¡­ freakily similar to dragons¡­¡± Oyster said, mirroring Cuttlefish¡¯s own thoughts.

    Could these scavengers be smarter than the scroll said? He thought to himself. The scroll said that scavengers could use tools and small weapons, and even build the dens they live in.

    He looked over the somehow-floating metal boat-thing. These scavengers had to have built this, a giant metallic boat that could float, go underwater, and move on its own, because he was sure that dragons could not have. Scavengers also had to have built the massive boat-things around that castle-den, the ones that killed those NightWings. They also had to be smart enough to develop that system of communication of light flashes and fabric waving that he was sure that he saw, even if no one else believed him.

    Actually, he might have an idea on how to get the other dragons at the enclave to believe him! And, if all goes well, hopefully help out these scavengers in the process. Because it seemed to Cuttlefish that these ones might be lost at sea.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can get these scavengers to follow us back to the enclave, so we can show everyone what we found! That¡¯s what we set out to do in the first place, right?¡±

    Clam and Oyster looked a bit nervous. ¡°Are we sure that¡¯s a good idea?¡± Oyster said.

    Cuttlefish waved a wing towards the gaggle of scavengers atop the dorsal structure, garnering another bout of surprised noises from them. ¡°Do these ones seem hostile? I¡¯m sure it will be fine. All I want to do is get this boat-thing close enough so that other SeaWings can see it, too.¡±

    Oyster still looked a bit apprehensive, but Clam now seemed to be somewhat excited by the prospect of getting to show the thing around to their neighbors. They both agreed, nonetheless.

    Cuttlefish turned back to the scavengers, and made a point to swim around the slowly moving boat-thing until he was facing the direction he knew the enclave was. He made a gesture with his talon for them to follow him a few times, and hoped that they understood.

    The scavengers broke into another barking and chattering match amongst each other again, which lasted a little while and seemed to get rather intense at times. Eventually, one of the scavengers barked something with a rather authoritative tone, and most of the scavengers climbed back down into the dorsal structure.

    The three dragonets watched with anticipation for a time, as the boat-thing continued on its slow course without deviation and the scavengers still on top of the thing continued to watch them.

    After a couple of silent moments, however, the strange boat-thing began to turn, and kept turning until it was facing the same direction Cuttlefish had signaled. Elated that they did indeed understand him, he signaled once again to follow him, and the three dragonets started to swim for the enclave. Which, fortunately, was not that far away from their current location, Cuttlefish reckoned. The scavenger boat-thing picked up speed and followed after them.

    ***

    >On a certain island, an indeterminate time in the future._

    Morion coughed as he quickly made his way through the decaying halls of the NightWing fortress. He had business to attend to, news to give, and an unpleasant royal advisor to talk to.

    He turned a corner, and nearly ran into a hulking mass of pitch-black scales.

    ¡°Morion¡­¡± The hulking mass hissed. ¡°I can tell you have something to tell me. Spit it out.¡±

    Morion tried not to shiver. ¡°Hello, Morrowseer.¡± he said with a duck of his head. ¡°The scouting party tasked with searching that large scavenger den for the Eye did not turn up at the designated rendezvous, sir.¡±

    The irritable NightWing¡¯s eyes narrowed, and he let out a low hiss. ¡°Well¡­ Where have they gone?¡± he said after a few moments.

    It wasn¡¯t unheard of for NightWings sent to the mainland on missions to attempt to desert and not come back. When it did happen, it usually ended up being the subject of much attention by other NightWings that still lived on the volcanic island. The deserters were always found by search parties, and paid dearly for their crime against the rest of the tribe.

    If this situation was another desertion, then it would have been the largest group to have ever attempted it in his memory.

    However that¡¯s not what Morion thought was going on.

    ¡°I think¡­ I think they might be dead, sir. We managed to catch some wind from SeaWing officials, through our contact with Blister, that a group of SeaWings saw eight NightWings get killed while attacking a seaside scavenger den, by weapons launched from that very den.¡±

    Morrowseer¡¯s nostrils flared and he let out a loud snort. His massive tail lashed behind him.

    ¡°...Interesting¡­¡± He eventually muttered.

    Interesting? I was expecting to be called a liar. Which, given Morrowseer, would probably entail being throttled against a wall.

    ¡°Did you glean any information pertaining to how those NightWings were killed?¡± Morrowseer asked.

    ¡°Er.. yes, actually. My informant mentioned the SeaWings reported seeing numerous smokey explosions appearing in the sky around the NightWings. By what manner or mechanisms these sky explosions came from is unknown, sir.¡±

    ¡°...This development will require¡­ further investigation. I should probably take what you described up with Mastermind.¡± the massive dragons said with a near indiscernible roll of his cold, black eyes.

    Despite himself, Morion found himself sympathizing with the unnerving dragon somewhat. The fortress¡¯s resident brainiac was nothing if not a rather large pain in the tail to attempt to hold a conversation with.

    The two black dragons went their separate ways, and Morion tried not to dwell on the everpresent smell of sulfur and death that hung in the smoke-filled air.

 IX - Foreigners and Cuttlefish-Dragon

    >Aboard U-178, unknown waters._

    Korvettenkapit?n Klaus Witt had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

    Actually, he technically knew what he was doing. He had followed a bunch of actual dragons to some seemingly random point in the ocean. At their behest. After only meeting them, exchanging a series of nonsensical flashes via bioluminescent scales and signal lamp, and then listening to three of the roughly Great White Shark-sized creatures almost¡­ talk with each other?

    The real question, Klaus supposed, was why. Why had he agreed to follow after a trio of water dragons? Why did he and his crew take such interest in them? Why were they waiting here for the water dragons to return after they had disappeared back under the waves, departing with what seemed like a hand gesture to wait where they were?

    Perhaps they were lost, and had no idea where they were. The compasses were still acting up, and they had been getting nothing but background static for the past few days, so they didn¡¯t have a read on their location. They had no idea what to do, as they had lost contact with both the convoy and obviously with Lorient.

    Perhaps¡­ Probably, even, it was just because they were bored. It wasn¡¯t as though there was much to do aboard a U-boat, after all. Other than run crash-dive drills, watch for targets or threats and smell each other¡¯s stench.

    He took a draw of interesting submarine coffee from his cheap mug. He supposed he probably should have seen this coming. The water dragons, anyway.

    Seaman Hans Fischer had frantically reported seeing a similar creature just after they came through the storm, after they heard that banging noise. Nobody believed him. The Watch Officer had gone up to see what the fuss was about, and came back insisting that he needed to get more sleep.

    The rest of the enlisted crew had some fun ribbing him about it, though.

    It was just a few nothing-days later that Hans once again called out that he¡¯d seen a water dragon, and this time Witt decided to go up and check it out himself.

    It had turned out that Hans was indeed right about the water dragon.

    Others from the crew all clambered up onto the sail with them to get a look. The blue-green dragon seemed to take an interest in them and their signal lamp, and flashed the bioluminescent lights it apparently had in a manner weirdly similar to how ships communicate with light signals.

    Witt had gotten a little nervous when two more water dragons appeared. They were fairly large, similar in size to a Great White Shark, he thought. He didn¡¯t know if they could jump out of the water at them, but none of the dragons seemed at all hostile. They just seemed¡­ Curious.

    The dragons seemed to¡­ converse with each other through a series of growls and guttural sounds, before one of them made a gesture with one of its talons that seemed to denote that it wanted them to follow it. Witt had, for whatever reason (boredom and curiosity, probably), agreed and ordered the boat¡¯s helmsman to follow after them. He had no idea whether or not these water dragons were intelligent, but it was certainly possible; Dragons in mythology were kind of inconsistent between either being just beasts, cunning and intelligent, somewhere in between, or something else entirely. By how the water dragons were interacting with each other, and how the first one looked at them and somehow knew to blink its scales in a way at least reminiscent of Morse Code¡­ Witt and many others aboard were leaning towards the water dragons they found being sapient.

    Another, perhaps more pressing question to ask, would be whether the water dragons were benevolent or not.

    Harkening back to the dragons-in-mythos example, Witt found himself liking the probable answer to that question much less.

    Best-case scenario was the dragons were just like curious and playful dolphins for whatever reason. Worst-case scenario¡­ These things were possibly the Leviathans alluded to in the Bible that he remembered being referenced in a Lutheran church he sometimes attended until it got shut down. He didn''t really remember what they got the priest for, it was probably for being a traitor or something along those lines.

    Most of the crew did not seem to share his leeriness, as they spent most of the trip debating names for the water dragons and trying to goad Hans into jumping off and trying to ride one of them.

    Klaus didn¡¯t step in, because he knew they wouldn¡¯t be dumb enough to actually try. Or at least he hoped they wouldn¡¯t; being trapped in a steel can for weeks sharing bunks and smelling each other¡¯s sweat tended to do things to one¡¯s common sense.

    And perhaps because a formal hearing for throwing a fellow sailor to literal dragons would be pretty funny.

    That submariner humor really gets to you¡­ He had thought at the time.

    They had gotten a signal from one of the swimming dragons to stop, before they submerged again, so they cut the engines to a drifting stop and dropped anchor. They would unfortunately just have to wait and see what the water dragons were up to, and what they wanted.

    Klaus sighed and climbed the ladder from the vessel¡¯s control room up to the sail, taking the coffee with him. Atop it, several seamen and flak personnel were all waiting for the water dragons to show themselves once again.

    ¡°Oh, come on¡­ Are you sure you don¡¯t want to go say hello to your new friend, Hans?¡± he heard one of the seamen say as he was climbing up.

    ¡°Seriously, guys. I only asked if the stupid water dragon was friendly once!¡±

    ¡°What kind of thing is that to say about your best friend?¡±

    ¡°Captain on deck!¡±

    Their chuckling was cut off by the announcement, and they all turned to Klaus as he made it up the ladder, standing at attention and saluting him. ¡°At ease.¡± He promptly said, and they relaxed again. He typically wasn¡¯t as strict about crew discipline as he probably should be, but his crew still cut him respect befitting a ship¡¯s captain and their commanding officer.

    ¡°Any sign of the water dragons, yet?¡± He asked.

    ¡°No, sir. They¡¯ve been gone for a few minutes at most, sir.¡± One of them said.

    Witt scratched his scruffy, ill-shaven chin with his free hand. He didn¡¯t really have a good guess for what those things could do to his boat if they tried, or even if they could do anything, but it honestly really was something that he¡¯d rather be left a mystery.

    ¡°Hm¡­ Just be ready, in case anything happens.¡± He said, making a point to look at the 2cm flak personnel. They nodded their understanding.

    Witt sighed through his nose and turned his gaze out to the deep blue sea around them. At least it was pleasant weather, there was a gentle breeze, the waves were calm, and it was warmer than usual. It was certainly a nice break from the stuffy, poorly-ventilated interior of the U-boat. Still, the question of just what those water dragons were up to took the forefront of his attention.

    It would seem as though he didn''t have to wait long to have that question answered, however, as the sounds of splashes coming from the starboard side gave away the reappearance of the water dragon.

    ¡°He¡¯s back!¡±

    They turned, and saw the blue-green water dragon that had first showed up. The other two blueish dragons that had also appeared also came up, but more tentatively, it seemed. The first dragon brought a webbed and sharply-clawed out of the water and waved it at them in a similar way that he had earlier. They all waved back.

    The other two dragon¡¯s eyes widened briefly, before the first one seemed to take a breath in through its nose and recoiled slightly. Witt grimaced, he knew he and his fellow sailors didn¡¯t exactly smell at their best, but it wasn¡¯t as though there was much clean water aboard to shower, or wash clothes. Right now, he was just rather happy to see the sun after so many days confined in the claustrophobic maritime machination.

    The original dragon reached his talon back underwater and brought up¡­ What looked like a big piece of rolled up paper.

    Klaus thought his eyes might fall out of his head. These dragons had a scroll. An actual, dragon-sized scroll.

    The water dragon promptly unrolled the scroll and presented it to them, revealing strange, runic text scribed with off-blue ink, along with various drawn pictures. This confirmed to the sailors beyond doubt that these water dragons were of the intelligent kind, clearly having their own written language and textual documents. It also meant that they probably weren''t spirits. The other two dragons, who also apparently were carrying their own scrolls, brought them forth and presented them as well. While it was of course difficult for the rapt observers to determine what the scrolls were about, as they couldn¡¯t read the written language, they could make out various pictures, no doubt drawn by dragon claws. Some of the pictures depicted dragons similar to the three before them, others seemed to depict crude drawings of¡­ humans. Which was¡­ interesting. Another scroll seemed to have a map of sorts, depicting an alien landmass that the sailors did not recognize.

    No one said anything as the dragons showed them the scrolls, as they were too awed to really have anything to say. The water dragons, on the other hand, certainly did have something to say, judging by the near constant growling and guttural vocalizations they were making as they pointed with their sharp claws to different parts of each scroll. Klaus was almost certain the sea lizards were trying to explain their literature to them.

    Eventually, the first dragon that had appeared jolted slightly as if remembering something. He dove back underwater briefly, and bright back another paper. This one was not rolled up into a long scroll. On this paper, three sea creatures were depicted. Two of the crude pictures were very similar. One of the objects depicted Witt thought was an oyster, given its roughly foot-shaped shell. The other similar picture appeared to be a clam or muscle of sorts, and the third picture was a¡­ sort of octopus-squid thing.

    ¡°Is that supposed to be a cuttlefish?¡± One of the seamen asked.

    Ah, that¡¯s probably it.

    The dragon holding the new sheet pointed to the rough depiction of the cuttlefish, then to himself, and said some unknown phrase in their dragon language, and repeated the process a couple of times.

    The befuddled crew exchanged glances.

    ¡°Is he saying that he¡¯s a cuttlefish?¡±

    ¡°I have no idea.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s saying that his name is Cuttlefish?¡±

    ¡°...That¡¯s weird.¡±

    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t name him.¡±

    The water dragon interrupted them by repeating the process, only this time pronouncing only one growl-y word.

    ¡°Grrahckt¡¯lliu.¡±

    No one said anything for a dense minute, until Hans decided to do what they were all no doubt thinking about doing.

    ¡°Grrahckt¡¯lliu.¡± He carefully uttered back, clearly trying his best to exactly mimic the vocalizations used by the dragon, which thankfully weren¡¯t that much different than the Germanic sounds they were all used to, albeit these dragon sounds were much deeper and more¡­ guttural.

    Now it was the dragon¡¯s turn to look shocked, as his eyes went wide and round as saucers and he floundered back a couple of meters, staring at the humans as though they had suddenly become spirits. The other two dragons had similar reactions.

    Despite themselves, The sailors atop the conning tower shared an amused laugh at their obviously flabbergasted reactions towards Hans repeating their word back to them.

    Out of what they had, the submarine, the signal lamps, and everything else, that is what the water dragons were most surprised about?

    Said dragons then descended into a rather frantic-sounding conversation amongst themselves, turning their direct attention away from the humans. Who, for their part, all exchanged glances containing mixed emotions. Ranging from amusement, concern, to general confusion.

    Before any of them could say anything, however, their own attention was grabbed by the appearance of another water dragon head, surfacing just behind the trio that had led them here. The new dragon appeared a good bit larger than the three, suggesting it was of older age. The water dragon stared at the small collection of people and the U-boat they were atop of with an expression that certainly represented dumbfoundment. The three smaller dragons stopped their conversation and turned to the new dragon.

    Before their very eyes, more heads belonging to more water dragons began to appear from the waves. Some of them communicate with each other, some cough up water, all of them stare right at them. They were all clearly interested in the appearance of their submarine, and had come to investigate.

    Klaus found himself growing more nervous; There were a lot of water dragons, at least a dozen. More were gradually appearing. The way that some of them stared at him and his crew made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

    Normally, when a sub encountered danger, the procedure was to dive underwater to escape, but that was where these dragons were obviously coming from. The only weapons on the boat, other than the torpedoes and handful of pistols, were the 2cm flak guns mounted on the sail, as well as the 10,5cm and 3,7cm deck guns fore and aft of the conning tower respectively. He didn¡¯t really feel comfortable ordering the deck gun crews to man those guns either, as they were positioned a little close to the waterline for his liking in this situation. The boat¡¯s sail wasn¡¯t that much higher, and it probably wouldn¡¯t help if one of those water dragons tried to grab one of them, but still.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Nonetheless, he ordered the 2cm flak gunners to be ready. He found himself wishing that he was the one in charge of a depth-charge wielding sub chaser frigate rather than a submarine, but there was nothing he could do to help that.

    If things started to go south, Witt supposed the only thing they could really do against all these dragons would be to evacuate everyone off the sail, hole up within the pressure hull and gun the engines as fast as they can for as long as they can in a hope to escape.

    He had no idea how such a scenario would play out, given the water dragon¡¯s unknown strength and physical capabilities. Can they keep up with the sub at full ahead? Can they seriously damage her? How long can they swim at speed? Will they even try to pursue them? They had no way to know.

    Despite his growing wariness, none of the water dragons seemed interested in making a move yet. They just continued to stare at them or the submarine or converse amongst themselves in their growly, guttural tongue. The original trio were as chatty as ever, seemingly now paying little mind to the growing crowd. Although many of the gathered probable older water dragons appeared to be beginning to pay them more attention, judging by the stares and throaty remarks, many with audible inflections, being thrown at them.

    Some of the water dragons looked to notice something underwater, as they diverted their attention away from either the boat or the young dragons, pointed their snouts to some location that was below the water, or slipped back under the waves entirely. Klaus thought he could just make out a blur of motion below the sea, before he and the other sailor all shared in a gasp as the original blue-green dragon that they had first seen was abruptly yanked back underwater by an unseen force with hardly a yelp to spare. The other two smaller dragons dove themselves after they seemed to register what happened.

    Klaus looked over the sail¡¯s rail down to the water, the flak gunners and seamen did the same. They could just make out a visage of bluish underwater lights blinking and strobing and flashing rapidly and wildly, like a school of manic angler fish. It was difficult to make out, given that the sun was out, but still visible.

    ¡°What is going on?¡± One of the seamen muttered.

    ¡°Are they fighting?¡±

    ¡°No idea.¡±

    A good handful of the surfaced water dragons slipped back under, probably to spectate for themselves. Others continued to stare at them or discuss something amongst each other.

    After a few thick minutes where the remaining big water dragons and the submarine sailors stared at each other, as in in a standoff, the original cuttlefish dragon reemerged from gently rolling waves, quickly followed by blue-gray, much larger and much more unhappy looking water dragon.

    Before¡­ this¡­ Klaus had worked at an elementary school for children. He knew what kids looked like when they knew they were in hot water, and this dragon looked like he had been caught out in the middle of doing something rather dumb, probably by the unhappy looking dragon, and was now in trouble. Further reinforcing in his mind the notion that this dragon was a juvenile.

    He would also say that, aside from looking upset, the new blue-gray dragon looked a little¡­ afraid of the submarine. Judging by the way it subtly held its distance and the intensity in which it stared at them. What could have caused this particular water dragon to be even a little afraid of them, when none of the other dragons, including the probable juveniles, didn¡¯t seem to be at all?

    The cuttlefish-dragon, somewhat sheepishly, then brought out the map parchment scroll that he had earlier. He then pointed to a specific part of the map, an area that, if conventional cartography logic from human maps applied, looked to be in the ocean off a peninsula unfamiliar to him on a landmass that he did not recognize. It looked somewhat like a warped rendition of the North American continent. The dragon growled and vocalized something unintelligible, and pointed downwards to the water, then back to the same point on the map, then back down.

    Is he saying that is our current location? Witt thought to himself.

    Cuttlefish-dragon then pointed a claw to some part of land on the weird peninsula, and spoke something significant-sounding, looking from the map directly at the boat and the humans atop it. The water dragon pointed another claw at the sub, and jabbered on, gesturing wildly around with that same claw to the sea around them, as if signifying something rather large, and emphasized the location on the map again. The dragon then turned and pointed again, but this time out towards the horizon, before pointing back to the map location. He repeated the process a couple of times.

    Witt was a little confused, to say the least. Does Cuttlefish-dragon want us to go there? Why? What¡¯s over there?

    Cuttlefish-dragon gave him a significant look, pointing to the boat, and again out to the horizon. The gray-blue dragon just glared. It seemed they did.

    On one hand, this meant they had a chance to leave, which Witt was growing increasingly worried that they might not be able to, if the water dragons turned hostile.

    Klaus wondered why he was taking orders from sea lizards so much today, but could it really be helped? It wasn¡¯t as though they had still had contact with ubootwaffe¡¯s HQ in France anymore, so he had no new directives to go off of. He was entirely on his own volition. Right now, motoring off to see whatever it was the water dragon was calling attention to seemed the most logical thing to do. Or at least the most interesting.

    He informed the men aboard the tower of his decision to go check out whatever it was that Cuttlefish-dragon was pointing out, which they seemed to have anticipated. They probably would have done the same, if they were in his position.

    He made his way back down the ladder to the control room to catch the helm and engine room officers up to speed, and began making the quick preparations to get the vessel moving again. The men atop the conning tower remained where they were, in order to watch for any potential danger from the veritable school of rather large sea dragons that loosely surrounded them.

    In a few minutes, the boat was underway, turning about a hundred or so degrees to port as to line up with the direction cuttlefish-dragon had pointed, and ordered temporary full speed from the engines so they could more quickly get away from the water dragons before they changed their minds on just letting them leave.

    Witt climbed back up to the boat¡¯s sail, joining his men in looking back towards the gaggle of scaled sea creatures. Most of them had stayed where they were, watching as they motored away. A few were following loosely behind him, clearly not with any sense of urgency, but seemingly more out of simple curiosity. Nevertheless, the flak gunners stayed at the ready just in case. He dearly hoped that they would not have to open fire.

    As they departed, Witt found himself wondering about the supply convoy they had followed into this mess. Surely it made it through the storm as well, though they had found no sign of it so far. Was it possible the water dragons knew about it? Was that why cuttlefish-dragon wanted us to go in this direction? What if we found it?

    Klaus didn¡¯t know. The first response of a submarine skipper when locating an enemy convoy is to shadow it, continuously reporting and updating its location and bearing. They were certainly not to attack unless directly given the order from Lorient.

    Of course, even that¡¯s without considering the other variables: The water dragons themselves. Between them, the compasses not working right, and the total absence of background radio traffic, it was possible they weren¡¯t in the Atlantic anymore. If that convoy was here too, it was possible they were the only other human beings around. A terrifying thought.

    If Korvettenkapit?n Klaus Witt was anything, it was pragmatic. It was one of the reasons why he had been promoted to being a submarine skipper in the first place. He may have little idea of what exactly was going on here, but he had his boat, and he had his crew, and they had each other. They would figure things out. If that enemy convoy was the only familiar thing around wherever this is, so be it.

    At least they would almost certainly be in the same boat as them, so to speak.

    ***

    >Within a household, Safe Harbor._

    If there was one thing that Rosemary could say for sure about the past few days, it was that they had been the most interesting days of her entire life.

    Then again, that might not be saying that much. She wasn¡¯t very old, only 24, and most of her life had consisted of staying within the protection of the city she was born in. Nothing exciting had happened to or in Safe Harbor, sans the occasional half-hearted dragon attack, for as long as she could remember. They never had holidays, never laid down new marine vessels, never went out on the water, never had celebrations, never played games other than what could be played indoors. The only time anyone even went beyond the city limits was when they were going out to tend to or harvest from the small, carefully concealed crop fields just outside the settlement proper. Most of her, and every other Safe Harbor resident¡¯s life was almost entirely just a long, attempt to avoid a dragon attack. With the background knowledge that, if there was ever a serious dragon attack, they would all be doomed.

    Until one night, the monotony was broken by the appearance of dozens of fantastically huge ships just outside the harbor, and the completely new and strange people that sailed them.

    And they certainly were strange. Rosemary had never seen nor heard of anyone like them. For starters, most of the foreigners were taller than any people she knew around here, many of them standing a full head taller than the majority of Safe Harbor residents.

    They also had different complexions. Every single human she had ever heard of had skin brown like tree bark, and even darker hair that was a deep brown, and had similar brown eyes. Many of the foreigners she had seen or met had skin the color of sand, some had skin yet paler, while a few others had skin colored more similarly to her own or even the color of rich soil!

    There were even more differences found in their hair and eyes, with some having hair that looked like their own, others with hair a pale yellow, and yet others having hair almost pitch-black, and seemingly everything in-between. She even saw one foreigner with hair that was red!

    There was a little less variety in eye color, as most of them appeared to have brown eyes like everyone else she knew, but many of them had irises that were either blue or green in color. Rosemary thought they were rather pretty, if a little disconcerting.

    But none of that was even the most odd thing about the foreigners, no. Aside from their stupefying technologies, the oddest thing about these new people was the way in which they spoke. They obviously spoke a different language, sure, which was not that surprising given they had come from the sea, but their entire language, and indeed the way that they spoke, was entirely alien. They all spoke in a heavily vocal, almost guttural way. They spoke out, with sounds and syllables both long and drawn out, and short and choppy. Sometimes sounding almost rhythmic and musical at times, but harsh and barking at others. It was very strange, and a little neat, but most of all loud. She had never once heard anyone be so loud in standard conversation.

    And Rosemary had heard them talk plenty, as she was fortunate enough to be one of the people who was spearheading the efforts on their end to translate each other¡¯s languages. One of the reasons she was sure that these people had come from some unknown land across the sea, was because they had clearly never encountered Pyrrhian humans before. They had no idea how to speak our language.

    The past few days had been difficult, and tiring, but Rosemary certainly felt up to the challenge. It helped that she didn¡¯t really have much to do around the city before this, other than helping out the seasoned teachers where she could at the small school they had for children that had been orphaned by dragons, of which there was a rather large amount, and she was among them. She herself had been pretty good at school as a kid, and her own teachers had told her she was of the ¡®academic type.¡¯ Hence why she was working as a teacher¡¯s assistant in the first place. She wasn¡¯t the only person there for the job, however. A consequence of there not really being all that much to do around here unless you were a farmer. That was why she had been able to join in on the translation effort in the first place.

    Pronouncing the foreigner¡¯s language had proved a little hard at first, but she felt she had been getting the hang of it, for the most part. Most of their phonic sounds were rather easy and almost¡­ natural to pronounce. However there were plenty of other sounds that had proved themselves a pain to try and master. Nevertheless, she was one of the farthest along out of everyone in terms of how much of the stranger¡¯s language she could understand, which was why she had been the one to explain several key things about them to Lord-Mayor Talem earlier in the day, and she had no doubt that her primary job in the coming weeks or months would likely be that of an interpreter.

    At the moment though, she simply sat within the confines of her abode, enjoying the relative peace and quiet after all the activity. Relative being a key term, in this case. The city itself had never once been as quiet as it was before the stranger¡¯s arrival, and the strangers themselves certainly made themselves busy. They had spent the day after docking four of their huge ships with the city¡¯s newly-refurbished piers offloading huge amounts of supplies, various peculiar pieces of equipment and self-propelling¡­ things, but most of all people. She had been told that two of those ships had about a thousand passengers between them, and that all of them were trained, professional soldiers.

    She wasn¡¯t quite sure what to make of that. The foreigners had proclaimed again and again that they were not an invading force, and they hadn¡¯t done anything that would, well, constitute an invasion. Unless showing up, mooring their vessels and saying hello counted. The summon sense side of her would have taken some issue with all the noise and almost total lack of concealment attempts made by the newcomers, but they had very clearly demonstrated that dragons to them and their weapons were not the near insurmountable threat that they posed to all other Pyrrhian humans.

    Rosemary also didn¡¯t really know what the concept of a ¡®professional soldier¡¯ was supposed to look like. She knew all about the Archer Guards that inhabited the Safehold and the various watch positions that surrounded the city, and had heard of similar jobs across other human settlements that served similar purposes; they were certainly professional. It was well known that in order to become an Archer Guard, one had to spend at least a year of instruction and skill building just to qualify, and had to continuously maintain their skills at archery in order to remain a Guard.

    The way one of the newcomers had explained it, a soldier sounded something like a warrior, but directly and only tied to a civilian government, rather than being under the pay of a Lord, ruler or some other wealthy individual. Rosemary supposed the idea made sense, when she thought about it, but what kind of government or population would be able to amass the kinds of money that would be required for any meaningful amount of people to take on being a warrior as an entire profession?

    The Archer Guards could at least work other jobs when they were not standing around the Safehold, keeping order in the city or watching for dragons and shooting arrows at any that got too close. Organized warriors, or soldiers, on the other hand, would need to work their job of training, fighting, and guarding full-time.

    Not only the thousand or so soldiers that were currently setting up a bunch of large tents just outside the city, but the foreigners she had talked to that sailed on their huge ships said that they were also soldiers, but a different kind. The soldiers setting up tents were ¡°ground soldiers,¡± while the sailors were ¡°marine soldiers.¡±

    Which meant that whatever land these strangers were from had military power more extensive than what she could conceptualize.

    Then again, that would explain why everyone on those ships were men.

    Rosemary was broken from her thoughts by a knock at her small three-room hut¡¯s door, and she rose from the wooden furniture she was sitting upon to respond.

    She opened the thatch door and was met by the unusually tall figure of the man that had become her de facto working partner in the translation efforts, a tall, blue-eyed foreigner she was now familiar with.

    ¡°Hello, John Barley.¡± She said in English, the name of their language, with a small smile.

    ¡°Good evening¡­ Miss Rosemary.¡± He responded in her own language, with some apparent difficulty. Rosemary couldn''t help but notice that the newcomers seemed to have more difficulty saying their words then they did theirs. John Barley himself also wasn¡¯t the most adept out of all the foreigners tasked with their end of the translation efforts, but she could tell that he did his best, and could understand far more than he could speak.

    Rosemary had offered John Barley could use her hut, which had been built for her near the outside of the settlement by her great uncle and his family as her adulthood gift, as a place to escape the slight chaos the city had become the past few days, and work on what they could getting as many words and phrases they could translated. Though they often got sidetracked whenever John got curious about their writing system, or managed to formulate a question about what life was generally like for them, which was fairly often.

    John Barley had been helping out all day with the construction of the foreigners'' tent-housing, although Rosemary guessed they could also be called barracks, and was clearly exhausted. The sun was setting, and the moons were already beginning to rise.

    She offered to set some tea, to which he agreed, and she made her way into the small kitchen-room to light the ceramic stove and boil some water and prepare some of the necessary herbs. It was a calming tea her teacher had taught her to make.

    After about a half-hour, by her reckoning, the tea was ready. She took a small pitcher and a couple of cups with her back out into the hut¡¯s main room, and instantly knew something was wrong.

    He was still sitting upon the only piece of sitting furniture in the room, the wooden bench Rosemary herself had been sitting on, and he was staring out a window towards the rising moons. That wasn¡¯t unusual.

    What was wrong, however, was clearly the way in which John was staring. His gaze was locked on the two moons that had already risen above the horizon, not giving any response or acknowledgement to her presence. His blue-colored eyes were unfocused and expressionless. It was as if he were not even looking at the moons, but at some point far beyond them. Nothing in particular. His breaths were short and spares, as if he were in shock.

    Slowly, he reached a shaking hand towards a fold in his strange attire, and pulled out a small gray picture, which depicted a young-looking woman with an odd hairstyle who was smiling at the viewer, with extreme detail. Rosemary knew not what method of drawing or painting would produce an image of such quality on a small piece of paper like that.

    The paper folded slightly as John clutched it tightly, and his unfocused eyes turned glassy, and he took in shuddering breaths.

    He fiercely wiped at his eyes and tried to mask his shuddered breathing with coughing, though his attempts to draw breath in through his nose were bubbly, indicating mucus was building up.

    As his coughs gave way to pained sobs and he doubled over, tears spilling from his bloodshot eyes. He cried.

    Rosemary quickly placed the tea and cups down atop a table and rushed over, placing a small hand on his shoulder in an attempt to counsel him.

    He¡¯s homesick, that much is clear. Does he think that he will never be able to get back and see his family ever again? She thought worriedly. She didn¡¯t know what to do.

    Safe Harbor was her home, and she never had any real intention of leaving. Her parents had been killed when she was but an infant, and thus had no real memories of them. Her only family were her relatives and the friends she made amongst the other orphans at the school she now worked at. She had no idea what to do for this kind of grief.

    Were the other foreigners in the same situation? They¡¯re all presumably stuck here, and also all have some family or home they left behind and now maybe can¡¯t get back to. She worried to herself.

    Rosemary was broken from her fretful reverie by a sharp BANG, and she jumped slightly.

    John Barley also heard it, but he went rigid.

    Quick as a flash, the man jumped up and stared with his bloodshot eyes into her own. A strange sharpness present in his gaze that was absent prior. He took in another shuddering breath.

    ¡°Danger. Brothers. Need help. I¡¯m sorry¡± he said in English with sureness, a dutifulness visible despite his tear-stained face.

    He then darted out the door, and Rosemary could hear him sprinting full-pelt in the direction of the tent compound, which was also the direction she realized the loud sound had come from.

    She followed after him with hardly a moment¡¯s hesitation, action spurred by a mixture of concern and curiosity.

 X - Homesickness and Paperwork

    >FOB camp construction site, Safe Harbor_

    Captain Robert Drake looked over the thousand-strong collection of men before him, and fought off the encroaching feeling of dejection as the pale, reflected sunlight from the world¡¯s triplet moons shone down upon them, aided by the artificial glow of a handful of gas-generator powered floodlights.

    The crowd of young men mainly consisted of US Army personnel, but there was a fair amount of sailors present as well.

    Perhaps it would have been more proper for them to be addressed by their actual commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Stuart Speirs, but Drake felt that they deserved to hear directly from him, as it was his decision to sail onward through that storm in the first place.

    The very air around them hung with a morose, palpable silence that none dared break.

    They had their first casualty. Private Henry Mitchell was found dead a few hours ago, with a self-inflicted bullet wound under his chin, one hand grasping, presumably, a photo of his fianc¨¦ or wife, the other still holding the service pistol he used. A victim of despair.

    It came with the emergence of the cursed triple-moons over the horizon, the gripping despair that Robert knew was coming. He had hoped that the work of setting up their forward operating base, on top of the planning, organizing and unloading of cargo, and the energy being put into the translation efforts would provide distraction and stave it off for a time, but that was not to be.

    Almost simultaneously, Robert heard, people seemed to take in the sight of the rising triple moons, the land around them, and the weight of their shared true situation sank in.

    Personally, he wasn¡¯t fully sure why. It wasn¡¯t as though this was their first day here. Rather, it was their third, the third time seeing those blasted moons rise. What was different about today? Perhaps it was that there had never been this many people ashore yet, maybe because yesterday their attentions were entirely captivated by the novelty of the new people they had found, as well as the appearance and subsequent destruction of the small group of black dragons. Maybe still it was just a delayed reaction. Drake knew not.

    According to what he¡¯d been told, construction had been running smoothly, the soil relatively easy to pitch tents in. The only interference or any real obstacle being the rather large trees that surrounded the town, and a few local townspeople that worked up enough courage to attempt to inquire about the nature of what the soldiers were up to, and the small number of jeeps and half-tracks they were using to aid in transport. The interpreters-in-training from both sides did their best to explain anything they could, which wasn¡¯t all that much.

    However, when everyone seemed to notice the appearance of the three moons, they slowly stopped what they were doing and stood with shell-shocked expressions, gazing up at the moons or towards each other with thousand-yard stares. A silence you could almost taste spread over the area.

    Drake heard that many began to break into tears, pulling out memorabilia and keepsakes from people dear to them they had on their persons and crying out.

    The chilling symphony of despair was only broken when the sharp crack of a pistol discharging rang out, loud enough to be heard over the FOB site and likely across the town as well.

    In a sad way, Private Mitchell taking his life did a service to the rest of his comrades, as the gunshot snapped nearly everyone out of the pit they were descending into, and prompted action from them before things could get any worse.

    Everyone had jumped to action, checking on the well beings of their fellows and assessing the situation. Many locals came from the town to see what was going on.

    A proper funeral and burial service was going to be held for Private Mitchell tomorrow, but Drake wanted to say something to the men while they were still gathered together as soon as feasibly possible in order to arrest the ever-worsening morale of his sailors and these troops.

    To that end, he was going to try to give a speech.

    He stepped onto the flatbed of one of the half-tracks, giving him enough elevation to look over the gathered battalion. LTC Speirs and several other officers stood on the ground beside him. The massive crowd of soldiers along with the few dozen sailors that had also been ashore stared back with wall-eyed expressions, not having lost their shell-shocked and dejected expressions.

    ¡°ATTEN-TION!¡± LTC Speirs cried out, his cadence befitting any meritorious commander of his young age and stature. He and other various officers beside him turned sharply and saluted Drake. The thousand-strong battalion present followed suit, but much slower and more lethargically than he knew they normally would. Nonetheless, Robert snapped to and saluted them all back.

    ¡°At ease.¡± He called out, and they slumped back into a more demotivated posture that wasn¡¯t that different from their attempt at standing at attention.

    He sighed, and raised his voice to address all of them as best he could.

    ¡°Hello, troopers.¡± He started, almost hollering so that everyone could hear him. ¡°Most of you may know me, but for those of you that don¡¯t, I am Captain Robert Drake. I am the commanding officer of the convoy¡¯s lead escort ship, the USS Sampson.¡±

    It may have been more fitting for him to say this aboard his ship through the intercom, but he wanted to be in front of these people in person. His words would be broadcast back to the naval vessels via radio, anyway.

    ¡°First of all¡­ I want to apologize to you all for something. It was my decision to sail through that anomalous storm now only three days ago. It certainly feels like far longer than just three days, but here we are.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t, and still don¡¯t, know anything about that storm, but I have to assume that it had something to do with us being brought here. I had intended to sail through it in order to evade any potential U-boats tailing us, not knowing what the consequences of that decision would be. It¡¯s arguably my fault that we¡¯re stuck here, and for that I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Most of the expressions in the crowd remained blank, devoid of emotion.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why we¡¯re here. I don¡¯t know how we are here. I especially don¡¯t know where here even is. And I haven¡¯t the slightest clue if, much less how, we can get back to our Earth. Back to our homes.¡±

    He sighed again, and continued.

    ¡°But despite all that, I have not lost hope. And there are a few things that I know for sure. I know that every single one of you boys are brave. I know you all knew what you were getting into when you joined up. Whether for the Army or Navy. We¡¯re a nation at war. War is deadly. Ain¡¯t none of us didn¡¯t know when we signed up that there was a chance that we would not come back.¡±

    He paused and shook his head briefly for effect.

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s just it, isn¡¯t it? Maybe we were all doomed to die in a mass wolfpack strike that night until that storm showed up. I''m sure many of you heard rumors and stories, as I have, about what can happen to convoys like ours when U-boats converge on them. Maybe¡­ maybe this is a sort of strange second chance for all of us.¡±

    His throat was getting a bit hoarse from having to shout like this, he would need to wrap this up soon. Fortunately, it looked like many in the crowd were getting something from his words.

    ¡°Another thing that I think I know is why you men enlisted. You, your brothers, your friends, those next to you right now, all joined up because you wanted to stick it to the maniac fascists in Europe and the imperial lunatics in Japan, and all the suffering they were causing for millions of innocent people. The reports and tales of murder, looting, pillaging, rape, unjust conquest and much, much more lit a fire in your spirit, and you decided to jump on a boat and cross an ocean to go make that fire they started their problem.¡±

    He could see a small bit of life return to the gazes of many who were watching him.

    ¡°We clearly aren''t in Europe. Once again, I have no idea where we are. As much as it hurts to say it, and it truly does¡­ I don¡¯t know if we can make it back there to help the rest of our brothers in arms bring the fascists to their knees.

    Not that our help would have been the cornerstone on whether or not we win or lose; we are just one supply convoy among many, after all. But it is a shame that we probably won¡¯t be able to join in on the fun.¡±

    He smirked slightly. Slightly humorous quips can also be a boon for demoralized troops. There was one last point that he wanted to make with his speech.

    ¡°I also know this, and I think that those of you who have spent time trying to talk with the locals will know this too.

    The people here are suffering. I have heard stories relayed to me of local towns just like this one being burned to the ground by the great flying dragons that we all saw and fought against. Stories of human beings, of young men, women, and children, being hunted and eaten, of families being shattered. The people here fight their own war against dragons. Dragons that roam this continent in huge numbers, dragons that the locals have little practical defense from¡­

    ¡°Dragons that we ripped to shreds with our guns!

    ¡°...Maybe that¡¯s why we were brought here. Both as a second chance at life, and so that we could lend these people a helping hand. So that we can bring the flying monsters that torment these people to justice!¡±

    ¡°I propose that we do whatever we can to help these people. We come to this land standing upon the shoulders of giants! With our technology, our tools, our steel, our industry, our knowledge, our weapons, we can make a massive difference in this world. We can show those people and these creatures our spirits!

    Maybe in doing so, perhaps we can also answer the age-old question of how the great warriors in the ancient myths that slew dragons would have fought if they had a good ol¡¯ rifle, and some brothers-in-arms alongside them!¡±

    Robert cut himself off there. It wasn¡¯t a very long speech by any means, but he feared that if he went any longer his voice might give out. The soldiers and sailors that made up the crowd before him, while not exactly looking rejuvenated, looked just that little bit brighter, harder, more alive.

    More determined.

    Lieutenant Colonel Speirs raised his voice once again. ¡°BATTALION! ATTEN-TION!¡± He cried out. He saluted Captain Drake, and the thousand soldiers snapped to attention with a synchronized stomp that sounded more akin to the boom of thunder.

    The handful of locals that had come to watch the commotion and observe the speech all jumped, startled by the noise. The soldiers, and sailors, all whipped their right hands up to their brows in salute. This time with much more vigor than before. Robert once again snapped to and saluted them back.

    He stepped off the half-track platform and joined the small group of subordinate naval officers that had been nearby, while LTC Speirs made his own way up onto the half-track to perform his own speech, give information and hand out directives to the entire battalion.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    What Drake had said was true, several interpreters-in-training had informed him that the locals had a very low opinion of dragons. Also, attacks such as the one that had been attempted on the town yesterday had happened to other human towns across the landmass (which was basically the entire known world to these people) and had much different and more catastrophic results than what had transpired here.

    If it weren¡¯t for the Allied ships and their AA guns being here, this very town they now anchored at would have most likely have been destroyed too.

    The interpreters also told him that a not insignificant percentage of local residents at this town were actually refugees from other villages that had been burned, and that they apparently had some pretty awful testimonies to give.

    He fully intended to leverage whatever they had to help these people.

    Which, given their relatively limited resources¨C at least compared to what an actual nation-state would need to function¨C would mean that they will need to rely more on the spread of knowledge and skill rather than brute force to provide these people an actual bulwark against the dragons.

    Despite how yesterday went, there is absolutely no way they would be able to fight off an entire continent¡¯s worth of dragons on their own.

    They will need help. Alliances.

    The people of this town, Safe Harbor, seemed to be a pretty safe bet at this point on whether they would be long-term partners. They already have a pretty large amount of goodwill towards the allied sailors, which hopefully will only improve as they really begin to share their modern tech with them.

    All those future plans of cooperation would need to wait, though, as they need to overcome the language barrier first.

    After that, establishing trade connections and relationships with other humans across the landmass would be the next step, but they''ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

    One other thing that they had to worry about was that dragon scroll that they had found. It was clear that the dragons they were going to be fighting against were at least intelligent enough to have a writing system.

    That gave Drake some hope that perhaps the dragons could be reasoned with, which would be an alternate path to securing the safety of not only the local humans, but also his men, rather than through just fighting.

    Although, that also opened the question as to why these dragons, if they were intelligent, were attacking humans like this in the first place.

    If the dragons were territorial (which was likely) and some people, intentionally or not, encroached on their turf and were killed for it, that would be somewhat more understandable.

    Not exactly diplomatically acceptable, but at least there would have been a quantifiable reason that could be identified and worked around.

    However, from what Robert had been told, dragons did not only kill people that strayed too close to what was probably their territory, but actively went out of their way to burn human villages and kill anyone they came across, no matter what.

    Were the dragons hyper-territorial, saw the entire continent as their territory, and saw fit to exterminate any humans they found?

    Were they just evil, and killed people because it was¡­ fun to them?

    The interpreters also told him that the locals relating their stories to them made it very clear that the dragons frequently ate people they caught, so did they murder so many people because¡­ they tasted good?

    If that¡¯s the case¡­ we¡¯ll just have to see how good they think high-velocity lead tastes. Robert thought darkly.

    Whatever the case, be the dragons intelligent or not, territorial or nor, evil or not, capable of being reasoned with at all, the humans were going to need to demonstrate a significant show of force in order to shake the existing status quo up enough so that the dragons would even consider breaking their habits.

    It would take time before such a show could be prepared and put up. They are going to need a lot more information on the wider situation around the continent and especially about the dragons themselves and what makes them tick before they can figure out what exactly would be effective against them on a strategic scale.

    Drake sighed, this place, at first glance, looked far more peaceful and more idyllic than the 20th-century war-torn land they were en route to. In reality they were probably in as much or more danger than the troops stationed in Great Britain, who had to deal with relatively frequent Luftwaffe air raids.

    At least these dragons flew a lot lower and slower than Heinkel bombers and Messerschmitts.

    Before any of that could happen, however, they need to be able to verbally communicate with the locals effectively. More than just the mish-mash of random words that they currently had.

    Deciphering that dragon scroll they found would also be useful, but was a lower priority for now.

    Until then, all Captain Drake could do was coordinate what could already be done and plan for what was to come.

    ***

    >Excerpt from Signalman Darren Olson¡¯s personal journal._

    ~

    Today was a rough day.

    A hard wave of cold despair and homesickness crashed through the Army troops and many of the sailors. I guess the realization that we¡¯re stuck here finally sunk in. Me and most of the other translators have just been trying to drown ourselves in our work to avoid the pain. I think that was the captain¡¯s original plan for everyone, but it clearly didn¡¯t work for very long. Can¡¯t blame him for trying though.

    ¡­One of the Privates committed suicide with his service pistol. The gunshot was what broke everyone from their tailspins into darkness. I feel bad for him but- I don¡¯t- I just- I-

    Don¡¯t get me wrong, subconscious, I get why he did it. We¡¯re all feeling the same pain, after all. But you just don¡¯t betray your brothers like that. Like I said, we all feel the same pain, but we¡¯re also here for each other. When in pain, solace can be found in shared suffering.

    Even I can sense the effects that Private taking his own life had and will have on morale, and I can only imagine how horrible his squadmates and friends must feel right now.

    We were all here for you, man. Taking the¡­ the cheap way out doesn''t help anybody, not even you.

    I know this is a cruel thing to write about someone who¡¯s dead by their own hand, and that I¡¯m gonna be in trouble if someone gets a hold of this, but I can¡¯t help the way I feel, not really. Putting my emotions and intrusive thoughts to writing helps me deal with and compartmentalize them. Which is why I have this blasted journal in the first place. It¡¯s not like anyone¡¯s gonna read this.

    I hope.

    On a less dark note, the other thing of note that happened today was that Captain Drake personally requested that I guide some machine shop officers and various personnel from across the convoy who were knowledgeable in metalworking and smithing through the town''s own blacksmithing infrastructure to get a rough determination of what they''re capable of producing, and get a guess as to their technology level and knowledgeableness. Tomorrow me and some farm boys are going to take a look at their farms to see what crops they are growing, how much they¡¯re growing and start making plans for how to increase their yields. We¡¯ll keep making those plans until we¡¯ve learned enough of each other¡¯s languages to properly communicate and discuss said plans.

    Safe Harbor¡¯s metalworking infrastructure consists of two tower-shaped buildings near the town¡¯s castle. I believe the name the locals had for them was a hybrid word between ¡°harbor¡± and ¡°forge.¡± Harbor-Forges.

    Each of the buildings were similar in design, and about 3 stories tall. Most of the interior space was taken up by a huge singular furnace that ran the height of the structure. I don¡¯t really know much about metalworking, but the people with me obviously did. They said that the furnace looked like it was easily able to get hot enough to work iron, however hot that is.

    The rest of the building¡¯s interior was filled with equipment and tools to work the furnace and the metal it was made for.

    The machine shop officers and various knowledgeable folk said that they were rather impressed by the local¡¯s infrastructure. They said that, while it wouldn¡¯t hold a candle to modern forgery facilities, it was rather good for their relative technology level. They also had good things to say about the actual size of the furnaces themselves, which would make renovating and ¡®modernizing¡¯ them easier.

    They had less good things to say about the products the locals had come from those forges, however. They said that the locals'' tools and weapons, which were either made from iron or bronze, were impure, unbalanced, and of overall low quality. One of the men present, who seemed to know a lot about metalworking history, said that they were more crude than the iron tools forged in Europe during the medieval period, which the town appears to be on a similar level to. Which was odd to him, as their furnace tech seemed to be better, he told me.

    I related their¡­ concerns to the local blacksmiths, who related back to me that they had grown inexperienced due to a rather critical shortage of new metal to work with. We can certainly remedy that, though we will have to upgrade their stuff to be able to work with steel rather than just iron. We have a lot of steel.

    We also took a look at the local¡¯s actual blacksmith workshops, which were huts situated around the Harbor-Forges. Unfortunately, the sailors were also not super impressed by those, either. But what else could you expect from people that were used to precision machining and modern industry? To be fair, the history nerd didn¡¯t seem very happy, either.

    I just thought it was cool to see an actual anvil, like in those new animated cartoons.

    Oh, well. All that mess will come in due time. Namely when the translation effort I¡¯m leading makes more progress. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll take a look at the farming situation. For now, I¡¯m exhausted, and feel kind of dirty after my whole spiel earlier.

    ***

    >Excerpt from Signalman Darren Olson¡¯s personal journal._

    ~

    We went to take a look at the local¡¯s farming situation today, to make predictions on how much food they can have, are currently growing, and start sketching plans on how to increase their yields.

    From what I could gather, there was increasing concern among the locals regarding whether or not they would be able to produce enough food to provide for everyone, given the comparatively massive amount of sailors, soldiers,s and even merchant mariners that came though that storm and are now here.

    Well, after taking a look at some of the farms that surrounded the town, I for one would certainly say that those fears were well founded.

    Their farms consisted of small crop sections, more like large gardens or plantations rather than proper farms, interspersed into small clearings in the forest which surrounds the town, and carefully concealed from the sky by overhead foliage and camouflage nets. It doesn''t exactly take a genius to guess why the locals would do that. As it stands, there is no way they will be able to grow enough to feed everyone.

    The actual crops they¡¯re growing seem to consist mostly of tubers. Potatoes, Carrots, radishes, things like that. Nothing big and tall like wheat or corn. Actually, scratch that, they did have some wheat in a small field, but nothing significant. I guess bread is considered quite the luxury around here. The local with us also showed us to a grove of apple and orange trees, which I guess serve as a kind of orchard for them as well.

    The good news, I guess, is that the main inhibitor of the local food production is not really terrain or bad soil. (The farm boys with me said that, other than the trees that would need clearing, the land actually seemed pretty good for growing stuff.) The biggest reason they can¡¯t, or haven¡¯t, upscaled their existing production is because they have to worry about keeping their stuff hidden from airborne threats.

    I¡¯m not super privy to what exactly is on all the transport ships we were escorting, but I know that, from what a couple of cargo grunts told me, we¡¯ve got literally boatloads of machine guns and ammo packing.

    That, on top of the existing air defense from the ships themselves, the battalion of army grunts and their toys, as well as the other small-arms shipments we were carrying; we not only have enough weapons for ourselves, but probably to arm all these townspeople to the teeth.

    We can increase the productivity of the local farms by multiplying their size, and throwing out protection by concealment in exchange for just shooting the hunting dragon¡¯s scales off.

    The other, much less exciting way we can help the locals improve their food production, is by lending them more powerful tools. Right now, the locals appear to rely solely on hand-held farming tools and human labor. Hoes, scythes, sickles, all of it. Even I remember from history class how crucial beasts of burden were to agriculture-at-scale and the development of civilizations. After we returned to the town, the handful of farmers we were with showed us to a small shed near the Harbor-Forges, which had some rather impressive looking, old, iron plows and yokes, at least to my layman eyes. According to what I¡¯m pretty sure they told me, they apparently used to have oxen-driven plows that worked the soil, but they were all carried off by dragons from the swamp in a raid. (So apparently there are swamp dragons, too. Great.) The town also doesn¡¯t seem to have any serious livestock either, probably for the same reason. However, I think one of the locals said that there are some typical livestock animals that roam in the wild far away from where dragons hunt. At least, I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s the message he was trying to convey.

    Anyway, I heard from the machine shop officers I was with yesterday when we did the look-over of the town¡¯s metalworking capabilities, that Captain Drake had proposed an idea to retrofit a couple of the half-track personnel carriers with plows and harvesters to use them as tractors. It¡¯s not that crazy of an idea, and I¡¯m pretty sure the first tanks and armored vehicles were based off of tractors anyway. Quite the irony. Added bonus is that most of those trucks already have machine guns bolted to them. Or multiple, in the case of the M16 motor gun carriages I saw earlier around the FOB site.

    Speaking of tanks, I also heard from the cargo grunts that told me about the 50 cals that another one of the liberty ships was carrying armored vehicles as well, specifically tanks. M4A2 Shermans, to be exact.

    I¡¯m certain the Army grunts will exercise and demonstrate perfect discipline, self-control, common sense and responsibility with that kind of firepower at all times.

    I know I wouldn¡¯t¡­

    That aside, I really want these language learning efforts to go as quickly as possible so that we can have actual tours by the locals rather than just this show-and-tell, just-a-step-above-charades game we¡¯ve been playing for the last couple of days. If we could actually talk to each other, we could actually talk shop and plan for the future. Right now we can only make rough actualizations. Since I¡¯m literally the guy in charge of that process, I guess all I can do is work harder. The guys with me have been putting in as much and more work than I could ask of them, and the locals have shown similar resolve.

    The more I think about it, the more I think we ought to prioritize the locals learning English. As much as it pains me. There are just too many concepts and details that exist in the realm of specifics and technical details that surely don¡¯t exist in their society yet. Is it easier to just get them to learn our own words rather than have them invent their own? Not only that, but I¡¯m pretty sure that, between the battalion of soldiers, and all the sailors across the convoy, we actually outnumber the locals of this town by a fair amount. It isn¡¯t a very big town, after all.

    Another bonus is that the locals have a very funny sounding accent when speaking English words. It¡¯s like nothing I¡¯ve ever heard. (Which really shouldn¡¯t be surprising)

    I should quit writing this, as I have to finalize an official report on what we learned about the local¡¯s farming and smithing infrastructure for the Captain. It turns out paperwork is another one of those constants throughout life, no matter where you are.

 XI - Alarm!

    >At a SeaWing enclave, on the outskirts of the Kingdom of the Sea._

    Cuttlefish was bored.

    Really bored.

    Despite all the excitement the last few days held, and the near-nonstop questions and wild speculations bouncing around his head, the most prominent emotion he currently felt was that of boredom.

    It made sense, though. That he would be bored, given his current circumstance. Even the most excitable, or easy-going dragonet would be bored if he had been confined to his sleeping cave for the past day or so.

    He and his friends had been grounded after what had happened yesterday. Mako and her procession to the Summer Palace had returned just in time to see the giant underwater-scavenger-boat-thing looming over their enclave, with a talonful of dragons swimming and floating nearby. Clam, Oyster and Cuttlefish in the center of the formation, next to the boat-thing itself.

    Mako had never seen the underwater-boat-thing for herself, only having heard of its existence from the dragonets during their recounting of their first contact with them.

    She had seen the hulking boat-thing, the dragonets next to it, and (correctly) assumed that the dragonets had somehow led it to the enclave. After all, how else could it have picked out this one specific location from the entire ocean that even some SeaWings had difficulty finding? Especially since, when last she heard and saw, the boat things were all gathered around the seaside scavenger den?

    Needless to say, she was thoroughly livid.

    After literally yanking Cuttlefish underwater to interrogate him, she ¡®recommended¡¯ to his and the sibling¡¯s parents to confine them to their respective sleeping caves until further notice. Mako¡¯s wrath was tempered somewhat when Cuttlefish promised to drive off the giant boat-thing, and then did.

    She was still mad, though, and they were still very grounded.

    He was grateful for his friends being there for him at that moment, though. They had come to his defense while Mako was berating him, although the effectiveness of said defense was questionable at best.

    He could vividly recall one exchange in particular:

    [¡°WHICH PART OF YOU THOUGHT IT WAS GOOD IDEA TO BRING THIS- THIS HUGE THING TO OUR HOME!? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?¡±] Mako had signal-shouted with a glaring intensity that was almost blinding to Cuttlefish¡¯s light-sensitive, night-vision capable eyes.

    To which Clam responded: [¡°Hey! It¡¯s not that huge! It¡¯s only like¡­ three times as long as a whale?¡±]

    Despite Cuttlefish¡¯s current dull discomfort, and his offense at being grounded by his irate teacher through his mother, he admitted that he could- ¡­understand why he was here, to an extent.

    Mako had seen with her own eyes what the scavenger-boats near the scavenger den could do to dragons. He and the siblings were there, but they didn¡¯t directly see the gory sight she later described. Cuttlefish knew Mako was tough and harsh, even by dragon standards. Rumors and stories about what she did, or was, before moving to their enclave were always hushed whenever dragonets were nearby. She herself certainly never talked about her past. But what she saw above the den, Cuttlefish thought got to her more that she let on, or even necessarily knew herself.

    And even though his assumption that no harm would come of leading that particular boat-thing to their enclave where they could have easy access to their scrolls had proven right. He would admit that leading a strange thing that he knew to be potentially dangerous to his home was probably¡­ certainly, a lapse in judgment on his part.

    That didn¡¯t mean that he wasn¡¯t still bored and unhappy about it, though.

    Cuttlefish scraped his claws against the empty cave¡¯s floor for the 267th time this afternoon and sighed. An entirely melodramatic gesture when you were underwater, where there was no air to exhale. He had already spent all the air left in his lungs long ago blowing bubbles in an attempt to amuse himself. He tried to focus on the more positive aspects of what had happened yesterday.

    Or perhaps it would be more apt to describe them as the more wild and unbelievable aspects of what happened yesterday.

    Such as hearing a scavenger standing atop a floating metal contraption beyond his comprehension saying his own name back at him.

    When he had proposed scrawling pictures of the molluscs and cephalopod he and his friends were named after onto a scroll and attempting to teach the scavengers he had seen atop the boat-thing their names, he had done so mostly as a joke. A ¡®why not?¡¯ type of thing. He never thought it would go anywhere! Out of all the crazy things that had happened, that was easily the biggest standout.

    He didn¡¯t think he would ever forget the sound of the pale, yellow-furred scavenger with eyes like the ocean around them enunciating ¡°Cuttlefish¡± with a strange, high-pitched and accented continence, after chattering extensively with other similarly scavengers in a harsh barking throaty way that was absolutely nothing like what the scrolls, and other enclave dwellers he had talked to, said scavengers were supposed to sound like.

    If he really thought about it, there was probably a lot about that entire interaction that was probably mind-blowingly crazy, and nothing like what the scrolls said scavengers were like. The fact that he was even able to get the scavengers to follow them back to the enclave only through talon gestures was already beyond what the scrolls said they were capable of. Much less the exchange of light flashes they had, and how he was able to get the scavenger to go away again by pointing out where the rest of the boat-things were on a map and verbally telling them to go on their way. Those were all examples of communication, of information being exchanged and instructions being given.

    Even if neither side really knew what the other was saying, or if the other side had understood what they wanted them to do.

    Cuttlefish recalled the expressions on the scavenger¡¯s faces, and the way they just stared. Stared with clear focus and what looked to him like contemplative curiosity at the various scrolls of maps, dragon and even scavenger diagrams they had shown them while they were still here.

    Once again, he wasn¡¯t fully sure why he thought showing a bunch of scavengers their scrolls would get a reaction out of them, but he did anyway. And the scavengers did react.

    The scavenger guide scroll certainly did not mention any of this about scavengers. Is there more to them than we know? Was the scroll we have wrong? Did the writer of that scroll just forget to mention that scavengers, at least some of them, can build huge metal boat-things, communicate using barking sounds and throaty vocalizations that sound eerily similar to dragon speak rather than squeaks and chirps, and pay close attention to scrolls when showed to them as if they were trying to read it?

    And can mimic dragon language?

    Cuttlefish had no idea. That scroll they read said that it was the definitive guide on everything one would need to know about scavengers, but it was possible that other ¡°definitive¡± guides existed out there. Perhaps they would have more to say.

    The other enclave dwellers certainly didn¡¯t seem to. He and his friends had asked around some after returning from the den with Mako to get any information they could on scavengers, and of course had a few scavenger-related stories told to them over the few years they had been alive by dragons who were away from the enclave more often than others. Nobody seemed to have knowledge that went beyond, or deviated from what they had read in the definitive guide.

    That was probably to be expected, though. Scavengers were irrelevant even to Seawings that lived next to the continental shore, much less those that lived in the middle of the ocean as they did.

    Right now, Cuttlefish wished that he wasn¡¯t confined to a cave with almost nothing in it. He specifically wished for a blank scroll and some ink, so that he could write down some of the things he observed about the scavengers on the boat-thing. Maybe he could write his own article, and get it published as an addition to Everything you need to know about scavengers!

    At least, he thought that everyone should know about scavengers that can build huge boats of metal, mimic dragon speech, and probably have strange weapons that can literally rip apart dragons mid-flight.

    Cuttlefish was broken from his tide of thought by a large shadow passing into the cave that he recognized instantly. Dolphin, his mother. She carried several scrolls and other things and looked unhappy, but not necessarily at him.

    [¡°Hello, mother¡­¡±] He greeted tentatively.

    [¡°You can leave the cave, if you wish.¡±] She flashed back unceremoniously. [¡°But¨C You are not to leave the enclave. You¡¯re still grounded, but you can do things around here. I would recommend avoiding Mako for the time being, however.¡±]

    Cuttlefish ¡®jumped¡¯ up, rejuvenated by her allowing him to at least depart their sleeping cave. He usually spent a lot of time swimming around outside the enclave, exploring. So not being able to leave still sunk, but right now he didn¡¯t care. Any freedom was better than none at all.

    He thanked her as he swam past, but she didn¡¯t respond. He slowed to a stop as he reached the cave¡¯s mouth, and turned back. His mother was acting down. More so than usual, anyway. He felt he should try to do something.

    [¡°Mother¡­? Is something wrong? Did something happen?¡±]

    She paused what she was doing as she caught his signal flashes from the corner of her eye, and her wings seemed to slump downwards. She said nothing for a couple moments, probably thinking about what to say.

    [¡°...I asked Mako if she had been told anything about father when she was at the Summer Palace. Thank you for asking her to do that, by the way. She said that the commander dragons there ¡®Didn¡¯t know anything about his current state.¡¯ It¡¯s better than being told that he was¡­ missing, and Mako said that it didn¡¯t seem like they really had no idea where or how he was¡­ but rather more like they just didn¡¯t bother to get his current whereabouts when she asked. Even then, it¡¯s still¡­ errrrrrgh.¡±]

    Her speech was cut off by a tired growl, some small bubbles rose from her snout and her luminescent scales rapidly strobed in a manner that mirrored the inaudible sound. Her flashes were slow and dim, her motions lethargic. Many dragons in her circumstance would speed up out of nervousness or anxiety, and become hyperactive. His mother, however, slowed down and became demotivated, almost as if she were too cold, and her body was slowing down.

    After hearing that news, though, Cuttlefish felt a lot less eager to go out and meet his friends and go find some scrolls.

    [¡°Are¡­ Are you sure she¡¯s telling the truth?¡±] He asked, feeling a little bad to be asking such a thing of his irritable tutor. Mako was abrasive, and could be a little rude and even condescending at times, but he had never known her to be dishonest.

    His mother shook her head. [¡°Yes. Mako¡¯s an honest dragon, perhaps partially because she¡¯s an absolutely terrible liar, and gave up on trying years ago. I don¡¯t know much about army stuff and habits, but I know she does. If she thinks the non-answer she received just meant they were too lazy to go and check rather than being afraid to give bad news, I¡¯m inclined to trust her.¡±]

    Cuttlefish accepted the answer and decided against inquiring further. Once again, he knew next to nothing about what Mako¡¯s life was like before moving to the enclave, so he didn¡¯t really have any additional information to give or go off of.

    [¡°I hope father¡¯s safe.¡±] Was all he said.

    [¡°...I hope so, too.¡±] His mother responded in kind. [¡°Now, go find your friends. They should also have been allowed by their parents to wander about the enclave, but absolutely none of you are to leave after that stunt you pulled. I still have no idea why you thought to bring that thing here¡­ Nevermind. Go find your friends, talk about what you learned and all that, but you would do well to avoid Mako if you can. She is still in a rather foul mood, and probably won¡¯t take kindly to seeing you three swimming about.¡±]

    Cuttlefish dipped his head in acknowledgement, and made off without saying anything else. Doing nothing but worrying himself wouldn¡¯t be what his father would¡¯ve¨C WOULD want him to do, and he still wanted to write down what he discovered with the scavengers on the boat.

    ***

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea, Approaching a scavenger den._

    Out of all the jobs that could be given to a patroller, investigating reports of a suddenly and inexplicably lethal scavenger den certainly wasn¡¯t the worst. Probably not even the strangest.

    It helped that, usually, SeaWing coastal patrolling was one of the most dangerous jobs that could be given to a SeaWing soldier. Being a coastal patroller meant that you had to fly close to or over land, where one could be easily ambushed by terrestrial fire-breathing dragons, while of course deliberately looking for those ambushes so that you can take note of their locations. Which was actually secondary to their primary task of making sure that groups of enemy dragons encroaching into their territory weren''t getting too close to the Summer Palace, lest they manage to find and attack it.

    Loss rates for territory patrollers were higher than for front-talon soldiers, despite technically being a rear-talon position. It was a dangerous job, but one that had to be done.

    Perhaps that last point would be more consoling, however, if it weren''t usually such a boring job as well. One might at first think that being in near-constant relative peril while flying through the sky looking for foes would be exciting, in reality it was the opposite. Most days went by with nothing happening. Leading to a mind-numbing monotony broken by the terror of being jumped by angry fire-breathing dragons that were already waiting for you. The combination of boredom and fear led to a kind of constant slow paranoia in most SeaWings that gradually dulls the senses.

    Argonaut had been a coastal patroller for only a couple of months, which, as far as it went, was a rather long time to last in his occupation. That is, at least since Commander Tempest¡¯s death and their armies'' subsequent rout from the mainland. He was one of the longest serving patrollers there was, and had recently been promoted to Wing Leader of a Wing of a few other patrollers.

    Coastal patrollers had become a lot more decentralized in their command structure since the rout, due to the high casualty rates and adaptive/reactive nature of their job. Wing leaders had a lot more autonomy to operate under their own directive in a given scenario than other limbs of the general army, or indeed other parts of other dragon armies, could. What each patrol flight did was largely up to their own Wing leader, so long as they flew their general patrol routes and were on time.

    The downside to that freedom was less direct attention from the Commanders and the Queen, so they had less resources, less organization than usual, and a longer response time from oher limbs of the army in case anything went wrong.

    His own Wing was small, only five dragons not counting him, and made up of SeaWings that had also been patrollers for a good while themselves, but none for as long as him. They were all good at their jobs, and trusted him to do his.

    Normally, their usual patrol pattern would take them along the part of the Bay of a Thousand Scales that bordered the Sky Kingdom, along the southern shore of the massive wing-shaped peninsula. Their current mission, however, was far from their normal patrol route.

    [¡°Nearly there, SeaWings.¡±] He broke the quiet stillness between them.

    On a normal patrol, they would have been flying through the air, not swimming. But this was an investigation that was meant to be covert, not a standard patrol.

    They were getting close to their destination. It was a little difficult to determine distances underwater, at least in relation to things on the surface, but Argonaut had a good sense of direction, and could gauge distance traveled more easily than most other SeaWings. One of the reasons he was a Wing leader.

    The others acknowledged him by flicking their tails, not saying anything themselves. There was little practical reason they couldn''t just talk as they wished while they traveled, as once again they were underwater, but it paid to stay completely alert when you were on patrol, as they and many other dragons had learned from experience.

    Argonaut appreciated that they need not fly for this mission. Being underwater meant that they weren¡¯t vulnerable to ambush by their fire-breathing enemies. They need only investigate their quarry from below the waves for this mission. In fact, they had been specifically advised against flying above the area they were to scout, due to potential danger. Well, more danger than was usual.

    It rather made him wish that all their coastal patrols could be conducted underwater, but it wasn¡¯t as though one could view what was above the water very well without breaking the water¡¯s surface themselves.

    That of course begged the question as to what it was that they were supposed to be investigating, given that they weren¡¯t supposed to surface at all. He knew that it had to do with a scavenger den, which was weird. If they were supposed to just get a good look at a scavenger den, why wouldn¡¯t they ought to fly over it to see all of it, or at least poke their heads above water to get a look from there?

    He had been given a brief explanation by a superior, telling him that: ¡°Something dangerous had been reported by some enclave dwellers at the scavenger den marked on the map we showed you earlier. Whatever in the three moons it is, they said it was on the water, so you''ll be able to see it from underwater. If it¡¯s there, or even if it exists. All you have to do is just see if there¡¯s actually anything there, then come back.¡±

    The closest enclave to the den he was shown was his own home, which frustrated him to no end. He could have met the fellow dwellers while they were at the Palace! He¡¯d been gone for so long, catching up would have been nice. He really wanted to know how his Dolphin and little Cuttlefish were doing. Though, if he thought about it, Cuttlefish probably wouldn''t be so little anymore. That thought made his chest twist, so he didn''t think about it. It was really difficult to get letters all the way from the Summer Palace to their enclave, which was a little confusing given the Queen¡¯s apparent aptitude and appreciation for scrolls and written documents.

    Whatever. There wasn¡¯t anything that he could do about it now, and trying to take a ¡®detour¡¯ on the return trip was a bad idea, as their Commanders would know that they¡¯d been gone for longer than they should have been. He would just follow orders and do his job until that job was finished, as he always had since being drafted.

    It was hardly a half-hour later that Argonaut knew they should be on their final approach, and they came into sight of something¡­ unexpected. Or perhaps it was to be expected in this particular case, but it was certainly unprecedented. As the seafloor began to gradually slope upwards towards the shore, a large shadow loomed on the water¡¯s surface before they came into sight of land itself. The six dragons stopped and exchanged glances.

    Is this what we are meant to find?

    Argonaut dimly flashed that this was where they were meant to be, and they continued forward.

    As they got closer, more and more shadows came into view. There were a lot of them. They all floated ominously on the water¡¯s surface. All of them were huge, even the smallest ones being easily more than twice, perhaps even thrice, the size of a blue whale. The majority of them were far larger than even those.

    Moons above¡­ He thought to himself.

    Most of the mysterious shapes were unmoving, many of them even had lines running from them to the seafloor. The patrol wing swam closer, they had been told that these things, whatever they were, only appeared dangerous to flying dragons, so they should be fine so long as they stayed underwater. A few of them, the smaller ones- it seemed- did not have said lines and some appeared to be slowly moving about.

    They flicked their tails and gave large thrusts with their wings, propelling them forward and sending small clouds of bubbles up to the surface.

    They moved under the formation, and swam up to one of the lines.

    [¡°It looks like a chain.¡±] Someone flashed.

    [¡°It¡¯s clearly a chain.¡±] Another quipped.

    [¡°The question is, who made it? And why? What is this thing doing chained to the seafloor?¡±] Argonaut interjected, looking up to the shape before pointing towards the shore. [¡°That¡¯s a scavenger den over there. Do scavengers have to do with any of this?¡±]

    [¡°I heard that these things somehow killed a bunch of NightWings, who were hunting the den or something. So maybe.¡±]

    [¡°Scavengers aren''t capable of this, whatever this is!¡±]

    Inwardly, Argonaut agreed. But if scavengers didn¡¯t build these things, then who did? Which dragon kingdom would be capable of making these things? The SkyWings and SandWings both avoided the sea whenever possible, and the MudWings and RainWings absolutely weren''t capable of engineering something like this. The IceWings also never left their territory except to go on raids, and they couldn¡¯t work with metal, either. The only other possible contender were the NightWings, who were certainly mysterious enough that they could theoretically make something like these, but these things had been specifically reported to have killed NightWings. Not to mention, things like these would have taken decades, if not centuries, of development and construction. There was no way that the NightWings, or anyone else, would have been able to just suddenly build them without anyone else finding out about it before-talon.

    They moved on the shape they were investigating, and Argonaut had them break up to look at different sections of the larger formation. There were so many of them that, even with them split up, it would take a while for them to get a close look at all of them.

    But they didn¡¯t need a close look at all of them. A cursory glance-over and number count would do for now.

    After about two minutes, they reconvened at the outer extent of the group. The pair that had investigated the shapes nearest to the shore had gazes that looked¡­ Distant.

    [¡°These things are weird.¡±]

    [¡°I counted 7 over there.¡±] One said with a wing wave in one direction

    [¡°8 over there.¡±] Another wing wave

    [¡°10 near here.¡±]

    [¡°We counted 15 closer to land, more in the middle of the cluster.]

    [¡°There are 4 more tied to these weird wooden structures that attached to the shore¡­ but there¡¯s something else you should see, Argonaut.¡±]

    He raised his brows, but said nothing as he let the SeaWings in question lead him to a specific spot close to the shoreline, keeping well under the strange looming shapes as they went. His other Wingmates followed closely behind, with similar due caution.

    The two dragons stopped, and one pointed a claw just ahead and gave Argonaut a look, but went no further. The Wing Leader shrugged, and continued onward. He could now just make out a strange shape - or rather a group of shapes - scattered about on the seafloor. He couldn¡¯t tell what they were.

    He approached the largest of the shadowy blobs, covering his snout with a webbed talon and convulsing with bile rising in his throat and ice shooting through his spine when he realized what it was. A corpse. Or rather, what was left of a corpse. As a coastal patroller, Argonaut had seen several examples of dragons that had fallen into the water and perished, with their bodies left to slowly rot and be picked apart by fish. The sight of death was not new to him. This however¡­ was something else entirely.

    Rather than having a slit throat, broken neck or spine, or impaled chest, which were the most common causes of death in dragon-on-dragon combat, This dragon had been eviscerated.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Mangled scales lay strewn about the area around, intermixed with strips of flesh and fragments of shattered bone from the gore¡¯s epicenter, which itself was most of a dragon¡¯s torso. Scales, muscles, sinew and bits of organs that had been blended into an indistinguishable mess clung to the mass, drifting and swaying slightly with the gentle tidal current. Blood had appeared to have long drained from the body, leaving most of the flesh a ghostly pale color, though small red clouds emerged from certain orifices.

    What ribs were left that hadn¡¯t been shattered like seashells undertalon were twisted and bent, emerging from the mass at horrible angles. Only two apparently limbs were still attached, most of the left hind leg and half of the tail, both shredded almost beyond recognition. What sections of the corpse that still had scales covering it had been thoroughly perforated by small holes, to the point that there was no one section of the body that still looked like it was part of a dragon.

    Looking around numbly, he was able to make out smaller shapes that might have been this dragon¡¯s missing limbs. Might have. The closest of the shapes actually appeared to be the dragon¡¯s head and neck, which were still attached to each other. The head was facing him, towards the rest of the body and the neck facing away. The lower jaw and right horn was missing and a giant chunk had been torn from the skull where one eye used to be, with bone and brain matter leaking out. A small fish swam out of the other eye socket. Even with all the damage, it was recognizably the head of a NightWing.

    What in the Great Currents, Three Moons, or Watchers is capable of this!?

    He had never even conceived of, much less seen, dragons that died in a manner as brutal as this. Not even stories from Queen Scarlet¡¯s arena, or of what Burn did to her prisoners of war came anywhere close to this level of viscera.

    No dragon¡¯s talons were capable of this kind of damage. To cut through all those scales and to break the bones apart like that with one¡¯s claws or teeth would take a long time, and a lot of brutality. Whatever happened to this dragon, it clearly happened fast. It wouldn¡¯t be so mangled, otherwise.

    This dragon looked like the corpse of a prey animal that had been chewed up and spat back out by a dragon.

    He found himself feeling really bad for whatever dragons had seen what had been inflicted upon this dragon as it happened. He already knew that he was going to be seeing the aftermath in his dreams for a long time.

    A bright flash brought him up out of the horrified thought whirlpool he was spiraling into. His wingmates had followed behind him after waiting a few moments, and had just come into sight of the mess he had witnessed. Most covered their snouts with their talons and averted their eyes, while another just puked.

    [¡°What¡­ What could have done this?¡±] One asked once she had recovered her bearings enough to do so.

    They all, slowly and simultaneously, raised their gazes up to the hulking shadows above them, blocking out the sun. They suddenly appeared a lot more ominous.

    [¡°I think we should leave¡­.¡±] Someone flashed.

    Argonaut couldn¡¯t agree more. He didn¡¯t want to be around these things any longer than need be.

    [¡°Alright, SeaWings,¡¯] he announced, [¡°We¡¯ve done our job. We should head back to the Summer Palace. Make sure to stay underwater until we are well clear of these things.¡±]

    The other five dragons all swam off with powerful thrusts of their wings, not heading in the exact direction they came, which would take them back to the Summer Palace, but seeming to want to get far away from the hulking shadows as quickly as they could. Argonaut followed after taking another glance over the group of shadow shapes present.

    Before he could catch up, however, he felt¡­ something  happening in the water around him. He turned around, and saw one of the smaller shapes charging rather quickly towards them.

    Before he could freak out, he quickly realized that the shape was not moving directly at him and his Wing, but rather towards the direction they had come from, which was slightly different from the way they were going now. He floated still, somewhat transfixed by the huge shape moving through the water on its own, with no propelling fins or paddles in sight. The something that he felt in the water, he realized, were probably vibrations created by that thing moving. It rather made his head ache.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his Wing had stopped as well, and one of them was flashing something rather bright at him, presumably calling out to him.

    Before he could turn to respond, however, his attention was once again snared by the floating object. It was still moving along its course, but he saw a small splash coming from the rear of the thing, with a single rapidly sinking bubble trail indicating something heavy falling through the water. He was able to see a sort of¡­ cylindrical object¡­ at the bottom of the sinking trail.

    Suddenly, quick as a flash, the cylinder became a massive writhing bubble and a brilliant flash of light, and Argonaut¡¯s world, for a split second, became nothing but pressure and noise. He barely registered an awful pain striking through his skull and along his spine, before everything went black.

    And then, nothing.

    ***

    >Aboard U-178, near Safe Harbor._

    Korvettenkapitan Klaus Witt nearly had a heart attack as he watched a corvette break off from the formation of stationary ships and charge forth through his boat¡¯s periscope.

    It turned out that the bunch of water dragons back out at sea had been trying to tell him about something specific when they were directing him to leave. He had steadily followed the bearing pointed out by the dragons, keeping the boat¡¯s speed low after the initial dash to conserve fuel, until the watch officer atop the sail spotted land, and something silhouetted against it. He ordered the boat to submerge to periscope depth for safety, and continued onwards.

    Peering through the optical device, he promptly identified the recognizable and distinct outlines of multiple transport ships, and a few smaller escort ships as well.

    It was here that Witt once again found himself at an impasse. On one hand, it was sort of the entire point of the ubootwaffe to destroy those ships. And they were enemy combatants. On the other hand, he was not allowed to commence an attack without direct orders to do so. He was also outnumbered to the point where alerting the ships to their presence by launching torpedos would almost certainly be suicide, since there were no other boats around to provide backup. They probably would not even be able to calculate a proper torpedo firing solution, or indeed have the torpedoes stay on course, since their gyroscopes and gyrocompasses still weren''t working right.

    Not to mention they could possibly be stranded on an completely alien world, and these could be the only other humans around, which meant antagonizing them wasn¡¯t the best of plans.

    Either way, it was a fight they weren¡¯t going to win. But did they have to fight it?

    Not really sure what else to do, he ordered the helm to carefully close some distance so they could get a better look, being as quiet as possible all the while.

    As they approached, Witt was better able to make out more detail about what was happening on the shore the Allied ships were anchored nearby, which in turn only caused his bafflement about where they were to grow. On land, located just above the shore itself, appeared to be a castle. An actual middle-ages looking castle. Klaus had visited one of Germany¡¯s many old castles on a middle school field trip years ago. What he saw on that coast looked very similar, but also much different. Its shape was more reminiscent, he thought, of an air raid bunker or something rather than an actual castle. Although it was clearly constructed with the materials one would normally associate with castle construction. At least that meant that there were probably more people here! Unless the castle had been built by a race of dog-men or something, but that would be weird.

    What¡¯s more, he could also make out what looked to be a small town clustered around the fort and towards the sea. It looked like a few Allied ships had docked with small piers built off the town as well. Confirming they had already made contact with whoever, or whatever people that were already here. Though how much help those people would be able to provide was another question.

    He could also see various small boats, probably utility craft deployed from the larger ships, moving around from ship to ship or to the shore. Which made him wonder what exactly they were up to.

    He ordered a drifting stop once they were a few thousand meters from the nearest vessel, and continued to look. Being this close was extremely risky, and could spell disaster for them should they be detected by their hydrophone systems, or if their periscope was spotted by attentive crewmembers on deck. It was the middle of the day, after all. Submarines like his normally only attacked at night for that reason.

    Which was why Klaus almost panicked when he saw one of the escort ships closer to their side of the formation, a single-stack corvette, which had been slowly meandering about, suddenly change course and accelerate hard.

    He swore out loud, startling the already on-edge crew in the boat¡¯s control room with him, and was about to order a crash dive as deep as they could go, when he realized the corvette was not coming towards them, but off on an angle almost perpendicular to them.

    With the search periscope pointed directly on the corvette, and beads of sweat accumulating on his brow, he saw a small splash occur just off the ship¡¯s stern. Him and the entire crew winced as an immense thud reverberated through the boat¡¯s hull a few seconds later and shook the entire thing. They knew that sound. A massive column of water erupted up from behind the speeding ship, signifying a depth charge attack. A few other escort ships nearby were beginning to maneuver themselves, curious as to what was going on.

    ¡°Captain!¡± His first officer hollered, ¡°Are we under attack!?¡±

    He pulled away from the periscope and refocused his eyes on his crew. The men in the control room were all staring at him with eyes bordering on frantic. They were terrified. He was too. But at the same time¡­ Klaus wasn¡¯t actually sure if they were under attack. He had no idea if that depth charge was meant for them, but wildly off target.

    They have to have detected something. If not us, then what? A water dragon?

    He steeled himself to keep his voice steady for his crew¡¯s sake. ¡°I don¡¯t know. The ship which dropped that bomb is about 2000 meters away, and not heading for us. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve detected us.¡±

    He returned his gaze to the periscope, and quickly reoriented it to once again focus on the corvette, which appeared to be either circling back around to attack again or investigate. Before he could move the periscope to look back to the explosion¡¯s location to get a look for himself, his attention was grabbed by a flashing brightness coming from the corvette. He focused further on the vessel, and his blood turned to ice.

    On the corvette¡¯s superstructure, near its smokestack, he could see the origin of the flashing. It was not reflected sunlight, as he suspected, but the ship¡¯s searchlight. And it was pointed right at them. He could see a small cannon just ahead of the superstructure traversing towards them, with several humanoid figures across the ship¡¯s deck that appeared to be pointing right at him.

    Oh, God¡­

    Witt swore once again, doing nothing to soothe anyone else¡¯s nerves. ¡°THEY¡¯VE SEEN US!¡± He blurted.

    Everyone¡¯s fear racked up a couple of notches at that.

    ¡°What do we do!?¡±

    ¡°How many of them are there!?¡±

    ¡°Should we dive!?¡±

    ¡°CAPTAIN! WHAT ARE YOUR ORDERS!?¡± His first officer¡¯s voice rang out above the din.

    Klaus ran through their options, lightning fast. Once again, their gyroscopes still were malfunctioning, so accurate torpedo attacks were out of the question. They could emergency dive, and go deep, but the enemy ships already knew where they were. Diving like that would make a lot of noise from their ballast tanks expunging their air reserves. They also did not have a whole lot of battery power left after their approach; They wouldn¡¯t be able to get far, especially not with the U-boat¡¯s painfully slow underwater running speed. They were also still hopelessly outnumbered; the number of ASW capable ships present versus their lone boat meant that they would most likely be found quickly if they tried to escape. Where would they even escape to if they did? It wasn¡¯t as though they had indefinite fuel. Where could they go?

    ¡°CAPTAIN!?¡± His first officer hollered.

    Klaus could see other escort ships beginning to rotate their guns or maneuver to face them. Except for one, which appeared to have its attention still focused on something else, something in the water. He quickly turned his periscope to look where the ship appeared to be going towards, and saw something strange and green bobbing in the water, mostly concealed to him by the gentle rolls of the sea.

    Something strange, green, and familiar bobbing in the water. There were no natural sea creatures that color and size. It would seem that their submarine wasn¡¯t what prompted that initial depth charge strike.

    That also gave him an idea.

    ¡°CAPTAIN!?¡± His first officer shouted again.

    He tore his gaze from the periscope, and looked back to his terrified crew. He owed it to them to keep them safe. If fighting wasn¡¯ an option, and it was too late for hiding, then there was only one remaining option left for them.

    ¡°PREPARE TO SURFACE!¡± Witt bellowed over him. ¡°It¡¯s too late for hiding now! Drain the ballast tanks and adjust the dive planes to ascend! Hans! You get ready to work the signal lamp, you¡¯re coming up onto the sail with me!¡±

    The crew stood and stared at him for a few moments of stunned silence. That was not what they were expecting.

    ¡°Are we surrendering?¡± Someone asked.

    ¡°No. Not if I can help it.¡± He assured, and started to climb the ladder up to the boat¡¯s conning tower.

    He unlocked the airtight seal and climbed onto the sail just as the water had receded enough for him to do so. Sunlight glinted off the water¡¯s calm surface, dazzling him for just a moment as the boat slowly rose out of the water like some great beast which he rode upon. It would have been a rather cinematic and memorable scene if he weren''t so terrified.

    The corvette that spotted them and two other escort ships, probably frigates, had turned to face them bow-on, and were already beginning to bear down on their boat. He raised his hands and waved them in a wide gesture, hoping they would notice his unusual behavior and hold their fire.

    Underwater, they were vulnerable to hydrophones and depth charge bombs. On the surface, they would lose any artillery duel with a surface vessel. It was uncommon that a submarine captain would attempt to utilize their deck gun in a last-ditch effort, but not unheard of.

    Seaman Hans Fischer clambered up the ladder behind him. He was here because he was not only familiar with maritime codes, but Morse Code as well. He would use the boat¡¯s signal lamp to try to communicate with the enemy ships.

    Witt ordered him to the light, and told him to relay what he says through it, and to tell him what response they receive. With shaking hands, Hans grasped the small luminary device, switched it on, and pointed it towards the encroaching sub-hunters.

    He opened up first. [¡°HOLD FIRE. NOT ATTACKING. PLEASE RESPOND. OVER.¡±]

    It was basic and crude, but it should get the message across.

    The oncoming escort ships didn¡¯t visibly deviate from their course, but Klaus hoped he wasn¡¯t imagining a slight hesitation in them. No return flashes were sent, but neither did cannon fire come, which was a good sign. He could imagine the sailors aboard those craft had no idea what to make of the situation; Spotting an enemy submarine, which promptly surfaced rather than diving, and having a man climb up, wave, and ask them via light signal to not shoot. He wouldn¡¯t know what to do were he them, either.

    They reiterated their signal: [¡°REPEAT. HOLD YOUR FIRE. WE ARE NOT ATTACKING. NEGOTIATE. PLEASE RESPOND. OVER.¡±]

    After a few heavy minutes that dragged like hours, a response signal came.

    [¡°STAND BY.¡±]

    ¡°They- they said to stand by, captain.¡± Hans stuttered.

    ¡°I know, seaman.¡± Witt responded. ¡°That they haven''t opened fire already is a good sign, I think. We will have to wait and see what they do next. Any sudden action on our part will likely prompt them to break the stalemate.¡±

    And the stalemate held. The convoy escort ships slowed to a stop a few hundred meters away, and they and the submarine both held their positions. Neither sides moved nor signaled again, and a cold stillness fell over the scene.

    Eventually, another ship, an American Destroyer, it looked to be, made its way around some supply ships and approached them steadily. Witt could see another escort vessel closing in to investigate the green bobbing object, which from here looked even more like another water dragon. It was either dead or just unconscious from the depth charge strike.

    The full-size American destroyer passed the other two smaller warships confronting his boat, and continued on its course towards them. Witt could see sailors all across the ship¡¯s deck and superstructure, many appearing to be holding firearms.

    He steeled his composure and expression, hopefully concealing his wracking nerves. A feat seaman Hans didn¡¯t even appear to be attempting, judging by his almost shaking posture. Klaus hoped that he could keep it together for long enough to decide the outcome of this encounter.

    Refocusing his attention on the slowly approaching ship, the numbers 569 painted in bright white against the maritime gray of her bow, he noticed a uniquely-uniformed man standing upon the vessel¡¯s superstructure, on the bridge¡¯s port wing, standing out from the rest of the American sailors from his attire.

    Probably that ship¡¯s commanding officer. Perhaps even the lead escort ship¡¯s CO, given this ship approached us rather than the other two. My Lord, this is serious.

    Klaus wished he had been given a course on negotiation at any point during his own training, but he would just have to make do.

    The warship slowed to a stop within 30 meters of the submarine, putting both parties within easy shouting range of each other. The destroyer was now too close to use her main guns, which couldn¡¯t depress low enough to aim at them. That distance could very easily be widened, however, if the ship¡¯s powerful engines were set to full ahead. Various crew across the deck were also manning 20mm gun positions that had a line of sight to his boat, so they could open fire quickly. Those autocannons, while meant to shoot at aircraft, could still do some serious damage to the boat¡¯s aluminum pressure hull. Especially at such close range.

    They had their own 2cm cannons, and a 10.5cm deck gun that could be brought to bear, but the latter weapon was completely exposed, and thus anyone trying to operate it would be vulnerable to even small arms fire which many of the American sailors that weren''t manning positions held, and Witt had heard that bigger American destroyers like this one had anti fragmentation armor that was at least thick enough to resist his boat¡¯s own autocannons.

    Everyone he could see on the ship glared at him. He stared back. Their faces betrayed little emotions, other than a cold, minor amount of hostility. The soldier¡¯s stare.

    Witt cleared his throat and fought off the urge to shuffle in place. The silence dragged on, neither side seemingly knowing how to appropriately break it.

    As a result of his former job at an elementary school, and his habit of tuning into foreign radio stations, he knew a little bit of English. But only a little. He also didn¡¯t know if any of the American sailors knew German, which obviously complicated things.

    He knew from his radio stations that the traditional way Brits initiate conversations with one another seemed to be through complaining about the weather, but these people were American, not British.

    The weather wherever here was also rather pleasant, in his opinion.

    So, he decided to start with another greeting phrase he had heard on the radio.

    ¡°Fancy meeting you here.¡±

    The American sailors exchanged glances with each other. Hans wrung his hands. The commanding officer, probably either a Captain or Commander, if he remembered the US Navy ranks correctly, turned and said something to another man next to him, who actually appeared to be part of the enlisted crew, rather than an officer.

    Said crewman turned back towards Klaus and Hans, and replied to him in accented, but fluent High German:

    ¡°What do you want? What are you doing here? How did you get here?¡±

    Well, at least the stereotype of Americans being to-the-point holds true.

    Truthfully, Witt was glad. What a stroke of luck it was that one of the sailors aboard that vessel would speak German! Then again, that could also be why it was this ship in particular that came all the way around the convoy to meet them, rather than either of the smaller vessels that initially confronted them.

    As for the question, his first instinct was to throw the question back at the Americans, both because he was genuinely curious and because he didn¡¯t really know. Even if he did, he didn¡¯t feel particularly inclined to immediately answer an interrogative query from an enemy vessel. However, such a response could be considered somewhat confrontational, thus making it probably not the best option given the situation. Therefore, he instead decided to go against his inclination and attempted to answer as much as he could.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you exactly how we got here, because I don¡¯t know. The oddities began after we submerged to avoid a surprise storm, and, upon surfacing, discovered our compasses were malfunctioning and that we had lost all radio contact with, well, everybody.

    We also stumbled across a few creatures like that one you appear to have caught.¡± He pointed to the neutralized green water dragon, which was in the process of being strung up to a crane on one of the escort vessels that went to investigate it in order to haul it out of the water.

    ¡°I assume that, if you also attempted to sail through that storm, that you have also come across similar water dragons? The ones, plural, that we had interacted with seemed to be aware of your presence here. They directed us here, which is how we got to this specific location.¡±

    He paused and took a breath as the German-speaker turned and relayed his words to the commanding officer in English. As he spoke, Klaus almost felt as though his trepidation and nerves were fading somewhat. Collaborating, or at least negotiating, with enemy vessels, no matter how this conversation ended, would normally land him a charge of treason. Somehow, that wasn¡¯t his most prominent concern at this point.

    The CO seemed to contemplate the message given to him, still staring hard at Klaus and Hans, before speaking his own response, which was translated:

    ¡°We arrived here through a similar storm a few days ago. Though we have not come across any water dragons in specific until now. Our compasses are also malfunctioning.¡±

    The CO once again spoke something serious-sounding to the interpreter, who repeated in German: ¡°Back to the question; What do you want? What are you doing here?¡±

    Witt mulled the question over. What do I want? What is our purpose in being here? How do we get out of this situation?

    He eventually responded. ¡°Given our shared situation, that is, us being stuck¡­ wherever this is¡­ I propose a¡­ halt to hostilities, for the common goal of our survival and investigation of this strange place.¡±

    His message was translated, and he got back from the CO: ¡°Is that a request to surrender?¡±

    Witt shook his head. He wouldn''t go that far. Not yet. ¡°A ceasefire agreement is what I am proposing.¡±

    One could argue that, given the vast disparity of strength between the two factions, that even if they came to an agreement that didn¡¯t involve their own absolute surrender, they still are not in much of a position to negotiate for much better. Something the Americans clearly knew as well.

    ¡°Are you in a position to argue for that? Between us and your submarine, there is rather sizable¡­ power gap¡­ between us.¡±

    Well, obviously.

    He did have one potential card he could use, though.

    ¡°That may be, but we have torpedoes. Torpedoes with firing solutions already tracked to several of your cargo ships, which I couldn¡¯t help but notice are currently at anchor and unable to maneuver. Should you refuse to accept a simple ceasefire, and we refuse to surrender unconditionally to you, and we instead engage in battle, you would sink us, but could you manage it before we can launch our weapons? Is that outcome worth the cost?¡±

    This was a risky bluff. If U-178 really loosed her eels, all that would come of it would be them either smashing into the seafloor, shooting out of the water and floundering around, or veering wildly off course and running in circles until they drowned. The question was, did the Americans also know that? Several of their escort ships, including the one before him, were also equipped with torpedoes. They could be aware of their own eel¡¯s gyroscopic autopilots being defunct as well, and would thus be able to call his bluff.

    However, from their perspective, it was also possible that his torpedoes could still be functional for unknown reasons. If so, were they willing to take that risk?

    Should the roles be reversed, Witt didn¡¯t think he would.

    He continued: ¡°As I said, we don¡¯t have to fight. I would rather my crew be safe just as you would rather your ships and their crews be safe. I¡¯m not asking for perfect cooperation or friendship, just a safety agreement. The war has nothing to do with this place, so we don¡¯t have a reason to fight each other here and now.¡±

    The translator once again relayed his words, and the Americans seemed to discuss his proposition with each other. The commanding officer stared at him for a long moment, remaining quiet. Witt¡¯s threat about torpedoing their merchant ships seemed to have got many of them a little riled up, so it was probable they didn¡¯t know he was bluffing. However, a sharp word from the CO returned discipline to his crew. He then said something to the translator with firmness, who in turn relayed:

    ¡°A ceasefire, then. We will not fire on you or yours unless you fire first, and vice versa. Further details, terms, and conditions can be discussed later.¡±

    Hans beside him let out an exhale, and Klaus nearly did too. Was that it? Are we safe? I have to say, for someone who has had no diplomatic training whatsoever, that went pretty well.

    Witt then requested if he could move their boat closer to shore, so his crew could have a chance at going on land after so long cramped inside the steel vessel for so long. A few of the Americans responded negatively to that, but the CO eventually agreed. Warning them to stay clear of the base camp they had set up, and to not antagonize the ¡®locals.¡¯ When he tried to inquire further about what that meant, he was told he would get a more thorough briefing later. He figured it was probably about whoever built that castle-structure.

    Some things don¡¯t change across different militaries, it seems.

    Witt sent Hans below deck to catch them up on what happened, and to inform the helmsman to -slowly- sail around the convoy group towards the shore. They wouldn¡¯t actually be able to land the boat, but they could drop anchor and use several rafts they had aboard to ferry people onto the beach. They also had a Bachstelze rotor kite, but he wasn¡¯t sure what that would be good for, at the moment.

    As their boat carefully moved along a predictable path, being closely followed by the escort ships to ensure no funny business, Klaus caught a better view of the water dragon being hauled out of the water. The Americans had managed to get a sort of rope sling around it, and had lifted it out of the water and onto the deck of the ship that was lifting it via boat recovery crane. The small frigate then started moving for the shore as well. He couldn¡¯t tell if the dragon was still alive or not, it was possible that it was simply unconscious. He supposed they would find out later.

    Later¡­ Klaus rubbed his forehead and tried to stave off the encroaching headache. There was a lot going to be happening ¡®later.¡¯ The safety of his crew depended on him to negotiate an actual settlement with the Allied soldiers they were stuck with. Perhaps he could try to leverage what limited knowledge they had on the water dragons. The prospect of the task at hand daunted him, particularly the notion that they still had no idea where they were. Or even what ¡®here¡¯ is and why it has water dragons in it. Still, worrying won¡¯t get him anywhere. The best -only- thing that he could really do was just roll with it, and take the challenge one task at a time.

    ***

    >Captain Robert Drake¡¯s Personal Log:_

    Woe be to those who dare ask how things could get any worse. Or at least weirder, in this case.

    Where do I even start this? I suppose I should just start chronologically. Little happened throughout the morning, just good progress with constructing the FOB, managing cargo unloading, and learning the local language, which many sailors have begun to dub ¡°Chittish¡± after the frequency of high-pitching falsetto consonant sounds present when they¡¯re speaking. I received a written report from signalman Olson and his team regarding several aspects that they could learn of the local¡¯s infrastructure, specifically their agriculture and metalworks. Interesting stuff, I guess. I suppose the history nuts would get more out of it than me.

    No contacts had been detected on RADAR since the attack of the black dragons. Nevertheless, we were on edge thanks in part to horror stories related to us from the locals about their experiences with the native dragon species. They were particularly adamant about dragons coming from the waves, which probably had a rather large effect on the outcome of what happened earlier.

    All was quiet until early in the afternoon, when one of the Royal Navy Corvettes, HMS Lancaster Castle, picked up a distinct sound on their hydrophone systems, and flipped out. The SONAR techs, when later questioned, insisted that the sound was too loud and close to have been caused naturally. In hindsight, I suppose they were at least partially right.

    Anyway, Lancaster Castle immediately went to general quarters, sounded the alarm and charged full ahead at the contact before anyone else knew what was going on.

    This is the second time a member of the convoy escort group has operated outside of given orders.

    She managed to drop a single depth charge over the contact area before I or Captain Arthur could order her to stand down. Normally, if there was actually a sub present in the location, a single depth charge would have done little. However, Not two minutes after the aquatic bomb detonated did a big green thing float up to the surface like a dead fish. It turns out that the local¡¯s stories about sea dragons were true, to the surprise of absolutely no one at this point.

    We fished the sea dragon out of the water, and are pretty sure it isn¡¯t dead. The doctors said they detected a pulse, so we¡¯re going to go with not dead. From where the thing appeared, it was fairly far away from the depth charge¡¯s blast radius. Good for it, I guess. Any closer and the hydrostatic shock wave would have done a hell of a lot more than give it a concussion.

    Personally, I hope we can keep the dragon alive. It has intel that it can give us. The nature of that intel, or how we¡¯ll go about acquiring it¡­ is a different question.

    As for the other¡­ matter of pressing import, let¡¯s call it¡­ That sea dragon wasn¡¯t the only thing lurking around underwater, because one of the Destroyer escorts spotted a periscope a ways off while investigating the stunned dragon. A damn periscope. The worst nightmare of any convoy ship. Aside perhaps from a small, rapidly approaching bubble trail.

    In hindsight, it''s a little humorous that we¡¯re more concerned of a glass and steel tube poking out of the water than we are with the appearance of a mythical giant carnivorous aquatic reptile.

    At that point everyone really went to general quarters, and the escort ships that had moved to investigate the dragon broke off and began to charge the submarine. Which, to everyone¡¯s surprise, rather than diving or launching torpedoes, surfaced fully and signaled a request for parley. Not really knowing what else to do, I accepted, brought signalman Olson back aboard the Sampson because I know he can speak German, and went out to meet the kraut sub.

    The U-boat skipper, who I now believe is named Corvette Captain Witt or something, seemed the reasonable type, at least from first impressions. He claimed we ought to put our ¡®conflict¡¯ aside for the time being and try to work together given our ¡®shared circumstance¡¯. At least that¡¯s what Olson related to me, anyway. It¡¯s a bit magnanimous, but I find myself in agreement. I wonder, though, if he would have been so willing for a truce had there not been such a disparity of firepower between us.

    The skipper made clear that he wasn¡¯t offering to surrender, but rather a ceasefire agreement. I¡¯m not a diplomat, and he clearly wasn¡¯t either.

    Honestly, I just wanted to get out of the awkward situation and accepted without pressing the issue. We¡¯ll have to work out the more technical details later. How that will go will be¡­ interesting. I¡¯m not sure what exactly they¡¯ll try to argue for, as it¡¯s not like they¡¯re negotiating from a position of strength. Perhaps the skipper simply wanted some semblance of autonomy for him and his crew, (i.e, not being prisoners of war) which I admit I¡¯m fine with. I won¡¯t start trouble unless they do first.

    Oh, that reminds me. Captain Witt did at first try to force some leverage. Specifically, he threatened that he could torpedo some of our merchant ships. I think he was bluffing, both because he insinuated that he would only launch if we opened fire first, indicating an unwillingness, or inability, to strike first. And because of how quickly he seemed to drop the threat and move his boat closer to the shore rather than keeping it in a position from which torpedoes could be quickly launched. Not to mention their gyroscopic fire directors and course-correction systems probably also weren''t working, unless they have some kraut space magic that lets their gyroscopes work correctly on a planet with slightly different gravity and rotation speed than Earth, where said gyros were designed.

    I didn¡¯t call his bluff at the time, because it would have prolonged and complicated the exchange for longer than need be. If they try to pull that card again, though, I won¡¯t hesitate.

    A few of the Germans went ashore, to the chagrin of the many Americans and Brits already there. The locals, from what I heard, responded with a mix of confusion and excitement at the new people and mysterious new boat. I heard that some of their reactions to hearing them speak German when they were expecting English, were rather funny. At least to our boys who were there observing them. The Germans, for their part, largely avoided the Allied sailors and soldiers already there, sticking mostly to the other side of the town. Don¡¯t know how long that¡¯ll last, though. It¡¯s not like they have the materials to set up their own housing like we do. I had a few men observe them and what they got up to, but all they witnessed were a bunch of lanky, ill-shaven and unkempt 18 and 19 year-olds that just seemed happy to be on land and near trees again.

    I heard from some of my men in the translation effort, that several of the locals complained about the ¡°new foreigners¡± smelling bad. Corroborating that, I also heard from LTC Speris of one of the Germans walking up to the FOB camp, bold as anything, and begging them to let them use their washing machines. The nickname ¡°Stinky Krauts¡± has already begun to spread at viral speeds amongst the FOB and sailors alike as a result.

    As for the sea dragon, I had it moved from the ships onto the shore, hauled over to the FOB and tied down using cargo securing lines and spare chains. We attempted to conceal it from the locals as best we could, but some inevitably saw the giant algae-green sea reptile and invariably freaked out. The ones that didn¡¯t run away demanded that we kill it, which I don¡¯t want to do. We could potentially use its help with that dragon scroll we found, as we have no idea where to even begin to start with that. That, and we can also do well to learn a lot more about the dragon races here in general. That is, more than what we could learn from examining the mostly-intact corpses of the black dragons we shot down. Speaking of them, I ought to be receiving a written report on what several doctors aboard our ships could determine about their anatomy from examination and dissection, as well as a report from some weapons specialists regarding the effectiveness of their natural armor and weapons against the terminal ballistic characteristics of our own man-portable weapons, to gauge how effective our own carryable weapons are against them. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be an interesting read, at least.

    Anyway, I¡¯m tired. And signing off for now.

 XII - For Science!

    >At a scavenger den._

    Pain.

    That was the first thing Argonaut¡¯s first waking thought was aware of. The absolute worst headache he¡¯d ever felt in his life rampaged through his skull, far worse than the migraine that occurred whenever he accidentally surfaced too quickly after spending a long time deep underwater. It consumed his awareness, and throbbed horribly along with his heartbeat.

    His ears were ringing. His teeth hurt. His bones ached. Every muscle and scale felt sore. His wing membranes felt strangely raw, and he was queasy. He let out a small groan. A groan he himself could hear.

    Wait. I don¡¯t remember being in the open air. When did I get out of the water?

    The memories of the past few¡­ hours? Day? He knew not how long; came back to him in a rush, worsening his headache further. The peculiar search mission, the creepy huge shapes, the corpse¡­ and the explosion.

    The explosion. What happened? Did it get me? Is that how this happened? Why am I in the open air? Am I dead?

    Argonaut tried to move his talons- which were splayed out alongside him- to rub his snout. Only to find that they were restrained.

    His heart rate accelerated. Out of all the things any patroller had nightmares to, waking up chained was one of the worst. Because, it meant a talonful of things: It meant that you and your wing had been ambushed, and had been beaten so thoroughly and easily that your opponents didn¡¯t even need to kill you to end the fight, but were able so much as incapacitate and bind you. A blow to any dragon¡¯s pride. Made worse by the fact that the dragons they were fighting in this war were all either capable of breathing fire or freezing cold air. They obviously would not have used those powers when defeating you if you were still in a state that was healthy enough to necessitate being binded by your enemies.

    Further from that point, it also meant that all your Wing Mates were certainly dead. Dragons didn¡¯t have much use for prisoners, unless said prisoner was royalty or of some other important stature, which a patroller would certainly not be. The only reason you were still alive was because you were, for all intents and purposes, a trophy. Dragons only need one trophy from any given triumph to prove their point.

    Which led to the third thing it meant, which was perhaps more specific to this war in particular: Being captured as a SeaWing patroller implied that you had either been taken by SkyWings, MudWings, or SandWings (The IceWings don¡¯t take prisoners). Although the two former options were much more likely. If you had been captured by either Sky or MudWings, it inevitably meant that you would eventually wind up in Queen Scarlet¡¯s arena, where reports from spies and long range scouts confirmed you were doomed to an entertainingly gruesome death in gladiatorial combat with other prisoners in front of a crowd of SkyWing spectators.

    Trying to fight his rising panic, he opened his eyes. An action he instantly regretted as he was immediately and utterly blinded by the great, glaring brightness that was the sun. His already unbearable headache became worse, and he slammed his eyelids back shut. He grit his aching teeth and bit back an undignified whimper.

    With his sense of sight out of commission, he instead opted to use his other senses to try and get a read on his situation. The ringing within his ears was slowly abating, gradually allowing more sounds through. He also had his sense of smell, which was probably the only sense he had that wasn¡¯t being actively interfered with by his pain.

    He took a long breath through his nostrils, not liking how his chest almost rattled from the action.

    Moons, that sinking-cylinder-explosion-thing did a whole whale on me. What in the Great Currents was that thing, anyway?

    Nonetheless, he still got a whole collection of different smells from the environment around him, so much so that it actually took him aback. Some of the smells were familiar: The smell of trees, grass, and other vegetation. As well as that of sea spray, the ocean, and of the beach (That at least meant that he was still near the sea). But among those smells, there were many more that were entirely unfamiliar to him, and others that he didn¡¯t even begin to recognize or know how to describe at all. Corroborating with many new sounds his slowly returning ears were picking up that he had never heard before.

    For starters, the most apparent scent he could detect was this incredibly strong¡­ burning smell? Argonaut wasn¡¯t really sure. It sort of smelled like smoke, but not really. It wasn¡¯t exactly repulsive, but it was perhaps the definition of pungent. There was an almost tang to it that made his nose feel weird. He could also smell a lot of dirt, the kind that had been recently turned over and moved around. There was a myriad of odors that he could hardly begin to place, as they were so new to him. However, through that, he picked up a scent that he did somewhat recognize. It was a smell that he had encountered before, during a few of his patrols. It wasn¡¯t very strong, had a sort of salty oily-ness to it, and was only really apparent if you looked for it. Though it was unmistakable once you recognized it.

    Scavengers?

    He could smell scavengers nearby. Why would that be? He of course knew his patrol mission took them near a scavenger den, but why would he still be near scavengers? He¡¯d been captured! Why would MudWings or SkyWings chain him up near a scavenger den?

    I¡­ have been captured by enemy dragons¡­ right?

    The noises he was hearing around him didn¡¯t sound much like a dragon encampment. Through the ringing, Argonaut could hear high-pitched whirring noises, the dull thunks of things behind shoved into soil and of soil being moved about. And, most strangely of all, an alien rumbling and growling noise that maintained a constant pitch and frequency for far longer than a dragon or other large animal should be able to maintain, by his reckoning. The rumbling noise was sometimes accompanied by the sound of something heavy being rolled across dirt, and a sort of clanking clattering noise at others. The only somewhat natural sounds that he could currently hear were the cries of seagulls, and the sound of a bunch of somethings muttering to one another.

    A sharp barking sound, followed by a volume and frequency decrease to the muttering sounds, broke him from his internal musings. Bracing himself, Argonaut slowly cracked one eye open, groaning and wincing again at the oppressive brightness and the redoubled pain in his head.

    Slowly- too slowly- his eye adjusted to the mid-afternoon sunlight, and he realized he couldn¡¯t make anything out, as he was seeing triple-vision and everything was blurry.

    He was feeling pretty woozy, come to think of it.

    After a little while longer, though, his vision began to refocus, and the first thing his gaze centered on were a pair of small, wide-set hazel colored eyes similar to his own (sans the coloration) staring right back at him.

    Argonaut started, slightly pulling his talons against their restraints. There were scavengers! Glancing around, he could see more scavengers in one place than he¡¯d seen in his entire life! The small creatures surrounded him in a wide circle, all of them staring at him.

    These scavengers look strange. First of all, they were all the wrong color. All the scavengers he¡¯d ever seen, or indeed any dragon had ever seen, had light-brown skin, and had dark brown fur patches. They were also known for always wearing weird fur or fabric coverings. These scavengers, on the other talon, had skin that generally looked more like exposed wood in color, and all had peculiar green tortoise shell-looking things on top of their heads that obscured what fur they did have. They also had coverings that- Argonaut realized- were all identical to one another. They were all light brownish-green in color, and made from a material that he did not recognize.

    They stood calmly around him at a fair distance, in doing so diametrically opposing the normal scavenger behavioral reaction to dragons which was to run away shrieking. All of them were holding various¡­ things in their weird clawless paws. Argonaut knew that scavengers carried weird metal claw things as weapons, but these things were clearly not that. Some appeared to be made mostly of wood, making them look like sticks. Others did look to be made of metal, judging by their dull gray color. A few of the scavengers held strange small dark green tube-things, which they hung over their shoulder rather than having it pitted into their shoulder, like all the other scavengers with strange things did. The only collective similarity between all the things the scavengers held was that they were all pointed at him.

    He could hardly fathom why these scavengers appeared to be trying to threaten him with a bunch of¡­ blunt sticks. The sharp metal claws they usually wielded were already unthreatening enough as it was.

    Looking up, he realized where the steady rumbling noise was probably coming from. Just across from him, behind the scavengers, was this weirdly-shaped dark brownish green structure-thing that was about as big as he was. The bottom of the structure-thing seemed to rest on a pair of grayish black circular things with line patterns. Atop that was this kind or bar-thing that had a cylinder with a bunch of weird gray rope coiled around it. Above that was this sort of slat formation followed by a smooth panel that angled backwards and slightly upwards, with a white five-pointed shape within a circle in the middle that looked like it was painted on. Behind that was another flat panel, this one angling more sharply upwards and had two small squares cut into it that looked only big enough for a scavenger to look with their two little eyes through. Yet behind that was this almost pedestal-looking thing with complicated-looking metalworks just above and on either side of it. The metalworking on either side appeared to be divided into four distinct sections, two on each side. Each with these green square/semicircle combination shapes and small black metal tube pointed directly at him.

    Positioned in-between the four things and just behind the pedestal shape was yet another scavenger, also staring directly at him with its lip curled up and backward, revealing its small teeth. The scavenger had an expression that looked for all the world like it was saying: ¡°Try it.¡±

    Argonaut himself stared back dumbly. He had no idea what to make of the weird rumbling structure-thing, nor what it had to do with him.

    He looked back to his restrained limbs, to get an idea of what was holding him captive. Most dragon tribes, including SeaWings, restrained prisoners with wing-clamps that kept the imprisoned dragon from spreading their wings, and usually a chain loop around one leg that kept them stuck to a wall. Fire-breathing dragons and IceWings often got their snouts chained shut as well.

    Instead, he had chains wrapped around each of his wrists and ankles, which were in turn attached to sizable stakes shoved into the ground, keeping each of his four webbed appendages splayed out and immobile. He could also feel a similar chain wrapped around his tail, which was also probably staked to the ground as well. The chains were relatively small, and looked thin enough that he should be able to snap them if he pulled hard enough. However, giving them a good yank revealed they instead didn¡¯t budge in the slightest.

    What in the Great Currents? I¡¯ve seen SeaWings smaller than me break chains thicker than these! What are these chains made of?

    Aside from that, he also noticed that his wings were wrapped up as well with a sort of rope coil that kept them from extending. That was perhaps the only relatively standard part of this whole ordeal.

    What¡¯s stranger, Argonaut also realized that he had similar ropes running across his back and shoulders that were also nailed into the ground. The only part of him that wasn¡¯t tied to something was his head and neck, which he could move more freely. The whole setup made him feel rather like a tent that was pitched to the soil.

    The scavengers clearly took issue with his half-hearted escape attempt, by how they all seemed to bristle and shift around, still not taking their eyes off him.

    ¡°(Steady there, sea dragon.)¡±

    Argonaut jumped slightly once again. Where did that noise come from? He knew what scavengers sounded like, and that was not it. From experience he was familiar with the squeaky chirping noises that scavengers always made at each other. That sounded more like a dragonet¡¯s voice, by its pitch and consistency.

    ¡°(If it breaks out, do we shoot it?)¡±

    ¡°(The locals are vehemently opposed to us not killing the sea dragon. The higher ups think that it¡¯s more valuable alive, so we¡¯ll try to keep it that way. However; if it comes to it, they also said that our relationship with the locals is far more important than this thing. If it so much as looks like this thing is gonna break out and hurt some people, we put it down on the spot.)¡±

    ¡°(Yes, sir.)¡±

    That was definitely the scavengers making those noises. He could see their small mouths moving, and the ones that were making the noises were looking at each other as if they were conversing.

    That¡¯s not what scavengers are supposed to sound like! What¡¯s going on!?

    ¡°(Oi, why¡¯s it staring at us like that?)¡±

    ¡°(Beats me.)¡±

    The frill on the back of Argonaut¡¯s neck stood on end, and his ears pinned themselves back against his skull. Rather than making noises reminiscent of birds and squirrels like every dragon, including him, knew scavengers to make; These scavengers produced sharp barking sounds and throaty, lower-pitched vocalizations that were¡­ unnervingly close to how young dragonets tend to speak.

    If dragonets spoke in a garbled manner that was completely incomprehensible to other dragons, anyway.

    Nevertheless, it made him strangely uncomfortable.

    The scavengers, for their part, did little further in terms of moving around after that. It would seem they appeared content to stand mostly still so long as he too remained still, which was strange. That sort of behavior would make sense if it were coming from a guard, but these were scavengers! Scavengers can¡¯t guard things! Even then, with how many ropes and mysteriously-strong chains around him, he didn¡¯t think he would be able to move very much if he tried.

    Taking his attention off the creepy scavengers for a moment, he instead paid heed to the surrounding landscape, to get a better idea of where exactly he was.

    Which proved to be a decision that a part of him came to regret mere moments later, to which another yet smaller part of him came to recognize a potential- and recent- pattern forming regarding himself rather quickly regretting a physical decision he made just prior.

    Naturally, the first thing that his eyes gravitated towards once they were focused on the environment around him was the ocean. Even though he already knew he was near the sea thanks to the sounds of waves and seagulls he could hear, it was still nice to see it. That small amount of reassurance was promptly quashed by what he could see on, or more aptly, all over the sea. The waters around the land he was on were dominated by a giant pod of hulking gray semi-rounded building-looking things that seemed to float suspended on the surface despite their obvious weight.

    Argonaut immediately knew what they were. He realized he¡¯s already seen the things, but from a different angle.

    The floating building-things were the shapes that he and his Wing had seen from underwater. They were what they had been sent here to investigate. They were what his fellow enclavers had warned the palace about.

    And from there; they were also somehow responsible for whatever it was that happened to that NightWing corpse that left it in that state.

    And one of them was also what dropped that explosive cylinder-thing that was what seemed to have got him here.

    Chained up, and surrounded by scavengers pointing things at him that were acting as if they were guards. Even though that¡¯s impossible.

    They definitely didn''t train us patrollers for this. Three moons, I¡¯m done for.

    On the plus side, if he somehow survived this and escaped, he would certainly have the most interesting story to brag about at the eating cave during break.

    On the other talon, most dragons would probably consider the prospect of being taken prisoner by scavengers to be pretty humiliating.

    Wait, if these discolored scavengers are from the den that killed those NightWings, and they got me, then why am I not dead?

    He couldn¡¯t see or smell any traces of other dragons nearby, other than a faint¡­ bloody smell¡­ but that didn¡¯t give any clues as to how he ended up like this. Somehow, these scavengers used one of those floating-building-things to drop that underwater-bomb-thing that knocked him out, hauled him out of the water, dragged him over here and chained him to the dirt. Surrounded by scavengers and scavenger-sized tents and weird dragon-sized mini-structures that growled and rumbled.

    If it all didn¡¯t feel so real, he¡¯d think he¡¯d completely lost his pearls. Instead he found himself favoring the conclusion that the world itself had gone insane.

    Scavengers aren¡¯t capable of any of this. This is all ridiculous!

    A movement from the corner of his vision attracted his attention and broke him from his reverie. A talonful of scavengers were approaching, one of them carrying something peculiar. One of the new scavengers, which was also pale in color and wearing strange coverings, got close to another that had already been standing in a circle around him; and seemed to whisper something that his ears could not detect- beyond a small windy noise- to the ¡®guard scavenger.¡¯ Said scavenger bobbed its head up and down, and pointed lazily towards Argonaut with a paw.

    The new scavengers passed the ¡®guards¡¯ and began to¡­ do something¡­ with the strange thing that one was carrying that involved unfolding and planting a spindly part of it onto the dirt a short distance in front of his snout, beyond his reach. The top of the thing, which was roughly as tall as a scavenger now, had a strange somewhat box-shaped thing with a bunch of smaller shapes all over it, and a small dark wide tube that glinted slightly in the sunlight.

    The scavenger that was carrying the thing then stood behind it, moving it around with its paws so that the tube was pointed directly at Argonaut¡¯s face, and then moved its whole head so that one of its eyes was pressed right against one of the small shapes on the box, with the other eye squinted tightly shut.

    (¡°Say cheese, sea dragon.¡±) The scavenger muttered quietly.

    Argonaut stared with confusion as the scavenger manipulated more small shapes on the box-thing with its paws for a few seconds, and jumped when a disorientating bright flash of white light and a weird ¡°Shclick!¡± sound came from the box. Another of the scavengers, one that had come with the new procession and was standing just behind the one messing with the box-thing, spread its lips apart slightly and emitted a sharp ¡°ha!¡± bark sound that seemed to be aimed at him in particular.

    The scavenger operating the strange contraption stood back upright from it, picked the entire thing up with a huff, and moved over until they were facing Argonaut from a different direction, and repeated the process of setting it up, messing with it, and making it produce that bright flash and Shclick sound. They continued that process until they had gone a full circle around him, stopping once again his head. From there the scavengers set up the contraption again and pointed it at him, but did not make it flash or click again. Instead they seemed to stand and wait.

    Scavengers are so confusing. Why can¡¯t these creatures act like normal animals!? Even the wisest dragons can¡¯t make sense of their behavior!

    Eventually, another talonful of scavengers made their appearance. One amongst this group was also carrying something. Something that seemed distinctly more familiar than what the first group was carrying.

    Something that looked almost like a rolled up scroll.

    The new group of scavengers repeated the process the previous did, muttering something to the same ¡®guard¡¯ scavenger, before passing the rest of the ¡®guard scavengers¡¯ and closing with the original several that came with the box-contraption.

    The two groups exchanged a series of barks and mutterings that Argonaut found himself not really listening all that closely too. After all, these were just scavengers making scavenger noises. Even if those noises sounded weirdly close to dragon register, and the scavengers making those noises had weird things and somehow got him stuck to the dirt like a tent. Scavengers were always known for doing weird things, it was just part of their nature.

    The scavengers set the rolled up paper on the ground just ahead of him, and unrolled it. Argonaut¡¯s eyes boggled. The scroll, which it now certainly was, had a map of Pyrrhia etched onto it, with several circles and crosses over several locations that he wasn¡¯t familiar with. The map also had some text, reading:

    Search the scavenger den at this location.  find the Eye of Onyx, if it is there. It is crucial to the outcome of the plan that it is accounted for.

    ¡°Shclick!¡±

    How did these scavengers get their paws on this!? It was clearly a dragon scroll, being written in standard dragon script. The scroll itself smelled somewhat of ash, which wasn¡¯t uncommon for scrolls owned by fire-breathing tribes, and therefore gave little in terms of clues to its origin. The vague message written upon it only made it more confusing. Eye of Onyx? What plan? What does any of that have to do with a scavenger den? Why do these scavengers have this scroll? Does it have to do with the NightWings these scavengers allegedly killed?

    The scavengers started barking at each other again:

    (¡°He¡¯s definitely reacting to the scroll.¡±)

    (¡°Can he read it?¡±)

    (¡°Probably not, this scroll came from the black dragons. This sea dragon, if he can read, most likely has a different language.¡±)

    (¡°He at least definitely recognizes it. That¡¯s a start.¡±)

    (¡°These photographs¡¯ll turn out great when they develop.¡±)

    After that, the two groups of scavengers gathered the things they had brought and walked off. Argonaut wasn¡¯t sure how the lanky creatures could maintain balance while always on two legs like they did, but whatever.

    For the rest of that day, Argonaut stayed chained to the ground. The scavengers around him occasionally switched places with other new scavengers so that he was surrounded at all times, yet other scavengers mulled around various tent-looking things. To his bafflement, the green structure-thing that was right in front of him came to life and started moving on its own! It growled loudly, backed up, turned and stalked away. Moving on those round black things which spun in place and a¡­ belt-thing? That also spun at the back of it rather than legs. The scavenger riding on it that was staring at him continued to do so. Another structure-thing that was visually similar emerged from somewhere and took up the last one¡¯s position in front of him.

    All this, the scavengers, the weird smells, the green growling structure thing, the floating-building-things, the chains, the scroll, it was all becoming too much for him to bear. He wished he could just close his eyes and wake up back at the Summer Palace, with the patrol director barging into their sleeping cave to yell at him for being asleep. This sunk.

    Throughout the day, he could hear a series of booms like thunder sounding from somewhere off in the distance, but he could see no storm clouds. He had no idea where those sounds were coming from. He might have thought he was hallucinating them (For he was beginning to wish he was hallucinating the entire ordeal), if it weren¡¯t for the scavengers with matching coverings clearly noticing the sounds too. Whatever it was, the scavengers didn¡¯t seem to care much.

    Eventually, towards the end of the day, another group of scavengers approached him and his ¡®guard,¡¯ larger than either of the previous two groups. These scavengers looked different from the ones before, both in relation to the previous groups and to each other. Some of them wore different coverings, some unique, some similar to each other again. Two of the scavengers in the group acted differently than all the others, though. They both seemed afraid. One of the fearful ones, Argonaut realized, looked like a normal scavenger that he would recognize. Having brown skin and coverings that matched the environment around them. That one was clearly afraid of him, by how it kept its wide eyes unwaveringly trained on him and seemed almost reluctant to approach him even in his immobilized state. Nevertheless, the scavenger continued to step closer, sticking close to its taller, less fearful weird-colored counterparts.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    He notice there was a distinct difference in the way that the normal and weird scavengers walked. The weird scavengers stood taller. Both in their physical stature and in their posture. They also walked more loosely, and seemingly more smoothly than the normal scavenger, which had its knees slightly bent and body decidedly more tense. A large part of that could of course be scratched up to fear of him, but the other clearly fearful scavenger did not walk like that.

    The other nervous looking scavenger had more in common appearance-wise with the other strange scavengers, but was skinnier and a little shorter. It also seemed to be more afraid of the other scavengers than it was of him, which was peculiar to say the least.

    The scavengers started to bark at each other, and Argonaut tried to pay closer attention.

    (¡°So what¡¯re we up to, here?¡±)

    (¡°The Jerry here said he¡¯s familiar with sea dragons like this. Says he even might have learned one of their words. We wanna see how the big lizard reacts like with the scroll.¡±)

    One of the scavengers pointed a paw towards the nervous-looking skinny scavenger, and then pointed towards him, barking something. The nervous scavenger nodded, and stepped a single pace towards the SeaWing, fiddling its paws and making a coughing noise.

    Eventually the scavenger looked Argonaut in the eye, shuffled on its feet, opened its mouth and uttered:

    ¡°Cut- Cuttle-Fish?¡±

    Suppose for the sake of argument, that nothing else that weirded and freaked out Argonaut that day had happened. Or perhaps suppose at least that nothing had gotten to him. Waking up chained, being surrounded by discolored scavengers that made sounds close to the register of dragonets and gave him the creeps. Being surrounded by strange things that moved on their own and smelled yet weirder than they looked. As well as being shown a weird, vague scroll that smelled of ash and gave instructions for something he didn¡¯t understand. Any one of those occurrences would have any normal dragon¡¯s spines stand on end. But let¡¯s suppose that Argonaut was tougher than he really was, and had absorbed each of those abnormalities with the stoicism of a whale.

    If Argonaut wasn¡¯t creeped out before, he certainly was now. By a bunch of dumb scavengers, no less.

    ***

    ~

    Anatomical report: Regarding hitherto unknown large reptilian ¡°Night Dragon¡± species.

    Introduction:

    Part and parcel of our introduction to this ¡°new world¡± was the abrupt discovery of a- until now- completely unknown and unprecedented new class of creature. Said creatures are large, capable of flight, and appear largely reptilian in classification. The new creatures bear an uncanny resemblance to ancient myths and legends of dragons found across Europe in their physical appearance and apparent abilities from what we are able to determine. As such they will be referred to as ¡®dragons¡¯ for the purposes of this report. The ¡®dragons¡¯ were visually confirmed less than 24 hours after establishing first contact with a race of native humans that were already present at this location prior to our arrival. How exactly they got here, and how long they have been here, is another question. A question that is not the concern of this paper at the moment.

    This paper will cover what useful information has been determined through observations made of the dragons in their probable natural state before they were terminated, as well as what was learned through dissecting and examining what remains that could be recovered. Bear in mind that this examination was largely conducted not only with the purpose of inquiry and research for the sake of research, but also with an emphasis on determining both the distinct physical capabilities of this new ¡®dragon¡¯ species, as well as their weaknesses.

    Caveats:

    Out of all eight examples of this new ¡®dragon¡¯ organism neutralized, only 4 were either recoverable or left intact enough that meaningful information could be gleaned. Out of these organisms, no single one was left undamaged enough that it could be an accurate example of what one of these creatures would be in their natural state. However, through cross-examining and cross-referencing each of the four organisms, we believe that we were able to create an adequate picture given the required criteria.*

    It should also be noted that we (the examining team) are operating with comparatively limited resources when it comes to scientific tools. It is not as though biology and taxonomy equipment are considered incredibly high priority in a wartime supply shipment, after all. That said, it is also not as though we were not able to learn a substantial amount and accomplish plenty with the tools we had. We were able to source and utilize dissection equipment and some surprisingly handy magnifying glasses for our tests, as well as some basic pH measuring tools and various other chemical-related amenities. All that is to say: while we were able to get plenty of information regarding these creatures regarding their physical characteristics, particularly of their tissues, we were not able to do much on the microscopic or cellular level.

    *The recent capture of what is seemingly another species of ¡®dragon¡¯-like organism- a live one, no less-  provided some additional fascinating information. Such as what one of these creatures actually looks like alive, for example. However, it also raised a lot more questions that we are not yet able to answer. (ex: both examples of this new class of creature shared distinct visual similarities, suggesting relation, but also massive characteristic differences that very obviously set them apart.)

    Morphological Characteristics- Quantitative Observations:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Investigation subjects: 4 members of the same species.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sex: 3 male, 1 female.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Average subject height (feet to shoulder): 204 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Average subject height (feet to head): 315 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Average subject length (incl. tail) 1037 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Average subject wingspan: 2242 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Average subject mass: 1,950 kg</li>

    </ul>

    Morphological Characteristics- Qualitative Observations:

    Each of the ¡®dragon¡¯ organisms bear an uncanny resemblance to some depictions of dragons in Indo-European mythology. They are largely reptilian in visual appearance, but some of the only traits they actually visually share with other reptiles are that they seem to walk on four legs and have an external dermal organ that is covered entirely by keratin scales. Their overall physique and approximated posture have more in common with Great Cats in appearance rather than with lizards or crocodilia as one may expect a large reptile-like species to have.

    These ¡®dragons¡¯ are hexapedal in nature, possessing six limbs. Four of them are clearly meant for terrestrial locomotion and as tools and weapons, particularly the frontmost two limbs. The next two limbs just beside the frontmost are significantly elongated and stretched out, with the digits an order of magnitude longer than their counterparts on the other limbs and have a thin membrane of skin and tiny scales stretched in-between them that serves as surface area for generating lift. The hindmost limbs are also meant for locomotion, being digitigrade in type and not as flexible as either other pairs. Interestingly enough, the front and back legs contrast each other, with the front pair being plantigrade and the hindlegs being digitigrade. In fact, it was also observed that the ¡®dragons¡¯ frontmost two limbs had more in common with arms in their structure rather than legs. Nevertheless, it is still clear that these creatures use said ¡®arms¡¯ for walking. Every limb on each of the organisms have clawed digits, with four digits on each appendage.

    Each of the four recovered subjects had thin skin layers covered entirely by scales (that were determined to be made from keratin like scales on other creatures) that were either dark green or dark purple in coloration. So dark that they appeared almost entirely black. These scales seemed to be divided into 4 distinct types. The most common of these types are a sort of large scale that overlap each other and resemble plate armor more than they do actual reptilian scales. These scales start at their head, running down the back and sides of their unusually long neck, over their back and spine and the top portion of their tail. The scales themselves are almost completely inelastic, but seem to be able to slide over and across one another according to how the creature moves. One of the civilian medical technicians assisting in research remarked that: ¡°These scales are [kind of] like giant fingernails.¡± He is not technically wrong.

    The second kind of scale only appears on each of the ¡®dragon¡¯s¡¯ limbs and face. These scales are not that unusual compared to the others, being similar in shape and configuration to the scales that cover the bodies of most lizards. The preliminary difference being that these ones are scaled up. The third kind of scales that cover these organisms are vastly removed from the previous examples, and don¡¯t look much like scales at first glance.

    The scales that cover the undersides of the neck, chest, torso, tail, and backside of each of the limbs are very small, giving them an almost smooth leathery appearance to the naked eye. These scales are much thinner, are softer and more flexible. They likely serve to provide the organism freedom of movement rather than protection, as the other scales are obviously meant for.

    The fourth kind of scale is very similar, but even thinner and smaller. These scales cover a thin skin layer that makes up the giant membrane which provides these ¡®dragons¡¯ with their flight ability. These scales are so small and thin that they are almost negligible, but it should be noted that many of the scales on the undersides of the wings do not share the near-black pigmentation all the other scales do, but rather are bright white and even have retroreflective properties in their structure. This makes them appear shiny and glittery, especially if a light is shone upon them. An interesting visual spectacle, though we are not certain what it is for.

    These creatures are of course rather large, weighing slightly more than an adult male hippopotamus. However these creature¡¯s wings make them appear larger than they actually are at a glance.

    Strangely enough, these creatures also feature a pair of large horns that emerge from their cranium just behind and above their eyes. What function these horns serve exactly is not known. It is unlikely they are for combat, as they are positioned in an inefficient manner for that sort of engagement. Not to mention their skulls and necks are clearly not meant for headbutting or headlocking, and they have a plethora of other natural weapons at their disposal that these horns would not complement at all.

    The organisms also all possessed sharp spikes of varying size that emerge on the back along the spine that run from the base of the skull and run all the way to the tip of the tail. These spikes are not directly connected to the vertebrae, but are embedded in the dermal organ and have small muscles connected to them that allow them to either lay flat or stand erect. Not dissimilar to the small hairs on our own skin, but much larger.

    It was also observed that these creatures have eyes that are rather different from the vast majority of eyes found in the animal kingdom in that they are remarkably similar to our own. Featuring circular pupils, distinct and circular irises with stroma and pigmented epithelium and a white sclera. More details on this later.

    Basic Taxonomy:

    As far as classification goes, these new creatures are in their own category. Therefore: We¡¯re starting from the top, and effectively making it up as we go along. These ¡®dragons¡¯ defy most of our taxonomic systems, but they are relatively similar to large lizard species. At least more similar than they are to snakes, crocodilians or turtles.

    Subject: ¡°Night Dragon(s)¡±

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Domain: Euykarya</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Kingdon: Animalia</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Phylum: Chordata</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Class: Reptilia(?)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Order: Squamata(?)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Suborder: Lacertilia(?)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Family: Magna Serpentium</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Genus: Draco</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Species: Nox Draconis</li>

    </ul>

    As one may see, we have made the decision to classify these creatures roughly as a kind of lizard, as that''s what they are most visually similar to. However, the potential flaws with this approach are obvious. These early classifications are subject to change, should more substantial information be acquired.

    The decision was also made to dub the species of study- The black dragons- after what the local word for them is. Their word translates to ¡°Night Dragon¡± in English. Further lending credence to the theory that these particular creatures are normally nocturnal.

    Skeletal System Analysis:

    The skeletal system that gives these organisms their stature are unique among the animal kingdom. They share many distinct similarities in their structure with the bones found in most birds that fly at high altitude or over long distances in that they are pneumatized, or filled with hollows. The shape of the bone¡¯s internal structure and purpose of the hollow, however, seems to differ rather greatly than in avians.

    For example: The hollow bones found in most avians are mostly open space, with calcified struts running in a web-like fashion across the bone that provides them the structural integrity required for taking off, landing, and the rigors of sustained powered flight. Contrary to popular belief, the hollow bones of a bird are not a weight-saving measure, as avian bones are roughly as heavy as mammalian bones by volume. Rather, the hollow bones that birds possess are part of their unique respiratory system. Powered atmospheric flight is the most strenuous and most energy-intensive sustained physical activity any vertebrate can undertake, and therefore requires an amount of oxygen and energy that a ¡®normal¡¯ respiratory system cannot provide. Air in the bones of a bird are able flow in between each other, to and from their air sacs, lungs and bronchi system in order to provide a constant and substantial stream of oxygen to their bloodstream.

    This contrasts the bones found in the Nox Draconis examples, which were not in any way shown to connect to the creature¡¯s respiratory system. Rather than the almost spongy appearance of avian bones, the bones found in these creatures were denser and thicker, with the marrow-containing struts that run through the internal cavity of the bone being thicker and more evenly spaced out with distinct patterns. Giving them an appearance reminiscent of bridge architecture. This much more structurally sound configuration, combined with the bone tissue itself being much harder and much more rigid than mammalian bones (a trait that bird bones also share) means that these bones are much stronger than their avian counterparts. Somewhat ironically, the leading theory as to why these bones are hollow at all given that they are not connected to the lungs is that it is a weight-saving measure.

    As per the request of some weapon specialists, attention was focused on and tests were run regarding the actual strength of these bones against damage, providing some rather interesting results. Nox Draconis¡¯ bone tissues have high strength and rigidity, or ¡®hardness.¡¯ More so than the skeletons found in other vertebrates. This hardness means they are easily able to withstand the strains of powered flight and are able to withstand a fair bit of physical trauma before they break. However, that hardness also means they have very low elasticity, and thus whenever any given bone is subjected to an external force greater than its tolerance threshold, it is prone to shatter violently and send calcified splinters in multiple directions. (Rather than just fracture or break like they do in humans.) Several examples of this were found in the recovered remains of felled Nox Draconis examples, specifically the two that had been shot down by Lt. Hill¡¯s Sea Hurricane, where 20mm shells without explosive fillers were able to inflict an uncharacteristically high amount of damage to internal tissues by hitting parts of the skeleton and creating bone-fragment spalling that wreaked almost as much havoc on said creature¡¯s internal organs as the HE-I shells did.**

    The next subject of pressing importance that pertained to Nox Draconis¡¯ skeletal system is the internal structure of the bones themselves. As mentioned prior, each of the bones have thick, sturdy struts that run through the hollow spaces similar to the coupling bars that reinforce steel architecture. This contrasts the hollow bones found in most avians, where the struts are much thinner and randomly spread out. Again similar to coupling bars, the struts found in Nox Draconis bones provide them a substantial increase in structural integrity. Factoring both this and their natural rigidity renders them impressively resistant against large amounts of tension, compression, and lateral forces. However, it was noted that these bones are surprisingly weak against torsion force, or torque. In other words, twisting the bones proved more effective at breaking them than bending them or subjecting them to impacts.

    Torsion was not the only weakness these bones were found to have. When tests were conducted to gauge how essential the struts that reinforced the bone hollows were to said bone¡¯s integrity, it was shown that displacing or fracturing one or more of these struts can cause a complete structural integrity compromise in the bone itself.

    All that is to say: Nox Draconis, (and presumably other organisms of the same genus, such as the ¡®aquatic dragon¡¯) have impressively strong bones due to their density, the hardness level of their tissues, and the shape and layout of the internal struts that line the inside of the larger bones. However, they also possess several weaknesses that are a consequence of these advantages. Their rigidity makes them brittle and prone to shatter when broken, as well as making repairing damage a far more lengthy and resource-intensive process than it is in the bones of most other creatures, including our own. They are prone to breaking when subjected to intense twisting forces, and the importance of the internal struts serve a failure point for the entire bone¡¯s structure should they break.

    *Bone shrapnel has (repeatedly) been proven a major danger in humans as well in regards to bullet wounds, but the problem seems to be exacerbated in the case of Nox Draconis.

    *It should be noted that, when it is said that Nox Draconis¡¯s bones are prone to shatter should their stress failure threshold be overcome, it does not mean that the entire bone splinters to pieces like a Prince Rupert¡¯s Drop. Rather, the fracture area remains localized around the failure point. Put simply, it is likely that such a phenomenon as a ¡®clean break¡¯ does not exist for the bones of these creatures. The inelasticity of the calcified bone tissue leads to spider webbing cracks and considerable amounts of fragments separating off in the case of a break.

    Muscular System Analysis:

    If one thing was determined for certain by analyzing (primarily) the skeletal muscular system of Nox Draconis it is that they are impressively strong. Bear in mind that not a whole lot of reliable information was gained through the examination of our study subjects, as many of their muscle tissues had taken so much damage from shrapnel, overpressure and direct autocannon fire (Most of the light shrapnel fragments that penetrated the scales were caught within muscle fibers). It was, however, determined that these organisms have considerably dense muscle tissue on their chests, around the shoulders, on the back, and along each limb and the tail. Obviously, a flight-capable organism would need strong muscles in those locations in order to fly. It would also need strong muscles on the limbs for terrestrial locomotion and for combat. Strong tail muscles not only suggest the tail as a balancing system in-flight, but as a tool appendage on the ground as well. In other words, it is possible that Nox Draconis, and presumably other members of the genus, can use their tails as blunt weapons. (A characteristic they share with other large lizards.)

    However, all that raises a rather large question, one that we are yet to formulate a comprehensive answer to. How are these creatures, being largely reptilian in nature, able to support such energy-intensive systems? It is well known that reptiles are completely incapable of powered flight. The reason this is so can be attributed to all cold-blooded creatures, by their nature, having much slower metabolisms than mammals or avians. As stated prior, flying is the most energy-intensive physical activity a vertebrate undertake. Only creatures with relatively blisteringly fast metabolisms such as birds, bats and insects are able to keep up with the immense energy demands. One of the key defining characteristics of reptiles and indeed all cold-blooded creatures is their sluggish metabolism rate. This is why cold-blooded organisms do not maintain a constant internal temperature through homeostasis. It is why reptiles like snakes and alligators are able to feed so infrequently. Animals that can fly have to eat their own body weight in food multiple times a day to keep up with the intensive energy demands flying implies. If Nox Draconis is a reptile, which it certainly seems to be from all our other observations, there is simply no way it would be capable of sustaining powered flight. Yet, it was indisputably proven through empirical observation that these creatures are indeed able to fly. That begs the question, if Nox Draconis is able to have all these incredibly dense muscles, and even be capable of powered flight, while also possessing the metabolism and morphology of a reptile, not to mention being huge: Where is all that additional energy coming from?

    Sensory Organ Analysis:

    Nox Draconis, by the standards of this examination, appears to share the standard 5 senses that we use to detect the physical world around us that is also shared by most organisms in the animal kingdom. Those senses of course being sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch. Whilst we were not able to do a whole lot on the front of detailed analysis for each of these systems on the nervous front with the tools we had at hand, it was possible to extrapolate a lot from what we could observe.

    Visual system:

    The first of the sensory systems covered in this report regard Nox Draconis¡¯ sense of sight. Mainly the eyes themselves. As mentioned prior, these organisms possess eyeballs that are remarkably similar to our own. There are a few reasons this is not really a surprise, given what prior information we already knew about them before this examination began. For example, Nox Draconis¡¯s eyes feature circular pupils. This was to be expected for the following reasons: Vertical slit pupils like those found in small cats and some reptiles (Which are also commonly associated with ¡®dragon-like¡¯ creatures such as these) are only found in ambush predators that hunt near the ground, and in low-light conditions. Hence why small cats, crocodilians, and many lizards and snakes often have them. Circular pupils are usually found in predatory or omnivorous creatures that need to see clearly at a wide range of distances and light levels. Which is why animals like wolves, great cats, bears, birds of prey and us humans have them. What is less usual, however, are the features of the rest of the eye. As mentioned above, Nox Draconis¡¯ eyes possess stomated, green pigmented irises and white sclera like our own eyes do. This is strange enough even for other mammals, much less reptiles. The result is what looks externally to be a scaled-up version of a human eyeball. (Yes, it is rather eerie.)

    It was initially theorized that the eyes Nox Draconis had a vision range that was similar to that found in birds of prey. Meaning, they are able to easily discern detail at incredible ranges that far surpass what our own eyes can, with the downside of not being able to see things closer than several meters in front of them clearly. We also supposed them to have far superior scotopic vision to our own. However, dissection of intact eyes revealed that on top of looking strangely similar to human eyes on the outside, their eyes were also uncanny as far as their lens and retina structures went as well. Analyzing the shape and size of their lenses against the retina revealed that Nox Draconis has a similar vision range to ourselves as far as distance is concerned. In hindsight, it makes sense. Should these organisms possess eyes similar to those found in birds of prey, they surely would be incapable of forming and using a literary writing system as their eyes would not be able to focus on objects that are close as a scroll or tablet would need to be to the individual for writing to be feasible.

    Analyzing the retina pointed to these creatures likely being able to see in a similar light and color spectrum to us (Though we of course cannot be sure how their visual cortex interprets that information), however likely possessing slightly superior scotopic vision in trade for slightly inferior color vision compared to that of the average human.

    Olfactory System:

    As far as we can tell, Nox Draconis has an incredibly sensitive sense of smell, able to discern far more scents than we can. A feature it shares in common with most other members of the animal kingdom. As of the writing of this report, The research team was unable to determine much in terms of specifics as far as Nox Draconis¡¯ olfactory system is concerned. Partially due to equipment constraints, and partially due all research subjects were already expired prior to the initiation of study.*

    Given the threat of detection-by scent that will no doubt be posed to us by these organisms, it is recommended that a means of countermeasure ought to be developed in order to decrease these creature¡¯s olfactory effectiveness, or hopefully neutralize it entirely.

    *Tests regarding how members of the Draco genus respond to olfactory stimuli in general can be conducted with the live ¡®sea dragon¡¯ example already captured, should permission be granted. However, live Nox Draconis examples would need to be acquired should we desire to better identify the scent-detection capabilities of that species in particular.

    Auditory System:

    Unfortunately, due to being unable to conduct stimulus tests with the subjects being deceased,  unable to conduct neurology tests due to equipment constraints, and being unable to conduct detailed examinations of the outer ear structure due to all their eardrums being completely blown out; there are once again gaps in what we were able to accurately determine as far as what range and frequencies Nox Draconis is able to hear, and how well they pick out individual sounds and determine range and positioning. However, through examination of relatively undamaged inner ear structure and projecting a theoretical functional eardrum that fits the ear itself as well as the general shape of the outer ear we were able to determine some things:

    Nox Draconis certainly has more sensitive hearing than our own, probably being able to differentiate sound sources as quiet as 5 decibels at a distance of around 4 meters (Bear in mind those are rough estimates). As far as amplitude is concerned, we think that, given the data so far, Nox Draconis possess a hearing range that is somewhat different than our own, with the low end of their hearing range stretching slightly into infrasound, but not able to detect sounds much higher-pitched than 10kHz.**

    *It should be noted that since Nox Draconis possess ears that can hear quieter sounds than we can, it stands to reason that their damage threshold is also lower. Humans can comfortably hear sounds up to 80-85dB without taking damage, with sounds louder than 120dB being where real damage starts to occur. Nox Draconis likely cannot hear sounds louder than to 70dB before it becomes harmful, with the real damage starting at around 90 to 100dB. With that in mind, countermeasures against their acute auditory senses should not be difficult to develop.

    *The much-diminished capacity to hear high-pitched sounds has to do with our observations of the subject¡¯s inner ear structures, many of which being too large or sturdy to be affected (and thus be able to detect) high-frequency noises. It is also likely that their intelligibility threshold for high-frequency sounds are much lower than even that.

    ¡®Unique¡¯ Features:

    No doubt the most pressing question on everyone¡¯s minds is whether or not Nox Draconis is capable of ¡®breathing fire¡¯ or not. As far as we can tell, the answer to that question is most likely yes. During dissection, a pair of strange sac-like glands were found in each of the subject¡¯s necks, roughly halfway in between the jaw and shoulder. These glands were connected to the esophagus via small, one-way valves. Within the glands, traces of the hydrocarbon compound Acetylene were found. It seems that Nox Draconis is somehow able to biologically produce the compound, deposit it within these glands, which in turn then (using specialized muscles) hold it under a pressure of at least 1.40 atm for extended periods of time (Though they can clearly go higher). It would also appear as though these organisms are indeed capable of using this as a weapon, given the local¡¯s insistence on these creatures and others like them being able to ¡®breathe fire.¡¯ The most plausible way they are able to accomplish this is by building up acetylene under pressure within the glands (which have an average internal volume of  around 479mL ) thus in turn raising the compound''s temperature as a factor of the gas¡¯s pressure. They then force deoxygenated air from the lungs, and release the pressurized, high-temperature acetylene from the glands via the one-way valves into the airflow. This action carries the hydrocarbon solution along and expels it through the mouth at speed, at which point it is then introduced to oxygen in the wider atmosphere and undergoes an exothermic chemical reaction, and combustion occurs. Thus giving Nox Draconis a built-in, biological aerosol flamethrower. Exactly how hot these flames can get is a little up in the air, but we believe that more mature individuals are probably capable of weakening relatively weak, impure metals to the point where molding is possible ( that is not to say that these organisms would be capable of doing that with their appendages). We¡¯ve organized the most probable steps members of the species would need to complete for successful fire attack to occur as follows:

    -Acetylene is refined and stored within each of the neck glands, where it is held under a constant pressure slightly higher than ambient atmospheric pressure at sea level.

    -A feasible target for the fire attack is identified, the individual fills their lungs to their maximum extent, which then rapidly deoxygenates that air. Simultaneously, pressure within the acetylene glands is built up, both through rapid production of more gas and through the small organ¡¯s muscles diminishing the gland¡¯s internal volume via compression.

    -Once the air within the lungs has been deoxygenated, and the pressure and temperature of the acetylene solution has reached adequate levels, the air from the lungs is forced out at speed. (These creatures have rather powerful diaphragms.)

    -The valves for the neck glands open, and the pressurized, high-temperature acetylene is forced into the stream of air coming from the lungs, where it is quickly carried out of the body.

    -The high-temperature acetylene is introduced to oxygen in the atmosphere, and combustion requirements are met.

    This all raises a rather important concern: whether infantry would be at all combat effective against these organisms in a realistic scenario. One edge that humans have had against larger and more physically powerful predators in nature is our ability to easily utilize ranged attacks (usually through throwing things). That principle would hold true even given the rather large physical disparity between us and members of the Draco genus thanks to our firearms if it were not for these creatures having their own built-in ranged weapon in the form of the biological acetylene flamer. However, due to the fast specific reaction rate of acetylene combined with the maximum projected force Nox Draconis is able to exhale, we have calculated that their aerosol fire attack cannot reach more than a few meters in front of them. Even our own man-portable napalm-based flamethrowers, much less kinetic firearms, can still outrange them.

    The next most recognizable characteristic of this new species that is not shared by other relatively similar organisms is the pair of distinctly wing-like limbs that attach to the shoulders just behind the forelimbs. Nox Draconis possess a pair of wings that are, strangely enough, visually reminiscent of the wings that bats have. Why this is the case is unknown. Despite these facilitators of flight, had we not directly observed these organisms literally flying and were only going off what we can observe of them in their post-mortem state, we would have declared these creatures flightless. We have already stated that the metabolisms of these organisms simply could not keep up with the energy demands of flight, but it would also seem that members of the Draco genus share a characteristic in common with common honeybees in that their wing surface areas should be inadequate for producing enough lift to get their heavy bodies off the ground. Nonetheless, these creatures can fly anyway. Apparently another thing different in this world compared to our own is that the laws of physics here apply themselves arbitrarily.

    During our examinations of the four recoverable Nox Draconis subject¡¯s brains in order to assess damage dealt by overpressure shockwaves, it was noted that these creatures have surprisingly large and complicated brains compared to other reptilians. Not much in terms of specifics could be determined here, unfortunately. Neurology is a new enough study in regards to human anatomy, much less these unprecedented organisms. We were able to determine at least that these creatures have neural complexity rather similar to our own. (Which makes sense, given the prior discovery of at least one member of the species being literate.) However, this brings yet another feature of these creatures that defy contemporary biological patterns. That is to say: it is unlikely that a reptilian organism would have a metabolism capable of keeping up with the large energy  demands such a complicated brain would entail. Another paradox to add onto the pile, so to say.

    Regarding the recently captured ¡®Sea dragon¡¯ individual, information collected is far more limited in scope due to our examination being limited to a superficial level. In other words, all we could do was look at it and take notes rather than the detailed dissection and examination conducted with the Nox Draconis examples. Nevertheless, the information learned is as follows:

    Basic Taxonomy:

    Subject: ¡°Sea Dragon¡±

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Domain: Euykarya</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Kingdon: Animalia</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Phylum: Chordata</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Class: Reptilia(?)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Order: Squamata(?)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Suborder: Lacertilia(?)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Family: Magna Serpentium</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Genus: Draco</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Species: Draco Marinus</li>

    </ul>

    Morphological characteristics- Quantitative observations:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Investigation subject: 1 member of the same species.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sex: male</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subject height (feet to shoulder): 190 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subject height (feet to head): 234 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subject length (incl. tail) 1102 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subject wingspan: 2162 cm</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subject mass: 2,180 kg</li>

    </ul>

    Morphological Characteristics- Qualitative Observations:

    Draco Marinus shares remarkable physiological similarities with Nox Draconis. Hence our decision to classify them in the same genus. However, there are many visually apparent differences in their external appearance and morphology. For example, Draco Marinus possess keratin scales that are largely green in coloration, similar to the color of photosynthetic shallow-water algae. These scales are also slightly different in texture, being slightly smoother and more similar to the scales found on most fish compared to lizard-like scales of Nox Draconis. As far as composition is concerned, Draco Marinus possesses far less large plate-like scales than its black-colored counterparts, only having them on the head and along the spine. The majority of the scales covering the green reptile are more similar in shape to the scales found on other members of the Lacertilia suborder. The undersides of the organism was also covered in tiny smooth scales as well (Albeit, the scales on Draco Marinus are segmented). The most prominent difference between the two members of the Draco genus as far as their scales are concerned is that Draco Marinus has approximately 220 unique, translucent, and presumably flimsy scales of various size running along the muzzle, neck, shoulder, limbs, torso back and tail with many more on their wing membranes that are bioluminescent. How exactly this creature is able to sustain that many biological lights is lost on us. As if these creatures did not already have enough paradoxes about them.

    The next most obvious visual difference is that Draco Marinus appears to possess several gills on its neck concealed by plate-scales that connect to the respiratory system. Suggesting these creatures can operate underwater for long periods of time. As was determined by the deck crew of the USS Le Hardy when this subject was pulled out of the water and by us during our visual inspection, this organism, and presumably others like it have a large chest cavity where lungs are present. Making Draco Marinus one of the few known organisms to simultaneously have fully functioning lungs as well as gills.

    Another notable difference between both types of ¡®dragon¡¯ is found in their natural weapons. For starters, Draco Marinus cannot ¡®breathe fire,¡¯ as its gills are present in the same location the acetylene glands are in Nox Draconis. Other than that, the large claws that adorn each digit are different in shape compared to the claws of Nox Draconis, being longer and more hook-like, suggesting a specialization towards catching fish. These claws would be less effective as weapons against other members of the Draco genus in a fight.

 XIII - Foreign Bolters

    >Within a tavern, Safe Harbor._

    Castle Archer Guardsman Robin sat upon a rickety old stool, and stared listlessly down at a carven wooden cup half-full with some lukewarm bitter-tasting herbal tea he didn¡¯t really care about enough to remember the name of.

    He was having one of ¡®those¡¯ moments. Those times when you¡¯ve caught a break, but are too tired and too bored to really want to do or think about anything, and wind up sitting or standing around doing- and thinking- about exactly nothing except experiencing the evergoing march of time. Whether you know you have better things to do or not.

    The establishment he was currently resting in was one of the city''s longer-running taverns, never particularly busy, but popular among members of the Castle Archer Guard due to its proximity to the Safehold. The family who owned were amicable enough, and the place almost perpetually smelled a strange and somewhat off-putting mixture of citrus, alcohol, and various teas after the most common drinks served.

    He sat alone on his table, there were few other people present in the relatively small room with him. All of them paid little mind to one another. It was towards the end of the day, but most city-dwellers at this time would be working their various jobs at this hour. If not, they were no doubt distracted by the foreigner¡¯s presence.

    Robin was tired. A whole inferno of a lot of stuff had happened these last few days, but little of it directly had to do with him, to be frank. He and his fellow ballista-operating guards, who weren''t present with him in the tavern, had spent a significant portion of their time since the thwarted attack being drilled by the Castle-ballista guard commander to improve their effectiveness, efficiency, and especially speed loading and unloading spears from the launchers; arming the heavy machine; as well as testing and retesting their aiming arithmetic and instincts against flying targets.

    If Robin didn¡¯t know any better, he might just sympathize with the slowly spreading rumors which suggested their commander was ¡®inspired¡¯ to these drills after they had been upstaged so severely by the foreigner¡¯s ship-mounted air defenses, but those were just that: Rumors.

    The sound of a small bell tinkling and an old wooden door swinging open behind him caught his attention, and he swiveled his head around and peered over his own shoulder with one eye.

    Coming through the tavern door was a somewhat bedraggled looking fellow that Robin vaguely recognized to be one of the secretaries that worked in the Safehold. He almost stumbled across the small room to the tender¡¯s counter, drawing the attention of the rest of the tavern¡¯s patrons as he went.

    He ordered a cup of something strong-smelling from the young tender currently wiping down dishes at the counter after a cursory good evening, passed some nickel coinage to the young man after he had drawn some liquid from a small barrel into another carven cup, and trudged through the lantern-lit room until he sat down with a grunt at a thin table adjacent to Robin¡¯s own.

    ¡°You seem tired.¡± Robin greeted.

    The probable secretary let out a loud sound that was simultaneously a sigh and a groan and slumped his shoulders over, burying his own face in his hands.

    ¡°These foreigners are lunatics.¡± He said.

    He took a draw of his drink, wincing as he did so. Before turning to face him. ¡°I spent all day these last couple days with them. You wanna know what they¡¯re up to? Because it''s scorching weird. You remember the Night Dragons they slew?¡±

    Robin nodded. How could he forget?

    ¡°Well here¡¯s what they did. They tracked them all down, where they fell, that is. Then they tied the corpses to these¡­ moving metal machine things- I think that¡¯s what they are, yeah¡­ and then they dragged them over near where they¡¯re setting up all those tents and stuff. That¡¯s weird enough in itself. Why would you do that with a dead dragon? If you slew a dragon, what would you do with it?¡±

    Robin thought the rhetorical question over. Truthfully, he didn¡¯t know. It wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d ever thought of. ¡°I don¡¯t know. What would you do?¡± He returned the question.

    The exhausted-yet-talkative secretary seemed to pause and think it over himself. ¡°Well¡­ I actually don¡¯t know either.¡±

    Robin withheld a snort, and the man continued.

    ¡°Anyway, here¡¯s what happened next. A whole bunch of new foreigners with a bunch of weird tools and books and papers and things showed up. They kind of remind me of the city doctors and nurses in the way they held themselves. Very professional. Very by-the-book, you know?

    ¡°They walked around the dead dragons- which were starting to smell by the way- and talked amongst themselves for a while. Taking notes in their thin books and papers. I couldn¡¯t understand hardly anything they said. I¡¯m part of the translation effort, by the way. That¡¯s why I was there. I was one of the only ones brave enough to go near the dragons, even though they were already dead.

    ¡°Anyway, even though our, and my own, grasp on the foreigner¡¯s language isn¡¯t very good yet, I¡¯m getting better at recognizing their words from their sounds and from context. We¡¯re figuring out patterns in their tongue that allow us to puzzle out some words by how they sound compared to other words, even though we haven''t learned that word in particular. Interesting stuff, not relevant now.

    ¡°Point is, these doctor-looking guys were using words I don¡¯t even begin to recognize. They talked to each other a lot about the felled dragons, and seemed to obsess over every part of it. I swore they spent like half an hour looking at and talking about the horns alone. It¡¯s so strange! You¡¯d think they¡¯d never heard of a dragon before or something.

    ¡°But that¡¯s nothing compared to what they started doing next. You want to know what they did? They took out a bunch of weird looking knives and saws and other things and started cutting the dead dragons open.¡±

    ¡°They did what?¡± The young bartender looked up from a dish he was rinsing in a basin of water.

    ¡°That explains the smell¡­¡± Someone else muttered from another table.

    The secretary-turned-interpreter paused and took another quick draw from his cup for effect. Robin, for his part, kept trying to pay attention.

    ¡°Ugh. That stuff¡¯s harsh. So yes, the foreign doctor people started cutting the dragons. They cut off scales, cut open parts of the legs, neck, chest, took samples of their blood, you name it. I¡¯ll admit I¡¯m a bit squeamish, so this was all pretty uncomfortable, and it was all really gross. But these foreigners were anything but messy. I¡¯ll give them that.

    ¡°Anyway, they started taking different parts of the dragon out of it. They took bits of muscles, organs, tendons, even bones. Oh, I just remembered: When they were examining one of the dead dragon¡¯s muscles on and around their shoulders and chest, probably muscles that drive their wings, one of the foreign doctors started yelling about something. Almost like it offended him or something. I have no idea what he was on about, but it was kind of funny to watch.¡±

    ¡°Wait, did you say they took out some of the dragon¡¯s bones?¡± The bartender asked.

    The secretary-turned storyteller nodded emphatically. ¡°Yep. Took whole bones out. Did all kinds of weird stuff to them, too. Cut them apart, took tons of notes, even did some what looked like strength tests on them. You know, like when the blacksmiths make new designs for swords and things and try to bend them in all weird ways to see how much force they can take? They did that, but to the dragon bones.

    ¡°But even that¡¯s not the weirdest thing they did, no. You should have seen what they did to the dead dragon¡¯s heads. I guess they must have wanted to try and learn about the dragon¡¯s senses, because they started cutting out the eyes and ears of a couple of the dragon corpses. And then they started cutting those apart too.¡±

    He turned to face Robin fully once again and mimed clutching a ball shape in his hands. ¡°Have you ever seen the inside of a dragon¡¯s eyeball!? Or any eyeball, for that matter!? Because I have! It¡¯s gross!¡±

    He took yet another swig from his cup and coughed, deflating slightly. ¡°Blech¡­ On the other hand¡­ it was a little bit ironic¡­ and somewhat morbidly cathartic¡­ to see a dragon¡¯s corpse mutilated for a change.¡±

    The mood in the room tangibly darkened, and those that had been listening in on the conversation turned fully back to whatever it was they were doing. Robin folded his arms and sighed, but didn¡¯t say anything. They all knew what he was talking about. Heard the stories.

    The secretary shook himself, but continued on. ¡°...Anyway, the foreign doctors finished messing with the dead dragons, packed their stuff and samples, and left. It was around the end of the day at that time. Some other foreigners threw these weird giant unnatural-feeling covering sheets over what was left of the corpses, I think the word they used for them was ¡®Tarp¡¯. This all happened yesterday.¡±

    He took a final draw from his cup, setting it down sharply on the table he was sitting at with a loud clack. ¡°And I don¡¯t think I need to remind you all what happened today¡­¡± He trailed off.

    ¡°The sea dragon¡­¡± the guy at the other table said. Robin nodded absentmindedly. Even he, separated as he had been to the events transpiring around the newcomers, had heard of what they were referring to.

    ¡°Yep, the sea dragon. Don¡¯t ask me how they were able to catch that thing, because I don¡¯t know. And I¡¯m with them trying to talk with them most of the day. But now we have a sea dragon chained up on the other side of all those tents they''re setting up, near the city.¡±

    ¡°That dragon is dangerous. What if it got free? How many people would it get? If the strangers had such an easy time slaying those eight night dragons, then why not this one?¡± The other patron added.

    ¡°Like I said, I couldn¡¯t tell you. Although I am pretty sure they deliberately want to keep that dragon alive, from what I can tell.¡±

    The other man sighed and shook his head.

    ¡°And all that¡¯s without even mentioning the new foreigners¡­ but I don¡¯t really know enough about that to talk about it anyway. You wanna know what they got up to with the dead night dragons earlier today? It involves their strange weapons.¡±

    Robin perked up, and paid closer attention. He¡¯d only really been half-listening for most of the supposedly exhausted secretary¡¯s story, but the mention of the foreigner¡¯s intriguing and alien weaponry that he himself had been pondering over so much since the failed attack caught his ears.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Robin encouraged.

    ¡°Well, it all started when they uncovered the dead and now partially taken apart dragons, and dragged them over to this clearing in the forest a short distance from the city, taking a bunch of equipment with them.¡±

    ¡°Similar to the foreign doctors, these foreigners held themselves in a rather professional, by-the-book manner. However these ones, the ones that seemed to be doing the investigating, that is, were a lot less¡­ uptight¡­ yeah, that¡¯s it, than the doctors were. Anyway, we all got out to this clearing, put the dead dragons out on one side of it, and collected a bunch of stuff on the other.¡±

    He looked down to the floor, shaking his head with a chuckle. ¡°You know, a week ago I would have considered the prospect of doing stuff for prolonged periods of time in a flat empty field in the middle of the forest absolutely terrifying. I mean, what better place for dragons to see you? But I guess these foreigner¡¯s confidence wears off on you.

    ¡°That aside, the foreigners set about measuring a bunch of stuff out on the ground using these strange retractable measuring lines that were scarier than they look. That sounded really weird saying it out loud¡­ Nevermind.

    ¡°I got a close-up demonstration of what these foreign hand-held weapons can do. Hey, you¡¯re a Castle Archer Guardsman, were you able to see the sky when the night dragons tried to attack us? Were you in the Safehold? Did you see what the foreign air defense weapons did?¡± The secretary directed at him.

    Robin nodded. He had seen it. Quite clearly.

    ¡°It involved explosions, light flashes, and loud noises, right?¡± He asked, before immediately continuing: ¡°Right. Well, the weapon-things they carry are similar. You know the ones that look like¡­ well¡­ they look like¡­¡± He waved his hands, moving them about as if trying to imagine holding one of these strange arm-length staffs Robin had seen some of the newcomers wielding from a distance.

    Robin noticed something. The man he was discussing with, and most other humans, including himself- he realized- often use hand gestures when conversing with one another. He also remembered noticing at one point, when observing some of the newcomers sharing a conversation in their strange language, how still they stood. At least in contrast to what he was used to. Pyhrrian humans seemed to use a lot of hand gestures when speaking verbally, at least to a much greater extent than the foreigners did. Robin wondered what it meant, or if it indeed meant anything at all.

    ¡°-You know, crossbows?¡± The secretary cut into his reverie.

    Oops, that¡¯s a question. I wasn¡¯t paying attention enough to know what he asked me. This is awkward.

    ¡°Sorry, you lost me.¡± Robin responded.

    The talkative secretary waved him off. ¡°That¡¯s all right. The way these weapons work is pretty confusing to me, too. The closest analogy I can think of that might make sense are crossbows. Are you familiar with them?¡±

    Robin nodded, grateful for the save. He was, actually, relatively familiar with the projectile weapon. There were a few in the Safehold¡¯s armory. Crossbows were rather like a downscaled, carryable version of the large spear-throwing ballistae atop the Safehold which he was part of the team that maintained and operated. Both machines were fairly similar in design philosophy, being effectively a bow and drawstring built horizontally onto another block of wood that provides structure and stability, a trigger mechanism that made it easy to wield, and using the spring-like qualities of wood to launch sharp-tipped projectiles faster than they can be otherwise thrown.

    Crossbows weren¡¯t very widespread in their usage, because they were expensive. A pain in the butt to craft, especially in numbers. They were mechanically complex, and didn¡¯t really offer enough shooting power over much cheaper and readily available longbows that all Archer Guards trained with and regularly used to justify their expense.

    If he thought about it, though, he realized the hand weapons the foreigners carried were somewhat similar to crossbows in visual appearance.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Was all Robin said.

    ¡°Great. Well, you see, the foreigner¡¯s weapons are somewhat similar in appearance and even principal, but their mechanism of function and what they use for projectiles are much different, from what I can tell.¡±

    ¡°Different how?¡± Robin pressed lightly.

    ¡°Well for starters, they don¡¯t shoot arrows or darts or whatever. From what I saw, and from what I think the foreigners tried to explain and show, their weapons throw little metal bolts at very high speed. So fast that you can¡¯t even see it.¡±

    ¡°How small?¡± The other man interrupted, finally turning from whatever it was that he was focused on at his table to look at the other two men, revealing a scruffy middle-aged face that looked like it held a perpetual expression of mild scrutiny.

    ¡°Oh, well¡­ You see, they varied quite a bit, but they were around¡­ eh¡­¡± The secretary twiddled his fingers about, as if trying to imagine holding or outlining one of the bolts he was referring to with his hands. ¡°Most of them were around¡­ well, I should say the parts of them I¡¯m pretty sure the foreigners explained were the actual projectiles¡­ they were around as big as the last segment of my finger, ish. Some were smaller, others bigger.¡±

    Robin raised his brows. That¡¯s pretty small.

    The other man scoffed. ¡°Seriously? They think that¡¯ll do anything to a dragon¡¯s scales?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I was expecting the foreigners to be disappointed, too. Before they actually started, that is.

    ¡°When I said these foreign bolters throw their little metal things at high speed, I mean really high speed. So fast that it looked like the dragon scales just shattered when hit, even though the bolts themselves were so small. I¡¯m not really sure how it works. One of the foreigners I was with I think tried to explain some of it to me, but I couldn¡¯t understand hardly any of the words he was using. Something about speed and energy, I dunno.

    ¡°Anyway, I really wanted to see how one actually uses one of their bolter-weapons. One of them tried to get me to use his, I guess to show me how it worked, but he got yelled at. Nobody else tried to let me use one.

    ¡°Did I mention how loud these things are? You all could probably hear them all the way over here when they were testing them earlier. It¡¯s ridiculous. Everytime one of those weapons launches a bolt, it makes this huge thunderclap sound. Deafening. It seems everything about these foreigners, even their weapons, are scorching loud.¡± He shook his head.

    This was all¡­ interesting information, to say the least. Robin wished he could have seen these demonstrations for himself. Though this all left a distinct question within his mind¡­

    ¡°Do these¡­ bolters, as you call them, have anything to do with the strange air defense weapons these same newcomers used to slay those night dragons mid-flight in the first place?¡± Robin asked.

    The secretary quickly nodded. ¡°Pretty sure those are just scaled-up versions of the bolters. Kinda like how the ballista atop the Safehold are just scaled-up crossbows. Or are crossbows scaled down versions of the ballistae¡­¡± he trailed off.

    ¡°Hang on.¡± Robin said ¡°You said that the weapons fired metal bolts, but the so-called ¡®scaled up¡¯ ones seemed to create explosions in the sky. I also didn¡¯t see any projectiles being flung from the ships.¡±

    ¡°Well, yeah. Remember I said these things threw their bolts so fast you can¡¯t even see them. Also, I don¡¯t think that the bolts these things throw strictly need to be solid metal, they can have stuff in them. The ones coming from the ships could have had explosives packed into them or something.¡±

    ¡°Alright, what about the streams of fire that were seen being flung up from the ships and from that flying machine at the dragons. We could see those, they seemed to move pretty fast, and came out in semi-steady streams. How does that work?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah, right. Did I mention that some of the bolts these weapons throw are on fire when they come out?¡±

    The what.

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t really know how it works, either. You want to know what¡¯s even crazier? Many of the bolters were repeaters.¡±

    That last word rang a bell to Robin. A bell regarding an old theory- that ultimately went nowhere- for an upgrade to their ballistae that massively decreased the reload time via a complicated machine that loaded new spears as the bows and block were drawn back. It was the subject of much speculation and many a casual conversation among the Archer Guard, but Robin always found himself particularly drawn to the concept because it would greatly increase the effectiveness of their artillery against attacking dragons, and because it meant that he wouldn''t need to practice manually loading those scorched polearms all day.

    ¡°Now, I have absolutely no idea how those things work¡­¡± The secretary continued, ¡°But to be fair: I¡¯m probably the worst possible person to ask. I¡¯m a secretary and a scribe. I do books and letters and memoirs and stuff like that. The artisans or alchemists would probably be able to tell you more, but there aren¡¯t that many of them in the translation effort.

    ¡°Point is, they can shoot over and over again really quickly. Just connect a box full of bolts or a chain of them to one of the repeating bolters, hold the firing trigger down, and ratatatatatatatatat!¡± He lightly smacked his empty cup against the table rapidly to emphasize his noises.

    Huh. Is that what it was, then? Not a steam of fire necessarily, but rather a bunch of flaming metal bolts thrown from a repeating bolt-launcher. Fascinating.

    ¡°What about the dead dragons? What did the foreigners do to those?¡± Robin asked after a moment.

    ¡°Oh, right. Well, they pulled a bunch of scales from different parts of the dragons off, set them up on these stand-things they set up, and shot at them with different bolters from different distances. Then some foreigners with notepads and weird writing utensils went up to the damaged scales and looked really closely at the damage they did, writing stuff and talking to each other a lot.

    ¡°Then they- and this is the much nastier bit- starting shooting the night dragon corpses directly, but slowly. They usually cut out the flesh around where their bolts hit, and I guess studied that too. Blegh. Once again, I¡¯m more on the squeamish side, so I kept my distance. I didn¡¯t stick around that long, either, I probably left halfway through their tests and stuff. I¡¯m not super sure on what they did to the corpses after they were¡­ done with them¡­ but I¡¯m pretty sure they burned them.¡±

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    He sighed, looking towards the tavern door. ¡°Speaking of leaving, I need to get going. I¡¯ve been here awhile.¡±

    He stood up from his table, taking his empty cup back to the counter, before turning for the door. He stopped across from Robin.

    ¡°By the way, what¡¯s your name, again? I¡¯m Pistachio.¡± He said with a grin, holding out his hand.

    ¡°Robin. Castle Archer Guardsman.¡± Robin in turn, accepting the shake.

    ¡°Well in that case, I am Pistachio, Castle Secretary and Scribe.¡± The other man said with mock haughtiness, shaking Robin¡¯s right hand. He quickly became more serious, ¡°Keep surviving, brother.¡±

    Despite himself, Robin breathed a laugh at the age-old salute phrase. ¡°Keep fighting, friend.¡± he reciprocated.

    Pistachio released the shake and made for the door once again. ¡°Take care of yourself, Racoon!¡± he called out as he left.

    ¡°Yeah, you too.¡± The young bartender responded.

    The old tavern door clattered shut, and Robin found himself looked back down to his half-empty cup of lukewarm bitter tea. It didn¡¯t look any more appealing.

    Quietness returned to the bar. Only the gentle flickering of the lantern light illuminating the small room, the sounds of Racoon the young bartender tending to some more dishes following a dinner rush that had already passed before Robin came in. The sounds of some gentle bamboo wind chimes coming through a window. The strange combination of smells that was alcohol, citrus and tea wafted the room.

    A rare moment of serenity.

    ¡°Do you-¡± The forlorn middle-aged man from earlier cleared his throat. ¡°Do you really think that the foreigners can find a weakness in the dragons? A chink in their armor?¡± Robin wondered if he was imagining the faint tinge of hope in his voice.

    He sighed through his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But if anyone can, it''s probably them. They might already have.¡±

    ***

    Regarding terminal ballistic characteristics of various man-portable kinetic and chemical-explosive weapons against newly discovered ¡®dragon¡¯ species epidermal natural armor and protection.

    Abstract:

    This paper describes the terminal ballistics of current standardized US Army cartridges against the natural armor and tissues of one newly-discovered predator species, dubbed Nox Draconis by researchers, following tests conducted by various weapon specialists. Cartridges tested include: .38 Special, .45 ACP, .30 Carbine, .30-06 Springfield, and of course .50 BMG. As well as various other weapons that do not strictly classify as rifled firearms. The penetration characteristics of each of these rounds against the different kinds of keratin scales that cover the dragon¡¯s exterior are unexpected, and wounding effects vary wildly by caliber, impact angle and range. This paper will not cover external and intermediate ballistic characteristics of various mentioned cartridges, as information regarding those has already been produced, and it would significantly lengthen the breadth of this report.

    Introduction:

    Following the discovery and classification of a new dragon-like organism, along with confirmation that said organisms prove themselves a threat to our own ongoing well-being, it was decided to investigate the effectiveness of our current common man-portable weapons against their natural armor. Note that this paper does not include weapons classified as autocannons (i.e. 20mm Oerkilerons, QF-2 Pounders and Bofors 40mm L/60 cannons) within its scope, as the effectiveness of those were already demonstrably demonstrated. This report strictly followers common weapons and calibers employed by the US Army and Navy that are found in high stocks with our current supplies. This testing took place after autopsies and biological examinations were conducted on fallen ¡®Night Dragon¡¯ specimens, and with scales and tissues pulled from said specimens which formed our control variables. Our first tests were to determine whether or not the majority of our bullets were even capable of reliably penetrating the dragon¡¯s scales, then to map out penetration capabilities from various approach angles and deflections, finally to measure post-penetration wounding potential.

    Caveats:

    It must be noted that, similar to the medical team conducting research on the dragons beforehand, we are operating on limited prior knowledge, with relatively limited tools. That said, the main drawback to our acquiring accurate and reliable data was not due to a lack of the necessary tools, (For what we had on hand proceed adequate) but rather the fact that all our control variables (The dragon specimens) had already been thoroughly perforated with bullets, shrapnel, endured a high-momentum impact with terrain, and had been partially dissected. Point being, our control variables for these tests are likely not an entirely accurate representation of what one of these dragons would be in their natural, not-already-shot-to-pieces state.

    Procedure:

    The procedures for these tests were simple and straightforward, as far as ballistic tests go. Various undamaged samples of the three distinct types of scales that adorn the Night Dragon¡¯s exterior were procured, and set up at set ranges from a fixed firing position, with distances ranging through 10 yards, 20 yards, 50 yards, 100 yards, 200 yards and 500 yards for rifles and other larger weapons. Impact angles were also fixed, ranging from 0¡ã, 30¡ã, and 60¡ã. Various other body parts were also set up to test wounding potential, including ribs, a skull, and other large bones. Since we do not have any accurate models that replicate dragon tissues at this point, physical samples of flesh were taken from deceased corpses in order to test wound channels, cavitation, and pressure wave effects various calibers would have. (Yes, it was messy.)

    Cartridges & Weapons tested:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">.38 Special (9x29.5mmR), 158 grain bullet, approx. 850 ft/s from 4-inch revolver barrel.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">.45 ACP (11.43x 23 mm), 230 grain bullet, approx. 830 ft/s from government-issue M1911A1 pistol, and approx. 950 ft/s from Thompson M1A1 submachine gun.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">.30 Carbine (7.62x33mm), 110 grain bullet, approx 1990 ft/s from M1 Carbine.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">.30-06 (7.62x63mm), 174 grain bullet, approx. 2,800 ft/s from M1 Garand Rifle, Browning Automatic Rifle, and M1919 Machine Gun.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">.50 BMG (12.7x99mm), 619 grain API-T bullet, approx. 2910 ft/s from M2HB Heavy Machine Gun.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Various 12-Gauge slug and buckshot, 437.5 grain slug, 54.6 x 8 grain buckshot, approx 1,560 ft/s and 1,325 ft/s respectively from Winchester Model 12.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">M9A1 Rifle Grenade (48x284mm), 590 grain impact-fused rifle grenade with 113 grains pentolite explosive filling (Hollow charge configuration), launched from an M1 Garand rifle equipped with an M7 rifle grenade projector.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">M6A1 2.36 inch HEAT Rocket (60x546mm), 40oz anti-tank rocket launched from M1A1 man-portable recoilless anti-tank rocket launcher.</li>

    </ul>

    Brief Test Target Overview:

    According to the medical technicians and our own observations, the night dragons have 4 distinct types of protective keratin scale that cover their bodies. However, only 3 of that 4 are relevant for the purposes of determining the lethality of our own firearms against them. Those scale types have been generally dubbed as follows: ¡°Plate scales¡±, ¡°lizard scales¡±, and ¡°soft scales¡±. These in turn are arranged in transverse rows that cover the upper neck, back, shoulders, and top of the tail- in seemingly random order on the limbs, joints and sides- and also randomly on the underside of neck, chest, torso and tail respectively. Specific size, thickness, and hardness differ from scale to scale and from dragon to dragon according to strength tests already conducted upon them. Given the most important aspect of the scales for the purposes of this report are the thickness of these scales, and since the surface area vary too widely, thickness averages were determined as follows:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Plate scale: Roughly 3/8 to 1/2 inch thick</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Lizard Scale: Roughly 2/8 inch thick</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Soft Scale: Roughly 1/8 inch thick</li>

    </ul>

    These scales heavily resemble the scales found on many kinds of lizard and snake, and are incredibly thick, even proportional to these creature¡¯s large body size. These scales are lightweight, lighter than we initially expected they ought to be given their size.

    Before any confusion arises, particularly from any servicemen that hail from the US¡¯s southernmost states, these scales have little in common with the natural armor seen on Alligators and Crocodiles. They are not bony scutes, but rather keratin scales. For all the little that we know about these dragons, they do not visibly have much in common with crocodilians, but rather share more characteristics with giant monitor lizards. (Though bear in mind that connection is still very loose.)

    Before the first round of firing tests, it was initially theorized, or rather expected, that the dragon¡¯s scales would be highly bullet-resistant. At least being able to stop rounds up to the .30-06, necessitating use of heavier weapons to counteract these dangerous creature¡¯s natural body armor. However, test results showed that rather than being able to resist bullet impacts, the night dragon¡¯s scales were instead surprisingly vulnerable to the high-velocity projectiles, with the plate-like and lizard-like scales only slowing the bullet down slightly, and the soft underside scales offering virtually no protection whatsoever. Only the lower velocity .38 Special and .45 ACP having any semblance of trouble punching through the thicker plate scales at angles greater than 60 degrees. Why this is the case is not known for certain, but we do have some theories.

    Theory Regarding Dragon Scale Weakness:

    The most plausible theory regarding the dragon scales being defeated by high-speed projectiles was formulated after taking into consideration information shared with us by the various medical technicians that conducted the initial autopsies on the felled dragons. As well as data regarding each individual scales¡¯ mass, and whatever information could be gleaned from the locals. Which, for their part, have considerably more experience with these creatures than we do at the moment. The theory predicates as follows:

    The night dragon¡¯s scales are lighter than they probably should be, given their composition and size.

    Local accounts point to these scales being highly resistant against their own standard attacks, to the point of being considered almost invulnerable by many people. (We even gave some of the hard scales some hard strikes with some of the local¡¯s melee weapons, and concluded that they are indeed resistant to that form of damage.)

    Medical techs examining the dragon¡¯s skeletons also found that their bones were lighter than they should be; Given their size and density. As a result of this, it was also discovered that the bones were semi-hollow and had particular internal structures that decreased their weight compared to solid bones and made them incredibly strong, but were comparatively weak against specific kinds of stress and damage as a result of that.

    Therefore, it is theorized that something similar is at play for the scales as well. It is possible that these scales are not entirely solid, but instead are composed of a sort of microscopic lattice structures that allow it to take considerable amounts of blunt trauma by distributing the kinetic energy from the impact over a wider area than the exact location of the impact. This is possible thanks to most of the scales, namely the plate-like and lizard-like scales, having very high hardness and rigidity.

    However, when subjected to a very localized, high-velocity impact- such as being hit by a small projectile traveling at 2000 ft/s or more for example- that rigidity winds up working against the dragon¡¯s favor, as any solid-state substance that is incredibly hard is also brittle.

    The scale¡¯s structure and ¡°built-in damage control system¡± fails when struck by something very small moving with incredible relative velocity. As such the scale collapses and shatters without stopping the projectile.

    So critical is this particular weakness, that something even as weak as a blowgun could feasibly penetrate these dragon¡¯s scale armor at some angles.

    That said, it is not as though these scales impart no effects on impacting bullets whatsoever. High hardness materials tend to be highly resistant to bullet impacts in general, with high-hardness steel being among the most bullet-resistant materials we have. The scales that cover these dragons, while much weaker than high-hardness, rolled or cast steel, are still able to diminish the relative velocity of an incoming bullet by ¡®catching¡¯ and redistributing its kinetic energy over a wider area. Though this process damages the surrounding scales, and likely induces bruising in the various tissues located just under the affected scales.

    Background Information:

    The wounding potential of a given bullet is related to the retarding force between the bullet and tissue as the bullet penetrates, which are equal and opposite according to Newton¡¯s third law of motion. In air, the retarding force- or drag- on a bullet is small, because air is not very dense, the bullet is streamlined, and it has a small cross sectional area. However, organic tissues are, on average, 1000 times denser than air. Many bullets experience more drag in tissue than is initially calculated due to expanding, tumbling, and fragmenting. Bullet penetration requires tissue to be actually damaged rather than just being pushed aside. Thus while most bullets will travel thousands of yards in air, penetration depths in tissue are measured in inches or feet.

    Wounding potential in a living target is governed by the force profile of the penetrating bullet in tissue, which is, in turn, governed by the impact energy and bullet design characteristics as they relate to tumbling, expansion, fragmentation and penetration. The three wounding mechanisms as they relate to this retarding force profile are often described as:

    1) Permanent cavitation (the remaining hole of destroyed tissue after the bullet has passed)

    2) Temporary cavitation (the temporary cavity left in the bullet¡¯s wake by tissue stretching out of the way from large retarding forces for a few milliseconds until snapping back into place due to elasticity)

    3) Remote injury effects beyond the reach of the temporary cavity attributed to propagation of a ballistic pressure wave.

    Permanent Cavitation:

    Permanent cavitation occurs when tissue affected by any given force, be it from a penetrating bullet or knife or what have you, moves and damages the tissue beyond the point where it could spring back into place due to its innate elasticity and is destroyed. Leaving a cavity in the tissue. As a result, permanent cavitation will be most severe where retarding force between the bullet and tissue is at its greatest extent. In other words, the closer given tissue is to the penetrating object and the denser said tissue is, the more permanent cavitation will occur. Fragmentation can considerably increase the amount of permanent cavitation caused by a penetrating projectile.

    Temporary Cavitation:

    Temporary cavitation only really occurs with the implementation of high-velocity and medium-velocity penetrating objects, such as bullets fired from high-powered battle rifles and sniper rifles, and projectiles fired from handguns, submachine guns and shotguns respectively. Projectiles fired from these weapons have enough velocity to form a pressure wave created from tissue being rapidly accelerated radially away from the bullet¡¯s path. This intense stress field propagates outwards from the main retarding force between the bullet and tissue, and falls off quickly due to the inverse square law.

    The actual amount of damage this phenomena inflicts depends on the attributes of the affected tissue. The greater the density of a given tissue, the greater the retarding force between it and the penetrating bullet, and therefore the greater the amount of energy transferred to it. Tissues such as those found in skin, muscles, and intestines are relatively flexible and resistant to stretching. Contrasted by tissues found in organs such as the liver, spleen, kidney and brain which have much lower tensile strength and are likely to split, shear, and shatter due to temporary cavitation effects.

    A recent study regarding wound ballistics of current weapons excerpts the following:

    ¡°With this realization of forces involved in the production of the missile casualty, some of the otherwise anomalous manifestations in the wound appear much more logical. For instance, fractures occur at some distance from the missile tract without any direct contact between the bone and the missile. Forces may be transmitted through the essentially noncompressible blood and rupture a vein some distance from the missile¡¯s path. Nerves may be paralyzed yet fail to show gross evidence of physical damage. In some wounds in muscle, splitting along facial planes will be noted for a considerable distance from the path of the bullet. Fluid filled viscera are often blown asunder by the operation of hydraulic forces. High velocity missiles may pulp the brain substance. In some cases the bones of the skull are separated along suture lines as though an explosion has occurred within the brain case. This is but another manifestation of the forces operating in formation of the temporary cavity, and examination often reveals clean holes of entrance and exit of the missile showing Ballistics of the 30-06 Rifle Cartridge 16 that the bony rupture occurred after its passage. Similarly, shooting through a can of water, the rupture of the can occurs after the through-and-through passage of the bullet.¡±[pp. 135-136]

    In addition to these effects, the temporary cavity creates a region of hemorrhagic tissue.

    The average volumes of the permanent cavity and temporary cavity have been found to increase linearly with the mechanical work done by the bullet as it passes through tissue. This mechanical work is equal to the kinetic energy lost by the bullet and directly related to the force between the bullet and retarding force from the tissue. It has been found that the average volume of the permanent cavity is 0.002547 cubic inches for each ft-lb of mechanical work; and the volume of the temporary cavity is 0.066247 cubic inches for each ft-lb of mechanical work done by the bullet passing through tissue.

    Ballistic Pressure Wave:

    When analyzing bullet wounds, ballistic pressure waves usually only become a major factor when a bullet has been stopped by armor, but the kinetic energy carried by the bullet causes deformation in the armor. That, combined with the momentum from the bullet rapidly transferring to the target, can and will cause tissue damage regardless of whether or not the bullet actually penetrates.

    Similar effects are observed to occur when a body is in close proximity to a powerful explosion, where energy released in the initial explosion forms a sonic blast wave due to the onset of pressure. This phenomenon is known as Blast Overpressure, and is exceptionally hazardous to any living creature.

    In regards to the wounding potential of a given bullet to organic tissue, ballistic pressure waves can cause damage to tissue beyond the effect radius of temporary cavitation, as described in the above excerpt. In human case studies and in live animal tests, pressure waves are known to cause remote injury. That being damage sustained in organs entirely separate from the impact location of a bullet (i.e. components such as the lungs, spinal cord and brain taking damage after a subject is shot in the thigh).

    Caveat regarding dragon internal tissues;

    The vast majority of wounding potential tests regarding terminal ballistics have been conducted with human combatants in mind. From a precise medical perspective, the tissues that make up these dragon¡¯s internals are far removed from our own in terms of their makeup for obvious reasons. However, for the purpose of this study and evaluation it is sufficient to treat the tissues in largely the same manner, because fluid dynamics tend to stay the same across organisms.

    Wounding Potential Analysis

    .38 Special (9x29.5mmR):

    The actual utility this cartridge would provide against dragons leaves a lot to be desired, to be frank. Standard ball ammunition and full metal jacket are able to penetrate most of the target¡¯s scale armor and enter the body, but a combination of the dragon¡¯s physical size and the bullet being somewhat slowed down by the scales it penetrated means the bullet does not do an especially high amount of damage to the subject, relatively speaking. A shot to any non-vital part will not incapacitate a dragon, and will more than likely make them angrier- such as with bears. A shot from one of these rounds to the heart, lungs, gut, major artery or vein will likely cause eventual death due to organ damage, toxification, internal bleeding or blood loss. That will not be the optimal outcome should one of these giant creatures be charging at someone and he needs to render it noncombatant in a timely manner. (And one can simply forget about stopping power.)

    That said, this round was shown to cause a fairly high amount of superficial damage to muscle tissues and other components relatively close to the skin layer as a result of the bullet not being able to penetrate very deep.

    If forced to use one of these rounds while facing a dragon, what is likely the best possible course of action is to aim for the neck, especially if the dragon is facing you. In this orientation, the softer underside scales are presented, which provide minimal resistance to an incoming bullet. Aiming for this region will maximize the chance of striking a critical artery and causing blood loss or asphyxiation, or it could strike the spinal column and cause paralysis. Shooting the chest should not be one¡¯s first option, as the ribcage will stop one of these bullets and a single shot penetrating a lung will not incapacitate, though it could prove a mortal wound. Same goes with a shot to the heart. It is likely one of these creatures will survive a shot to the gut.

    .45 ACP (11.43x 23 mm):

    This cartridge showed many of the same disadvantages displayed by .38 Special, but with some redeeming qualities that are more a result of this round¡¯s application than due to the bullet itself. In general, .45 ACP shows good stopping power for a pistol round despite its relatively low velocity by making up for it with its relatively high mass and tendency to deform once entering tissue thanks to its size and shape. When fired from an M1911A1, the bullet shares many of the same weaknesses with the .38 Special, most likely not having sufficient velocity to penetrate far enough into a dragon¡¯s body or deal enough damage to cause immediate catastrophic organ failure. However, the wide diameter of the round (11.43mm) means that it creates a much larger permanent cavity than many other rounds, including rifle rounds, which can lead to rapid blood pressure loss especially if critical parts of the circulatory system are hit. Unfortunately, it is still unlikely that these rounds will quickly incapacitate a dragon target due to the creature¡¯s outright size.

    However, if multiple successive .45 ACP rounds strike a target, such as if an 7-round magazine from a standard M1911A1 is fully or partially emptied into a target, or if fired in a burst from a Thompson M1A1 submachine gun, the lethality of the round increases substantially. Mostly as a factor of there now being multiple of them. As stated above, the method these scales utilize to redistribute force from an impact means that other scales surrounding the one actually hit will be damaged. This implies that subsequent bullets will have an easier time penetrating after a single bullet already has, and will lose less energy on initial impact. This, combined with compounding wound channels in close proximity to each other, vastly increase the lethality and stopping power of this particular caliber against a potential dragon hostile.

    If engaging a dragon target with an M1911A1 service pistol, it is once again advisable to aim for the neck with priority, and aiming for the chest and torso as secondary for the same reasons. Though bear in mind the wound channels created by .45 ACP are much larger than .38 Special, and therefore more dangerous. Be aware that the relatively low velocity of this round and .38 Special mean that they will have difficulty penetrating the harder dragon scales at range, however those ranges are beyond the normal operating ranges of the weapons that utilize these rounds anyway.

    A successful hit from one of these rounds to the cranium will also most likely be lethal, despite the slower rounds not being able to reliably penetrate the hard skull. This is due to the bullet imparting enough kinetic energy and pressure to damage brain tissue within the skull past the point of it becoming dysfunctional.

    .30 Carbine (7.62x33mm):

    This higher powered cartridge shows much more damage potential due to its speed compared to the pistol rounds. The bullet, because of its greater relative velocity and more streamlined shape, will penetrate much deeper on average than the other two previous rounds will. However, a single hit from one of these still provides little in terms of immediate incapacitation or stopping power against a dragon hostile. Fortunately, the firearm that utilizes this cartridge, namely the M1 Carbine, is a gas-operated semi-automatic firearm with a 15 round box magazine. Multiple shots are what is required from a gun like this to render a dragon hostile noncombatant, and multiple shots it can deliver.

    The same targeting philosophy that applied to .38 Special and .45 ACP still apply to this round. With the knowledge that this round will penetrate much deeper into tissues, but will not leave as large of a wound channel as a result of its smaller diameter.

    .30-06 Springfield (7.62x63mm):

    With this mainstay round we finally get a more considerable boost in lethality, but is still unfortunately not a game-changer compared to previous smaller cartridges. The .30-06 Springfield is a versatile round to be certain. Being able to punch through a fair bit of armor for what it is while still delivering large amounts of internal tissue damage upon penetration. Conforming to what is quickly becoming a pattern, this round on its own comes up somewhat lacking in terms of incapacitation and stopping power against a dragon hostile due simply to the creature just being huge (granted, it is much more likely compared to the smaller, slower bullets that a single .30-06 hit would incapacitate a dragon should impact somewhere on the chest or neck, and especially on the head, though it still is not as good of a chance as we would like). For the most part, this round remedies a major disadvantage shown by the other rounds in that it can actually penetrate through a considerable portion of a dragon¡¯s tissues before stopping, leaving a wide wound channel as it goes. The simple fact of this round having a considerably higher amount of kinetic energy behind it due to its speed means that it has a lot more potential damage that it can inflict.

    Even more versatile are the weapons systems that utilize this particular cartridge. Examples used in this test include the mainstay M1 Garand rifle with its gas-operated semi-automatic system and an 8-round internal clip; the M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle with a 20-round box magazine as a light machine gun; as well as the M1919 Browning Machine Gun with its belt-fed system. We have no doubt each of these weapons will prove lethal (especially the latter two) due to their high fire rate allowing the user to perforate a dragon hostile with multiple high-powered bullets. As far as we can tell so far, the best way to counteract the dragon¡¯s advantage of being able to take an infantry-standard caliber bullet because of its size, while yourself still using said infantry-standard caliber, is to simply hit the dragon with multiple bullets in a rapid fashion. (Which will not be as hard as may initially be thought, given these dragon¡¯s large relative size also makes them a large relative target.)

    If one were to face a dragon while wielding an M1 Rifle (which is relatively likely, given the circumstance), they should obviously continue to prioritize aiming for vital sections as already mentioned. However, the superior wounding potential of the .30-06 Springfield combined with the M1 Rifle¡¯s theoretical possible fire rate means that shots to the chest and torso are also more feasible in terms of immediate lethality. If wielding or controlling an M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle or M1919 Browning Machine Gun, the rapid fire rate and ammunition capacity means a user can simply aim center mass and engage.

    Various 12-Gauge slug and buckshot:

    While not as commonplace in usage as aforementioned rounds, the venerable Winchester Model 12 is used widely enough that it warranted testing, which would also work to prove the feasibility of shotguns in general. Shotguns, for their part, are renowned for their versatility in civilian roles and close range stopping power in combat. Unfortunately, these weapons too show considerable falloff in their potential combat-effectiveness against a living dragon target. With standard buckshot load, the harder dragon scales are able to significantly diminish their velocity, and therefore wounding potential, if not outright resist them at many longer ranges. At close range, there is a very good chance that the balls will penetrate the weaker underside scales, but engaging in close quarters combat with one of these creatures while it is still combat effective should be avoided at all costs. Why exactly dragon scales are so resistant to buckshot is not fully certain. But we theorize it has to do with each of the individual ball¡¯s relatively low mass compared to full-caliber munitions.

    The use of slug munitions remedies many of the problems faced by buckshot. The heavy weight and wide diameter of the slug means that it offers catastrophic wounding potential, creating a particularly large permanent cavity that will lead to lasting damage and immediate blood loss. It is even rumored that humans suffering direct hits from slugs to the shoulder can lose the respective arm entirely. In our testing, common 12-gauge slugs had far superior energy retention compared to buckshot following scale penetration, and as such inflicted catastrophic damage to internal tissues nearby impact location. Shots to the neck will sever critical parts of the circulatory system and destroy the windpipe. Shots to the head will cause fatal brain trauma. Shots that miss the ribcage will penetrate the lungs and render them unusable, or it will damage the heart and disable it. A shot to the gut will destroy intestine lining and vital detoxification organ tissue, releasing deadly toxins into the bloodstream. A direct hit to any of the limbs or tail will cripple it, most likely permanently. Any one of these wounds will prove fatal without immediate advanced medical attention. The downsides involving using slug munitions involve the limited ammunition capacity and short effective range of the Model 12 shotgun in general, and the apparent tendency for the lead core slugs to deform heavily after penetrating the scales leading to them not penetrating very deep into the target.

    While the Winchester Model 12 loaded with slugs is an effective weapon in terms of outright damage against a dragon target, the actual effectiveness of the weapon is diminished by sub-par accuracy relegating the weapon to close-range combat. Right now, given the natural strength and weapons these dragons possess, along with the biological aerosol flamethrower the medical technicians speculated them to have, the consensus is that any personnel should avoid getting near one of these while it is still dangerous if at all possible. It would be safer to engage a dragon hostile from a further distance with a rifle.

    .50 BMG (12.7x99mm):

    While technically not typically a man-portable weapon, it was judged that the M2HB Browning Heavy Machine Gun and its cartridge, the .50 BMG should be included in these tests because of how widespread they are, and by just how sheer much of them we have. In regards to its lethality against dragon targets that are at least similar to the test subjects, we are pleased to report that the .50 BMG does not share the lack of stopping power with all previously mentioned smaller cartridges against a hostile dragon. Such an outcome is logical, given the round¡¯s original conception as an anti-armor projectile, and later adaptation into an anti-aircraft or anti-material role. The M8 dedicated armor-piercing ammunition is easily capable of penetrating 0.75 inches of rolled homogeneous armor-quality steel at a distance of 500 yards. That in of itself is far beyond what tests dragon scales were capable of in terms of bullet resistance.

    Against unprotected human targets, .50 BMG is actually known for having a slight effectiveness falloff. This is because there is usually a trade-off between armor penetration and wound potential with relatively smaller rounds. In other words, the human body is small enough, and the .50 BMG powerful enough, that a penetrating round will cleave clean through and out again without tumbling or fragmenting, as a result of it¡¯s high velocity and relatively immense kinetic energy carrying it through the body (Bear in mind, the energy to bullet does impart is still enough to cause fatal damage to a human disregarding exceptional circumstances).

    Dragons, on the other hand, do indeed have enough biomass and dense tissues to fully slow down and even stop a .50 BMG round, leading to massive and unprecedented wound channels. It is in this way that we finally see the dragon¡¯s large size, which lent them resistance against smaller rounds, finally working against their favor.

    Even that is without mentioning the diversity of .50 BMG cartridges we have available, some of which include standard ball, armor piercing, armor piercing with incendiary component, armor piercing with tracer component, even armor piercing with an incendiary and tracer component. The effects each of these different loads would have on internal tissues are numerous, and none of them are beneficial for the sake of the tissues themselves.

    If one were to find himself facing a dragon hostile while operating an M2 Heavy Machine Gun, aim center mass and engage.

    M9A1 Rifle Grenade (48x284mm):

    Testing of the M9A1 Rifle Grenade followed more from a general curiosity regarding how exactly a hollow charge warhead would interact with a dragon¡¯s scales and tissues rather than an actual concern about whether it would be effective or not.

    To the surprise of none that were present at the test, a molten copper jet moving at up to 5 miles a second has no problem penetrating through scales and internals alike, destroying everything in its path.

    Unfortunately, the initial blast itself and fragmentation from the grenade body did little more than mangling and ripping off all the other scales around it, and critically damaging muscles, tendons, blood vessels that were directly nearby the impact location, due to the M9A1¡¯s relatively small explosive filler. However, it was also noted that there were large portions of damaged, hemorrhagic tissues in the area around the blast. With other pressure-related injuries no doubt occuring in other places where delicate organs are present.

    The ready availability of this weapon- the projector can be easily attached onto nearly any standard M1 Garand Rifle, with the necessary blank charges needed for propulsion easily sourced- make it an effective weapon against dragon hostiles.

    M6A1 2.36 inch HEAT Rocket (60x546mm):

    Similar to the M9A1 Rifle Grenade, testing of the M6A1 anti-tank rocket stemmed primarily from an honest curiosity regarding what exactly would happen rather than from an actual concern about its lethality. Once again similar to the rifle grenade, the anti-tank rocket has no problem inflicting what would be mortal damage to the test target.

    Notably, one of the rockets fired even blew apart the ribcage of one of the deceased dragons being used as a test target, rendering it unsuitable for further tests.

    Conclusion:

    To summarize the findings of this investigation, the natural armor of the felled dragons proved ineffective at withstanding direct hits from various US Army standard cartridges at most ranges and impact angles. We suspect the scale armor has a weakness in their composition that makes them particularly vulnerable to that type of damage. However, it stands to reason that given the sheer size of these creatures, that they will most likely be able to to take one or more hits from smaller rounds without being incapacitated, unless one of those rounds were to critically damage something vital, such as the spinal column or brain. Bear in mind that these results could be inaccurate, given that the only test subjects we had available were already dead. That is to say killed violently and already partially dissected by doctors acting as researchers. It is possible that the various cartridges tested will actually turn out more damaging to a fully functioning organism due to remote injury effects and other trauma. What is discussed in this paper is only a benchmark.

    In respects to the effectiveness of each type of cartridge used, medium-velocity rounds such as the .38 Special and .45 ACP showed a distinct effectiveness falloff compared to high-velocity rounds such as the .30-06 Springfield. Jacketed bullets displayed greater efficiency when penetrating scale layers, and also tended to deform as a result of getting through the hard scales, exacerbating wound cavities. Many smaller bullets were stopped by many thicker bones, with an exception of the .30-06 Springfield proving itself able to punch through some thinner structural bones, such as some parts in the ribcage. Most bullets excluding .50 BMG were unable to penetrate the incredibly dense skull bones, but the kinetic energy imparted by the rapidly stopped bullet is sufficient to cause lethal brain damage anyway.

    Given the effectiveness of the .50 BMG, we would recommend consideration be placed on developing a means of making a properly man-portable firearm capable of chambering it. Perhaps revisiting the anti-tank rifle concept is warranted.

    Final note: Shrapnel from fragmentation grenades also proved largely ineffective against the thicker portions of the scale armor which adorn these dragons, unless the grenade was detonated at what we would determine unreasonably close proximity. They do not, however, have any problem perforating the wing membranes these creatures possess.

 XIV - Cant Stop Progress

    >Aboard USS Sampson, US Navy Destroyer, anchored off Safe Harbor_

    ¡°Well gentlemen, this is all¡­ extensive. Don¡¯t you think that we may be getting ahead of ourselves, here?¡± Captain Robert Drake said as he wafted through a small stack of papers given to him by the small and diverse crowd of subordinate officers that were standing at ease across from his cramped desk.

    It was a somewhat ironic statement, coming from him. During the initial days after arriving in this strange place, he had been one of the biggest proponents for long-term planning as far as their stay here was concerned. However, that was almost a month ago. It would seem that most Earthen personnel had switched to a similar line of thinking by now.

    And judging by what the collection of men had just presented to him, he might just be willing to wager they were even a little strangely excited by it. The long-term planning, that is.

    The stack of papers largely consisted of a loose collection of drawings and written information and notes, some typed and printed, others stenciled, yet more handwritten. All of it regarding the local town they had set up base camp in.

    It would be nomenclature to call them blueprints, exactly. What they were instead were a bunch of drawings, outlines, concepts and ¡®bright ideas¡¯ that were probably the result of an hours-long brainstorming session between at least a dozen personnel that had a background in structural engineering. The theoretical buildings and structures varied heavily in their specific purpose and design.

    The only collective similarity between all of them was that they all had to do with infrastructure.

    ¡°Permission to speak, sir?¡± Lieutenant Junior Grade Albert Harvy piped up.

    ¡°Granted.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect sir, that is at least partially the point.¡±

    Drake cocked an eyebrow.

    ¡°What I mean by that is: I¡¯m certain you¡¯re aware of some concerns floating around about us running out of several¡­ eh¡­ vital commodities required to keep our machinery running in the eventual future.

    ¡°Now, as I¡¯m certain you¡¯re also aware, there is very little risk of us running out of anything in the near future. Given that we have 32 Liberty ships full of raw materials, supplies, ammunition and a whole bunch of other stuff, totaling roughly 345,800 tons of cargo. Ignoring what we already carry on all the escort ships.

    ¡°Obviously, that all isn¡¯t evenly divided. Most of the ships, 18 to be exact, that came through are standard cargo configuration. 5 of them are fuel tankers, 2 of them are tank carriers, 2 troopships, and we have an aircraft transporter and a single collier ship.

    ¡°Given how few of us are here, relatively speaking, all that gives us not only more than what we need to last for a long time, but also gives us room to expand, sir.¡±

    ¡°I see where you¡¯re going with this.¡± Drake cut in. ¡°You want to start setting up production facilities as soon as reasonably possible? Is that tenable?¡±

    ¡°Well, sir, that¡¯s what we¡¯re investigating with the design concepts you¡¯re looking at, sir.¡± The lieutenant junior grade shuffled slightly in place, considering.

    ¡°At the moment, the vital commodity type that we are closest to running out of is foodstuffs, as we carry little of it beyond the provisions already stored within each ship. However, even that can last us a while, and our plans for increasing the local¡¯s sustenance crop yields by retrofitting a handful of jeeps and half-tracks for tractor work, utilizing chemical fertilizers and simply providing local farm hands with air defense cover are projected to work out in all our favors, sir.¡±

    Drake looked back down to the stack of smooth papers. The image he landed on after idly shuffling through them while Mr. Harvy spoke depicted what appeared to be a (relatively) modest machine tooling shop. Geared towards working with steel.

    These are all very early designs. It could take us years to actually build all these things, assuming we even can.

    ¡°I should rephrase the question: Are any of these hypothetical projects actually feasible, given the current makeup of the local architecture; and, for lack of a better term- ¡®knowledge level¡¯ of the locals; and our current relationship with them? Do we even have the capability to accomplish any of this?¡± Drake asked them.

    ¡°To answer your second question, sir¡­¡± A lieutenant from another ship started with a rather thick midwest accent, Drake believed his name was O¡¯Connor. ¡°I, personally, would argue that we do in fact have the capability to at least get these project ideas started. At least as far as material is concerned. Many of the supply ships carry goods that were intended for maintaining, repairing, and even setting up new factory systems in Great Britain. Those factories were in turn designed to supply an operation an order of magnitude greater in scale to what we have here.

    ¡°We also already have a lot of the building blocks already with us. The machine shops we have on board many vessels with us are already capable of precision tooling steel and making relatively complex components. They obviously aren''t suited for, well, production. But they are a starting point, sir.¡±

    It was a fair point. Drake was of course aware of the potential that his ship¡¯s machine shops could have. It was he that originally proposed using them in the making of the ¡®add-on tractor modifications¡¯ for the M3 half-tracks soon after their arrival.

    Trying to use them for industrial construction, though¡­ that was a much different story.

    ¡°As far as manpower is concerned,¡± O¡¯Connor continued ¡°I would once again wager that we have most, or at least many, building blocks already on hand. A good chunk of the sailors and Army grunts that aren¡¯t farm boys came from construction or mechanic jobs in the cities. Blue-collar jobs, as the papers call them. They have the know-how, and the experience, sir.¡±

    Oh, he was aware.

    One of the aspects of the military world that Robert found rather fascinating was the diversity of backgrounds a man could find in the people that it consisted of. Having himself attended the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis after graduating from high school, and joining up as an officer for the US Navy after that; he would admit that he was a bit of a career officer. But that wasn''t the case for even many in the officer ranks, even more so among the enlisted.

    Through his time in the war alone, much less his entire service, he¡¯d met all kinds of people. Everything from farm hands, plumbers, bouncers, first responders, engineers, deacons, schoolteachers, you name it. Uncle Sam wasn¡¯t picky. Especially not in wartime.

    ¡°Heck,  I know one of the senior chief petty officers on my boat used to work for Bethlehem Shipbuilding before joining up. Think his uncle¡¯s a foreman. Between just the people that came through that storm, we do potentially have the human capital to make these projects feasible, sir.¡± O¡¯Connor finished.

    That still left a pretty big question open. They might have the skill sets, but they didn¡¯t have that many people with them.

    ¡°What about the locals?¡± Drake asked ¡°Even if everyone on the convoy ships suddenly became experts in the field of architecture, mechanical engineering and what have you: We obviously can¡¯t all become construction workers. I know I don¡¯t need to remind you: We are sailors and soldiers for the US Navy and US Army. And the Royal Navy, I suppose.¡± And the Kriegsmarine¡­ ¡°I know the translation efforts have finally gotten results, but is it possible to educate the locals to the point where we can delegate any substantial amounts of civilian industrial work to them?¡±

    At this several of the officers actually seemed to perk up, and one gestured over to the only man in the room that was part of the enlisted ranks, one Petty Officer Darren Olson. The multilingual prodigy spearheading their end of the translation effort. Who, for his part, looked exhausted.

    Drake leaned back in his chair and regarded the Signalman. A nonverbal cue for him to speak.

    Olson rubbed his forehead with a small sigh. ¡°As of right now, we¡¯ve got around 50 locals that can speak English well enough to hold a conversation. We also have around 15 people on our end, not including myself, that can do the same for the local language. At least to my knowledge. You could probably put several of the locals in a grade school, and they¡¯d be able to follow along.

    ¡°We still haven¡¯t made a lot of progress in the realm of the technical and more complicated parts of the English language, so if you try to explain how an electrical generator works to one of them, they aren¡¯t gonna know what you¡¯re talking about. Then again, that is at least partially because there are many concepts and terminology regarding our more modern technology that just don¡¯t exist in their language at all yet.

    ¡°English literacy is also really low. We devoted far more attention to the oral side of English rather than writing, so that some people could at least understand our speech and translate for others. It will take far more time and effort to teach people to read and write, which we¡¯ll obviously need to do if we want to make use of the stacks of field and instruction manuals we have, sir.¡±

    So we have translators now. Drake thought.

    ¡°That¡¯s still fantastic to hear. I congratulate you and the rest of the translation team for the long hours of tireless work you have put in, and the results you have wrought from them. You¡¯ve done all of us a great service.¡±

    The Petty Officer nodded. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    Although, that only answered part of my question.

    ¡°I still have to ask, and you seem the best qualified to answer, Mr. Olson; are the locals, by your reckoning of them, willing and able to adapt to our¡­ modern industrial technology?¡±

    Olson¡¯s eyes rolled up slightly, and he wrung his hands, considering. The other officers with him all looked at him. He was the best qualified to answer that question. Certainly out of everyone in the room, and perhaps the entire convoy as well. He had worked so much with them over these last few weeks.

    ¡°Well¡­ to be frank, sir: The locals can be a little flighty and strange in their customs, but are probably some of the hardest-working people I¡¯ve ever met. When given a task, they stick to it like their survival depends upon it. Half-assing things is almost like a cultural faux-pas to them. They¡¯re dedicated, and are really fast learners.

    ¡°The locals that stuck with us- entirely on their own volition I should add- picked up English as fast as we could teach it to them. And English isn¡¯t that easy of a language to learn, either. Writing is proving more of a challenge, but I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll come through.

    ¡°They¡¯re also really interested in our tech and how it all works. They¡¯ll definitely have a mind for it, once we do get around to teaching them about it. Hell, it¡¯s probably a good thing to start teaching them the maths and mechanics behind our stuff as soon as we can, otherwise they might start a kind of techno-cult around it or something.¡± He finished with a smirk.

    Drake shifted through a few more of the papers. Many of them not only depicted outlines of industrial buildings, but also rough maps and layouts of Safe Harbor evidently sketched out by engineers. The maps had notes about local architecture and places where new buildings could be erected or upgrades to existing ones could be implemented.

    ¡°What about the local¡¯s existing knowledge and skill?¡± Robert asked. ¡°Obviously, they build and maintain the society and settlement they live in. How much can these people apply what they''re familiar with to our ¡®new¡¯ stuff?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ To be honest, there¡¯s a lot about the local culture that we still need to learn. All our interactions so far have mostly had to do with language translation. That said, it isn¡¯t as though we¡¯re teaching them from scratch. For example: Their building philosophy has a lot to do with stonework, therefore they must have some pretty adept stonemasons. There¡¯s of course a lot of differences between masonry and concrete construction to say the least, but there is overlap as well, sir.¡±

    Drake nodded. On one hand, this was all completely nuts. In any other context, the sheer surreality of the idea of using military equipment and supplies to somehow kick off an industrial revolution in a medieval city would have left him in a fit of laughter at its ridiculousness, and possibly questioning the integrity of the imagination of whoever pitched the idea to him.

    On the other hand, they did technically have many of the building blocks for setting up a small industry. At least one enough to keep most of them and their ships supplied and maintained, as well as revolutionizing the local economy. The trouble arose regarding the logistics of moving all those blocks into place, getting people to build with them, and sourcing what blocks they were still missing.

    And from what Captain Drake could tell, the people who wanted to build things with those blocks were still in the very early brainstorming phase.

    However, Petty Officer Olson bringing up their current knowledge about the local culture and architecture reminded him¡­

    ¡°On that topic: Mr. Olson, I want to set up a formal tour of the town with Mayor Talem, I think that¡¯s his name. It¡¯ll hopefully be good for relations, and can give us vital knowledge about the town, its population, situation, economy, etc. Make sure many fluent interpreters are present, and that they have time to prepare. We can also hopefully exchange some information about where we come from, and what we bring with them as well.

    ¡°I also want to know more about the wider geopolitical situation around the world. How big is this land? What kinds of resources does it have? How many people are here, and if possible, how many dragons? I also remember you told me the town¡¯s ruler is something approximating a lord, so I want to know what wider kingdom he pays tribute to. Wouldn¡¯t want to accidentally start a war by annexing a port town or something. Or perhaps Safe Harbor is a kind of city-state, but still.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    Drake looked down towards the stack of papers, flipping through them again. Not all the sketches were ideas for buildings, it seemed. Several drawn ideas appeared to be regarding retrofits to some of their own ships as well. One of the more reasonable of which appeared to be a concept for retrofitting one of their Liberty ships to be a destroyer tender.

    He almost started when he came across one picture, depicting a rough map of the town and surrounding forest, but with a giant long rectangle drawn just outside the town and cutting into the forest itself. He looked back to the other officers with a bit of incredulity.

    ¡°Is this an airstrip?¡± He demanded.

    ¡°...One of the Liberty ships, SS Edwin Duff, is a boxed-aircraft transport, sir. It would be a shame if we didn¡¯t put all those planes to use, sir.¡± Someone finally said.

    Robert felt the desire to once again rhetorically ask if these people were getting ahead of themselves, but at this point it went without saying.

    ¡°And where exactly are we going to source at least an entire squadron of pilots and maintainers for those aircraft?¡± He said instead.

    ¡°We train them, sir.¡±

    Robert sighed. ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    He pinched his nose bridge.¡°So, what is it exactly you want me to do with¡­ all of this?¡± Waving the stack of papers for emphasis.

    This time, Lieutenant Evans, one of Drake''s more frequent confidants,  responded. ¡°At the moment, all that really can be done is further investigation and research into the local society and architecture, and exploring the possibilities and potential our own cargo supplies hold. Work will need to be done in order to determine exactly what we''ll need that we don''t already have, how we can acquire it, and how we can do it efficiently. Conservation will obviously be important.

    ¡°So, until we can make more¡­ definite and detailed plans¡­ All we can do is simply ask for your authorization to invest further resources into this field. Which at this point only entails time and effort from people who are already knowledgeable and people in the translation effort, sir.¡±

    Captain Drake withheld a sigh. This was exactly the kind of long-term decision making that he hated and felt poorly-suited for, and it wasn''t even his field. This kind of discussion normally belonged in the world of civilian bureaucracy, not in the commanding officer¡¯s cabin on a destroyer. But reality rarely cares about one''s personal feelings, and such he- and everyone else- will simply just have to do what needs to be done.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°All right.¡± He said simply, passing the papers back to them. ¡°Get whoever you need and set up a team, similar to the translation effort, to design some more¡­ concrete plans than these outlines. Collaborate with the new interpreters to study local engineering practices. I''m sure you will also need to do a lot of surveying the surrounding landscape as well.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°One more thing, sir. This one¡¯s a bit of good news.¡± Lieutenant Evans said.

    ¡°Shoot.¡±

    ¡°A handful of egg-heads studying the strange triple moons determined that our navigation instruments are not being interfered with by this world¡¯s gravity or magnetic field being different to Earth, but rather due to the additional lunar bodies influencing them.¡±

    Drake furrowed his brow. ¡°I assume this means that they can also find a potential solution?¡± He hoped so, because he wasn¡¯t very knowledgeable in that field of study. Orbital mechanics gave him a headache.

    Evans nodded. ¡°Yes, sir. It¡¯ll probably take a while and a lot of finagling, but it can be done.¡±

    Good. Being able to actually navigate and calculate long-range firing solutions again will be helpful, to say the least. Things have been quiet as far as potential dragon contacts since the sea dragon was caught, but we have been catching a not insignificant number of unknown air contacts that stayed outside of visual range on RADAR. We need to be ready if another attack comes.

    Drake nodded to all of them.¡°Thank you. You¡¯re all dismissed. Except you, Mr. Olson, there''s still one more thing I want to ask you about.¡±

    The other officers cleared out, leaving the signalman behind.

    ¡°I wanted to personally ask you how, let''s say, ¡®communication efforts¡¯ were going with the captured sea dragon. I understand you had some people working on that, though I''ve also heard that not much progress has been made.¡±

    The multilingual prodigy deflated somewhat at that, briefly diverting his gaze off to the side.

    ¡°To be honest, sir, your understanding is accurate. At first, we knew, or at least we were pretty sure, that the dragon is at least capable of responding to certain verbal phrases. Given how we recorded it reacting to what that Jerry supposedly said in its language. We tried a similar reciprocal language learning approach that we took with the locals. Namely finding an object that we both agree on and have a word for, and repeating that word to each other until each side learned of the other''s equivalent phrase. That didn¡¯t work on the fish dragon. Frankly, we''re not sure if the thing even knew that we''re trying to talk with it. If it did, then it evidently didn¡¯t seem to care.¡±

    Robert frowned. That was a little concerning, to say the least. Unless their earlier assumptions that these creatures were capable of higher thinking were in fact false, and one of those black dragons that had the written scroll had it because of some unknown agent rather than because it was literate; that could¡­ complicate things. Or perhaps it would simplify them. He wasn¡¯t fully sure. They were operating with too limited information at this point. Although it might perhaps explain why the local humans haven¡¯t tried, or at least haven¡¯t succeeded, in making any of their own means of communication with the creatures in however long they¡¯ve been here. However long that was.

    How long have the locals been here? Did they get here in a similar manner that we did? Are they the result of some ancient age-of-sail voyage or something? These people kind of look like Persians, but I don¡¯t remember any of the empires that inhabited that region being big on long-range maritime exploration, at least not really until the Ottomans. Not to mention their language also doesn¡¯t resemble Farci in the slightest. And they don¡¯t look like Muslims. At all.

    Where even is ¡®here,¡¯ anyway?

    There was a hell of a lot they still didn¡¯t understand about the locals, their situation, and the nature of the dragon creatures. The only things they really knew for sure was that they were here; the locals were here; the locals had been here for a while; the dragon creatures are aggressive and dangerous; and the locals really hate them.

    ¡°However,¡± The signalman continued ¡°We brought the Jerry back after about a week of us trying to see if he could make any progress with it. I wasn¡¯t physically present there to see it, but apparently it actually sort of worked out. The sea dragon actually responded, for one. The boys there claim that we managed to puzzle a few more words out, but it¡¯s shaky at best. We didn¡¯t go much further with additional attempts after that, though. I understand I¡¯ve already overstepped my boundaries as it is. Enlisting assistance from them, sir.¡±

    The captain felt inclined to agree. However, Mr. Olson might also be right.

    One would be inclined to think that if a creature was smart enough to be able to use language to communicate complex ideas, it would also have pattern recognition sophisticated enough to at least recognize when other creatures are also using language for communication, even if the first creature cannot necessarily understand what the other creatures are talking about.

    At least, that was how he imagined other humans operated when encountering other people speaking a tongue completely alien to them. The multilingual prodigy across from him might know a bit more about that sort of thing, though.

    If these dragons aren¡¯t actually sapient as we would define, or don¡¯t operate on their own agency like we do, which would make sense given how biologically different they are. Instead only responding to certain things in certain ways that were already instinctually engraved into them; that would prove a major obstacle towards convincing them to quit their apparent attacks on the humans here, which now includes us.

    Not an insurmountable obstacle, to be certain. It was theoretically possible to ¡®condition¡¯ a species of animals in a region to either behave, or stop behaving, a certain way towards humans. However, that method in this particular context would undoubtedly require a large amount of time, and a lot of ordinance.

    Robert was never a religious man, but he found himself almost praying that wouldn¡¯t be the route they have to take.

    If Mr. Olson here thinks the only way to get through to the sea dragon is with the help of that skinny German kid, then so be it. I am going to regret this.

    Drake sighed, ¡°You have my personal authorization to take whatever means you deem necessary to establish a line of communication with the imprisoned Sea Dragon.¡±

    The multi-lingual Petty Officer met his deadpan with his own. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    Funny how fate works sometimes¡­

    Actually, it was annoying. At least to him.

    ***

    >About a week earlier¡­

    >Just outside a scavenger den._

    Argonaut awoke, much to his displeasure.

    The familiar sun beat down on his scales. The familiar sound of commotion met his ears. He inhaled the now-familiar smells of his location through his nose.

    The sun was hot, as always. It was bright, it annoyed him. The sounds of birds singing, gulls squawking and scavengers muttering filled the air. Same as usual. Dozens of strange noises and smells pervaded his senses, now somewhat familiar to him, but he still couldn¡¯t place them.

    He was bored.

    Really bored.

    He didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been here. The days blended together into monotony. He hadn¡¯t done anything of note.

    Although, if he was honest, he might actually say he was less bored than he usually was during his patrol routes. That was rather strange. In neither case, did anything interesting often happen. But at least he could move freely while he and his wing were flying in circles near the Sky Kingdom, waiting to be ambushed. Here, he was still chained immobile to the soil.

    The real reason he felt less bored than usual was because he¡¯d spent the majority of his time asleep. It¡¯s difficult to feel bored if you¡¯re napping.

    Is this how it feels to be a RainWing? He idly wondered.

    The discolored scavengers around him didn¡¯t do much, either. They brought him a fish and bucket-thing of clean water everyday, mostly kept to themselves unless he tried to free himself from the chains (Which he gave up trying awhile ago), and rotated themselves out with new scavengers a few times everyday so that there were some watching him at all times. Although there were less of them than when he¡¯d first woken up here after being knocked out by that explosion-thing.

    Although, the scavengers did sometimes do, or try to do, something to bother him ever once in a while. Sometimes a talonful of new scavengers would approach whenever he was awake, and wave their weird paws around and make a bunch of their strange barking sounds at him. Sometimes they pointed at things, sometimes they pointed at him, sometimes they pointed at each other while making their noises. He had no idea what they were on about. Could have been a kind of scavenger ritual, for all he knew.

    He didn¡¯t really care for their antics much. Scavengers are scavengers, and scavengers are weird. That was like their entire point.

    One time though, the scavengers tried to withhold his daily fish as they did their whole ¡®bark-at-dragon¡¯ ritual. He just hissed at them until they gave him the fish. They didn¡¯t try to keep the fish again.

    In other news, scavengers can catch fish for some reason. How exactly, he had no idea. But that was kind of a pattern with scavengers.

    For now though, all he could really do was simply wait an hour or so before he can fall back asleep.

    That is, until he noticed a now-familiar group of scavengers coming towards him.

    Great, this again.

    The scavengers approached at a brisk pace, and Argonaut wondered (not for the first time) how exactly the lanky creatures could walk in the manner they preferred to without falling over all the time. It seemed very unstable.

    The new scavengers passed the ones that stood guard around him, one of them exchanging a series of noises with one of the ¡®guards¡¯ as they normally did. This time, however, was a good bit longer-winded than usual.

    Eventually, the new scavengers passed the ones that made sure he didn¡¯t move, and all stood still across from him. They didn¡¯t start up their whole barking thing with him this time, though. Instead, one of them, a slightly shorter and skinnier one, produced a small white thing from somewhere.

    On this white thing, was an inky black, and pretty detailed, depiction of a sea creature Argonaut immediately recognized. He froze.

    The skinny scavenger pointed one paw to the picture. ¡°Cuttle-fish.¡± It muttered out. It was difficult to recognize the word, but he could still clearly pick it out.

    Oh, moons. I thought I hallucinated that¡­

    This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d heard one of these creepy scavengers somehow pronounce the dragon word for the sea creature his son was named after. He¡¯d come to assume- or rather hope- the first time he¡¯d heard it, right after he woke up here. He had just come to after being knocked out by an explosion that somehow happened underwater, so it wasn¡¯t an entirely unreasonable explanation.

    However, the scavenger that could through some unknown magic pronounce that one word was back. This time with a strangely small drawing of an actual cuttlefish to back itself up for some reason.

    Wait a moment. Why does that scavenger have a drawing of a cuttlefish? Does it somehow know that¡¯s the word it¡¯s saying? That¡¯s impossible!

    He could somewhat buy the idea that a scavenger could mimic some random dragon word after hearing it. He¡¯d never once heard of scavengers trying to do that, but it seemed within the realm of possibility. Actually knowing what those words mean, on the other talon¡­ that was far more nonsensical.

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a cuttlefish. What of it?¡± Argonaut snapped at the scavenger anyway.

    The talonful of new scavenger seemed to perk up at this for whatever reason. They started muttering animatedly to one another.

    The dragon-mimicking scavenger produced another small white sheet thing from somewhere, this one having another inky black picture. This time the image depicted what seemed to be a¡­

    ¡°...Dragon?¡± He muttered. Etched onto the paper was what looked to be a dragon like himself. He couldn''t really tell what kind; it wasn''t super detailed. What could these scavengers possibly be trying to accomplish with this?

    ¡°Dra-gon.¡± The scavenger uttered.

    Argonaut snapped his head back up and narrowed his eyes at the creature.

    Wait, what is this all about? Is this scavenger trying to mimic me? Then why does it have a drawing of a dragon, like it''s somehow trying to ask how to say it¡­?

    He shook his head. This was all too weird.

    The scavenger pulled out a third sheet-thing. This one had a pretty rough drawing of a fish on it, that looked like it had been scribbled on rather quickly. The scavenger showed the drawing of a fish to him, and pointed to it.

    ¡°Squid?¡± The scavenger vocalized.

    Argonaut cocked his head, now even more confused.

    The scavenger looked back down to the paper, and tapped one of its weird little feet on the ground.

    ¡°...Fish?¡± The scavenger amended itself, before seeming to give up and quickly put the rough picture of the fish away to¡­ wherever it brought it from.

    Where in Pyrrhia did this scavenger hear the word ¡®squid¡¯ or ¡®fish?¡¯ Did it just take apart the dragon word for ¡®cuttlefish¡¯ or something? This was getting stranger and stranger by the minute.

    It seemed the creepy mimicking scavenger wasn''t done yet, because it pulled out another white sheet. Argonaut wondered how many of those things a scavenger could fit in its weird covering things.

    The scavenger showed the sheet to him. This time, it seemed to have a drawing of¡­ a scavenger on it.

    Now, what? Does the scavenger want to know how to say ¡®scavenger?¡¯ By the tides, this couldn¡¯t get any weirder.

    Argonaut debated whether or not he should humor the terrestrial ape. It was a little funny to watch their antics, and it wasn''t as though he had anything better to entertain himself with.

    ¡°Scavenger. That''s what you are, got it?¡±

    ¡°Sscav¡­er?¡±

    ¡°Scavenger. You.¡±

    ¡°Sscaven-ger¡­ you?¡±

    ¡°No, you.¡± Argonaut pointed his snout at the mimicking scavenger.

    Which, for its part, tilted it head to the side for a moment, confused. Before it then widened its eyes and looked up at some imaginary thing seemingly behind and above the restrained SeaWing. It opened its mouth and made an ¡°oohh¡± sound.

    The scavenger curled one paw up, leaving one digit sticking out. It pointed that digit at itself.

    ¡°Scavenger¡­¡± it said in its somewhat high-pitched voice.

    It then turned its curled up paw around and pointed its single clawless digit at him.

    ¡°Drraag-on¡­ you?¡±

    Despite himself, Argonaut nodded along. The scavenger got it right!

    Wait a minute¡­ I didn''t say the words ¡®dragon¡¯ and ¡®you¡¯ together¡­

    If the scavenger was mimicking his words, kind of like some Rainforest birds being rumored to be able to do in a really old scroll he read once (there wasn''t a whole lot of study on that topic, because apparently those birds also tasted really good), then it shouldn''t be able to piece together other words like that, and still somewhat make sense.

    Argonaut didn''t really have long to contemplate this, because it seemed that the pale scavenger still wasn''t done, because it pulled out yet another sheet thing. This one was smaller than the last few.

    On that sheet¡­ appeared to be an alarmingly accurate and detailed black, white, and gray depiction of his own face.

    Argonaut¡¯s snout unconsciously morphed into a dumbfounded expression that matched the look the picture of him was giving. A talonful of the other scavengers present, who had been mostly just standing around quietly until now, made small snickering noises.

    He kind of knew by now that these scavengers can somehow produce scribbled pictures. Hence the drawing of a cuttlefish, dragon, and scavenger already shown to him. That was wild enough on its own if he thought about it (which he didn''t), but he could somewhat imagine their weird little paws wielding charcoal sticks to scratch out simple depictions of other animals they saw often.

    This small picture, though¡­ not only was it the most detailed picture he''d ever seen of a dragon, but it was more detailed than any dragon-made picture of anything ever (as far as he was aware, anyway). It looked like he was staring at his own reflection, if his reflection was really small and in only gray colors for whatever reason.

    The pale scavenger once again pointed its paw at the sheet, which this time depicted his own face, and then pointed that paw at Argonaut himself.

    ¡°...Dragon¡­ you?¡± The scavenger said.

    Well, yeah. I''m a dragon. Who would''ve thought? What game is this scavenger trying to play?

    It already showed him a drawing of a dragon  and can seemingly already mimic that word. Therefore, it''s unlikely that''s the word it''s trying to get out of him this time.

    It is a picture of me, clearly. Maybe that''s what it wants?

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s me. Argonaut.¡± He said aloud.

    The scavenger made a weird (well, weirder) face. ¡°(uhh)¡­ thh- thaa-¡±

    ¡°Argonaut. Me.¡± He reiterated.

    ¡°Arrrgo-naut¡­¡± the scavenger paused for a few moments. ¡°...You?¡± It pointed its paw at him.

    I definitely didn''t say that. But the scavenger is right¡­

    The scavenger twiddled its paws and digits in a way that made him strangely uncomfortable. Those things can move weirdly fast¡­ he thought.

    ¡°You¡­ Dragon¡­ Argonaut?¡± It said slowly, pointing a paw at him.

    Argonaut nodded tentatively, increasingly creeped out.

    It pointed that paw at itself. ¡°...Me¡­ Scavenger¡­ Haanss.¡±

    Argonaut tilted his head. That last phrase wasn''t a mimicked dragon word. It sounded more in tune with the other noises these discolored scavengers seemed to make.

    The mimicking scavenger tried to repeat the process, aiming its paw at him again. ¡°...Arrg¡¯naut¡­ you.¡± Pointing the paw back at itself, ¡°Haanss¡­ me.¡±

    ¡­What?

    ¡°(Hans.)¡± the scavenger vocalized again, pointing its paw at itself. It''s own small blue-ringed eyes looking directly into his own.

    Argonaut furrowed his brow. Does this scavenger want me to repeat its own noise back at it? Why?

    Argonaut supposed he could. The creature''s noise wasn''t that far from the vocal range and type he was used to. Which was why it was so strange that such a noise would come from a scavenger.

    For some reason, though. A part of him felt strangely opposed to the idea. Almost like it was¡­ beneath him or something. He wasn''t totally sure.

    He tried to shake the feeling off. He''d already surrendered enough of his dignity when he woke up here, chained to the dirt. What was a little more?

    Besides, this was the most entertaining thing to happen to him for days. Even if it also made his frill stand on end somewhat. He''d rather not lose that right out of the shell if possible.

    ¡°Haanss¡­¡± Argonaut vocalized. The combination upper-throat vocal/hiss sound felt strange when he said it. Though he supposed there were actually many dragon words that used similar sounds, if he thought about it.

    For some reason, the mimicking scavenger looked to get really excited by this. Its mouth spread apart in what looked a little bit like a grin, its eyes lit up, and it bounced on its feet a little. The other scavengers that escorted this one had similar, but much more toned-down, animated reactions.

    It weirded him out a little.

    "(Ja! Das ist mein Name! Das ist mein Name)!¡± the scavenger barked rather loudly.

    One of the other taller scavengers that was standing behind the excited one clapped one of its paws against the skinny scavenger''s shoulder. It reminded him a little of the way some of the younger patrollers would smack each other with their wings to congratulate or just mess with one another.

    The action just seemed to startle the mimicking scavenger, judging by how it jumped in place at the contact. It quickly calmed down after that.

    The scavenger repeated the process once again, pointing to itself. ¡°Me. Scavenger. Hans.¡± It pointed to him. ¡°You. Dragon. Argonaut.¡±

    Wait a moment, that scavenger is making that ¡®Hans¡¯ sound in the same place it makes my name when referring to me. This scavenger also seems to somehow recognize the distinction between ¡®dragon¡¯ and my own name¡­

    Could ¡®Hans¡¯ somehow be this scavenger¡¯s name?

    Tentatively, Argonaut pointed his snout at the scavenger. ¡°You¡­ Hans?¡± He said.

    The lanky mammal immediately bobbed its head up and down in a rapid fashion. ¡°(Ja!) You, Argonaut!¡± It exclaimed, pointing its paw at him again dramatically.

    A small part of Argonaut was beginning to wonder if this scavenger really was only just mimicking his own dragon noises¡­

 XV - A City of Houses

    >Nearby the Safehold, Safe Harbor_

    It was a pleasant morning, in the opinion of Lord-Mayor Talem.

    It was somewhat early. The sun had fully risen over the waterline horizon, casting the world around him in a warm orange light. Two of the three sister moons were yet to recede from the great light¡¯s gaze, hovering steadily over the foothills that made up the skyline across from the sea.

    The sounds of songbirds announcing their presence in a new day filled the air, accompanying the faint smell of dew and thin fog that came with the rolling crash of gentle waves and smell of sea spray that was simply part of living by the seaside.

    From his vantage point at the Safehold¡¯s gate entrance, he could see and hear the old human city beginning to wake up. Citizens emerged from their abodes, exchanging greetings and parcels, carrying out chores or other menial tasks. Those who ran the markets organized their wares and set up their shops in the hopes of attracting the attention of those with some coppers to spare.

    It was peaceful.

    And that gave him conflicting emotions.

    On one hand, every human either had it hammered into them by dutiful parents (or they learned the hard way) that to let one¡¯s guard down in this world was to tempt the claw of death. The human that allows himself to grow relaxed, complacent, careless will be the soonest to go missing.

    Even as distant from the great reptilian menaces as they were at Safe Harbor, people regularly vanished. Sometimes farmers that went out to tend their hidden gardens never came home. Other times, the hunters that set out from the city limits trying to either bring down game or locate and return lost livestock didn¡¯t come back with the setting sun. The brave lunatics that volunteered to man the small alarm bell towers or to be couriers of important information between human settlements were often never seen again.

    On the other hand, the calming scene more likely than not served an ointment for the restless mind much like balm for an old sore. It was within the realm of the possible that should the denizens of Safe Harbor be confronted with a far more bleak landscape that surrounded their home and place of refuge, that the steady strain of impending dragon attack should induce the spread of madness amongst many.

    For he had heard tales arising from villages in the darker, northern regions of the continent where dragons, particularly the infamous mountain dragons, roamed yet more frequently. Tales of swaths of men having their faculties reduced almost to that of mere animals after days, weeks, even months of hiding from near-constant dragon patrols. If there was any-a-way to make an already bad situation into a worse one, it was to panic. Every human was forced to learn from a young age to control their panic, but it proved difficult to do that if you could no longer fully control yourself at all.

    That wasn¡¯t even the worst it could get. Stories spread from the Great Tundras, where frigid nights could stretch for weeks and Ice Dragons lurked. Those tales were normally only uttered to frighten rebellious adolescents for a reason.

    Lord-Mayor Talem sighed. Perhaps the comparatively pleasant place and warm weather where Safe Harbor was built were a blessing in that regard. A gift.

    Even if the tranquil surf sometimes lured her residents into letting their guard down, he, and most everyone else, would much rather have it than not.

    Still, it¡¯s far more difficult to appreciate something if you aren''t alive to do so. That part of him nagged, as it did without fail.

    Nevertheless, today was a special day. It was a child¡¯s chance in a dragon den that he would have gotten up this early otherwise. Many names could, and have, been used to describe Lord-Mayor Talem. ¡®Early-riser¡¯ was not among them.

    ¡°Forgive me, Lord Talem? May I ask you a¡­ perhaps personal question?¡± The smooth sound of a young woman¡¯s voice came from beside him.

    He shook himself from his reverie with an unstately snort. He glanced over to regard the speaker, one of the members of the translation effort with the foreigners. Rosemary, he believed her name to be.

    He¡¯d met her before, on that first day the foreigners managed to dock a few of their ships to their piers. Back then, she- and really everyone else- only knew hardly more than a handful of the stranger¡¯s spoken tongue. Now though, she was to serve as his personal interpreter. At least for today¡¯s task.

    It was a little bit odd, that a person of such meager accomplishments and status should be assigned such a vital position as the translator to the second-largest human city¡¯s leader. Especially to Talem¡¯s delegates and the Heads of the local Houses. Talem was swift to silence their paltry objections, however. He rather liked the young lady. He could tell she was intelligent, and she had a no-nonsense attitude about her that he appreciated.

    Perhaps it was somewhat dishonorable for him to do so, but he was lord-mayor, and they weren''t.

    Talem had always cared little for formalities, and he hated it when people tried to grovel to him. Enough to even have them lashed for it on a bad day. Rosemary, despite being a commoner, never attempted anything of the sort. She was rather frank, at least enough to be willing to ask him a ¡®personal question.¡¯ However, she did still cut him the respect befitting a city¡¯s lord. Utilizing proper mannerisms when appropriate and addressing him by his full title.

    That last bit actually did chafe him a bit. Talem held a strange personal dislike towards being referred to as ¡®lord¡¯ or ¡®lord-mayor¡¯ ever since he was barely more than a teenager. Before he himself even took up the position. Whilst he, even all these years in, couldn¡¯t for the life of him determine precisely why it irked him so, he could at least come to terms with it. Being officially referred to as ¡®lord,¡¯ anyway. Rosemary, and people like her, were partially to thank for that.

    No matter his personal feelings on the matter, lordship of a human city in this land was a daunting task. A task that requires respect from all involved, not least from whoever is appointed as lord himself. With so much at stake, it was vital that an air of authority should be maintained and respect be paid. As much as he might wish to simply wave people off and insist that they simply refer to him as just ¡®Talem¡¯ at times, he knew those traditions were in place for a reason. The consequences of breaking those customs for something as menial as his personal feelings could be immense, given the existential threat the dragons always posed.

    Therefore, it was honorable to maintain always being referred to by his titles as an extension of the respect others should bestow him. Regardless of whether or not he necessarily liked it.

    Truly a lord¡¯s dilemma. He thought to himself with a wry smile.

    ¡°...I¡¯m sorry?¡± The young Rosemary said, peering at him.

    Did I say that aloud? Scorch. No matter, redirect the topic!

    ¡°Er.. Nevermind. You wanted to ask me a question?¡± The Lord-Mayor returned.

    He never was particularly adept at political speaking, either.

    ¡°The foreigners are yet to arrive, although I guess we are here early. In the meantime, this may sound a little strange but¡­ what is something that you hate most about being the lord-mayor of Safe Harbor?¡± The young interpreter asked.

    Lord-Mayor Talem raised his brows. That was certainly not a question he was expecting to receive. He imagined most people would be more inclined to inquire about what, say, his favorite aspect of being the lord-mayor was. Or perhaps a more general question about what it was simply like to be lord-mayor.

    Although, to Rosemary¡¯s credit, the question did give him pause for thought. She probably wanted an answer more substantial than: ¡®I don¡¯t like when people refer to me by my actual official title.¡¯ Or something along those lines. In truth, that was merely a mild peeve compared to the things he truly hated, of which there were plenty.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± He considered aloud. ¡°I assume you want to know about something that¡¯s intrinsic to being the city¡¯s lord, yes?¡±

    ¡°Sure¡­¡± She nodded.

    That narrowed it down a little bit. The most common functions of Safe Harbor¡¯s lord-mayor mostly included settling disputes between various citizens, being the figurehead of relations to other human settlements, managing the allocation of precious resources towards various projects and Houses, keeping the Houses themselves in check, collecting Census information from the people of the city, and payroll of the Archer Guard. Among many other things.

    There were many things about being lord-mayor that Talem disliked simply because of how much time-consuming work (especially paperwork) they entailed, but wouldn¡¯t deign to go so far as to say he hated them. They were simply his job to do. As the old saying went; Life is work. Work is what it is. No use complaining about it. That was a lesson that every human, from the poorest gatherer in the middle of dragon-infested lands to the wealthiest House Head in the Indestructible City did well to know.

    Indeed, one of the things that wore his temper thin- even more so than when some people tried to grovel to him in a vain attempt to win favor- was when other people elected to whine about their day to day labors in his presence. Something that the other lesser nobles and mayoral delegates made a habit of.

    Unfortunately, he couldn''t have them lashed, despite how much he might want to sometimes. Not if he cared anything for the longevity of his position as the city''s mayor, anyway.

    But that too wasn''t something Talem attributed as a part of his lordship duties (For he felt that he would despise that behavior regardless of his personal status). Just as he thought it unfair to label something that was just his job to do as lord-mayor as something he hated about being lord-mayor.

    Talem pondered the question. In truth, there were probably multiple things he was particularly averse too. For instance, he was never fond of how distant being lord-mayor made him sometimes feel.

    While pragmatism is considered to be a virtue amongst all humans he knew of, it was emphasized far more in human rulers. To the point of being one of the major focal points citizens of any given settlement will focus on when determining whether or not they approve of their lord¡¯s character.

    Put simply, human rulers should- and are expected to- make ¡®the hard decisions.¡¯

    A good lord-mayor should be emotionally detached, operating almost entirely on logic and never letting his judgment be clouded by love, grief, hatred, pity, rage or greed. That is why he never had a wife or children. The consequences for making a foolish blunder are rarely anything but immense in this world, for humans like him.

    People can, will, and have died because their city ruler made a mistake.

    If that wasn¡¯t enough, the ¡®hard decisions¡¯ that the rulers of large human cities rarely didn¡¯t entail sacrifices.

    Now, that wasn¡¯t something that Lord-Mayor Talem could claim as exclusive to him. According to him, every human made sacrifices in their own way, no matter who they were. Even the humble fisherman sacrificed their valuable daylight hours when they trekked out along the shoreside or up the river to search for fishing spots rather than spending them doing something else within the city, such as spending time with his family or studying how to read. (And likewise, the inverse was true as well.)

    However, said hypothetical humble fisherman didn¡¯t have other lives at stake in his day-to-day decisions, beyond his own. That was not something that the Lord-Mayor shared in common, as the city ruler.

    And some of the ¡®hard choices¡¯ he had to make, especially during his younger years as lord-mayor, still kept him awake late into the night staring wall-eyed at the ceiling in his quarters sometimes. Even after all these years.

    Talem sighed. He mustn''t let that sort of thing get to him. It just wasn¡¯t proper. Besides, those dilemmas were simply part and parcel to being the figure of authority in almost any context, not just with being the lord-mayor of Safe Harbor.

    In fact, he might go so far as to say that he, and his city, were even fortunate in that regard. Safe Harbor, despite being the second-largest human settlement on the continent, was actually pretty quiet the majority of the time due to its relative isolation. The same could not be said for the first-largest human city on the continent, the Indestructible City.

    The City of the Mountain saw a lot more activity and attention due to its relatively central location on the continent, by both humans and dragons. Both of the times that Lord-Mayor Talem had visited on diplomatic envoys, the fortress city was overcrowded by people seeking shelter, and was regularly besieged by hunting dragons looking to snatch people off the walls and carry them off or just set a building afire for seemingly no reason.

    The Invincible Lord, Talem¡¯s counterpart as the only other human on the continent that could justifiably claim the title of lordship, was far more adept at making those ¡®difficult decisions¡¯ that troubled Talem so. But just as Talem was an exception amongst the rule of lords for his lackluster attitude towards lordly formalities and aversion to groveling, so too was the current Invincible Lord for his almost reptilian calculative callousness.

    ¡°...Lord-Mayor? Are you alright? You appear to be staring off into space.¡± He heard Rosemary¡¯s voice.

    Talem shook himself. ¡°Oh! Er¡­ yes. Apologies, young Rosemary. I am alright. Your question simply gave me pause for thought, and I have a habit of engaging myself in internal monologue.¡± He allowed himself a small chuckle. ¡°Simply ask my secretaries, for I am certain they tire of sorting through my many unnecessary memoirs.¡±

    The young woman only nodded, probably concealing a concerned expression.

    ¡°Although, to answer your question adequately, are you aware of the Census?¡± He asked her.

    To his mild surprise, she nodded. ¡°Yes, sir. The Census is where you are given a list that has the names of all the people who currently reside in Safe Harbor?¡±

    ¡°Pretty much, yes.¡± Talem responded. ¡°More specifically, it¡¯s a large collection of lists I get from all the House Heads every third moon cycle regarding all the people that live in or are simply staying within their respective district, as well as their current age and date of birth.¡±

    ¡°I imagine that would be a lot of paperwork.¡± Rosemary said.

    Oh, you have no idea.

    Compiling a full list of the names of all roughly 2,100 people that lived at Safe Harbor from the loose collection of smaller lists given to him by the mostly-cooperative House Heads into a single location while ensuring no errors on his part every month was easily the most time-consuming and boring of his many duties as lord-mayor.

    But even that wasn¡¯t something he considered to be what he hated about his position, because it was just something that he had to do as lord-mayor just as all the lord-mayors before him had. It didn''t seem right to associate something that was his burden to do as something he hated about being lord-mayor.

    In fact, he sometimes let himself consider it a little bit neat. The Census list was sometimes put on display on the Safehold¡¯s gate, so that the citizens of Safe Harbor could freely come up and see that humans were still plenty, and that they need not give up hope for survival. New arrivals, or people fearing the worst could go and see if those who they were looking for were at least still alive.

    ¡°Indeed it is.¡± He said aloud. ¡°But it isn¡¯t the paperwork itself that I despise, though it does drag on me.¡±

    Talem sighed, he didn¡¯t much like saying the next part.

    ¡°But most people are less aware of a secondary function that the Census possesses. For it is also my duty to compile a secondary list of names, the names that were on the previous moon cycle¡¯s Census, but are not to be found in the latest compilation.¡±

    That was what Talem truly hated most about being lord-mayor. He hated writing those lists. He hated inscribing the date of birth and final age of those whose names fail to appear on the latest Census. He hated how heavy the book of names felt every time its pages had been filled. He hated how impersonal it felt, simply ascribing an entire memory of a person into ink marks on a paper within a book filled with countless similar marks.

    He hated that he knew the names of every single person who lived in his city that died to dragons since his reign began.

    Every.

    Single.

    One.

    There was a box. Deep in the Safehold, in one of the oldest, deepest locked storage rooms in the castle there was an ancient giant chest, almost as tall as he was. That was where the names went. That was where all the names went, for almost as long as the city stood. The result of an oath sworn long ago.

    He hated that box. That scorching, scorching horrible box. He hated how big it was. He hated how it sat alone in the underground room where flame should never reach it. He hated how full it was. He hated that he could never hope to move it on his own. He hated his annual trips down to it to feed it every time a book of names had been filled.

    Years ago, in a moment of weakness, he lost himself to tears peering into its document-filled depths. Another time, he grew ill and was sick onto the floor before it. He had to clean the mess himself, as he dared not call a servant down into that room.

    More than once, he had even considered resigning as lord-mayor. Just so that he could never have to lay eyes on that scorching box again.

    The Box haunted him.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Rosemary the translator said with a much softer voice. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve never heard of such a list.¡±

    ¡°Few have, other than you, me, and the previous lord-mayors. It¡¯s a bit of an ¡®open secret¡¯ as you may call it. Officially, there is no law forbidding anyone from knowing of them and even seeing them, but they are somewhat withheld from the public eye, so to speak.¡±

    She turned and gave him a look. ¡°Why?¡±

    That was another thing Talem found himself fond of in terms of Rosemary¡¯s apparent character. Few others of her standing would be brazen enough to be so blunt with the city¡¯s lord-mayor.

    ¡°Well, to put it simply, the potential outcomes that should come from displaying the long list of names of those taken are not beneficial. Either it would inflict a devastating wound to the already weak will to survive and fight of the citizens, or it may stir a blinding rage up from within them. Neither of those are particularly good for the longevity and stability of our city.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I suppose that makes sense¡­ but I would like to see that list for myself, at least.¡±

    No, you don¡¯t.

    ¡°As I said, there¡¯s no law preventing you or anyone else from seeing it, if you wish.¡± Was what he said anyway.

    But that discussion would have to wait for another time. There was a commotion coming from down one of the cobblestone roads leading from the stout buildings of the city proper to the Safehold. People within shops, inns or taverns were sticking their heads out windows to get a view of what was going on. Others emerged from their places of dwelling to join a small crowd forming.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Lord-Mayor Talem sighed slightly through his nose. It seemed that, even after all the days they''ve been here, the foreigners drew an audience whenever they made an appearance.

    Sure enough, the figures of what looked to be at least a dozen foreigners of various outfits accompanied by even more Safe Harbor residents turned a corner from behind a blacksmith''s shop and came into the view of him, Rosemary, and the handful of Archer Guards calmly standing at ready around him.

    Not for the first time, Talem could not help but notice the distinct difference in gait the foreigners walked with compared to the Pyhirrian humans just beside them. They strut with an almost casual fearlessness in their step, never once sparing even a glance skywards, as if hardly a thing struck them with worry. He would admit, only to himself, that he was but a little envious of their confidence.

    Near the center of the foreigner¡¯s procession was the tall man Talem had met the night they first arrived. Cap-ten Drae¡¯k, he remembered his name to be. Or wasn''t ¡®Cap-ten¡¯ a title of sorts? He believed that to be the case.

    The lord-mayor hadn¡¯t seen much of the foreign leader since their initial meetings. Presumably, they¡¯d both been busy. Talem with managing a slowly growing disquiet among many of his delegates and the common citizens about the foreigner¡¯s presence and their implications, and Drae¡¯k probably with¡­ whatever it was that his position entailed.

    It had been a long, long time since Talem himself had taken to the waves on a vessel under his command, not since but a couple of years after assuming his current title. Even then, his old boat was nothing compared to even one of the foreigner¡¯s hulking castles pretending to be watercraft. And he simply had no idea what it would be like to be a commander of an entire fleet of ships.

    A Commodore.

    All that is to say that Lord-Mayor Talem had been very busy, and he was sure that Cap-ten Drae¡¯k was too. Though he wasn¡¯t entirely sure what the younger man was busy with.

    Now though, they could hopefully engage in more meaningful dialogue, thanks to the efforts of people like Rosemary beside him.

    For today, Talem was here because he¡¯d been personally requested to lead a ¡®tour¡¯ of the city. The whole city. Apparently by, and for, the aforementioned Cap-ten Drae¡¯k.

    An interesting, if odd, concept. Normally, when new arrivals to the city came, it was expected that they simply explore Safe Harbor and all its facets on their own. However, those new people at least came from other Pyhrrian settlements, and therefore had at least a benchmark for how human societies around here tended to be organized. These strangers, whoever they were, and wherever they came from, did not. Probably not, anyway. At least they didn''t have much background knowledge on how Pyhirrian-specific human settlements were typically structured. Granting them such a tour of the city from the mayor himself would serve to alleviate that, and should prove an appropriate time to share some of the more technical details of Safe Harbor.

    It could also perhaps provide an appropriate time for him to pitch a few questions of his own regarding the land in which these strangers hailed from.

    Talem felt the prickling sensation of many eyes trained upon him. He knew they came not from the procession ahead, for that sensation was gleaned only when you were being watched from beings outside of your own view.

    It was pretty common that Talem would feel this way when in town. His presence tended to draw eyes, for obvious reasons. However, it seemed a bit peculiar that some should opt to stare at him rather than the much more interesting new people down the street.

    With a practiced casualness, he cocked his head to peer towards the most probable direction he deemed the stare to come from. His eyes immediately locked onto but a handful of figures standing in the shadow of an awning of one of the nearby House facilities, clad in official-looking attire.

    Ah. I should¡¯ve guessed as much.

    It would seem that at least some of the House Heads had grown in their confidence, or in their dissatisfaction, if they were now willing to send people to watch him.

    He snorted. Creepy as it were, he had come to expect it. It wasn¡¯t unusual that the uppers of the various Houses of Safe Harbor would try to pull stunts like this around the time that taxes came due in order to wheedle their way out of surrendering as many of their precious House funds as humanly possible. In fact, it had become almost tradition.

    Records from previous lord-mayors more lenient towards their antics told of the strange, and interesting, lengths city bureaucrats were willing to go. In one particular case, where the acting mayor at the time had responded to their harassment attempts not with sanctions or reprisals, but with harassment antics and peculiar stunts of his own. Leading to a ¡®feedback-loop¡¯ of ever more elaborate and extreme pranks between the Office of Lordship and the various Houses of Safe Harbor. Eventually culminating in one of their docks very nearly being destroyed.

    Whilst records that he¡¯d personally read indicated that the acting mayor at the time and even many of the House officials had actually taken the whole strange sequence of events in good fun, the citizens had felt rather scandalized. The acting mayor was ousted shortly afterwards. Legislation in that regard subsequently was made far more strict.

    As a result, there was little more the House officials could do than pester him. Something they were already continent-class experts at, in his opinion.

    That actually reminded him of something¡­

    ¡°By the way, young Rosemary.¡± He said.

    ¡°Eh? Er¡­ Yes, my lord?¡± She broke her gaze from one of the foreigners she was staring at and regarded him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe I ever asked, or perhaps you¡¯ve already informed me, but it slipped my mind¡­ Which of this city¡¯s houses do you belong to?¡± It perhaps wasn¡¯t the best of times to ask that question right before they had an audience with the strangers, but knowing which House a person he knew he was going to be frequently interacting with for the foreseeable future was crucial information to know for him.

    Every human of Safe Harbor, excluding those directly employed by the Office of Lordship (including himself) and the Castle Archer Guard, was a member of one of the City¡¯s various Houses. That was simply how all human society on this continent was organized. From the smallest roving squalor villages in the most dragon-infested lands where a House could literally consist of a single abode and family, to the Indestructible City where the House of Masonry alone had about a thousand members.

    ¡°Oh. Well, I¡¯m officially part of the House of Education of Safe Harbor, my lord.¡± Rosemary said.

    Lord Talem raised his brows a slight amount. That was one of the smaller, and less annoying, Houses that he had to deal with.

    ¡°I see. Are you a teacher? You seem a bit young for that.¡±

    ¡°Not really, no. Just an assistant.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± He didn¡¯t say anything further, instead turning to face the oncoming foreign procession. He didn¡¯t think himself knowledgeable enough in that field of expertise to comment anything meaningful further.

    ¡°We ought to continue this conversation at a more appropriate time, as it would seem our job here is about to commence.¡± He said.

    ¡°Okay.¡± Rosemary responded. He peered at her from the corner of his eye. That was not a phrase from human Standard, but instead a foreign word he¡¯d noticed spreading around at almost viral speeds even amongst those outside of direct contact with the new people. As far as he could tell, it was simply a generic affirmation/confirmation/acknowledgement article.

    No matter. The foreign procession finally made it into earshot range, and Lord Talem put on his diplomatic face. He approached the small crowd, and made to once again exchange the universal human greeting gesture that was a simple handshake with Cap-ten Drae¡¯k. Interpreter Rosemary and his own small Archer Guard quickly catching up.

    After exchanging a cursory greeting in their own languages, Cap-ten Drae¡¯k said drew himself up to his full- much taller than Talem- height and said something magnanimous sounding in English. Rosemary quickly offered an interpretation.

    ¡°I, Cap-ten Drae¡¯k, on behalf of the United States of¡­ A¡¯meri-ca and United States armed forces would like to extend an official greeting to the mayor of Safe Harbor of Pyrrhia.¡± She seemed to get a bit tripped up on some of the more ¡®foreign¡¯ of the foreigner¡¯s words, but Talem nonetheless had to commend her mastery of the strange language.

    Not for the first time, Talem wondered briefly about the nature of the foreigner¡¯s apparent leader and the land they all hailed from. From what he could tell by analyzing his behavior, and from what people often close to the foreigners like Rosemary had told him, Talen had come to suspect that Cap-ten Drae¡¯k was something to his own State that the Archer Guard Regimenters were to him and Safe Harbor at large.

    He held himself like an officer over troops, as differently as he and Talem and Drae¡¯k would no doubt define ¡®troops.¡¯

    It was a little strange to think about it like that, comparing Cap-ten Drae¡¯k to the Archer Guard Overseers of the Safehold, when he in truth probably held more power in his hand than even the Invincible Lord.

    The man he just shared a handshake with could very possibly be the most powerful human on the entire continent.

    So don¡¯t whiff this, you idiot. The Lord-Mayor berated himself.

    ¡°Likewise I, Lord Talem, acting mayor of the great human city of Safe Harbor and head of the Office of Lordship and Mayoral Office of Safe Harbor, officially extend our cordial greetings to you and yours. Welcome to Pyrrhia.¡± Despite himself, Talem found he was withholding a small smile. He realized he¡¯d never had a chance to say that phrase in any official capacity until now.

    From there, the conversation continued at a much more casual pace. It turned out that all the Safe Harbor citizens the foreigners had with them were able to speak their language to varying extents, and offered their own translations in addition to Rosemary¡¯s, or to questions asked by the small unit of Guards Talem had with him.

    Cap-ten Drae¡¯k said something appraising-sounding, which Rosemary informed him was a compliment towards Safe Harbor¡¯s pleasant climate. Talem simply took the complement, not really having the heart to throw it back by informing him that humans around here actually considered overcast and stormy weather to be optimal, given that dragons tended to be more reluctant to hunt in such skies.

    ¡®May you dwell under clear skies¡¯ was actually considered a sort of bad-luck curse by many. Talem wondered about how much of a cultural rift might exist between them and these unfamiliar strangers, but he figured there were probably others more qualified to do that than himself.

    In a quick rush of alarm, Talem realized that he hadn¡¯t really planned this ¡®tour¡¯ out as much as he should have. He didn¡¯t really know where to go first.

    So, start where you think the foreigners would want to learn about most. His reasoning kicking in.

    ¡­I still don¡¯t know what that is.

    ¡°So!¡± Talem almost blurted. ¡°On more official matters, what exactly about our city would these men like to know first?¡± He gestured to the foreigners.

    O, what a shining pinnacle of competent human leadership YOU are.

    Perhaps he was a little rusty.

    Rosemary relayed his query to the foreigners nonetheless. Who, for their part, didn¡¯t outwardly seem offended by his blunder, to his relief.

    Instead, they turned and appeared to discuss something amongst themselves. Rosemary turned to him.

    ¡°Uhh¡­ Forgive me, sir¡­ but I don¡¯t think they know where to start. They are from a completely unfamiliar land, after all.¡±

    There were times in which Lord-Mayor Talem felt like smacking himself.

    Think, Talem. What is something ubiquitous to humans of Pyrrhia, but would most likely be unfamiliar to those from beyond it?

    Actually, he had one idea.

    ¡°Perhaps we ought to begin our tour at the District of Houses?¡± He pitched.

    ***

    >Within the District of House Headquarters, Safe Harbor_

    ¡°...So as you may see, every aspect of Safe Harbor pertaining to the practical is governed by the various Houses.¡± Talem paused to allow Rosemary to translate.

    He, his escort, and the foreign procession, stood mostly alone in the center of Safe Harbor¡¯s only other hub area besides the Safehold¡¯s courtyard, the epicenter of the District of Houses. An open  circular space where expensive cobblestone roads conjoined in a compass rose pattern at the very center of Safe Harbor¡¯s city proper.

    Surrounding the small circular courtyard, were the squat- as conforming to standard human architecture practices- but still relatively large buildings that were the administrative facilities of the Houses of Safe Harbor. And the source of many of his woes.

    The usually very busy part of the city was mostly empty at this time, due in part to many onlookers having already been dispersed by the Archer Guard or because they made themselves scarce on their own volitions. These days, Lord-Mayor Talem only came down here when he was en route to personally chew out a House Head or some other official for violating the Administrator''s Creed. An event that, while a break in the usual monotony of Safe Harbor life, wasn¡¯t what any reasonable person would call ¡®pretty.¡¯

    The few people that were around were those whose¡¯ persistence to gawk at the foreigners outdid the persistence of the Archer Guard to try and shoo them off.

    ¡°So, we take it that this is not actually a literal housing district?¡± Interpreter Rosemary translated a question from one of the foreigners in important-looking attire.

    The lord-mayor cocked his head a small amount, before he quickly realized the true meaning of the confusion.

    ¡°Ah! I see. The Houses of Safe Harbor are not ¡®houses¡¯ as in structures in which families make their residence, but are rather figurative bodies that perform organizational and administrative duties.¡± He racked his brain for a few moments, trying to come up with a more clear word.

    ¡°Perhaps you could call them ¡®Guilds¡¯ of sorts.¡± That was a term he hadn¡¯t heard in a good while.

    Rosemary relayed his message in English, but stopped and turned back to him. ¡°Forgive me, but I don¡¯t know that word in their language.¡±

    ¡°Which one?¡±

    ¡°Guild.¡± She said.

    Oh. Well, that could be an issue.

    ¡°Hrmm¡­¡± Talem tried to come up with another word. ¡°I suppose you could also call them a ¡®bureau,¡¯ are you familiar with that word?¡±

    ¡°Bureau¡­¡± The young woman considered for a few moments. ¡°Actually, yes. I believe I do!¡±

    She quickly turned and communicated whatever equivalent phrase the foreigners had for that. Talem wondered if he was imagining Cap-ten Drae¡¯k eye twitching slightly at Rosemary¡¯s mention of their phrase.

    Perhaps they too indeed have something similar to our House system back in their homeland? Maybe this Cap-ten Drae¡¯k was at least somewhat familiar with Lord-Mayor Talem¡¯s pain.

    Whatever the case may be, it became evident that the foreigners had pre-prepared a whole slew of questions for him, because that''s what they spent the next nearly half-hour doing. Eventually, the lord-mayor found himself giving them a crash-course on how their entire House-system worked. He figured it shouldn¡¯t take long; as it wasn¡¯t actually a very complicated system at its core, which was by design. When it came to internal House politics, and when inter-House relations degraded, was when it got complicated.

    Several of the foreigners furiously scribbled written notes as he talked, making use of strange pads and even stranger writing utensils that looked nothing like the quills he was used to using.

    He explained the basics of how the system operated. For every major task that kept a city running there was a major House that oversaw that task. The House of Farmers consisted of all those that live in the city who tend to the soil or raise livestock. The House of Masonry consisted of those who worked with or carved stone. The House of Mining was where all those interested in prying metals from the earth found work. So on.

    He explained how every House was responsible for its members. Especially for providing them with stable work and a means to settle disputes with their peers. Different Houses were required to provide for different things depending on their size or the nature of professions it attracted. All for a cut of whatever goods produced by its members or wealth procured from services. Which would then either be marketed to other Houses or more standard customers, exported to other human settlements in days when trade was more common (usually though contact with that settlement¡¯s respective Houses), paid as tax tribute to the Mayoral Office, or wielded as a makeshift weapon to financially bludgeon other Houses whenever inter-House rivalries went hot.

    He described how the Houses interacted with each other, the common citizens, and with him. Both in their optimal state, and how they did in reality. For instance, he explained how the Houses of Merchants and Farmers often worked hand-in-hand. Likewise with the House of Carpenters and House of Estate (or the House of More Houses, as it was nicknamed by commoners).

    More often, though, did the Houses of Safe Harbor not get along with each other. While the usual stereotype of your typical Safe Harbor commoner was that of a fairly relaxed, laid-back individual that wouldn¡¯t often respond to a slight by escalating to a fight (relatively speaking, anyway) it would be unfair to apply that same stereotype to the Houses of Safe Harbor, to say the least.

    He explained how Houses could, rarely, merge together, such as how the House of Livestock Keepers merged with the House of Farmers just a few years ago. Or how they could split apart, like how the House of Fishers formed after it broke from the House of Mariners.

    He also laid out how Houses could grow in power respective to other Houses, such as the House of Farmers and House of Carpenters becoming bigger following recent influxes of survivors from destroyed villages. Or how they could become weaker and even irrelevant. The most famous example being the aforementioned House of Mariners, a group of various sailors, navigators and cartographers of many kinds that was once one of Safe Harbor¡¯s most powerful Houses. Now rendered almost completely defunct after the dragons started hunting down the boats that were their livelihood and passion. Indeed, the only reason that House still existed at all was thanks to direct support from Lord-Mayor Talem himself, because he couldn¡¯t just let such an important part of Safe Harbor¡¯s culture and legacy just die.

    One of the foreigners asked, in heavily accented human Standard, to clarify what Lord-Mayor Talem meant by ¡®inter-House rivalries.¡¯ So he did.

    While ¡®mostly-cooperative¡¯ was a pretty good term to describe the Houses in their resting state towards each other, there were times when tensions would grow exponentially. At least to the point of interfering with business-as-usual in the city state of affairs.

    For most of Talem¡¯s tenure as lord-mayor, the story was almost always the same. There would be a recession in the local economy for whatever reason, A House Head would go out and declare it the fault of meddling, scheming, sabotage or whatever from some other House they didn¡¯t like at the time. The accused House would inevitably lose it and unofficially declare war, with many other Houses joining in to either settle their grievances with one of the two initiating Houses or to opportunistically go on the offensive against some other House for reasons known only to them.

    With the days since Houses were able to hire their own mercenaries long since outlawed, and with the Archer Guard specifically trained and equipped to strictly enforce non-violence regulations, the only practical thing fighting Houses could do to one another was make business as miserably difficult as humanly possible.

    And three moons, they were good at that. Nothing was considered under-the-belt. Embargos, sanctions, market manipulations, blackmail, extortions, espionage, actual sabotage, economic and legal foolery so unnecessarily complicated it would take hours to explain, you name it; they¡¯ve perfected it.

    Over the centuries, many lords, many of whom more strict than even the current Invincible Lord, have tried in vain to put a stop to their blazing antics. Those that did found themselves facing a challenge not unlike exterminating a rodent infestation in a crop field. Every loophole covered by the blow of the legislative hammer saw three more popping up somewhere else. All of them quickly discovered that no one; not each other; not their legal overseer; not even the dragons; could stand in the way of the time-honored human tradition of pissing each other off.

    The only practical thing lords like Talem could do was encourage the commoners to withhold their savings until the hunt flew on, and keep the economic slap-fights from getting too out of hand.

    Indeed, ¡®keeping the Houses from getting out of control¡¯ was one of Talem¡¯s main jobs as Lord-Mayor, and even one of the principle reasons The Office of Lordship was even established in the first place.

    The Lord-Mayor debated to himself whether or not he ought to share a story of a particularly amusing occurrence in one of these rivalries, but he figured he¡¯d been rambling on long enough.

    Refocusing on the foreigner''s procession, which had been standing silently so far, the Safe Harbor citizens looked indifferent to Lord Talem¡¯s spiel. It was common knowledge to them, after all. The foreigners themselves though, they seemed almost¡­ confused. Giving him strange looks Like they¡¯ve never heard of anything of the sort.

    Perhaps they don¡¯t have a similar system in the land they¡¯re from after all.

    The Standard-speaking foreigner spoke up again. ¡°So, you manage legal disputes between these ¡®Houses¡¯?¡±

    ¡°When they arise, yes. Many of the Houses and their officials have become experts at keeping their interference with other Houses confined to legal gray areas, and are thus outside of my official responsibility.¡± Sometimes, though when a new house was formed or some new Head came to power, they¡¯d make some blunder that Talem could legally get involved with, and he¡¯d readily use the opportunity to make an example of them.

    It seemed the foreigner wasn¡¯t done. ¡°What about legal disputes between common citizens? How are those managed?¡±

    ¡°The Houses themselves manage disputes between commoners. Whether it be with fellow House-members, or with people from other Houses.¡±

    The young foreign man raised an eyebrow. Talem couldn¡¯t really blame him for his skepticism, given the story he just gave.

    However Talem also believed it was ultimately unfounded. The Houses of Safe Harbor, for all the trouble they gave him, did their jobs towards the commoners well, to their credit.

    Although, that was perhaps less thanks to their own integrity and more to do with every other House being more than willing to exploit even the slightest hint of corruption or citizen dissatisfaction to the maximum extent to degrade their rivals.

    In other words, they were tattlers.

    It had been decades since the Office of Lordship had been confronted with a corruption case actually worthy of an official investigation.

    Cap-ten Drae¡¯k said something somewhat tentative sounding to Rosemary, who relayed to Talem: ¡°He¡¯s wondering if he could ask you a somewhat odd question.¡±

    A little perplexed, Talem nodded his affirmation.

    Cap-ten Drae¡¯k then strung together a long series of words in his language, with Rosemary nodding along.

    She turned to him. ¡°He¡¯s wondering about the nature of your name, sir. He noticed that it¡¯s unlike many of the words and phrases that we use in our common speak in that it¡¯s more similar to the words they use in their speech. He¡¯s wondering why, and apologizes if its a rude question.¡± Talem could see in the young women¡¯s eyes that she herself had a similar curiosity, but didn¡¯t voice it.

    Talem waved the last bit off, he was perfectly willing to answer the question, and had answered it many times before to people who were at least born into this culture. It was only reasonable that strangers such as these might be confused.

    ¡°Well you see, it¡¯s been a bit of what you may call a ¡®human cultural tradition¡¯ to dub our leaders with magnanimous-sounding names. Helps to boost morale more than you¡¯d think. This has gone on for most of our recorded history.¡±

    The most blatant example of this was of course the line of Invincible Lords of the Indestructible City that went all the way back to the Bad Times.

    ¡°My name is a word from an ancient human language. You may have noticed that modern people traditionally name their children after physical things, creatures, plants, and phenomena in the real world. Perhaps the word that has become my name is similar. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that word originally meant. No one does, as the language it hailed from was long since destroyed. ¡±

    Talem glanced to the ground, giving a small smile. ¡° The common theory- one that I, heh, I admit I myself subscribe too, is that my name is from a language that came from before the Bad Times, and from before the current era. The consensus from modern people is that even the mere act of uttering the ancient word from the dead language is an act of defiance against the forces that killed it.¡±

    Rosemary relayed his little speech, doing a better job at keeping emotion out of her voice than Talem himself did,

    ¡°Which is?¡± the Standard-speaking foreigner asked.

    Talem simply gestured with his left hand towards the sky, aiming for the direction the short battle with the Night Dragons had taken place. The foreigner quickly nodded his understanding.

    Talem got an idea ¡°May I in return ask of the nature for the name of Cap-ten Drae¡¯k?¡±

    His question was quickly relayed, and Talem wondered if he was imagining if the man in question¡¯s gaze became ice for but a split second, before quickly unfreezing.

    Rosemary once again translated what he said: ¡°It¡¯s a very generic name from where we¡¯re from. Very common. You¡¯d meet many others that share it.¡±

    Talem, while perhaps not at his politically sharpest, knew a question-dodge when he heard it. He decided against pushing the issue, regardless.

    From there, the lord-mayor of Safe Harbor and a collection of US Navy officers, who were still feeling very out-of-place, continued on their business.

    ***

    >Excerpt from the memoirs of Lord Talem, acting mayor of Safe Harbor_

    A short entry, tonight.

    Today was a productive day, in my opinion. I didn¡¯t have to deal with the House Heads or the List all day, which is always a plus. Instead, I personally showed some of the more important foreigners around the city. Certainly a break from my usual duties, but not an unwelcome one. There was a lot that we were able to get to, but also a lot that we were not. Only a certain amount of time in a day, after all.

    I must make a note for myself to be better prepared and organized. The foreigners didn¡¯t take offense to my blunders today. If it was a diplomatic envoy from the Indestructible City, they would have been scandalized. Never good for relations to insult each other''s diplomats.

    Although, that does raise questions regarding the nature of these foreigners and their fleet. Just who are they? They¡¯re obviously not from Pyrrhia, else they wouldn¡¯t be so unfamiliar with our language and customs. Not to mention we would have heard about them before their arrival.

    I¡¯ve suspected since their first night here that they¡¯re some kind of merchant fleet. Mainly because of all their massive obvious cargo vessels. However, if that were true, then one would think they¡¯d might be more willing to trade their goods, even if we were not their intended destination, which they haven¡¯t at all yet.

    Further from that point, one would also think that they¡¯d be in a bigger hurry to leave, even if they are lost. Such a gargantuan fleet of ships surely must be of vital importance to whatever place they hail from. Even one of their hulking vessels could possibly take an entire century to construct, by my reckoning.

    That also makes me wonder about the way the foreigners hold themselves, particularly the evidently highest-ranking among them. The way Cap-ten Drae¡¯k holds himself and behaves reminds me a little of the Castle Archer Guard Regimenters and Commanders. There¡¯s a similar no-nonsense air around him. That once again makes me wonder about the nature of the foreign fleet. One would think someone more important than their possible equivalent to a Regimenter would be at the head of such an imposing fleet of ships.

    Speaking of strange questions, the foreigners themselves posed some during our tour today. Specifically, Cap-ten Drae¡¯k asked about something called a ¡®Kingdom¡¯ while we were passing through the housing district from the District of Houses en route to the HarborForges. I¡¯m still not fully sure what he was asking about. Something about a kind of super-state that Safe Harbor pays fealty to. I mean, the Indestructible City is more powerful than we are by many metrics, but we are obviously autonomous to each other. Maybe it¡¯s something more common from where he¡¯s from.

    A bit of good news, though. The foreigners, all of them, had a LOT of very technical questions about Safe Harbor. Only some of which I was equipped on my part to answer. Things like the production rates of various commodities, the qualities of surrounding forest and soil, attributes of nearby water routes and weather patterns, and a whole slew of other things I can hardly recall anymore. (All I was able to answer them on was on Safe Harbor¡¯s population counts, which they seemed to be surprised by. Not sure what kind of surprise, though.)

    While that is undoubtedly a blunder on my part, it also meant that I was able to redirect much of their attention towards the various Houses of Safe Harbor. They¡¯re the ones that have the knowledge these foreigners will want to know and will be able to easily organize whatever crazy plans these foreigners have in relation to the common citizens. Should they choose to, that is.

    Whatever the case, it means that the House Heads and delegates will be off my back for a little while. Which is always great.

 XVI - A Risk Taken

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of The Sea_

    Cuttlefish grunted as he hauled himself out of the water, having already tossed the scrolls and small sealed claypot of ink be brought with him onto the rock outcropping he was clambering onto.

    He was here, on some meaningless rock in the middle of nowhere, to do something that he''d never done before, but had wanted to do for a while.

    He was going to write a scroll.

    A scroll about scavengers.

    Well, he was going to try to, anyway.

    He brought with him a single blank scroll he''d managed to pester Mako into getting the last time she went with the enclavers to market their deepwater fish to a more mainstream SeaWing settlement.

    He brought a small thing of ink to use to mark on the scroll.

    And he brought the Scavengers: Everything You Need to Know! scroll so he could use it for reference.

    He wanted to make a similar, but shorter, version of it exclusively about the boat-things that he and his friends came across. And that got him into so much trouble.

    He flopped onto the sun-baked rock with a sigh. The other reason he came all the way out here, alone, was to catch a break.

    His mother had decided that, since he had nothing better to do, it would be best for Cuttlefish to start joining in on the fish hunts more often.

    Something that was way, WAY more exhausting and difficult than he would have anticipated.

    Since when are those big fish so fast? Or strong?

    At least his experience so far had been better than it had been for Clam and Oyster, who had practically begged Barnacle and the usual hunt lead Sailfish to accompany Cuttlefish.

    Oyster had already been attacked by a small shark, which she barely warded off with her tail. Clam had already made a right fool of himself when he dove headlong into a giant school of small fish, as if he actually expected to catch some of them doing that, and ended up getting smacked by a sailfish they were actually trying to hunt. And then he got smacked by Sailfish for screwing up.

    The only embarrassing thing that happened to Cuttlefish so far was that he got outmaneuvered by a tuna. Something they were apparently pretty good at.

    Now though, he had some time to himself. And he was going to try to use it to write.

    He unfurled the small blank scroll on a flat part of the above-water rock outcrop and fangled the claypot until he got it open. He set it down and stared at the blank scroll.

    Now what?

    He''d never written anything like a scroll before. He wasn''t sure what to do first.

    He knew he wanted to write about the boat-things, which he would be doing entirely from memory, but he didn''t know how to start.

    He kinda figured scroll-writing would be easy.

    Well, kind of easy.

    He examined the blank scroll closer. It was made from parchment, nothing unusual there. All dragon scrolls were made from parchment.

    Basically dried, treated animal skin. In other words.

    A random thought occurred to him. Is this scroll made from scavenger skin?

    He''d never read of scavenger skin being used for that purpose, but he supposed it was entirely possible.

    Cuttlefish sniffed at the scroll. It didn''t really smell like the scavengers he saw and smelled- the ones on that boat-thing.

    On the other talon, parchment never tended to smell anything like the animals it used to be.

    On the third talon, those scavengers also had a really strong smell. He figured there was a good chance he would be able to still detect it, if they were a baseline for how scavengers usually smelled.

    On the fourth talon, if all scavengers had that distinct of a scent, he didn''t really know how they all hadn''t been hunted down by now. It would be almost impossible for them to hide.

    That aside, the idea of writing on a scroll possibly made from scavenger skin made him slightly uncomfortable for some reason. He couldn''t pin down exactly why. Perhaps it was because he was intending to write about scavengers?

    He shook his head. What was he supposed to be thinking about?

    Eventually, he heard a splashing and spluttering noise coming from below him.

    ¡°Pfft, pleh! Hi, Cuttlefish!¡±

    He looked over and watched as Oyster popped her head above the water and spat out water.

    ¡°What''re you doing all the way out here?¡±

    How did you find me all the way out here?

    ¡°Uhh¡­ writing.¡± He replied.

    She clambered out of the water and sat down beside him, peering at his blank scroll and dripping everywhere.

    ¡°Huh. Invigorating.¡± The dark blue dragonet remarked. She looked over to the other scroll he had with him, the scroll they read before setting out on their whole metal boat-thing hunting trip.

    ¡°Wait, are you still obsessing over the scavenger thing? Cuttlefish, that was forever ago!¡±

    ¡°Hmph. It wasn''t that long ago.¡± He retorted.

    His friends and the enclave at large had long since lost interest with the scavenger-boat-things. Pretty much once the small one they dragged over here left on its own and never came back.

    It was a little bit strange, if he thought about it. How quickly everyone else stopped caring.  To be certain, he knew that scavengers were just useless everyday animals to dragons, but that hulking metal-boat-thing was anything but ordinary.

    Surely just because something was made by, or has to do with scavengers, doesn''t mean that it''s automatically not worth bothering about?

    He wasn''t sure. Not many other dragons seemed to share that opinion. Perhaps he was simply the weird one in that regard.

    He was broken from his thoughts when he saw the water beside their rock becoming agitated. And was that dim flashing he saw?

    Instinctively, he dropped from his sitting position flat onto the rock. Just as a light blue blob shot out of the water straight at where he just was.

    ¡°-THOUGHT YOU COULD HIDE FROM ME, HA!¡± The blob roared as it collided square on with Oyster.

    ¡°CLAM-!¡± She screamed as both her and the blob smashed back into the sea on the other side of the rock, creating a massive splash as they went.

    Cuttlefish rolled his eyes as he was sprayed by water droplets. This was precisely why he tried to sneak out here alone.

    The siblings may be his only other dragonet company at the enclave and his friends, but they were just that. Dragonets.

    Even as soon as he resumed his normal sitting position, did Clam scramble out of the water and onto the rock.

    ¡°Ack! No fair! You know what mother said about slashing at wings!¡± he hissed back at Oyster, just reappearing from the waves herself.

    ¡°¡®Anything goes in a fight, except losing.¡¯¡± She snarled back.

    ¡°Well you-! ¡­Oh, hey Cuttlefish. What''re you up to?¡± Clam turned away from his irate sister, pointing his attention instead to the scrolls and inkpot that somehow hadn''t been dislodged or ruined by their antics.

    ¡°Wait¡­ scroll stuff¡­? EW, WHAT!? Are you doing scrollwork!? VOLUNTARILY!?¡±

    Cuttlefish tried not to roll his eyes at his offended friend. ¡°No. I was trying to write about those scavenger-boat-things we found.¡±

    ¡°Ugh. Cuttlefish, no!¡± Clam flopped down and rolled onto his back dramatically. ¡°You can''t become boring! Please don''t be boring like Oyster.¡±

    The dragon in question stamped his tail with a talon, causing him to recoil violently and flounder around like a fish stranded on land with a yowl that could be heard for miles. Immediately tumbling back into the water with an unceremonious splash.

    This time Cuttlefish did let himself roll his eyes. He had no chance of being able to write anything at all with this.

    Oyster resumed her sitting position next to Cuttlefish with a huff. Apparently he must have looked more forlorn than intended, because she poked him with her tail.

    ¡°Hey. You alright? Sorry about a certain dragon being so annoying.¡± She shot a pointed glare at her brother, who was once again clambering onto the rock, muttering something about nasty-tasting mollusks.

    He sat down on the other side of Cuttlefish with a splat, continuing to drip seawater everywhere.

    He peered at the blank scroll in front of them.

    ¡°Huh. Where''d you get the blank scroll anyway? These things aren''t cheap, according to father.¡± He said.

    ¡°Mako got it from the last market trip.¡± He replied.

    ¡°Oh, alright.¡±

    For the first time since the siblings'' appearance, there was a quiet between them.

    ¡°Oh! Speaking of Mako, did you get any news from the Summer Palace about your father?¡± Clam asked.

    Cuttlefish withheld a sigh. He kinda hoped that topic wouldn''t come up, but maybe it would be good to talk about it a little bit.

    ¡°No. Same as last time. Mako said she asked some guards at the market they went to, not being able to go all the way to the Summer Palace again. She said one of them actually recognized his name, but didn''t know anything about his current situation. Or that anything of note had been said about him.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Is that good, or bad?¡± Oyster asked.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    This time Cuttlefish did let himself sigh. ¡°I don''t know. Mako said that response isn''t any different than the last one, or the first one.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sorry.¡± She said.

    ¡°Don''t be.¡± Cuttlefish replied. ¡°It''s not good news, but it''s not bad news either.¡±

    Besides, none of this was even abnormal in the slightest for the relatives of SeaWings who are pulled into the general army. If anything, he was lucky to have even received an ¡®official¡¯ response at all. Even if it was little more than a non-answer.

    Still, there was something about this that had him, and especially his mother, nervous.

    There wasn''t anything he could do about it, though. Just go about his life, hope his father is safe, and hope neither he nor anyone else close to him gets pulled into the army as well.

    ***

    >Nearby a scavenger den_

    Argonaut was starting to get angsty.

    He had come to suspect he was playing a game of sorts.

    Or perhaps it would be more apt to say a game was being played with him, he wasn''t fully sure.

    But then again, there were a lot of things he wasn''t fully sure about anymore.

    Not least of which was his sanity.

    But there was one thing that Argonaut was still sure about. One thing that he was growing increasingly sure about every moons-cursed day he was stuck here.

    One thing that was beginning to gnaw at his wingtips and make his tail twitchy. Something that both his waking mind and now dragon instincts themselves were beginning to yell at him.

    That he needed to escape. And soon.

    He hated it here.

    Today was a day identical to many days prior, and he suspected it would be identical to more to come. He once again woke to find himself chained to the dirt, once again received a fish and bucket-thing of clean water, and once again was pestered for most of the day by that freaky mimicking scavenger.

    He kind of regretted that day when he responded to and even reciprocated the sparse, strange dragon sounds chattered at him by that original scavenger. Because now it spent much of the day almost every day trying to pester more words out of him.

    To make matters worse, there were now a BUNCH of scavengers that ganged up and joined in. And they wielded a bunch of strange stuff with their paws. Some of them had seemingly endless amounts of those white flat things with simple pictures to show to him, others had weird tiny blackish sticks that they held against these small flat pad-things and moved rapidly, as if scribbling something. There was also this one that always had a weird box thing with a line-thing coming out of it, with a weird intricate metal-looking-thing attached to the line that the scavenger held in one paw. That scavenger seemed to have made a habit of pointing the metal thing at him and doing something to the box that made small shapes inside it spin around whenever he said anything. He couldn''t fathom why.

    As usual, Argonaut spotted the small group of mimicking scavengers approaching him. He rolled his eyes.

    As usual, the original mimicking scavenger approached him first. The ¡®haanss¡¯ scavenger. The loud one.

    That scavenger was seemingly incapable of shutting up whenever it was around him. It was almost always jabbering about something. Either it was stringing together a bunch of mimicked words from him back at him, or it was spluttering out its natural noises at him or at the other scavengers.

    And it made its noises really fast, too. Fast perhaps even for the normal rate scavengers made their noises at each other. It was almost as if the lanky ape had an endless waterfall of energy. Annoying.

    Maybe it''s a mammal thing? They tend to be more hyper than reptiles. Or maybe it''s just a scavenger thing. Or maybe again it''s just a THIS scavenger thing.

    Argonaut sometimes liked to imagine the other scavengers were even a little bit visibly tired of the first mimicking scavenger¡¯s constant chattering. He knew that was just him projecting his emotions, though.

    Argonaut realized that he''d still been referring to the first mimicking scavenger as just that in his head. Despite said scavenger seemingly trying to wheedle him into making that ¡®haanss¡¯ sound almost every other day. He couldn''t really think of a logical reason to do otherwise, though. Unless the mimicking scavengers grew so rapidly in numbers that he wouldn''t be able to keep track of them anymore.

    He shook his neck and head out with a snort. What a terrible thought.

    The scavenger immediately started making its noises:¡°(Hallo, Wasserdrache! Hallo,) Arrrgo-naut! (GUTEN TAG!)¡± It practically shouted, peering at him with the strange wide bright-blue, almost cheerful eyes it had.

    He shivered involuntarily. It still felt so wrong to hear a dragon word, his name no less, pronounced by a scavenger. Not just that, but pronounced directly after it made a bunch of its own noises in a series only made it sound weirder.

    The scavenger quickly plopped itself onto the ground, crossing its two lanky legs across each other in front of it in a way that looked painful to him, but didn''t seem to bother the scavenger at all.

    He shook his head. So weird.

    As the scavenger started pulling out small white things with pictures scrawled on them, as usual.

    But something was different this time.

    With a chill shooting up his spine and crawling across his wings, Argonaut realized it had sat down closer to him than it always did. Close enough that he could reach it with his teeth.

    The scavengers had finally made a blunder in their routine.

    A blunder he could, should, exploit.

    He could thrust his head forward and bite down hard before the scavenger could react.

    He stared hard at the scavenger as he ran through his options in his head. His entire body and mind are now on high alert.

    On one talon, he could sink his teeth in and throttle the scavenger pretty quickly.

    He didn''t know exactly how long that would take for the scavenger to suffocate. He''d mostly hunted fish and other sea creatures all his life. But there were plenty of SeaWings at the palace who certainly knew. Either way, it surely couldn''t take long.

    After that, then what? Throttling a scavenger wouldn''t get these chains off him.

    However, doing that would certainly prompt a response from the other scavengers watching him. If he pounced, there was a very good chance that the other scavengers would finally act like reasonable prey animals for once and flee.

    If that happened, he could probably free himself from these chains. Many of the metallic links holding him down had been loosened or even removed in a few cases after he started getting regular visits from the mimicking scavengers. Allowing him enough freedom of movement to keep his joints from stiffening.

    If the surrounding scavengers all ran away, he could use that slight range of movement to leverage the small poles holding the chains down out, freeing himself.

    Alternatively, the scavengers could try to attack him. Entirely possible, given their race¡¯s track record.

    But if they want to do that, they should carry weapons more dangerous than those silly wooden sticks they''re always holding. At least the metal claws LOOK sharp!

    Even scavengers aren''t dumb enough to think they can bludgeon a dragon to death with thin wooden sticks.

    And if they were, he was certain he would be able to break free from the chains before they could so much as bruise him.

    As a plus, he could even get a meal more substantial than the daily small fish the other scavengers always produced.

    All in all, The SeaWing patroller was finding his prospects of escape pretty good.

    Better than he could probably hope for in the future.

    All he had to do was take the opportunity.

    Right?

    Even as the muscles in his neck were already tensing, preparing to strike, Argonaut did something that no good dragon should ever, ever do at a time like this.

    He hesitated.

    The scavenger finished arranging the small white sheets into a neat square formation on the ground and looked up to him with gigantic eyes. Waving its little harmless paws at the sheets and jabbering at him.

    At the final moment, Argonaut heard a voice. A small, almost imperceptible, unfamiliar yet intimately familiar voice in his head- or perhaps more accurately, in his heart, telling him not to do it.

    A tiny voice that made his chest twinge told him- pleaded with him- not to kill the little scavenger.

    A small voice that went against Argonaut¡¯s only means to escape this torment.

    A soft voice that went against his only hope to get back to his fellow SeaWings at the Summer Palace.

    A faint voice that went against what felt like every dragon instinct he had.

    And he listened.

    He listened as the voice told him the scavenger he is about to kill hadn''t done anything to harm him¡­ only given him his only source of entertainment since he woke up here.

    He listened as the voice made him remember how¡­ cute the scavenger looked whenever it got so wing-flapping excited every time Argonaut begrudgingly repeated one of its own noises back at it.

    He listened as the voice made him think about how much the scavenger¡¯s¡­ admittedly pretty eyes reminded him of the beautiful blue scales of his beloved mate.

    He watched as the voice made him imagine what the little scavenger before him would look like with its body ripped open¡­ its life pouring out into the dirt.

    And so the great apex predator was at an impasse. Either follow his roaring survival instincts, a part of any dragon as important as even their scales and wings to their identity and status as such a magnificent, powerful creature; and pounce on this chance at freedom.

    Or listen to a still, small voice that sounded suspiciously similar to the one that said it was a little weird that a scavenger could string together small sentences when it was only supposed to be mimicking what he was saying like a parrot.

    A voice that said to spare the hapless creature.

    A voice that sounded as if it wasn''t listened to very often.

    What does he do? He''d never experienced this before! He hadn''t been trained for this at the barracks! He''d never felt this kind of¡­ confliction!

    His frill raised, ears pinning themselves against his skull.

    Thoughts of flying through the sky flashed before his mind''s eye.

    Vision of traversing the sea currents filled his head.

    He thought about his victorious return to the Summer Palace, triumphantly proclaiming his survival and victory to his fellow sea dragons.

    He thought about seeing Dolphin and Cuttlefish again.

    He thought about himself taking back his rightful place as the most powerful creature on the face of this world, sticking it to these pathetic monkeys.

    Thoughts of blood filled his head.

    He could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

    He felt as if every muscle in his body was quivering.

    He¡­ He¡­ He¡­

    He obeyed the voice.

    Something seemed to go snap inside him.

    He wasn''t going to try and take back his freedom.

    He wasn''t going to fight back.

    He wasn''t going to kill the little scavenger.

    WHAT KIND OF DRAGON ARE YOU!?  The instincts furiously roared.

    Shame burned hot like a fumarole within him.

    What kind of dragon am I?

    The small voice gave no reply.

    All over his body, Argonaut felt taut muscles loosen. He realized he''d been staring hard at the scavenger that caused this whole mess the whole time he was having his internal ordeal.

    A wary sounding bark coming from one of the other scavengers drew the little scavenger¡¯s, and Argonaut¡¯s, gaze out of the staring contest he didn''t realize he was having.

    It turns out that the surrounding scavengers had been staring pretty hard at Argonaut as well. Maybe somewhat aware of his internal war against himself. One of them performed a small motion with one paw at the little scavenger, eliciting an almost disappointed sounding ¡°oh¡± noise, before it then backed up until it was certainly out of his potential reach.

    Huh. So I guess they do seem to care about each other¡¯s safety.

    He closed his eyes.

    Argonaut shivered. But he didn''t feel cold.

    He couldn''t quite put a claw on what exactly he felt.

    He''d just surrendered what was possibly his only hope for escape. He should be feeling cold, shriveled, enraged, defeated.

    Alone.

    But he didn''t feel those things. He felt confused, overwhelmed, strangely exhausted. Lost, even.

    He almost felt as if there were a gaping space within him. Like an air bubble, filled by nothing, suspended within a sea of himself.

    But as he watched the little scavenger he almost killed awkwardly scoot and reach over to bring the small white sheet things closer itself one at a time, he also felt a weird warm-y feeling in his chest.

    A feeling that said that, somehow, everything would be alright in the end. Even though he couldn''t see how.

    A feeling that told him that he wasn''t alone.

    How could things turn out alright? He''d just given up his chance at freedom.

    And he was alone. Unless these scavengers counted.

    The SeaWing sighed and tried not to hang his head. If his wings weren''t bound, they''d definitely be drooping.

    ¡°Ey, Wasserdrache!¡± A familiar barking sound met his ears.

    Argonaut opened his eyes again and looked back, this time with a much softer gaze.

    The little scavenger picked up one of the white sheets, showing it to him as it had many times before. This time, however, Argonaut decided to take a closer look.

    The white sheet had a simple depiction of a dragon, like himself- and a scavenger, like the one before him- standing across from each other. Both the simple dragon and scavenger had a single talon and paw respectively held up facing each other.

    Argonaut tilted his head, not getting it.

    The little scavenger pointed a thin digit at the drawing, then pointed the digit at him, then unfurled the paw and waved it back and forth rapidly.

    ¡°(Hal- er- Hello! Hello!)¡± It barked.

    The scavenger once again pointed at the drawing, making a point to emphasize its apparent corresponding figure on the sheet.

    Then it pointed that digit at the dragon depiction, before turning to point at Argonaut again. The scavenger looked at him expectantly.

    He looked back at the scavenger. He still didn''t get it.

    The little scavenger seemed to pause for a few moments, not moving at all. Until it suddenly made an ¡°Ah!¡± noise and backpedaled a few steps.

    The SeaWing stared in confusion as the scavenger seemed to mime turning an imaginary corner and seeing him for the first time. It stuck its whole paw out again and rapidly waved it back and forth. Making that same ¡°(Hello!)¡± noise again.

    What could this scavenger possibly be trying to accomplish?

    Argonaut realized he was watching a small hairless monkey act out a game of one-sided charades with him. For seemingly no reason.

    He realized that''s what they''d always been doing, this entire time. But why? What purpose did this all serve? Why do scavengers do these things?

    What is going on? Why is he here? What the point of any of this? Why didn''t these scavengers just kill him when they found him?

    Maybe the little guy is just trying to say hello.

    The little voice once again emerged from his subconscious.

    Something inside Argonaut¡¯s mind finally seemed to go click!

    As if a film of sea algae had been rinsed from his eyes, this entire interaction suddenly began to look a lot different.

    As if he had lit up his scales within a dark cave, everything the mimicking scavengers had tried to do with him suddenly started to look a lot different.

    As if the water had cleared from his vision after emerging from the waves, everything with the scavengers, the way they stood guard around him, their strange tent formations, their even stranger hulking metal things, it all suddenly started looking a lot different.

    Oh, dear¡­

 XVII - An Inglorious Skirmish

    >Nearby the Diamond Spray Delta, on the border between the Sky Kingdom and the Kingdom of The Sea_

    ¡°COME ON, FIGHT YOU WEAKLINGS! ARE YOU SALAMMANDERS OR SEAWINGS!?¡±

    Greenling ducked and rolled to avoid a fire stream from a SkyWing attacking from her periphery, trying hard to ignore what felt like a forest fire raging within her lungs.

    A clumsy slash with her talons, that might as well have been aimed at one of the moons for all the good it did, was all she could manage to counter the attack. The attacking dragon simply powered away on swifter wings.

    Rather than being able to reorient and pursue, the defending SeaWing could only flare her wings back out and engage the air itself in a battle to remain aloft.

    Once stabilized, she was able to redirect some of her attention back to the battle around her- flinging her gaze around wildly.

    Dragons of Sky and Sea, of blue and green and of orange and red whirled around each other in a mad swarm. A cacophony of enraged battle roars and agonized screeches mixes with the intense beat of angry wings and whoosh of fire breath pounded her skull like undercurrents in a storm.

    She managed to catch herself as her eyes began to grow unfocused. There were too many quickly moving objects to track, and it was overloading her senses.

    Her eyes finally locked onto a single form, the huge dark green shape of her Attack Wing Leader, the rallier and soldier coordinator that had just called out.

    The massive SeaWing had managed to close distance with a SkyWing opponent despite the latter''s speed advantage and was grappling the red dragon''s talons with his own, keeping them from reaching his own wings.

    The SkyWing tried to rear their rear talons to pummel the larger SeaWing in the underbelly, but was thwarted when the Wing Leader convulsed his entire body to swing his entire tail into the dragon''s torso.

    The SkyWing was sent careening off for the ground below with a gross noise Greenling would probably have trouble unhearing for a while.

    But before the huge SeaWing could so much as roar triumphantly, did a small SkyWing maneuver and dive on him, connecting with his wing with scrabbling claws like an inexperienced hunter would pounce on a rabbit.

    And with that their 15-year fighting veteran Wing Leader was condemned to a short fall and hard landing with the ground.

    But at this point, Greenling had been distracted far too long.

    She had hardly a second to shake herself out, before she caught onto another small orange SkyWing diving hard for her right-talon wing, talons outstretched and teeth bared.

    Without thinking, Greenling barely managed to pull the respective wing in close with hardly a scavenger paw''s clearance before she shared in her former Wing Leader¡¯s fate.

    The attacking SkyWing flared their own wings out again and easily pulled up and off, while Greenling once again fought the sky itself to regain stable flight before she met the treetops reaching up for her.

    She caught herself at the last moment, straining every last flight muscle she had, pushing her wings until it felt like they''d shear off on their own to arrest her fall and slowly climb back up to the battle above.

    Although, thank the moons, it didn''t look like she would need to. Because at that moment, something almost imperceptible across both sides of the brawl shifted.

    Both tribes of dragons maneuvered to disengage each other and gain a few wingbeats of distance from each other, and all made to dive for the ground on their own accords.

    ¡°DOWN! DOWN! EVERYONE TO THE GROUND! DOWN!¡± Someone roared.

    Greenling released a wheezing pant that could perhaps be approximated as a sigh of relief and moved to join them as best she could.

    The common image many pictured when imagining or recalling a battle between forces of opposing dragon factions was that of an epic aerial clash of claws, teeth and fire which rivaled in power that of a hurricane in its glorious baleful might.

    A not entirely inaccurate depiction, given that it is pretty close to how they usually initiate. But that is not how the duration of the engagement is played out. If flying and fighting have anything in common, it is that they both require the majority of a dragon''s strength, energy, and attention to do effectively.

    To simultaneously engage the sky and wind in a constant battle to keep yourself from slamming into the earth at speed and engage other dragons in a more literal battle is immensely difficult for even the best trained and disciplined of dragons, no matter the tribe.

    And no matter how skilled or powerful a fighter you were, you could only stave off exhaustion for so long.

    If that wasn''t enough: In the air, even the best and strongest fighters can be taken out by sucker slashes from far weaker dragons. Such as her former Attack Wing Leader.

    A given dragon''s claws, scale armor and strength were more effective on the ground, anyway.

    Greenling tried to manage a somewhat elegant touch-down landing befitting of a dragon''s dignity, but instead could all but collapse the final tail-length to the earth in an exhausted heap, promptly scrambling back onto her talons as other dragons just began to make their own, hardly any more show-worthy landings.

    Both tribes haphazardly formed up and squared off against each other once again. Hissing and snarling all the while. Neither side charging the other yet.

    Greenling shook her head to collect her bearings. She flexed her talons against the unfamiliar moist soil, preparing to engage.

    She was by no means an outstanding fighter, but she had good reflexes and could more than hold her own. Especially on the ground, where the odds between SeaWings and other tribes were more even.

    Behind and all around her, SeaWings pelted out challenging roars to the SkyWing attackers despite their own exhaustion. The sky dragons drew themselves up on their hindlegs and flared their wings out in an attempt to appear larger in response.

    The SeaWing soldier rolled her shoulders and flared her wings out. She closed her eyes briefly.

    She wasn''t afraid. She couldn''t be. Fear was a waste of energy. She was a dragon, through and through. And she was here to fight.

    Alright, SkyWings. We managed to tire you out this time, now it''s our turn to push the fight.

    She braced her legs to charge and bared her teeth, reopening her eyes with newfound determination burning within them.

    And the first thing she saw was a bright burst of orange-yellow right in her face.

    Greenling shrieked as a wall of heat slammed into her scales and she reeled back, her brain overwhelmed by every alarm it had now screaming full force.

    DANGER! FIRE! PAIN! ESCAPE! DANGER!

    Any pretenses of calm and collected thought flew out the cave, and Greenling couldn''t remember anything except adrenaline, rapid movement, and something heavy colliding with her upper back and shoving her hard into the dirt.

    ¡°Stay down! Get the heat off!¡± a voice yelled in her ear.

    She was immediately yanked back to her feet by strong talons.

    ¡°You''re not on fire! Get back in there!¡± The voice shouted, and the dragon darted off with a light shove.

    Greenling staggered as she tried to regain her footing, frantically attempting to check herself for damage with one of her front talons.

    The fire blast had singed her; her scales felt hot and burned with a sharp stinging pain, but contact with the SkyWing¡¯s fire had been brief enough that nothing had set and no evidently serious damage dealt.

    A technically fortunate outcome, but it still really hurt. And the pain will only get worse after the fighting adrenaline wears off. Assuming she survives that long.

    Suddenly remembering the world around her existed, she whirled around to face the fight at talon, nearly overbalancing and falling back over in the process.

    A rough line had- initially- formed between the dragons of Sky and Sea. Formed as the remaining dragons prepared to resume the skirmish. Any semblance of cohesion once there was now gone, the entire battle reduced to a mad brawl.

    SeaWing soldiers had charged the SkyWings, desperate to close past fire-breathing range and engage with their claws and teeth.

    The SkyWing detachment expended whatever fire they had left after the air battle into the charge, mortally burning or outright setting alight many of her fellow sea dragons in the process.

    But even with their dreadful fire-breath spent and recovering, they were still more than eager to meet and match the SeaWing¡¯s talons and teeth with their own.

    I''ve got to get back in there! Greenling thought to herself.

    She rapidly scanned the scene with her eyes, looking for a target. Quickly locking onto a pair of similarly sized SeaWings fighting with two corresponding deep orange SkyWings. Her fellow SeaWings were visibly disadvantaged, on the back talon and relegated to blocking strikes rather than delivering their own.

    Without hardly a moment to apologize to her aching muscles and stinging scales, Greenling braced her hindlegs and sprung into action.

    Bounding with all the strength she could spare, she shoulder checked one of the SkyWings hard before he could roll and leap at one of the SeaWing''s exposed underbelly.

    The impact sent waves like a torrent through her body, shaking her to her core and exacerbating the pain in her aching limbs. The intended target of her attack was sent sprawling, rolling off with a wild screech to get some distance.

    I really hope I didn''t just dislocate my wing. An errant thought floated through the battle-focus.

    Rather doing what she ought to and follow up her strike to finish the orange dragon off, she swung her tail in a wide arc, aiming for the other SkyWing.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    This SkyWing, however, had noticed her from his periphery, and disengaged the SeaWing he was about bite to jump out of the way just in time.

    Greenling''s tail connected with nothing but air, and the force from the swing overbalanced and nearly knocked her over.

    Spitting angrily about how much she hated fighting in the thinness of air, she managed to block the irritated sky dragon¡¯s return slash by connecting his wrist against her raised forearm. The impact sent shudders through her arm and across her spine and wings.

    Rather than following up, both dragons instead hopped back to assume better fighting stances.

    Remembering to scan her own periphery, Greenling saw the other smaller SeaWings she had taken the heat off ganging up on the

    hostile she had rammed.

    A familiar hiss that she had come to hate with every scale of her being drew her back to her opponent. The orange dragon''s jaws were open at a slightly weird angle, stark yellow eyes locked hard on her. A hissing sound distinct from the usual enraged noises emitted by fighting dragons emanated from him.

    Already fully aware of what was coming, Greenling dropped from her talons and rolled as fast as she could to the left, only just clearing the incoming roaring blast of fire. The radiating heat singing her wingtip in the process.

    The fire attack was short, however. Probably in lieu of his fire not having yet fully recovered after expending it earlier in the battle.

    The SeaWing soldier roared both in pain and rekindled rage, springing back to her talons as quickly as she had gone down to face her adversary.

    Both dragons hissed furiously as they started to slowly circle one another, waiting either for an opening or for the other to strike first.

    With a snarl, the SkyWing planted his footing and started a hooking swipe with his left talon, aimed right at her throat.

    Greenling instinctively raised her own talon to block the swing, but it was a feigned attack. The orange dragon drew his half-outstretched talon back and instead threw his right talon at her full force.

    She roared with pain as claws connected with and dug through scales on her chest. But rather than staggering back, she instead rebalanced so that her weight was on her hindlegs and tail rather than all four talons.

    She then switched to delivering rapid swipes with both webbed talons, aimed at battering the other dragon¡¯s snout.

    The SkyWing had overextended somewhat with his own strike, and was as such slow to respond. A few of her hits actually connected, no doubt disorienting him.

    The sky dragon flinched back with bared teeth, resorting to meeting Greenling''s uncoordinated attacks with his own wild talon swipes.

    The two dragons whacked at each other for a few heartbeats before breaking off, both of them staggering back.

    Greenling took satisfaction in the (albeit, not very serious) bleeding from the scratches inflicted to the wretched smoke-breather''s snout. Even as she herself bled from the cuts on her chest.

    The smell of blood, of smoke, of fire and of burning flesh permeated the air, clogging her nose and interfering with her battle-focus.

    Her muscles and scales cried out with pain from damage and strain. Her sides heaved as she panted, her body desperately fighting to keep from overheating as she herself fought to keep surviving.

    The dragons squared off against each other for a few moments. Talons planted firmly on the ground, bloodshot eyes locked, tails lashing lividly. Both still hissing all the while.

    With almost simultaneous delay, both dragons suddenly lept at each other with catastrophic roars. Smashing into each other with a sound like a tree falling over.

    The SkyWing¡¯s claws wrapped around her neck following an unsuccessful attempt the throttle her. Greenling dug her claws into the dragon''s shoulder and pushed with all her might. The SkyWing pushed back.

    Both dragons thrust their heads forward, aiming to bite each other¡¯s throat out. Instead missing and sinking their own teeth in farther down on the other dragon''s neck.

    A new awful agony exploded in her neck as the orange dragon''s teeth tore into her gills. She grit her own teeth, embedded in the other dragons scales, as hard as she could both to deal with the pain and to spite the smoke-breather. The SkyWing grit back.

    And so the brutal stalemate held, both dragons shoving their opponent with all their strength, digging their claws into each other, and tasting one another''s blood.

    Greenling could tell through the haze of agony and past the tears streaming from her eyes that she had a slight weight and strength advantage over the SkyWing. But her strength was slowly sapping. The world was beginning to grow distant, as the sights of battle grew darker and sounds of fighting grew quieter.

    In a final moment of panic; the SeaWing realized she was suffocating. The SkyWing had claws around her neck, and was squeezing hard. She would lose this.

    Her wings flailed uselessly, unable to be brought to bear to be of any help. Her claws and jaws locked down, refusing to let go. In a desperate bid, she swung her tail around in a full arc.

    At this angle and range, there was no way her tail would be able to hit the sky dragon. But the momentum of the swing unbalanced both dragons, who were standing only on their hindlegs, sending them tumbling over and breaking the deadlock.

    Greenling shrieked as the SkyWing¡¯s teeth were forcibly ripped out of her, tearing her gills open in the process. Her vision turned red.

    The orange dragon likewise howled as he rolled away, bleeding severely from his shoulders and neck.

    But she was still standing, and he wasn''t.

    Fast as a shark, she hurled herself foreward and thrust her head for the dragon''s throat. This time, she didn''t miss.

    She sank her teeth into the SkyWing¡¯s neck, bit down, and ripped back. Taking blood, flesh and tendons with her.

    The orange dragon''s roar turned to a rasping gurgle as blood fountained out from his destroyed windpipe. Talons reaching out and clasping at nothing.

    Greenling spun around, bringing her tail up, then slammed it down as hard as she could on the SkyWing¡¯s neck. Ending the dragon''s final spasms with a wet crunch.

    She just killed a dragon.

    She spat out the filthy meat of the wretched smoke-breather, and couldn''t stop herself from rearing back and declaring victory with a mighty roar. A roar that came out more strangled and pathetic than not thanks to the damage done to her own airways.

    But that didn''t matter right now.

    Because she''d won.

    She wobbled on her talons, nearly keeling over entirely. Head clouded with black fogginess and pain from across her entire body.

    Alright, maybe it matters a little. She granted.

    Then again, maybe not.

    All around her, the battle still raged. Dragons from both tribes were still locked in duels like her own. The other SkyWing she had rammed now lay slain on the churned grass, the SeaWings she was attempting to aid nowhere to be seen.

    Many dragons, both red and orange as well as green and blue lay sprawled on the ground, their bodies torn open and leaking red into the soil.

    Many more green and blue shapes had been turned partially or mostly a charred black from more successful fire attacks. Scales boiled and warped in horrbile ways before peeling off.

    Despite all of that, it still looked like the SeaWings were actually winning. Somehow, against all the odds and precedents dozens and dozens of prior battle had set, they were actually turning the tide this time.

    ¡°SEAWINGS!¡± Greenling heard a shout.

    ¡°USE YOUR TEETH! GET IT THERE! FIGHT!¡±

    She wasn''t sure where the rallying cry came from, but it was met by many replying roars from both fellow SeaWings who weren''t too preoccupied with fighting and from SkyWings calling out their scorn.

    Greenling wanted to join in, but her call died in her torn up throat when her eyes locked onto something in the sky.

    A shape. No, shapes. Many shapes. Big shapes, red shapes, brown shapes. Winged shapes.

    She froze. Oh NO!

    ¡°INCOMING!¡± She managed to call out.

    They have reinforcements. Of course they have reinforcements.

    No other dragons immediately responded to her warning, so she tried to scream again. But her damaged throat and gills made it difficult  and the resulting cry quieter than what was needed to be heard over the din of warring dragons.

    Looking frantically for someone who looked to be somewhat in charge at the moment, given that their Attack Wing Leader had already fallen. All the while the approaching shapes grew in size.

    Greenling realized the SeaWing general army, and other tribe''s armies at that, didn''t really have any subordinate commander ranks under Wing Leaders, just regular solders like her, lesser workers and patrollers. They were officially leaderless.

    Leaderless on parchment, but perhaps not in technicality. The vast majority of Wing Leaders had a particularly adept regular that served their unofficial second in command. That dragon could take over as a temporary leader if the actual one goes down.

    Greenling pressed a talon to her bleeding neck. So, find that dragon!

    She couldn''t make out any key defining features of a SeaWing who was currently acting as if they were in charge.

    The shapes got closer.

    Her eyes landed on a big blue SeaWing yelling at another pair of SeaWings.

    Doing something other than only fighting, probably a good candidate.

    ¡°H-HEY!¡± She rasped as she began to stagger over to them.

    ¡°WE HAVE- THEY HAVE- oh, moons- INCOMING! THEY HAVE REINFORCEMENTS.¡± The SeaWing regular hollered as best she could, also flashing what luminescent scales still working as bright as she could manage to be more noticeable.

    The head of the big blue SeaWing snapped towards her, and Greenling lifted her bloodied front talon off her neck to point at the growing shapes.

    But when she herself followed her talon with her gaze, she realized she was already too late.

    Fast-flying SkyWings had already reached the battle, and were performing rapid dive-attacks with their back talons and fire against SeaWings too exhausted to take to the air to dodge or retaliate.

    Blasts of fire and grasping talons met SeaWings on the ground that had been holding their own this entire time like her. Agonized screeches, smoke and spurts of blood were all that went back up.

    A roar came up from where Greenling was originally heading. She thought it might have come from the big blue SeaWing. She didn''t hear what was said.

    Nonetheless, she watched as many of the stronger, still standing SeaWings broke off from their own engagements and clustered together. The SkyWings, many of whom they had been fighting, rushed recklessly to encircle and surround their small group. Theirs and the flying dragon''s attention now off stragglers like her

    Bigger sea dragons stayed on the outside of the cluster, attempting to ward off stray swipes and small fire attacks from the sky dragons now trying to hem them in.

    The fast dive-attacking SkyWings re-coordinated and redoubled their attacks on the cluster, but were now met by dragons from the center of the formation jumping or flapping up short distances to swat at or outright collide with the much faster-moving dragons.

    Greenling allowed herself a grin. She was pretty proud to see this clever tactic invented and taught by SeaWing regulars like her to counteract situations just like this.

    SkyWing attackers dove from the air down at the cluster to either breath fire or slash at them, picking up high speed as they went. A talonful of SeaWings thrust themselves upwards to slash at their wings, swat with their tails, or shoulder bash them out of the air.

    She watched as a fast-moving dark red SkyWing that looked to be on a fire-attack run was intercepted by a pale blue SeaWing who merely clipped the fire-breather''s wingtip with their own; the disruption sending the red dragon spinning wildly until crashing hard into the ground in a twisted heap.

    She wrinkled her snout with disdain. Another reason dragons didn''t actually like fighting in the air if possible.

    Being airborne gave you huge offensive advantages over grounded dragons, but also huge survivability disadvantages compared to the same dragons.

    That strategy the pale SeaWing defender just used to shatter half the bones in that SkyWing¡¯s body with a single touch wouldn¡¯t do any more than mildly irritate that same dragon if they were already on the ground.

    But there was something missing¡­

    Wait a minute, what about the brown shapes? I didn''t only see red and orange dragons approaching¡­ right?

    It was possible she missed something. Her perception was still being clouded by pain, after all.

    As if to answer her question, a big burning log of wood fell from the sky and smashed right into the cluster of defending SeaWings. Followed immediately by two more in rapid succession.

    The logs bashed through the cluster, crushing limbs, wings, and tails and burning any SeaWings they connected with and leaving burning residue as they barreled through.

    Greenling''s jaw hinged open. She''d heard of these¡­ these makeshift weapons being used by the SkyWings and tides-cursed MudWing traitors against grounded dragons and positions like this.

    Seeing it for herself, though, was so much worse.

    Logs. Parts of fallen trees. Used to slaughter dragons.

    What kind of sick mind thinks of using things that clearly aren''t weapons as weapons?

    But it seemed yet worse things were in store for her fellow SeaWings. Another wave of brown dragons swooped in, but this time only one dropped one round, spiky object. An object clearly much smaller than the large logs already thrown.

    An object she instantly recognized, despite only catching a single glimpse of it, and never having seen one for herself. Only heard about it from survivors.

    What blood she had left in her turned to ice, and she dropped any pretenses of trying to avoid attention and screamed as best she could:

    ¡°R-RUN!¡±

    It was already too late.

    A bright flash of light came from the center of the defensive cluster, accompanied by a shaking boom that made the rest of the world''s sounds fade out to a high-pitched ringing and flare of angry orange flame reaching back up for the sky above.

    Shapes resembling SeaWings closest to the blast were launched tumbling into the air. Many more were simply hurled back, shrieking from alarm and pain.

    Greenling felt a whizzing noise pass near her head, and flinched back. Recoiling off to the opposite direction.

    Just like that, the already strained SeaWing defense was broken. Mangled blue and green bodies now joined the burned and sliced open already decorating the ground.

    SeaWings still trying to fight collapsed their combat stances, now focused on trying to get as much distance from the other tribes as fast as they could.

    Through the ringing in her ears, she could just make out sea dragons shouting:

    ¡°This is it!¡±

    ¡°Everyone for themselves!¡±

    ¡°Run!¡±

    ¡°RETREAT! FALL BACK FOR THE WATER!¡±

    Just like that, they¡¯d lost again. Even after all that desperate fighting. Even a small border skirmish- a skirmish that started when their own reinforcements arrived in time to aid an ambushed Patrol Wing- couldn''t be turned to victory.

    Through the haze of pain and new terror, Greenling turned tail and fled. Fled along with her fellow surviving SeaWings. Trailing blood as she went.

 XVIII - A House of Engineers

    >Within the Head Workshop of the House of Artisans, Safe Harbor_

    Tarragon never thought himself much of a diplomat, if he were honest.

    Though his position as the primary outward face met by those who wish to do business with Safe Harbor¡¯s prestigious (if he did say so himself) House of Artisans may say otherwise.

    ¡®Well, someone''s gotta do it¡¯ was what he wished he could reply when inquired; t¡¯were it not a massive breach in etiquette.

    The truth was: the biggest reason Tarragon held his high position in the House was because he was one of the only members that could reliably uphold that etiquette in official discussions between contractors and his counterparts in other Houses.

    Simply put: Members of this House had a reputation for ineptitude in social circumstances. He and his fellow artisans were little more than problem-solvers by disposition.

    Not solvers of big, complicated problems like¡­¡®what is beauty?¡¯ or ¡®how to navigate the intricacies of human conversation?¡¯

    No. Problems like that fell under the purview of other people''s specialties. Other people that belonged to other Houses.

    Those that worked for the House of Artisans were concerned with more practical problems. Problems like ¡®Just how sharp is too sharp for a utility knife before it becomes impractical¡¯ or ¡®How can the city¡¯s street drainage network be made more efficient?¡¯

    Problems that could be solved with a small handful of people, some rolls of paper along with measurement and writing tools, scale models, and mathematics.

    An untold many of those problems arise within the confines of a human city all the time. It was up to people like him, in his opinion, to derive solutions for them.

    Of course, one could also go with the method preferred by many humans, including the Houses of Smithy and Carpenters. The ¡®produce and/or continue what has already proved to work to fix what''s broken¡¯ method.

    Why waste resources on unfamiliar, unproven inventions that are so liable to fail or even make things worse when all that we have is so scarce to begin with?

    Despite that, Tarragon always felt himself partial to the potential of new ideas and unproven technologies to improve his kind¡¯s lot in life. There were enough people around who shared his inclination to form their own House around it.

    Then again; If only more of the proposals, projects, and inventions had actually turned to success, and not crumbled to wasteful failure. Perhaps the wider human attitude to strange innovations would be more positive, and the public reputation for his House be improved.

    But that was a problem for another day. Today, Tarragon found himself standing alone in the Head Workshop- the moderately large building which serves the House of Artisans¡¯ headquarters- reception foreroom. The room which served as a room to both meet and conduct meetings with official House guests, and one of the only rooms in the entire buildings which didn''t perpetually look as if a dragon rampaged through it.

    He stood within the small, tastefully furnished room wearing stuffy formal attire because he was told to. And because he was trying to solve one of the biggest problems members and officials within his House had been trying to grapple with for the past few weeks.

    ¡®Just what do we do about these foreigners?¡¯

    Nearly an entire monolunar phase cycle ago, did a gigantic fleet of watercraft that defied every conception he had of what should be physically possible, much less practically feasible, appear in the Bay suddenly with no prior warning.

    The morning following, a massive dragon attack suddenly descended upon the city. Only to be thwarted within minutes by the same watercraft. The attacking dragons ripped to pieces mid flight by unknown weapons.

    From those watercraft did hundreds of foreigners, foreigners that boasted a strange language, a strange appearance, strange technologies, and yet stranger customs came forth.

    Many within his, and other, Houses were distrustful of the foreigners. They show up, possibly attract a dragon attack, parade around the city, attracting the attention of her citizens and even setting up their own base camp just outside the city? All with no prior background knowledge or introduction of who they are and what they¡¯re here for?

    That just wasn¡¯t terribly polite.

    Personally, Tarragon wasn''t entirely sure where he fell in line, either trustful or distrustful of the foreigners. On one hand, prior points withstood. On the other, he was fully aware of how bad Safe Harbor was stagnating before they got here. And he was still hopeful these foreigners could do something to help.

    Which led neatly back to why exactly he was standing here, alone in the reception room, robed in formal attire, watching a sundial painted onto a wall just outside a small window. Prepared on his part for official discourse.

    It was because the foreigners had finally managed to set up a meeting with the House of Artisans through official channels, and because he was hoping they could help solve one of the biggest, most pressing problems ever imposed upon any and every House of Artisans in any human settlement:

    ¡®How do we improve the lot in life man is faced with on this scorching continent?¡¯

    He was broken from his internal musings by a dull knock on the heavy wooden door that served the threshold between the Head Workshop and the outside world. He moved to open it with haste.

    He was caught off guard somewhat when the first pair of eyes his own locked onto were not the peculiar bright blue surrounded by sandy skin many of the foreigners possessed, but the deep brown of a more familiar-looking woman with skin tones closer to his own.

    ¡°-Hi.¡± Tarragon blurted flatly, already violating standard diplomatic etiquette with the first phrase. Surely a new record.

    ¡°Greetings.¡± She replied, an arm appearing from her overgarment to gesture towards a small collection of foreigners of varying attire standing just behind her. One towards the back of the crowd cracked a smile and waved cheerfully.

    ¡°I trust we aren''t late?¡± She said.

    The House official collected himself. ¡°Uh, no! Not at all, miss. Well, people. You are in fact, right on time, I believe. Granting you are indeed the procession that was delegated an official meeting with the House of Artisans?¡±

    She, and to his surprise; so did some of the foreigners, nodded. ¡°Of course. My name is Rosemary, member of the House of Education and interpreter to the Office of Lordship. This is Barley, my counterpart.¡±

    She pointed to a rather sprightly looking foreign man, probably in his early twenties at most, standing nearest to her.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Tarragon replied, somewhat intrigued by the mention of the foreigner''s name. ¡°Barley¡­ Is that also his name in his own tongue? Or merely a nickname?¡±

    ¡°Well, more or less, sir.¡± ¡®Barley¡¯ said with a small smile, in accented Human Standard.

    Tarragon supposed he shouldn''t have been mildly surprised; it was only logical that the foreigners would now have some of their own interpreters.

    ¡°You could say it''s a translated name, because that''s a much simpler explanation than going into detail about our very different naming customs.¡±

    Barley drew himself up a little. ¡°That aside, we are indeed something approximating an ¡®official delegation¡¯ to your organization, and we''re here to hopefully discuss the prospect of business. And even put on some demonstrations, let''s call it.¡±

    The House official was put somewhat off his rhythm. Both by the almost casualness the Standard-speaking foreigner held himself with, and because his accent was throwing him off a little.

    Even though he was speaking a language obviously unfamiliar to him, he spoke with a strange almost drawl that blended the words together somewhat. Making him sound as if he were perpetually relaxed. Very much diametrically opposed to how Pyrrhian humans held themselves.

    Doesn''t that sound nice. A part of him huffed.

    He ignored that part. ¡°Well, don''t let me keep you outside! Very improper of me. Please, come in.¡± He waved at them, stepping back inside himself.

    The procession all filed into the reception room after him, taking looks around, pointing at a table against one wall, one of them pushing in a strange flat cart with tiny gray wheels covered in stuff concealed by a sheet. Tarragon felt the need to enquire what was on that cart.

    Instead, he opted for a starter of more casual conversation. ¡°Have you any sorts of titles or additional context with your name, Barley?¡±

    He watched the foreigner¡¯s reaction closely. ¡°Eh¡­ well, maybe not as you might be imagining, but yes. I''m a ¡®soldier¡¯ of the united states ¡®army.¡¯ All of us are.¡± Barley gestured to the other foreigners with him.

    ¡°We''re still working on translating the names for their ranks.¡± Interpreter Rosemary cut in.

    ¡°The organization system they use for their ¡®army¡¯ is very detailed, and most of the ranks don''t have equivalent terminology in our language.¡± She finished, Barley nodding along.

    Tarragon shrugged. Fair enough.

    He decided to be a little more direct himself. ¡°Alright, then. What''s all¡­ this?¡± He waved a hand at the cart.

    The foreigners exchanged glances, before one stepped towards the table on the side of the room and did something that unclipped a latch on a kind of weird sheath at his hip.

    Tarragon wanted to get a closer look at the mechanism of that sheath, but what the foreigner pulled out of it immediately demanded his attention.

    A small, dark gray metallic object far removed in appearance to what one would normally expect to come out of a belt-bound sheath.

    The man set the object on the table, and the House official hustled over to get a closer look.

    The object was shaped far unlike any tool or weapon or handheld machine he''d ever seen or heard of. A very dark gray- almost blackish- color all over, an obvious handle grip set at an obtuse angle to the rest of the object. Which was long, mainly smooth with a rounded top and engraved text in a language he did not know on the side. Although he could make out a small inscription of a horse outline alongside the foreign lettering.

    The small object was covered in smaller shapes and lines that denoted it being more complicated than it appears at first glance.

    ¡°...Is that-?¡± Tarragon started.

    ¡°We call it a ¡®pistol.¡¯ This one specifically is called the model nineteen-eleven.¡± Soldier Barely said.

    ¡°It is the smallest version they have of their bolter-weapons. The weapons they used to slay those night dragons.¡± Interpreter Rosemary added.

    He let out a low whistle. He''d heard much from coworkers and fellow citizens in the form of rumors and speculation about these ¡®bolters.¡¯ he''d never seen one up close for himself until now.

    Fighting to keep his eagerness in check, he examined the foreign weapon closer. Despite not having any obvious visual cues to being dangerous, such as sharp edges, the dark metal object gave off a certain deadly aura- like a wickedly sharp dagger or dragon''s claw- that demanded respect. It was undoubtedly a tool that was made to kill.

    ¡°May I-?¡± The House official breathed, not breaking eye contact with the small bolter-weapon.

    ¡°Of course. It has been rendered safe.¡± Soldier Barley responded.

    Without pondering what that meant further, Tarragon gingerly picked the small weapon up, the mechanical-analysis part of his mind kicking in.

    The ¡®pistol¡¯ was heavier than it''s size immediately suggested, pointing to an all-metal construction. A dense, hard metal at that. Not like copper or bronze. Expensive.

    It felt solid in his hands, almost as if it were as sturdy as a solid block of metal. But he knew that just wasn''t the case; there was too much obvious sub-machinery.

    He turned the object over. The lines and shapes that made up its outline were without blemish: He had no idea how such a feat was possible, given how difficult hard metals like iron were to work with unless extremely hot. A full cast mold also probably would not work, given the small protrusions and hole opposite the handle grip.

    And what a handle grip it was! Careful to keep his pointer finger off the obvious trigger mechanism- not unlike what can be seen on some crossbow designs, he firmly held the bolter-weapon in its probable intended position. It fit his right hand perfectly like the finest of hilts; the overall weapon supremely well balanced like the highest-quality of Un''raaks. Rough patterns on each side of the handle lent to a firm hold even if the weapon was slick with water.

    In this orientation, the experienced Pyhirrian artisan also noticed a couple extra things about the weapon. For instance; a few moving parts within easy reach of his thumb on the back and side of it. He was, however, reluctant to fiddle with them without knowing exactly what they did.

    A (relatively) large divot on the upper right-hand side of the top of the mechanical tool pointed to even the largest uniform piece of the weapon not being a solid part.

    He also noticed a few tiny metal notches on the top of the ¡®pistol¡¯. A pair close to the very back of the top part, and one close to the front. They lined up perfectly, when the weapon was held straight. Suggesting a use in aiming the device.

    He could see where speculations of these bolter-weapons sharing much in common with crossbows arose. However, in his opinion, being a handheld apparent projectile weapon with a trigger mechanism was about where the similarities stopped.

    As much as Tarragon might like to stare at this ¡®model nineteen-eleven¡¯ for hours on end to determine its means of function, it was far more time-efficient to simply ask the very people that made it.

    ¡°How does it function?¡±

    In response the Standard-speaking foreigner named Barley held out his end, requesting the ¡®pistol¡¯ back.

    Tarragon made to pass it to him, but stopped himself. One should never point a knife or dagger towards someone you aren''t intended to kill. This weapon, though not possessing blades and likely unloaded, should be treated the same.

    That was just good common sense, as his father would''ve said.

    He adjusted his grip so that the weapon was pointed towards the floor, and handed it to the foreigner.

    Who, for his part, deftly maneuvered the dark gray object in his hands, quickly assuming a grip position similar to how Tarragon just held it, but more surely.

    ¡°It''s a projectile weapon, I''m sure you''re already aware.¡±

    Yes, I am. But how could a projectile-throwing device be so compact?

    Barley pulled a small cylindrical object the color of brass from a pocket in his clothes.

    Ah, the origin of the ¡®bolter¡¯ nickname.

    It was rather shaped like the small metal bolts often used by humans as a component to hold together wooden contraptions.

    It was a little wider than a common bolt, though. One end of it was a light gray rounded dome shape, while the other flat, but with this peculiar rim indenture close to the base. Most of it a bright brassy color.

    It was rather small for a projectile, although it made sense in reference to the small size of the actual weapon itself. However, Tarragon could see no manner of stabilizing mechanism whatsoever. How did these people keep the bolts from tumbling midair and veering off course?

    ¡°It shoots these. We call them ¡®(bullets.)¡¯ You don''t quite have an equivalent word in your language yet. Although for all intents and purposes you folks have also nicknamed them bolts I hear?¡±

    Before the House official could respond, Barley the Soldier pushed a small button on the side of the weapon, sliding a thin shiny box out from the apparently hollow handle grip.

    He slid the brass cylinder into one end of the small box, the end that was inserted farthest into the peculiar weapon.

    ¡°This here is the case. We call it a (magazine). It can hold up to seven of these particular bolts.¡±

    He slid the cylinder into the end of the case, pushing it down with a finger to show how it can fit more. When he removed his finger, the bolt slid back up to the opening of the ¡®magazine¡¯ on its own, suggesting a spring mechanism.

    Barely the Soldier quickly slid the small box back into the ¡®pistol''s¡¯ handle grip, demonstrating how the device is loaded.

    Tarragon''s head spun as he tried to mentally imagine and keep up with all the subcomponents and moving parts, and all the features and functions as demonstrated so far this small weapon contains. While also trying to fill in the blanks for things he didn''t understand yet.

    Such as how that tiny thing is able to accelerate those bolts to such speeds that they''d be able to harm even a dragon''s scales. It was far too small for traditional methods of building and holding tension like a bow or crossbow.

    The speed at which the foreigner was moving also wasn''t helping.

    Said foreigner reached up with his left hand and lightly gripped the upper rear of the weapon, close to where many strange vertical ridges were carved into the sheened metal, and yanked the whole thing back. Revealing that even that part of the weapon could move and slide, and a small circular structure that appeared from within the piece and remained fixed as the rest of the top slid back.

    He then slid the top part back into place, and repeated the process a second time. This time causing the brassy bolt from earlier to fly spinning out of the notch, which was also apparently an opening, on the top of the sliding part. He caught the bolt again with a clearly practiced precision, and gave Tarragon a small grin.

    It has some kind of built-in spring-loaded ejector system, too? How complicated is that thing?

    ¡°So¡­ how exactly does this weapon work? If you are permitted to share that information?¡± The House official eventually asked.

    Barley lowered his head with a small chuckle. ¡°Of course, that is actually what we¡¯re here for. Sorry for holding you up. I''ll bet you''re probably dying to know, if you are what we''d call an (¡®engineer¡¯).¡±

    He lowered the pistol to the table, once again removing the ¡®magazine¡¯ and doing something that made the weapon produce a click! noise.

    ¡°We call this a ¡®field strip.¡¯¡± He said.

    The foreigner then, with only his bare hands and no tools whatsoever, started to pull the ¡®pistol¡¯ apart. He started by rotating a small piece on the front of the weapon, then pulling out a tube-like cylinder with a coil of shiny metal sticking out one end. He pulled the coiled wire of metal out easily.

    Tarragon examined the coil closer. Perhaps some kind of spring? Metal springs in general are already annoyingly hard to make. Always a pain to heat-treat correctly so that it''s actually springy. A precise coil spring like this would surely require more effort than such a small weapon is worth?

    Barley pulled back a lever-looking part on the back of the weapon, and then pulled out another part closer to the trigger mechanism that Tarragon thought was another smaller lever when he himself held the weapon in his own hand.

    He then slid the entire top portion of the weapon off the handle grip with seemingly no resistance. Revealing many smaller parts within the weapon that gave it its functionality in the base portion and a perfectly round and thick shiny metal cylinder within the top portion.

    An ordinary layman might have been impressed by the young foreign man''s dexterity or strength that he could pull apart such a clearly complex machine with only his hands and no tools. But Tarragon was not an ordinary layman. He was a high-ranking official in the House of Artisans, and he knew technology.

    He could see that the speed and ease at which this young man had partially disassembled this weapon was not necessarily thanks to his own skill (although it was clear that he had practice), but rather it was a deliberate design feature by the designer that it could be taken apart so easily.

    Any random schmuck could learn a party trick. Designing an extraordinarily compact machine that could effectively perform that party trick for the individual while still maintaining a more practical purpose¡­ that was another matter entirely.

    Despite its unfamiliar nature, and not yet knowing much about what made this device work, he found himself growing more attracted to it.

    The foreigner once again pulled the bolt projectile up, and handed it to Tarragon.

    ¡°Are you familiar with the concept of explosives?¡± He asked.

    Tarragon eyed the foreigner. He actually was somewhat familiar with them, mostly due to his own interactions with members of the House of Alchemy, another much smaller House of Safe Harbor, often closely associated with the House of Artisans by many citizens not actually part of either House.

    While members of the House of Artisans were concerned with the properties of machines and architecture, people in the House of Alchemy were often more concerned with the physical properties of the materials said things are made from.

    As his counterpart in the House of Alchemy once put it to him: ¡°Anything burns as long as it has air and you get it hot enough. But some things, if you mix them together just right, tend to burn a little more excitedly.¡±

    By ¡®excitedly¡¯, said House official of course ment near instantly. Along with a force that threw everything around it back with a small thunderclap.

    There had been some joint attempts between members of the House of Alchemy and House of Artisans, and no doubt many other humans scattered across the continent, to develop various explosive materials into something more useful.

    Either developing them further into a kind of usable weapon that could be wielded against the dragon menace, or for a more civil use such as an aid to the House of Mining or for other commercial applications.

    Even one idea filed for a kind of ¡®insurance outfit¡¯ from one member of the House of Tailors.

    None of those attempts ever really came to fruition, to his knowledge. Mostly because explosives very quickly garnered a reputation for being extremely unsafe to work with; many of the inventors that tried to work with them had famously lost fingers and eyes to them. And because the loud sounds explosives made when they activated became known for attracting the attention of dragons, leading to the destruction of the works in progress.

    That last point was somewhat moot in the case of Safe Harbor, if only because of the relatively infrequent dragon sightings compared to human settlements on the other side of the Gauntlet and farther inland. Nonetheless, it had been decreed illegal by the Mayoral Office to further experiments with explosives as part of the ¡®Minimizing Unnecessary Hazards¡¯ jurisdiction.

    ¡°Yes, I am, actually.¡± Tarragon eventually responded. ¡°Wait a moment¡­ You aren¡¯t saying this weapon functions through some manner of explosion?¡±

    It was a partially rhetorical question. At this point, the Pyhrrian artisan was already beginning to suspect just that.

    ¡°Yes, that''s exactly it, actually.¡± The foreigner named Barley said. He pointed one finger towards the middle of the bolt. ¡°There''s a small amount of explosive powder right in here. When ignited, it propels this bit forward at extreme speed.¡± He pointed to the silvery dome-shaped end.

    So even that small bolt is a compound of multiple parts. No real surprise there, at this point.

    There was no way that tiny brass thing could handle the pressure of an explosion. The blast would probably send tiny metal fragments in all directions including the intended one.

    Probably what that thick metal around the round part is for, on the actual bolter-weapon itself.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    So. We have a super-compact projectile weapon that uses a small, controlled explosion to launch tiny metal projectiles at speed.

    A foreign concept to be sure, but not an ultimately unreasonable one. His brain was already starting to run the numbers on what exactly such a machine would need to function, and the forces that would be acting on it. (Despite of course literally having one of said machines right before him)

    Still, even with such a small amount of explosive material, the forces and pressures acting on this weapon when it fires must be immense.

    Barley rotated another small piece on the very front of the top piece, and slid the thick cylinder out the front of the piece. He presented it to the House official.

    ¡°This here is called the ¡®barrel.¡¯ It''s where the action happens.¡±

    Tarragon took the piece and examined it closer, doing a sort of double take on it. The metal piece was hollow, one end of it being round and tube-like while the other more boxy with smaller parts built into it.

    ¡°This craftsmanship¡­ it¡¯s exquisite.¡± He spoke aloud, having forsaken much perception of the outside world beyond the feat of metalworking before him.

    ¡°This ¡®barrel¡¯¡­ its opening is perfectly round. Yet this is clearly one cast piece! I cannot see any imperfections in its form! How is that possible? What means of master blacksmithing could produce such an unblemished piece?¡±

    Filing out metal pieces to certain shapes was already an exceptionally time-consuming process. Doing it to conform to a perfectly round shape was nearly unprecedented¡­ not to mention doing so in one piece that was cast as one solid component. And with metal so clearly hard as this.

    He looked through the metal tube like an eyepiece, seeing evenly spaced winding metal grooves on the inside of the cylinder. He had no idea how long that would have taken to make.

    Perhaps he responded so much to this rather than all the other wild parts of this weapon, because he was well familiar with how difficult it was to work metal in such a way that would be required to produce such a part.

    ¡°Well now, that''s partially what we''re here to show you.¡± Barley took the metal barrel piece back, and rapidly reassembled the ¡®pistol.¡¯

    Once completed, he racked the sliding piece back and forth several times, showing Tarragon how to do it. He handed the mechanical weapon to him, and turned back to one of the carts some other foreigners had pushed in. Saying something in English.

    Tarragon never specialized in weapons, but he, and every tool maker worth their bronze knew that when it came to tools in general, but especially weapons, that the less moving parts it had, the better.

    Moving parts and complex mechanisms were points of failure. Points where things could go wrong, wear down, or get gunk in them.

    That was one reason why crossbows were never widely implemented beyond the walls of the Safehold as an anti-dragon measure for their Archer Guards despite their potential effectiveness: Because it wouldn''t do a Guard Scout much good if he had to return it to the workshop for repairs after the first time he had to take cover in a muddy ditch in the woods.

    Nevertheless, this weapon he now held was far more complicated than even the sillier of their operational man-wielded crossbows, yet this organized foreign fighting force used it.

    Either all the foreigners that carried weapons similar to it were veritable master crafters that could repair these fantastical weapons out in the field. Which he doubted, because, despite all their strangeness, they were still clearly humans.

    Or the designers of these weapons built them to such criteria that they would be uncharacteristically resistant to outside contamination and light damage for what they were.

    Out of the two (albeit, somewhat crazy) options, he found one of the potential explanations far more believable.

    The House official racked the sliding piece for himself. He could feel how all the subcomponents and springs and levers perfectly clicked and moved together exactly as intended. A perfect blend of complexity, function, even form. An excellent, seamless, mastercraft of design.

    Easy there, Tarragon. You''re a married man.

    He chuckled to himself, and once again set the ¡®model nineteen-eleven¡¯ back on the table. There had been rumors circulating, among the less technologically knowledgeable citizens of Safe Harbor, that some form of magic was behind much of the seemingly inconceivably advanced technology these strangers employed.

    But he knew better. To an artisan of machines like him, even the concept of using ¡®magic¡¯ or employing assistance from spirits was little more than a cop-out fielded by lazy people too unimaginative to develop more practical means of accomplishing their goals.

    Not only that, but it was dangerous too.

    These people, whoever they were, were no enchanters. They, or at least the society that produced them, are Master Artisans.

    Or, well, Master ¡®Engineers¡¯ as they themselves would probably say.

    He was broken from his thoughts by the Standard-speaking foreigner addressing him, now holding a peculiar looking metal tool that somewhat resembled a clamp of some kind.

    ¡°-We call this thing here a ¡®vernier caliper.¡¯ We use it to measure precise things, especially the diameter of a circle.¡±

    He moved the thing closer, and pointed to the flat part of it, which looked simply textured from a distance, he could now determine the patterns in the metal were many evenly spaced parallel black lines and (probably) tiny number symbols.

    ¡°A measurement tool, you say?¡± Tarragon said absentmindedly, taking the peculiar tool in his hands.

    Measuring equipment, and their accompanying marking utensils, were often the unsung heros when it came to making things. Underestimated by the average person in their vitality.

    One thing that Tarragon had noticed earlier, and that he''d just realized he probably ought to be grateful for: was that these foreigners also seemed to have developed and utilized a ten-digit number system that mirrored their own.

    Or maybe he himself ought to be grateful that his own people developed a ten-digit numbering system with which all counting and measuring was done that coincided with the foreigner¡¯s. He wasn''t particularly familiar with the history of his own culture''s numerology and practical philosophy.

    Either way, it was a stroke of luck. Because it simplified things like this much more.

    Focus, Tarragon. What were you supposed to be thinking about?

    ¡­

    Oh, yeah. The measuring thingy.

    Which, for its part, was by all appearances a rather overly complicated device, given its intended purpose. It had all kinds of knobs and subcomponents that he couldn''t really determine the function for.

    But if the ¡®pistol¡¯ he''d just seen the insides of was any precedent, these foreigners didn''t take to adding all kinds of unnecessary pieces that served no purpose other than to increase weight and waste.

    ¡°You see these lines here?¡± Barley said, pointing to the lines once again. ¡°We call these ¡®inches¡¯ and ¡®centimeters.¡¯ They''re both measuring systems that we use.¡±

    They were both pretty close to smaller distance measuring orders he was already familiar with.

    He pointed his finger to the side of the flat part with the wider line increments. ¡°These are ¡®inches.¡¯ Using these grip-like things and all these parts here, it can measure up to a thousandth of an ¡®inch¡¯ in precision.¡±

    If it were actually physically possible for a man''s eyes to fall out of his head, Tarragon was pretty sure his own would have.

    That is a truly inhuman level of precision

    The sheer amount of ambitious projects and designs that failed to work in real life that could be made feasible with precision like this.

    Thrice-cursed moons and wings above, this little tool alone could revolutionize our technology.

    ¡°Is¡­ is that how you make such machines like this ¡®pistol¡¯ possible?¡± He managed to ask.

    ¡°Well, it and stuff like it certainly help. But that isn''t the whole story.¡±

    At that Barley turned and said something in English back to the other foreigners.

    The House official wondered if he was about to see what manner of peculiar feat of foreign engineering was under that sheet on the cart they pushed in.

    After some discussion, the foreigners in fact did remove the sheet to reveal¡­.

    A box. Which appeared to be full of papers.

    Tarragon mentally kicked himself. He''d allowed himself to slip back into a younger and more eager version of himself back when he was a lower-ranking artisan. He held his current job because he was able to, and used to, dealing with paperwork.

    He''d let himself get a little excited that perhaps they''d have some manner of crazy machine concealed under that sheet that surpassed even his childhood dreams, but it seemed that was not so. At least for now.

    Barely took a sheet of perfectly smooth paper out of a box and presented it again to him. It appeared to mainly have a highly-detailed ink-drawn outline picture of what he could only assume to be another machine covering most of it.

    The machine in the technical drawing was rather strange looking. It was clearly not meant to be handheld, looking more like furniture than anything. All the levers, wheels, handles and moving parts all over the exterior of it did not lend him any hints to its function.

    The Standard-speaking foreigner spoke once again: ¡°We call that there a ¡®lathe.¡¯ Once again, not super sure if you have an equivalent word in your own language.¡± The young man turned to glance over at Interpreter Rosemary, who had been silent this entire time.

    She, for her part, only shrugged back at him. She looked a little lost.

    Perhaps the discussion of technology and machines like this is outside of her range of knowledge. He figured.

    The young foreigner took the non-answer in stride, and rolled on: ¡°Anyway, that and machines like it are one of the big reasons why we are able to make things like the bolter I just showed you. Rather than shaping and hammering and filing metal and wood and things only by hand, we can use machines like these to do levels of precision like that ¡®caliper¡¯. Down to a thousandth the diameter of your finger. Not to mention we can do it, much, much faster than anyone using only their hands.¡±

    Tarragon spared a glance towards the other foreigners in the procession. Presumably they weren''t able to speak Standard with the same proficiency as their counterpart. They seemed a little unsure of what they ought to do.

    He returned his attention to the information at hand. Namely the revelation that these foreigners used immensely complicated machines to build other immensely complicated machines.

    Is that really a surprise, at this point? But what is the purpose of this discussion? One may think that these people would come here with a purpose more practical than to boast their technical prowess.

    ¡°You wouldn''t happen to have any of these machines with you? Or are you trying to slowly break it to us that you''ve lost this¡­ production capacity?¡±

    The foreigner shook his head.

    ¡°Nah. This drawing right here is of the same kind of ¡®lathe¡¯ that we pulled off one of our destroyers. We wanted to bring it in to show you, but it''s a little big and heavy for this room. Not to mention we wouldn''t be able to turn it on in here.¡±

    ¡°I see. How does this machine work, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Well, it would take a little more time than we have to explain the intricacies, but the basics are that you attach a piece of something you want to work with to this bit here, which is an axis of rotation, and various attachments to work on and shape your work piece. Using this machine, you can do either¡­ hang on, what are all the equivalent words¡­?¡±

    He pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket. ¡°Eh, cutting, sanding, drilling, knurling, deformation, turning and facing. Yeah, glad I wrote all those down.

    As you can imagine, these are also particularly useful for round pieces.¡± He finished with a grin.

    Tarragon concealed his surprise. That is a lot of different things you can do with that one machine.

    As much as the idea of having another fascinating human machine before him and not getting to learn how exactly it worked made him itch, he would also agree that they don''t have all the time in the world. And discussing the nature of machines was not what his job here was, as much as he may want to do it.

    Although, he did still have a couple questions.

    ¡°You said you took one of these ¡®lathes¡¯ off of one of your ¡®destroyers.¡¯ What are you referring to?¡±

    It seemed a little ironic that a thing that was meant to create would come of something called a ¡®destroyer¡¯.

    ¡°That''s just what we call one of our kinds of war ship. You can recognize them by looking for the biggest boats out on the water that clearly aren''t cargo ships.¡±

    Ah, a type of vessel, then. Fascinating.

    He would admit, to the foreigners'' credit, ¡®destroyer¡¯ was a pretty epic name to bestow upon a fighting ship. Even if it were a little on the nose.

    I wonder what else those ships are able to destroy. Probably anything within range of those massive bolters they have.

    He also wondered what other manners of awesome machinery were aboard those vessels. An immense curiosity itching at him like sand in his garments.

    Scorch, were I any younger and dumber, I might volunteer to go and raid a dragon lair for treasure just to get a chance to tour one of those vessels.

    But that was a discussion for another day.

    ¡°You mentioned something about turning this ¡®lathe¡¯ on. What do you mean by that?¡±

    At this Foreigner Barley vocalized something decidedly congratulatory-sounding, and pointed a finger from each hand at him in a rather charismatic fashion. A couple other foreigners and Interpreter Rosemary gave him slightly odd looks.

    ¡°Great question! That''s actually the main concern with integrating the more advanced of our stuff with your infrastructure. How familiar are you with lighting?

    That caught Tarragon off guard. Both the question regarding lightning and the implication that these people wanted to revolutionize their city without even asking for prompt or payment beforehand. Even Interpreter Rosemary looked confused.

    ¡°Uh¡­ What?¡± Was all he got out.

    The foreigner didn''t miss a beat. ¡°¡®Electricity¡¯ is an English word you''re gonna want to learn. Basically, most of our bigger, more complicated, or more powerful machines run using small amounts of lighting.¡±

    He clearly took Tarragon''s dumbfounded face as que to elaborate. He slapped the boxes on the cart with one hand. ¡°In here you''ll find all sorts of manuals, guides, papers and stuff explaining it and the math behind it in as much detail as you could want, but it''s all in English of course. I''ll try my best to give you a basic overview.¡±

    He turned and had a brief discussion in English with the other foreigners with a fair amount of physical gestures and exchanged, and papers in the boxes wafted through. Even Interpreter Rosemary chimed in a few times.

    Tarragon shuffled on his feet a little. Even in a small room, these people sounded so loud when they talked to each other. It was no wonder why many citizens had been complaining about safety concerns.

    The usual counter-argument being that the very things the same people used to slay a force of dragons powerful enough to jeopardize the entire city within minutes hadn¡¯t gone anywhere.

    Eventually, the foreigners turned back to regard the House official. Barley in particular now holding several papers and props.

    ¡°Now, I don''t know how much you guys have studied lighting and it''s effects, but I do know there''s not a whole lot of words in your language that involve ¡®electricity,¡¯ so I''ll try to explain it from the top as simply as I can. If you wanna know more, I''m afraid you''ll have to learn English.¡±

    He waved his hand. ¡°The easiest way to describe how lighting works is that there is a certain differential between the clouds and the ground. We call this differential a ¡®static electrical charge,¡¯ but I guess the best way to say it in your language would be to use a water analogy.

    ¡°Water is everywhere, right? All over the ground, in the ground, in you and me, in the seas and in the air as ¡®vapor¡¯- or I guess you would just say steam- and all that? You can kind of imagine lighting to be something similar. Water on the ground turns to steam and collects up in the air as clouds, and when those clouds pass a certain density threshold, they pour that water down as rain.

    You can conceptualize lighting in a somewhat similar way. Charge builds up in the air and clouds over time, and comes slamming down to the ground under certain conditions. I''d be lying if I said that was an accurate analogy, but it should be good enough to get the general picture. Get it so far?¡±

    Tarragon blinked. This was all completely new to him. He''d never pondered the more peculiar things in the world like lightning, always preferring to focus on what was right in front of him. Nevertheless, he could at least say that he was mostly following what the young foreigner was saying. Though the speed at which he spoke wasn''t helping. It was pretty clear that whatever this ¡®electricity¡¯ was and its relationship to lightning, that he must know a fair bit about and was interested in it. Hence his eagerness.

    He felt a little bad for Interpreter Rosemary, though. She looked completely lost.

    ¡°Uh¡­ alright. I think I follow, but what does this have to do with how you said you power your machines?¡±

    Barley grinned. ¡°Well now, that''s the cool part. You familiar with the purpose of all the ducts and gutters that line the streets in this city?¡±

    Now Tarragon nodded more surely. Of course he was familiar with them; The House of Artisans played a crucial role in their development and building.

    ¡°They serve to improve cleanliness in the city by diverting water from the Riverstream and drainage in case of flooding.¡± He replied.

    The foreigner noted emphatically. ¡°Yup. But you also have waterwheels and things close to the mouth of the small river that drive mills and grinds, right?¡±

    The House official tilted his head. Where is he going with this?

    ¡°Point is, lighting, like rain, is hard to reliably harness because it''s hard to predict and account for. Sometimes- usually- in lightning''s case, it''s more destructive than helpful.

    But what if, instead of relying on occasional huge bolts like lighting, you found a way to harness smaller, more steady amounts of it like the streams in your artificial water ducts to run machines like your grinder mills?¡±

    It finally clicked to Tarragon what he was implying, along with the huge implications and slew of questions.

    ¡°Surely that is impossible! You cannot direct and control lighting like a flow of moving water! Can you?¡±

    Barley grinned. ¡°You can! Just like how water likes to flow downhill and through the path of resistance, does ¡®electricity¡¯ flow through and lightning gets attracted to certain metals and materials like gold and copper!¡±

    Wait, gold can be used to control lightning?

    He''d really hate to break it to these people who had all the gold on this continent.

    Barley continued. ¡°Now, it kind of makes sense why you all hadn''t figured this out, because you like to build houses and stuff to be as low to the ground as possible, but we in our world figured out centuries ago that some of our tall ¡®cathedrals¡¯ attracted lighting strikes. That wasn''t any good, but we also figured out that when we put a big old metal pole through the spire lighting would attract to the pole alone and flow through it to the ground.¡±

    He turned to one side and seemed to talk to himself: ¡°Actually, that kind of makes sense. Y¡¯all build your buildings close to the ground or partially into it, and don''t know much about lighting, but y¡¯all do know more about drainage and flooding control than we did. Interesting, interesting.¡±

    He whipped back to face Tarragon. ¡°-Point is! Lighting, or at least what makes up lightning, likes to flow through many metals and other things. And just like you can use things like ducts, gutters, dams, slopes and steps and whatnot to control the flow of water, can you also use conceptually similar mechanisms to control how ¡®electricity¡¯ flows.

    ¡°And just like you use waterwheels and mills to harness the water''s power to do work, do we also use machines like that to harness the power of ¡®electricity¡¯ to do work.¡± He finished.

    ¡°But how can you harness lightning in the first place, even if you say you can control it? It isn''t exactly as though you can summon the bolts.¡±

    At this the young man held up two small pieces of metal in both hands, showing them to Tarragon. ¡°That''s the other cool part! Have you ever heard of anything like these?¡±

    The things in his hands were small rectangles, dark gray in coloration. A lot of their things were that color. Barley brought them closer together, and they jumped together and stuck to each other with a sharp click!

    ¡°Lodestones?¡± Tarragon blurted.

    ¡°Pardon? I don''t know that word. Do you know that word, Miss Rosemary?¡±

    ¡°What word?¡± Interpreter Rosemary spoke up.

    ¡°What Mister Tarragon here just said.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry. I don''t know that word in English.¡±

    ¡°That''s alright. Are you at all familiar with these or things like them, Mister Tarragon?¡± Barley directed the last question back at him.

    ¡°Err¡­ If by familiar you mean I''ve seen them before, yes.¡±

    That was the truth. Lodestones are strange metallic rocks found in random places across the more habital places on the continent and are known for their weird tendency to try and stick to iron.

    No one knows why they do this, and despite the efforts of a few artisans like him who managed to aquire a few, no practical use for them beyond a novel children''s toy had been developed.

    At least, a pair of lodestones had been one of his favorite toys when he himself was a kid.

    ¡°That''s alright. The important part is that we figured out how to use, we call them ¡®magnets¡¯, like these to small, steady currents of lighting.¡±

    He turned to grab a piece of paper, and Tarragon braced himself. Surely a machine capable of creating lighting using lodestones would be more complicated than he can imagine.

    Barley handed another piece of paper to him, with yet another ink picture drawn onto it.

    To his surprise, that picture depicted a small machine that more resembled a common oil lamp than anything else.

    ¡°And there it is! A basic ¡®electrical generator¡¯! Those blocks there are the ¡®magnets¡¯. They sit still. This part here is a coil of copper wire, it spins around! These little things are called brushes, they touch the split-ring there. These parts here are where the metal wires connect, giving you an outflow.¡± He said as he pointed to different parts of the picture.

    ¡°This whole part here needs to spin, and you get a current of lighting right in these wires! You can take those wires out wherever you want, sort of!¡± He grinned.

    Tarragon regarded him. ¡°Wait, that''s it?¡±

    ¡°For making power, yeah!¡±

    Seriously? The secret to harvesting the power of storms and lightning itself is a coil of copper wire spinning around in between lodestones?

    He could probably put one of these machines together using just spare junk lying around the Workshop!

    (It probably wouldn''t work very well, but still.)

    Tarragon was beginning to notice a trend with the unique machines these people create. While they may seem immensely complicated and do things seemingly magical at first glance. They''re actually very, almost comically, simple and straightforward at their fundamental level.

    Strange weapons that can destroy the monster of every human''s nightmares in seconds? A reinforced metal tube and controlled explosion.

    A level of precision metalworking that should be impossible by human standards? Fancy measuring tools and a mechanical rotating file.

    Machines literally powered by lightning? Copper wires and spinning lodestones.

    Some may call it ridiculous, he called it pretty good design. What good, on a grand scale, were theoretical legendary artifacts or ¡®magical¡¯ implements when they could only be used by a small handful of people?

    Any idiot could learn to use one of these machines, by his reckoning.

    There was a massive utility in that, especially if they could get these machines all over the continent.

    His eyes widened as he came to a realization.

    Wings above, that''s the point, isn''t it?

    When he''d been told by his superiors that he was going to be meeting a foreign procession to discuss ¡®business potential¡¯ with them, he assumed they''d come wanting to purchase things from his House. That''s what most people, excluding the Mayoral Office, came for.

    That''s not what they came for. These guys came because the business potential they wanted to discuss was giving us the ability to make tools, machines, and weapons like them.

    That must be why they spent this whole time trying to demonstrate how their tech works.

    Nevertheless, the House official felt it prudent to ask.

    ¡°What is the overall point in you showing me, us, all this?¡± He asked the foreigners.

    To his mild surprise, Barley the Standard-speaking foreigner didn''t just roll off the question without missing a beat, he paused for thought this time.

    ¡°...Well, to put it simply, Mister Tarragon, go back a couple hundred years and the world we came from didn''t look much different from what you guys have here. At least technology-wise. Most of this crazy stuff we have was invented less than a century ago. There are still many places where we come from that probably don''t look all that much different than this city here.

    ¡°But there was a certain point we came to, and a threshold crossed. Our civilization was changed forever. It became possible to build things like the machines I''ve shown you in mind-numbing quantities.

    ¡°We''ve already done the hard work of inventing these machines and making ways to produce them in numbers. It wouldn''t be difficult to bring you guys up to speed.¡±

    He pointed over to the boxes on the cart. ¡°In there we have designs for entire buildings whose sole purpose is to House a bunch of specialized versions of that ¡®lathe¡¯ to produce weapons like this ¡®pistol¡¯.

    ¡°Our ships are equipped with huge ¡®generators¡¯ like I showed you that can produce massive amounts of ¡®electricity.¡¯ We can supply a grid with power, and we have the raw materials to set that grid and infrastructure up. But we can''t do that ourselves. This is your city, yours to revolutionize.¡±

    Decades of conditioning and diplomatic experience couldn''t keep the visible shock off Tarragon''s face.

    ¡°You¡­ you can''t just give that away¡­ The secrets that must be in there¡­ centuries¡¯ worth of revolutionary tech like you''ve shown me¡­ it¡­ just the knowledge in there alone would be worth more than a dragon queen''s entire hoard!

    ¡°You said you were here to do business, what are you asking for in return?¡±

    An entirely valid question, to which the young foreigner simply shrugged in response.

    But the words he spoke next, they sounded genuine even through his thick accent:

    ¡°We¡¯re not. Not for that, anyway. You all, the people of this town have shown us kindness and hospitality in allowing us,  complete strangers, to stay here when you would have been completely justified in telling our convoy to move on.¡±

    Well, no. You can''t just tell wanderers to just get lost here! Their burnt blood will be on your hands. That''s like the first rule of etiquette for us. Maybe it isn''t for them?

    Barley continued. ¡°Contrary to the opinion of many here, we aren''t squatters. We aren''t freeloaders. We''re ¡®Americans.¡¯ We work to earn our living. We will not, cannot, just ride off your politeness while we''re here without giving you something in return.

    ¡°We can''t repay you through currency. The silver and copper pieces you all use as money, we don''t have. Nor is our currency any good here¡­ yet. But we do have goods, and we have intellectual property. Those are valuable. As you put it, as valuable presumably as a whole pile of precious metals and minerals.

    ¡°We aren''t merchant traders, but we have stuff to market. And the ¡®patents¡¯ can''t get us all the way over here.¡± He grinned at the House official with a hint of mischief.

    Who, for his part, could only stand unsure. Not really knowing what to think.

    These people¡­ these strange people¡­ giving up what makes them unique, mysterious, powerful, in exchange for us letting them anchor their boats in our bay and set up a bunch of tents?

    That cannot be the full story.

    Where in the name of this dragon-scorched land did these blazing people come from!? Why did they come here!? No sane state that wielded enough technological and economic leverage to topple Blood Mountain would just¡­ not use it!

    ¡°What kind of city are you people from that you could be this unfathomably wealthy that you would just give away that kind of resource?¡± Tarragon demanded, almost fully dropping any veneer of diplomatic etiquette.

    Barley only shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re not. The state we hail from isn''t confined to a single city.

    ¡°What you see right now of us, our entire convoy, is little more than a rounding mistake compared to the whole production capability of a state which spans the entire length of a land larger than this whole continent.¡±

    For the sake of his own composure, Tarragon decided that he did not in fact hear that correctly.

    ¡°But¡­ you''re just going to let us¡­ copy your technology? Have your trade secrets? In exchange for what? Us being cool with you camping outside the city limits and you slaughtering any dragons that attack us along with a clause that we actually build this stuff you''re giving us?¡±

    Barley only shrugged. ¡°Yeah, and?¡±

    Tarragon stared back. Then he laughed. A loud, long cackle. It felt pretty good, it''d been a while since he''d laughed.

    ¡°Alright, fine. Deal. Whatever the scorch your deal is, you''ve got it. With what you''re offering, the House Head would have mine if I said otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Well, alright then. Don''t forget that we also really need you all to build all this as much as you do. Also keep in mind that we''ll be here to give plenty of advice and instruction where necessary to help smooth things along and keep accidents from happening.¡±

    Ah, there''s the attached string. They get a say in what we do. Only people that can tell a House what to do are the Lord-Mayor and House Administrators.

    ¡­

    Lord-Mayor Talem would totally let these foreigners tell us what to do.

    He sighed. No matter, it''s still an immensely good deal.

    Besides, even he felt a little reluctant to just dive into that box of designs and go nuts with the first thing he sees. Same way he felt reluctant to play with that bolter-weapon.

    Just like careless use can cause a weapon to destroy more than its intended target, can tools like these cause more problems than they were meant to solve if misused.

    Letting the people that invented these machines and grew up around them call the shots in terms of which ones get built first and how, seemed a good idea.

    ¡°I assume all the written information in those documents are in your language?¡±

    The foreign man nodded. ¡°You''ll have to employ some translators. Or perhaps send some members of your House through an English learning program we¡¯re setting up.¡±

    He nudged Interpreter Rosemary, who looked a little zoned out. ¡°Hey, aren''t we going to meet up with your House to set that up? Aren''t you with the teachers?¡±

    ¡°Oh, uh, yes. To both those things.¡±

    Barley turned back to him. ¡°We can also try to divert resources to translating them to your language, but that would take a long time.

    Tarragon shook his head. ¡°As helpful as that would be, I can''t recommend it for the short term. With all the unique terminology you used during the lightning explanation, I feel like half of the words in them would end up being English anyway.¡±

    He himself should probably prioritize learning their language, especially if he was going to be working more with these people in the future.

    The foreigner granted his point with a nod.

    ¡°Keep in touch, Mister Tarragon. These papers are yours. Any questions you have, write a letter, give to the Office of Lordship. We''ll get it. We''re also happy to try and provide smaller versions of many of the machines exampled in those papers that we have aboard our ships. Keep in mind those papers aren''t just designs for machines, but architecture practice and innovations we use as well as a bunch of math and science lessons.

    ¡°Now, this is important, don''t go try to build the stuff detailed in those sheets, not until you thoroughly understand them and we tell you.¡±

    That last part sounded more like a warning. An unnecessary one, given he barely had any clue how that stuff worked.

    ¡°Of course. I take it you''re leaving, and off to meet with the other City Houses?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sorry to walk out on you like that, but we''ve got a lot of places we need to be. Folks to meet with.¡±

    ¡°Very well. A word of caution: Beware the House of Records, they''re jerks. And beware the House of Mining, they''re crazy.¡±

    Barley huffed a laugh. ¡°Ha, we were just at the House of Records; the lady at reception said the same about you.¡±

    Despite himself, Tarragon felt his indignation flare up. ¡°Oh, that old¡­ she would, wouldn¡¯t she? Did she!?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The foreigner said flatly.

    ¡°...Oh.¡± Tarragon deflated.

    Barley snorted, and turned to leave along with the rest of the procession.

    Huh, they''re really leaving so soon? I guess they got what they wanted done.

    He glanced over at the empty table. Empty  besides the tiny ¡®magnets¡¯ and a couple of pictures shown to him.

    They didn''t even stay for tea.

    ¡°Take care of yourself, Mister Tarragon. We''ll be seeing each other soon, I''m sure.¡±

    ¡°Take care, Interpreter Barley, Interpreter Rosemary, the rest of you.¡±

    And with that exchange the door closed shut, once again leaving Tarragon standing by himself in the reception room. This time with a cart carrying boxes stuffed full of papers.

    He allowed to slump his shoulders and sigh. He felt tired, but still had so much on his hands.

    He had to talk with the other House Administrators. He had some explaining to do.

    He had problems to solve. And problems to solve before those problems could be solved, and problems to solve before those in turn could be solved, and so on.

    But such is life. He thought ruefully. Or at least, such is the life of man.

    From his coworkers, to his job, to city politics, to everyday life, to these foreigners, to the dragons themselves. It was all problems to solve.

    Unfortunately, he was only suited to solve only a small handful of those problems.

    He stepped over to the table, and picked the tiny ¡®magnets.¡¯ He clicked them together a couple times, feeling how they drew to one another through some unknown force. He looked back to the boxes of papers.

    Maybe with this¡­ we can solve problems no human even dared dream of living without.

    ¡°Maybe.¡± He mumbled to himself.

    ¡°Well, looks like you''ve got your work cut out for you, Tarragon.¡±

    ***

 XIX - Pioneer or Madness?

    Argonaut opened his eyes, and found himself surrounded by blue.

    Wait, that can''t be right.

    A featureless blue hung above. A featureless blue rested below. The two blues separated by a perfect line in every direction. A horizon.

    The deeper blue resembled the sea. But it was utterly still and smooth. No rolling waves as far as he could see, and no discernable smell.

    The blue above looked like the sky. A cloudless, windless sky. The brightness and warmth he could feel around him suggested it was mid-day.

    His scales felt dry. Looking down, he discovered he was sitting atop this strange¡­ floating thing. It looked like a bunch of straight wood pieces tied together in a square shape. He was out of the water only high enough that he didn''t touch it.

    He also realized, when he lifted a talon, that he wasn''t casting a shadow.

    He looked straight up, there was no sun. Despite everything being bright and warm, the light wasn''t coming from anywhere in particular.

    What?

    For some reason, he didn¡¯t like that light. It made him uncomfortable.

    He decided there was a pretty good chance he was dreaming. Which in of itself was a little weird, given one usually didn''t realize he was experiencing a dream until he woke up. Or he may realize he''s existing in a dream, at which point he would immediately wake up.

    He closed his eyes, and opened them again. He was still floating within a featureless sea.

    Weird.

    Argonaut sighed through his nose. Just his luck he''d get stuck in a dream world with nothing in it.

    It all felt pretty real, though. Maybe he could go for a swim. It had been a while since he''d been able to do that.

    He looked over the side of the floating-thing. His own face in the dark-blue stared back. It definitely looked like water, although it was completely still.

    When he thought about jumping in though, he was overwhelmed with an inclination that he really shouldn''t get off the floating thing.

    So much so that he couldn''t push himself forward.

    He leaned back, and the inclination faded. He tried again, once again unable to make himself jump off. He repeated the process a couple of times. To no success.

    Frustrated, he sat back, sighing again.

    This is incredibly strange. Even for a dream. Figures I would get a lucid dream and still not be able to do anything.

    It was at that point he realized he wasn''t alone on the floating-thing. He wasn''t sure how, but something tipped him off.

    He turned around, and behold, there was a scavenger on one corner of the floating-thing. The corner opposite the direction he''d been looking this whole time.

    Somehow, he simultaneously was and was not surprised.

    The scavenger didn''t acknowledge his attention, or move at all. It just stared out at the horizon, seemingly at peace.

    Even more confused, Argonaut squinted at the creature. He can''t remember what it looks like, whether like a normal scavenger or one of the weird new ones.

    The SeaWing blinked. He cannot remember what the scavenger looks like. Was that even a good way to describe it? It wasn¡¯t as though he couldn''t see the scavenger, or suddenly forgot what scavengers looked like, it was right in front of him! He can''t remember what it looks like, despite looking right at it. As if it were not registering within his mind.

    He shook his head out. Three moons, all this time I''ve spent stuck with these scavengers is making me as crazy as they are.

    The paranormal dream scavenger in question finally moved. It turned to face him. Argonaut still cannot remember what its face looks like. It said nothing, made no noise. At least, not that he could recall.

    The scavenger calmly picked up something from somewhere. It held it out to him. The thing, at first glance, appeared to be a simple ring. Relative to dragon size, anyway. It didn¡¯t look like treasure, not being particularly shiny.

    Argonaut eyed the scavenger suspiciously. Whether or not the scavenger reacted or responded, or simply remained placid, he cannot recollect. The ring continued to be held out to him.

    Argonaut had never been a dragon for treasure. Not that he wouldn¡¯t appreciate it if he could have any, rather that he was from an enclave out in the middle of nowhere not important enough to even be given a name, and worth to his tribe just about as much as to be drafted into the general army and assigned to a position with an infamously low survival rate. Treasure wasn¡¯t something particularly within his reach.

    What could be the harm in taking a boring-looking ring from a weird dream-scavenger in a dull dream? He thought to himself with a hint of irony. Truthfully, he hardly cared either way.

    He reached out and hooked a claw in the ring, pulling it away from the scavenger towards himself. Sure enough, there didn¡¯t appear to be anything special about it. It was a kind of off-gold color, in between copper and the treasure metal in hue. It didn¡¯t even have any shiny jewels or anything embedded into it. Just a bunch of rough eye symbols that looked like a scavenger¡¯s eyes carved into it both on the inside and outside of the loop.

    Hmph. Even the treasure in my dreams is boring.

    Nonetheless, he decided to slide the ring onto one of his claws. As best he could, anyway. Rings weren¡¯t the most popular jewelry item among SeaWings, due to their webbed talons. He could, however, just slide it far enough that it fit over the knuckle-bulge where his actual claw connected to the rest of the digit.

    Argonaut looked back to the scavenger he cannot remember. ¡°Are you happy, now?¡± He snarked, not expecting a response.

    You have work to do.

    The SeaWing froze. The frill along the back of his neck standing straight upright. He knew something just spoke to him.

    The next instant, the ring on his claw felt warm. Then it felt hot. It grew in heat, starting from a gentle warmth like the feel of sunlight on his scales, and growing until it felt like a burning candle on his claw tip. Still hotter it grew.

    And then he woke up.

    ***

    >Excerpt from Petty Officer Olson¡¯s personal report_

    Fantastic progress with the local language has been achieved. Already, we have several interpreters from both sides fluent enough to engage in technical, diplomatic-level discourse. For the most part.

    Following various official technological demonstrations and meetings with important figures in the local political system, local applicants attempting to learn English have multiplied to a nearly exponential level. Rapidly exceeding our capacity to teach them. It is likely that the various socio-political bodies within this town are literally hiring subordinates to become translators. Official ESL programs will need to be set up. Many civilians among the merchant marine are volunteering.

    Major commendation must be given to PFC John Barley and a local woman by the name of Rosemary, Interpreter, for their especially hard work and dedication in the language-translation efforts. Not only are they among our most advanced translators at this time, but they are also largely responsible for multiple deals made with aforementioned local socio-political bodies. Their request to divert attention towards the written side of both English and the local language has been granted.

    On the note of deals being made with local organizations, hypothetical designs for infrastructure buildings and implements updated to conform with local architecture layout have already been received from a local institution best translated to English as the ¡°House of Artisans.¡± These people are moving way faster than we were expecting. Speeds and enthusiasm at which locals are trying to adopt and actualize post-industrial technologies exceed what can be reasonably expected if economic expansion were the primary motivation, suggesting other motivating factors are at play.

    At the rates at which things are progressing, I personally doubt we¡¯ll have nothing to do around here but sit around and watch our supplies tick down for long.

    On a less positive note, almost no new intel had been acquired from further study attempts with the captured sea dragon subject. So little progress has been made in regards to determining the subject¡¯s spoken language, or even if it has one, that initial hypotheses regarding these creatures possessing sapience in ways technically or philosophically comparable to us are being called into question, and suggestions to simply release the thing are mounting.

    It is possible we have, this entire time, been trying to talk to some rough equivalent in this world to a carrier pigeon. We don¡¯t have many other plausible explanations for the subject¡¯s seeming utter refusal at verbal communication attempts.

    However, we still have a few ideas left to try, involving making use of the supposed ¡°dragon scroll¡± acquired from one of the destroyed night dragons to refocus communication attempts to the written script on that parchment. It¡¯s possible it could work, given our approach with the local humans was overwhelmingly verbal-based during the initial stages.

    We have also received reports from a couple Germans from the lone submarine about sea dragons similar to the captured subject responding to Morse Code being flashed out via signal lamps. Why exactly, we don¡¯t know, but we¡¯ll still try it. I¡¯ve also gotten word from some of the boys directly interacting with the captured sea dragon on a daily basis noticing a distinct general behavior and attitude shift. What that means, and what caused it, they don¡¯t seem to know.

    Whatever the case may be, and whatever answers they get, I hope they are discovered soon. We need to formulate what our official course of action will be regarding these dragon-like creatures to ensure our safety.

    I will say that I personally do not subscribe to the theory that these creatures are simple beasts. I was personally part of the small team translating a local guide to various dragon-like creatures they are aware of, and had several stories about what these dragons are known to do to people recounted to me. If these accounts are at all true, it provides a serious counter-argument against these creatures only being like animals. Mere animals are not capable of that kind of cruelty. Sadism, I should clarify.

    But then, this could all be something of a misunderstanding, on our parts. The way the locals describe the dragon-like creatures makes them sound like natural organisms. Often comparing them to hunters or predators. However, it is known that these creatures must in part be supernatural, given the ways their bodies work not only defy what is possible through known biology, but the laws of physics as well.

    However, local descriptors regarding these creatures¡¯ known behavior and abilities do not line up well with many old myths from our own culture, suggesting these dragons are not ¡®simply¡¯ some form of extremely-powerful spirit creature or something. Dragons seem to be, more often, used as a metaphor for ¡®everything that sucks¡¯ in old myths, anyway. At least so I hear. Where exactly this line is drawn, between biological organism and supernatural creature, and the implications of this, we don''t know.

    I should state: PFC Barley reported something rather interesting regarding his interactions with local bureaucrats. He said that some mentioned offhand something like these dragon-like creatures having queens of some sort. Whether this was meant kind of like anthill has a queen, like a country has a queen, something in-between, or as some metaphor, requires further investigation. That could perhaps be one of the only pieces of useful intel about these creatures we¡¯ve gotten since we pulled those night dragons apart and autopsied them.

    ***

    >Just Outside Safe Harbor_

    Matrosen Hans Fischer felt like he was pretty out of his depth, but that was kinda how he always felt.

    At least he was actually happy to be doing something that he was supposed to be doing, for once. Although ¡®supposed¡¯ could be debatable.

    He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing right now. None of his crewmates did. Not even the Kapit?n did.

    He didn¡¯t even have any idea how he got here.

    It all started when he was told to pop the hatch and see if U-178 had run into anything. She did, in a sense, run into something. Or maybe that something ran into them.

    And Hans was kind-of-maybe-sort of sure that thing was named ¡°Cuttlefish.¡± Pretty sure, anyway. He wasn¡¯t actually sure, but he was going with it.¡°Grrahckt¡¯lliu¡± was the noise he made, while pointing with a claw to a picture on a piece of parchment of a cuttlefish. Hans assumed that noise meant ¡®cuttlefish,¡¯ and that the dragon was referring to his own name. Assumed.

    ¡®Cuttlefish¡¯ was a kind of funny name for a dragon. Or so he thought, anyway. Wasn''t it weird that a dragon of all things would be named after a tiny cephalopod? He thought it was a little weird.

    Then again, he wasn¡¯t the one that named him. Probably. The water dragon-that-waved-at-them seemed to indicate that his name was Cuttlefish, but how could he know for sure from here?

    It was certainly better than half the names some of the other crew members came up with after they first saw him, that¡¯s for sure.

    He wished a little that he could go back out on the water and find the friendly(?)-looking dragon again. Only a little. He didn¡¯t want to get trapped in that boat again. He also knew the odds of finding that particular sea creature in a whole ocean were very much against him.

    On the plus side, those water-dragons they met out on the seas weren¡¯t the only ones around! Or maybe one of them had followed their boat all the way over here or something, but still! The Americans had caught one of them with a stray depth charge and crane, and Hans had somehow become one of the main guys trying to see if communication was possible.

    This one was a lot bigger, greener, and less friendly-looking than Cuttlefish, Hans could tell. Or he thought he could tell. It was a little hard to tell a reptile¡¯s emotions from a facial expression.

    In fact, that was what he was going to do now! The communication-attempt thing, that is. Marching through the strange middle-ages country town, on the way to where the dragon was kept at, trying not to stare at the peculiar sights and people of the town or at the Americans that were both his technical co-workers and escort. It wasn¡¯t polite to stare.

    The Americans took this whole thing pretty seriously, as far as he could tell. They were always careful to write down everything Hans could get the dragon to say in notebooks. They also carried recording equipment with them to record what the dragon himself says, so they can keep track of what noise phrases go with simple pictures.

    Not a great way to decipher a language, if that was what was really going on. But that was all they could get this water dragon to respond to. As cool as it was that they had found this entirely new creature, in this totally new place, and that it was supposedly capable of talking. Supposedly. None of them really had a reference to go off of, and this water dragon didn¡¯t try to talk very much. Apparently Hans is one of the only people around able to get responses out of him.

    It was very easy to tell the apparent non-cooperation got on the American¡¯s nerves, but Hans thought it was hilarious. It reminded him of a cat. Specifically his cat. Specifically the housecat, a black-and-white named Oskar, his family had before he had to go.

    When he was younger, he would often try to play with that cat because his bigger brother Archie would usually rather be buried elbow-deep in an engine block, and his little sister Annelise would rather be trying to break into Mama¡¯s makeup box, and Mama was allergic to dogs. Oskar, for his part, reciprocated attempts at play from his silly human masters with about as much eagerness as can be expected from a cat.

    The bored, grouchy, mildly annoyed expressions the big green water dragon gave that reminded him of his old cat were both funny, and made him miss home a little less.

    The green dragon wasn''t cute and fluffy like a cat, but he did have pretty scales. And a face more expressive than his instructors at the training facility. Hans also really wanted to see what would happen if he tried to pet him.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Probably nothing good, but one could hope.

    Hans really liked animals. Visits to his Uncle Bernhard¡¯s estate even farther out in the German countryside than his own home were one of his favorite things to do. They had a small stable with horses. Uncle claimed they were purebred chargers back in their day, but Hans doubted those gentle old mares would even run a 300 meter dash.

    Those were the biggest animals he''d ever been around. This water dragon, though, was much bigger. Hans figured he could go up to 3 meters when standing.

    Also, there was the part about him being an actual dragon. That was maybe a little weird, too.

    Or was encountering an uncanny reptile inexplicably similar to a- very generic- depiction of a dragon from the old stories normal now? Just another Tuesday, in these lands. Although he would expect a sea dragon to look a lot more¡­ Serpent-like. Hans thought those huge bat-like wings wouldn¡¯t make swimming any easier.

    I wonder if there are also dwarves, forest elves, sprites and all other sorts of crazy creatures from the old stories running around somewhere in this land. It¡¯s possible, if we¡¯ve already happened upon a sea dragon.

    Although if his luck was anything to go off, all they would probably run into are beerwolf, orks, lindworms, and maybe f?nggen for good measure.

    By that logic, it was peculiar they¡¯d discovered and defeated the dragon first. That was supposed to be the ultimate summit of the adventure.

    No matter, we''ll just have to backtrack and brawl a kobold horde later.

    As if the idea of accidentally stumbling backwards through the hero¡¯s journey by accident wasn¡¯t funny and weird enough, his current ¡®job¡¯ was. Hans had made the mistake of mentioning their previous encounter and his potential relationship with the water dragons after the Americans pulled this one out of the water. Long story short, working alongside the Americans to try and talk with the captured water dragon is now more or less his job.

    The Kapit?n said it was because it would do well to potentially improve their precarious situation. The other seamen said it was because he ran his mouth too much.

    Either way, Hans was willing to do just about anything to keep from getting stuck in that awful boat again.

    At least some of the other Americans had warmed up to him a little. A little. Hans had always been good at making friends, at least quickly. His brother said it was because of his ¡®insufferable cheerfulness.¡¯ He didn¡¯t know how being optimistic was insufferable.

    His English wasn¡¯t great, but he could more or less keep up with a conversation. More or less. It was a choice between English or French for tutorship that was offered, and he went with the former. His pronunciation had definitely improved since he started this, though. It kind of had to.

    But that was a whole thing for another time. Kind of. Right now, they had just entered the American land encampment, and were quickly skirting around to reach where the water dragon was.

    Hans caught a glance of a handful of Americans who presumably either had free time or were civilian crew from transport ships, one holding a white and black football. They were seemingly trying to explain stuff to some puzzled-looking natives.

    Hey, that could be fun! Hans had always rather sucked at football, but he couldn''t help but notice a strange lack of ball sports among the local people of this town. Maybe they''d be on his level.

    Although, the Americans would probably try to get them to learn baseball or basketball or whatever.

    Eventually, once they were on the opposite side of the encampment to the town, did they come into view of the algae-green water dragon in question. He was still in the same spot, still restrained there by a couple of spare chains the Americans had on their ships.

    Notably less than when they first brought the dragon here. Then, they had the dragon almost completely tied down at first, now he could move around more freely- but couldn''t move far from his spot.

    Call it parole for good behavior, or something. He didn¡¯t really know.

    For a dragon, he had apparently surprisingly little in terms of escape attempts. At least somewhat content with lying in the sun and sleeping most of the day like¡­

    ¡­Well, like a reptile.

    Go figures, I guess. I''m glad I''m not one. It seems boring.

    Today was a little different, though. Because the green water dragon was looking right at him as he came into view. He didn''t usually do that. Recently, the green has shown some rather interesting behavior shifts. Prompted by what, they did not know. But they had taken notice, and had decided to switch up their approach strategy to try something new today.

    Hans moved to the forefront of the formation, and opened up with his regular greeting phrase:

    ¡°Hello, Water Dragon! Hello, Quar¡¯rahckt¡¯lliu!¡±

    He always made sure to at least say that when he arrived. Both because it was friendly, and because Hans knew it was a good idea to be consistent with animals.

    Hans had a pretty good guess that this dragon did have a name, which he was pretty sure he had just pronounced correctly, but the young sailor had no idea what it meant.

    The Americans, for whatever reason, had unanimously decided upon dubbing the green dragon simply as ¡°Kevin.¡± By what mysterious process of decision-making this came about, Hans had no clue.

    The water dragon, whatever his name was, actually reciprocated the greeting with a grunt. That was unusual. Even a little exciting!

    Hans refrained from prattling on. He had a habit of letting his train of thought and tongue go loose whenever he got excited or distracted. He could see it got on the nerves of people around him regularly, especially those who cannot understand German, which he tended to switch to whenever he got going.

    That habit of course made him extremely popular on the submarine, where getting stuck stationed next to the chatterbox while trapped in a claustrophobic steel box at least half-submerged at all times was any stir-crazy seaman¡¯s favorite pastime.

    Totally.

    As he always did, he sat down on the bare ground before the green dragon, who Hans figured wasn¡¯t actually that big for a dragon. A weird thing to say, given he had no other precedent for how big a dragon-like creature was supposed to be. Just his imagination.

    Nonetheless, the grouchy green dragon was still huge relative to real-life animal size. But not fantastically huge. Closer to reasonable size for a physical creature.

    In previous days, Hans had deliberately sat down within the water dragon¡¯s potential reach. He wanted to see how he would respond to trust. The Americans, though, evidently did not share Hans¡¯ confidence that the water dragon wouldn¡¯t hurt him, because they didn¡¯t let him sit that close.

    Perhaps it was for the best. Maybe these Americans had seen more from these dragon-like creatures than they had. Hans could already hear Archie making fun of him for being too trusting, as he had before. He could also hear Anneliese calling him silly for being willing to be so close to such a potentially dangerous creature, given how jumpy he is.

    Hans mentally harrumphed at the memory voices. Getting called jumpy by a girl. His little sister, at that! He was not that jumpy.

    He¡¯d always found it cool how gentle big animals were, when around smaller humans. Those big mares Uncle Bernhard had were always noticeably careful, when the then much younger and smaller Hans and Anneliese were near them. As if the horses recognized and accounted for how much bigger they were compared to them. He wondered if the water dragon was capable of something similar.

    Hans instinctively flinched when he felt a hand connect to his shoulder.

    ¡°We¡¯re tryin¡¯ something a little different, today. We¡¯re gonna try your idea with the lights.¡± He heard the voice of one everyone else only refers to as ¡®Joe.¡¯ He knew enough English to at least understand sentences like that.

    Hans was a little surprised. He¡¯d pitched the possibility of using electric torches or something that can rapidly strobe light to accompany their speech attempts. Given that the other water dragons for some reason used their bioluminescent lights to blink in a manner similar to Morse Code when they first appeared, it was possible that this water dragon in particular would be more responsive to it.

    Although, Hans had never seen this dragon light up his lights once.

    He wasn¡¯t sure if the idea would help any, but he was surprised it had been listened to at all.

    Sure enough, electric lights were produced, one of them passed to Hans. He fiddled with the weighty metal device a little, until he could turn it off and on quickly.

    From there things proceeded pretty much business-as usual. Hans and the other guys took turns pulling out paper cards with simple sketches depicting everyday stuff, usually proper nouns. They pronounced each word as clearly as they could, and tried their best to signal to the water dragon with hand gestures that they wanted him to say whatever equivalent word he had, if he had one, for the thing they were presenting. They never did get very far doing that, but they couldn¡¯t think of anything else to try.

    Except today, in which Hans tried his best to blink out the word in Morse Code using the torch as well. He obviously didn¡¯t expect the dragon to understand that, but he hoped it would help a little.

    The dragon, for his part, didn¡¯t seem to carry the same bored, indifferent look he always wore. Hans wondered if he was imagining it, but it looked almost like he was regrading them with surprisingly thoughtful eyes.

    The dragon seemed to be staring at them, but at Hans in particular, with an almost heavy look. Staring directly into Hans¡¯ eyes. As if he were thinking.

    Could that mean he has found a reason to take us more seriously? Or that he¡¯s at least capable of taking us seriously?

    Hans didn¡¯t really know either way, but the prospect made him excited! But then, so did a lot of things.

    ***

    Argonaut wasn¡¯t really sure what to think about any of this.

    On one talon, this was hardly any different than what had been happening to him for the past number of days.

    On the other talon, his world, or at least a pretty big part of it, had been grabbed, shaken around, and tossed back to him unceremoniously.

    At least, that was probably the closest way he could describe how it felt.

    He still couldn¡¯t quite get his head around the idea that these scavengers were trying to talk with him. As if it just didn¡¯t compute.

    Even now, while he watched them cycle through small papers with simple pictures on them- all pictures that he¡¯d seen before- all pictures that he knew the dragon word for- slowly pronouncing a single phrase for each example however they spoke it, he still heard whispers that these scavengers were simply trying to mimic his speech. Or that they were somehow copying dragon behavior. Or even that magic was somehow involved.

    Such thoughts were quickly banished, however. Argonaut didn¡¯t know where from. He wondered if the faint itching sensation on one of his claws had something to do with it.

    Perhaps it helped a little that these scavengers had evidently decided to break their usual pattern, now including a strange blinking light that he could not fathom the nature of in their ritual. He had no idea what this blinking light-thing was or how it worked, but it clearly wasn¡¯t using fire to make its glow.

    The scavengers, particularly the small skinny one he was starting to allow himself to call ¡®Haans¡¯ in his head, used the strange light-sticks in close congruence with their paper pictures, somehow blinking out sequences in a manner uncannily similar to how SeaWings use their own glowing scales to communicate underwater. Relatively speaking, anyway. These scavengers were only using one light, while SeaWings used almost all their light-up scales when speaking.

    Even then, Argonaut could imagine a certain pattern in the way they flashed their single lights.

    While maybe their phrases and simple pictures could perhaps be rationalized as scavengers copying behavior of other land-dwelling dragons or things they see everyday, it was much harder to say that they were somehow copying something only underwater SeaWings do, which many other dragons from other tribes weren¡¯t even aware of.

    Argonaut wasn¡¯t dumb enough to seriously think that scavengers, even if they did suddenly become master mimics, would be able to copy and adapt something from dragons, specifically SeaWings, that they would have no way to even see. If they really were using these flashing lights as a kind of communication system, even a simple one; they would need to have come up with it themselves.

    Perhaps in hindsight, it should have been more obvious from the start.

    What if he was dumb enough to assume that scavengers could somehow simply mimic SeaWings communicating in Aquatic, even though they should have no way to? What if most dragons were, or are?

    What if whatever the tides had come over him that convinced him not to try to attack the scavengers around him and felt like it was related to that weird dream, hadn¡¯t?

    Right now, from his current perspective, it was obvious that pretty much everything these scavengers were doing, from the ones standing guard, to the ones conducting the daily ¡®display-paper-and-bark-at-dragon¡¯ ritual, were¡­

    ¡­Well, trying to¡­ talk. To communicate.

    Even now, he couldn''t help but wince slightly at that thought. The emotions conjured from it, too complicated and conflicting to put into words for him.

    But he was honest enough to admit, before all of this, that he would not so much as give even the idea of scavengers being able to talk even a sliver of serious thought. He would have dismissed all of this as simple mimicry and his senses playing games with him. He was sure, with a grim certainty, every other dragon he knew would as well.

    It was only because of all this happening to him that he dared to differ from those others.

    But all that begged the question: Why him? Why some random SeaWing from a remote enclave so unremarkable that it didn¡¯t even have a name?

    Argonaut didn¡¯t have anything special about him. No unique circumstances at hatching, not a drop of royal noble blood in him, no special abilities, powers, or attributes. Not even any treasure to his name.

    He was just another green SeaWing among thousands more. His only use, as far as his tribe¡¯s concerned, was to be drafted into the general army and immediately sent to a position where average soldier lifespan was usually regarded in weeks or months. That was why he was even stuck here in the first place.

    Not to mean that he was in any way bitter at them for that, of course not. That wasn¡¯t¡­ It just wasn¡¯t. Couldn¡¯t.

    And why his tribe, anyway? Weren¡¯t NightWings supposed to be the ones able to give prophecies and have special powers and all that? A NightWing should be the one getting weird dreams of scavengers passing off jewelry and making his brain feel all rattled. Not a SeaWing, of all things! Often regarded as, and mocked by other tribes for being lesser dragons on account of their inferior flying and lack of fire or other ranged-attack.

    At least, that was a jeer he¡¯d heard shouted at him plenty of times.

    Why had whatever fate that set all this mess in motion chosen him of all dragons to be hit in the face with all this? Why not choose someone more special, more powerful, more remarkable? Or at least someone less boring? Why not give some setup, like with that silly dragonet prophecy he¡¯d heard circulating the barracks?

    In fact, why was the first he¡¯d ever heard anything of what was going on around him? Argonaut certainly did not consider himself an expert on prophecies, but he kind of figured a scavenger den suddenly developing several dozen castle-sized metal constructs, weapons that can reduce full-grown dragons to eviscerated piles of gore, what looked suspiciously like a military encampment if he thought about it, and the ability to talk would merit at least some form of forewarning by the NightWing future-seers.

    But none of that had happened. There was no prophecy, as far as he was aware, about any of this stuff around him. There was nothing particularly interesting about him. He¡¯d never given hardly a fish¡¯s tail about scavengers until now. There was no reason he should be the one having to deal with the fact that they were now trying to talk to him.

    There just couldn¡¯t be. Shouldn¡¯t be.

    He sighed. Nevertheless, it was all still happening to him. Whether he liked it or not, he was the one having to deal with this.

    If that was the case; then deal with it, he must.

    He felt that itching sensation on his claw again.

    Alright, then, think. I still want to get out of here. I know that, at least. Why am I even here in the first place?

    He knew these scavengers had captured him through means known only to them. The question he was interested in now was why.

    Why had these scavengers gone to all the trouble of hauling him out of the water and chaining him up over here?

    Try to think like them. Alright, I¡¯m a scavenger. I walk around on two legs, I live at this den with a whole bunch of other scavengers. Dragons probably come after me all the time, that doesn¡¯t sound like fun. I¡¯ve just gotten my paws on some manner of weapon that can knock dragons out of the air, or make dragons underwater feel like they just got slammed in the head by a rock. Now I¡¯ve just caught a dragon that was nearby my den using this thing. What would I do with him?

    Well, if Argonaut was honest with himself, if he were a scavenger and just captured a dragon stalking around nearby his den, even if said dragon wasn¡¯t looking to attack, he couldn¡¯t imagine himself leaving that dragon alive.

    It wasn''t as though SeaWings let dragons from other tribes that got too close to their Summer Palace live.

    But alive he was. If these scavengers had a means to kill a threat but didn¡¯t, they must have a reason. They must want something from him.

    They must want something!

    Alright, there¡¯s a start. But what could these scavengers want from some random SeaWing?

    If they wanted treasure, then he couldn¡¯t help them. What else could these scavengers want?

    While Argonaut pondered the question, his mind eventually wandered back to why he himself was even here in the first place. He was here because he¡¯d been sent here by his superiors. They sent him here because apparently there had been a report of several NightWings getting blown apart over this scavenger den. And apparently that report had been taken seriously enough that they¡¯d dispatch a patrol wing all the way over here. His patrol wing was the first one of Commander Shark¡¯s disgruntled subordinates had made eye contact with, so dispatched he was.

    From what he could see, that report had most likely been correct. If what was left of that NightWing he''d seen underwater, as well as his own experience, was anything to go off of: these scavengers evidently did not like the idea of dragons getting close to their den.

    That actually gave him an idea.

    A fishbrained, poorly-thought-out, dubious idea, but an idea nonetheless.

    If these scavengers don¡¯t want random NightWings or other dragons coming by their den to hunt, and also clearly seem to want something out of me. Maybe they think that I, maybe even to some extent other SeaWings, can do something to help them.

    Or if they didn¡¯t, maybe he could convince them of that.

    Sure, it was completely crazy. But he didn¡¯t think he had many other options. Even if he did manage to convince these scavengers that he could get other SeaWings to cover their den from attacks, there was no chance that he of all dragons would be able to convince the respective SeaWings to suddenly begin extending patrols to ward off other tribes hunting near this den. Especially not with how stretched those patrols already are keeping encroaching dragons out of the Kingdom of the Sea and away from the Summer Palace.

    Seriously. Who would be crazy enough to actually think that dragons would ever go out of their way to protect a bunch of scavengers?

    Besides, even if the SeaWings authorities did for whatever reason want to provide protection for this den, there wasn¡¯t much they could even practically do. They had a hard enough time keeping other dragons out of their own territory. He would know.

    But none of these scavengers knew any of that. Nor do they need to.

    For the purposes of simply giving himself a means of moving forward, and of getting out of this strange predicament¡­it could work.

    The hard part would be actually convincing these scavengers that he could help them. Or if they- for some reason- already thought that, convincing them that he agreed to it.

    ¡®Hard¡¯ was of course a relative term in this case. Compared to what his usual lot in life had become: a thankless daily cycle of flying for hours and probing for SkyWing ambushes; trying to communicate with a bunch of weird scavengers that were already trying to talk to him seemed like a swim in the lagoon.

    Well, certainly not that easy. Argonaut granted. Swimming about in a lagoon was something menial that many dragons, or at least many SeaWings, had done regularly for many years.

    Trying to talk to scavengers, on the other talon, was something that no dragon had even so much as deign to imagine doing, much less actually done.

    But maybe Argonaut had long since given up living to dignity that would befit a dragon. Fish tails and sea snot was all it had done for him so far, except deem him expendable.

    That a bunch of scavengers seemed to think him more useful than his own tribe did should perhaps have been a crippling blow to his own self-esteem, but his mind already felt like it had been fried by an electric eel by the realization these scavengers were trying to talk to him.

    Perhaps he¡¯ll just have to be a pioneer among dragons in trying to talk to, and getting stuff out of scavengers.

    If that was his best hope for getting out of here, because he had a sneaking suspicion that these scavengers would be able to do to him whatever they did to those NightWings that apparently attacked them if he broke out. Also because he knew for certain that his fellow SeaWings would not be coming to his rescue. No tribes ever came for their prisoners.

    If convincing these scavengers that he could somehow be of help to them were his best hope for freedom, then pioneer he shall. He¡¯ll actually have to figure out how to talk back to them, first.

    Perhaps he should be grateful that they seemed to have some strange communication system that corresponded to Aquatic. By reasons and means known only to them, of course. It might make this process a little easier.

    It didn¡¯t take him that long to learn Aquatic. If he could learn how to speak dragon words through a series of talon gestures, blinks and flashes with his scales as a dragonet, then he could totally learn how to do the same as an adult, right?

    But with scavenger words.

    And with seemingly only one light, that was rapidly strobed in a rather precise manner and with very specific patterns.

    If anything else, Argonaut certainly did have work to do.

    Wait, didn¡¯t I hear something like that from somewhere?

    He didn¡¯t really remember.

 Archer Guard Publication: Dragons of Pyrrhia, and Overview and Guide

    >(Translated to English)_

    *Note to Commoners:

    May peace be with you! This document you have acquired is normally issued to new Archer Guard units for instruction and reference purposes.

    Following a decree from the Mayoral Office and a contract with the House of Records, it was made so: This document should be made available to the common citizen, so that what has been learned of the dragons we survive against should be more standardized.

    The Archer Guard of Safe Harbor¡¯s guide to the dragons of Pyrrhia:

    Many imagine in passing standing against a dragon and fighting back. Few actually want to. Fewer know how. Fewer again succeed. As a member of the Archer Guard, it is your explicit duty- which you swore to- to stand and fight against a dragon should it be necessary.

    It is your duty to fight, your duty to know how, your duty to succeed, or Safe Harbor burns.

    Fortunately, succeeding doesn''t exclusively mean slaying a dragon. If you were a Dragonslayer, in which case slaying a dragon would be your mission, it would. But you are an Archer Guard. The safety of Safe Harbor and her people are your mission.

    Dragons are tempermental creatures. Thus, adequate for preserving the longevity of Safe Harbor and the lives of citizens can measures to merely dissuade them from attacking be. Such as baiting and leading them away, or making the hunt of fellow humans as difficult as possible.

    Known dragon threats (In order of threat level):

    Swamp Dragons

    Habitat: Great Swamps, The Gauntlet.

    Coloration: Colors found in mud and soil recorded, mostly shades of brown, some shades of dark green.

    Appearance: Bulkier in stature compared to other dragon types. Large. Four legs, two wings, long tail, shorter neck than most dragons. Broad snout.

    Abilities: Dangerously strong, scales can take more damage, can breathe fire, but seemingly less effectively than other dragons. Blend into bog environments with relative ease.

    Description: By far the biggest problem dragon you will face as a member of the Archer Guard. The main reason we lose so many farmers, hunters, and herders each year, and probably the most hated dragon type amongst Safe Harbor natives.

    They dwell within the Great Swamps; a massive, stinking, waterlogged bog of river runoff and decay. Filled in excess with mud, stagnant water, filth, horrible insects, and disease. A veritable death trap on its own, made yet worse by its dragon inhabitants.

    None in his right mind would ever venture into those Swamps on his own will. Those that do anyway are highly-trained Adept Scouts, an Archer Guard regiment you are no doubt familiar with, sent to gather information. We have them to thank for much of the knowledge in this pamphlet.

    Fortunately, Swamp Dragons are observed to prefer spending most of their existence sleeping semi-submerged in mud pools (One can imagine their bodies are infested by worms). Keeping their snouts exposed just above the surface of the nasty water in a manner similar to alligators.

    Unfortunately, similar to alligators, they are rather difficult to spot when doing this. Most of their bulk being under water, and what scales are exposed blending in with the other muck.

    Also unfortunately, one of the only times these dragons bother to leave their holes are when they¡¯re hunting. They are also willing to leave the confines of their swamp to hunt for prey when pickings within it become scarce. That is when they become a threat to Safe Harbor, and our problem.

    Unlike other dragon types, Swamp Dragons hunt in packs. And they¡¯re absolutely ravenous. The Swamp Dragon¡¯s insatiable hunger for flesh has spawned many a horrifying folk tale and campfire story, and no doubt countless nightmares. The idea of being dragged screaming out of the temperate forests that surround the city into the murky depths of the death swamps to be eaten alive by a group of filthy dragons of varying size induces a hanging dread on much of Safe Harbor¡¯s populace, especially on children.

    Their pack tactics are unusual among dragons, and a major danger multiplier. Swamp Dragons are slow, in multiple senses. Their extra armor and bulk makes them physically sluggish, slow to maneuver. Any physically fit individual with even basic evasion training every Archer Guard is drilled on and undertaken by many common citizens can evade and outrun lone Swamp Dragons on the ground (where it¡¯ll be if it''s trying to eat you).

    However, since these dragons are rarely seen alone and hunt in groups, your chances of being able to successfully stay out of their clutches are diminished severely. It is also for this reason that retaliatory kills are so rare, as flanking maneuvers are trying even for elite Adept Scout units.

    On the positive side, these dragons are also slow from a mental sense as well. They habitually fall for all but the most obvious of bait traps and tactics, and they respond to changes in combat situations with great delay. They also seem to have terrible memories, with some reports of one single Swamp Dragon falling for the same booby trap multiple times within the span of a phase cycle.

    As an Archer Guard, particularly a Guard Scout, your primary mission regarding these dragons are keeping various farmers, hunters, herders, and surveyors safe as they perform their vital duties to the city far outside of its limits. It is your job to dissuade Swamp dragons that leave their marsh from hunting these people through any means you have at your disposal.

    As you should be aware, Common Procedure is to have patrols of Guard Scouts sweep the woods, searching for signs of recent Swamp Dragon activity. If identified, your first priority is to locate any humans in the area and evacuate them back to the city and to report the sign and approximate location to your unit Commander or Regimenter. If available, an Adept Scout unit can be dispatched to locate and hopefully ward off the danger.

    But as you also should be aware, this is not always how circumstances present themselves. You are no doubt certain of the importance placed upon quick-thinking, problem-solving, and adapting to situations for Guard Scouts when the fires start burning. As a member, you will of course be trained on what to do in certain variations of the base circumstance.

    (i.e. what to do when no Adept Scout units are available and you have to lead or chase the dragons away yourselves; what to do when the sign of dragon activity is the dragon itself; what to do when dragons have already begun attacking your protective charge; what to do when you must attempt to intercept a pack of Swamp Dragons dragging people back to their lair, many more.)

    Most importantly, you as an Archer Guard must remember that you cannot save everyone. There is too much land to cover, too many civilians to protect, too many dragons trying to kill them, and too few of you to protect all. Always remember: Every life you save counts, even if some slip away. That is simply the lot mankind has lived with for all remembered history. It is not your fault if some people can never come home, so long as you do your job to the best of your ability. That is all any of us can do.

    Note on The Gauntlet:

    One of the most notorious regions on the whole continent, taker of many lives, and why Safe Harbor is so isolated from other human settlements on the continent. The Gauntlet is the dark, sick region of wetland in between the foul marsh of the Great Swamps and the ominous Southern Jungle. Bordering two already deeply inhospitable biomes, the dark, wet wood crushed between them is only marginally easier to navigate.

    All humans trying to reach Safe Harbor from farther inland must pass through it, including the original founders of Safe Harbor coming down from the Indestructible City. Following the destruction of our boat fleets, it is also the only way to reach our home from inland of the peninsula. The Gauntlet in of itself is probably why Swamp Dragons in particular are the most hated dragon type amongst Safe Harbor residents. Travelers going through it can be expected to be hunted by Swamp Dragons without relent. Casualty rates for caravans of people big and courageous enough to even brave it without being completely wiped out are staggering.

    The unofficial beginning of The Gauntlet is the Gate River, and it serves a border you as an Archer Guard are not allowed to cross under any circumstance sans a direct order from the Lord-Mayor himself. It is here that travelers leaving the city can be escorted no further and must be left to their own skill and fortune.

    If you are in a Guard Scout unit and contact a caravan coming from the Gauntlet across the Gate River, you are to immediately dispatch a runner back to the city to bring back more Guards along with medical assistance, and evacuate the survivors back to the city as fast as they can manage.

    Mountain Dragons

    Habitat: Middle Mountains, Greater East Peninsula.

    Coloration: Shades of Red and Orange, colors of woodflame in general recorded.

    Appearance: Large and tall. Four legs, two huge wings, long narrow tail. Long neck. Sharp claws.

    Abilities: Dangerously fast. Capable of higher flight speeds or endurances than other dragons. Vicious fighters, brutal hunters. Seemingly superior fire-breathing ability compared to other dragons.

    Description: While Swamp dragons may take the award for most hated dragon type amongst Safe Harbor natives, ask anyone born and raised in any other settlement, and they¡¯ll say Mountain Dragons are deserving of that honor in a heartbeat. The unfortunate reality is, they¡¯re most likely correct.

    Mountain Dragons normally dwell and hunt in and around the general area of the Middle Mountains; the huge mountain range of steep elevations and freakish terrain that is a nightmare to traverse, that cuts all the way through the southern to the northern end of the continent. As well as the Greater East Peninsula; The massive landmass covered in relatively dark, cold forests and foothills that is the northern counterpart to the Lesser East Peninsula, in which Safe Harbor is positioned. But they can travel swiftly, and can appear in many places all over the continent quickly, including here. We are fortunate to not have to deal with these dragons on a regular basis, for the few times Safe Harbor has been nearly burned to destruction, it is these affronts to all that is good and just in the world that are responsible.

    Unlike Swamp Dragons, Mountain Dragons are normally seen hunting alone, but have been seen in pairs on occasion. Their high speed, propensity for fire attacks, and high aggression even by dragon standards lend to them being brutally effective hunters.

    However, unlike some accounts of other dragon type behavior we have recorded, Mountain dragons do not seem to hunt exclusively for food. Tales shared by survivors or witnesses of them on the hunt have led to rumors of these dragons being outright sadistic.

    Stories recounted by survivors about what these dragons do to the poor people they catch are not for children.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Nonetheless, for your information, and for the sake of honest disclosure on our parts; here are but a few examples of what could reasonably happen to you should you be caught in the line of duty:~

    [Segment has been redacted for civilian publication, in order to conform with Citizen Immaterial Health Regulations as decreed by The Mayoral Office. Us scribes of the House of Records apologize for any inconvenience.]

    ~As you may expect, keeping these dragons away from Safe Harbor is the absolute top priority for you as an Archer Guard. Beyond even keeping other dragons away. If even one of these dragons is spotted nearby the city, General Evacuation is to be initiated, and all humans in and nearby the city are to be rushed into the Safehold. If it approaches the city, it is your duty to ward it off by any means.

    And by the final day; keep these [explicative redacted] things away from children at all costs.

    Note: It is rumored that these dragons seem to enjoy violence, and killing in particular. Mountain dragons are frequently observed fighting each other and other dragon types, and are by far the most likely to attack a human settlement. They don¡¯t normally venture as far away from their lurking grounds as Safe Harbor, but when they do; everyone is forced to remember it for a long time.

    Sea Dragons

    Habitat: The Sea.

    Coloration: Shades of blue and green recorded.

    Appearance: Apparently shorter, stockier, and more narrow than other dragons. Four legs, two wings, shorter neck, long tail. Shorter legs, certain scales capable of emitting light.

    Abilities: Very strong. Can breathe underwater and on land. Can both swim and fly. Can glow and supposedly see in the dark. (Cannot breathe fire.)

    Description: Sea Dragons are, in many ways, enigma. One would be inclined to think they¡¯d be higher on the list, given we live by the sea. While they certainly are a massive threat to those who make their livelihoods on boats, they rarely venture out of the waters they live in, and seemingly never to hunt. We''d like to keep it that way.

    Not much is known about the Sea Dragon''s typical behavior, given they spend most of their time underwater. We assume they mostly hunt fish. When they do come out on land, they''re pretty swift to get into fights with other dragon types. Why exactly, we don''t know. Probably it''s as simple as dragons, in general, just like fighting.

    As an Archer Guard, your duties regarding Sea Dragons are limited, so long as they stay in their ocean. Guard Scout units of course patrol near shorelines, ensuring no signs of Sea Dragons recently clambering out of the water are present; and that no civilians are wandering along the beach, as Sea Dragons have been known to launch out of the water at opportunistic prey.

    Sea Dragons can perhaps be characterized by a seeming indifference to human affairs. The majority of people living farther inland will never seen one for their entire lives. That indifference seems to hinge on how far inland we are, however. For those who make their living sailing the waves, Sea Dragons are a massive problem. Hardly anything you as an Archer Guard, and we in general, can do about that, though. Unless you are plotting to become the first man in history to slay a dragon by blindly shooting arrows into the water.

    Certain strategies are employed by sailors to evade Sea Dragons by leveraging the Ocean''s huge size, as well as special, adaptive routes. We leave discussion of that to the professionals in that field. You signed up for the Archer Guard, not the House of Mariners.

    It should also be noted that we''ve lost just as many boats to Swamp and Mountain dragons flying out over the water as we have to Sea Dragons, despite common perception. Whether this is due to the Sea Dragon''s usual aloof to man, due to the relentless brutality of the other dragon types, or due to the Swamp and Mountain dragons simply getting to them first, is obviously not known for certain.

    In all of Safe Harbor¡¯s reliably recorded history, there has only been one case of Sea Dragons emerging from the waves to attack the city directly. That occasion is also the only time a large-scale dragon attack had been beaten back by the Guard without large-scale devastation of the city. Their lack of fire-breathing, pack tactics, and slower flying renders them far less dangerous against non-civilians, who are actually trained and equipped to stand against them. Remember that.

    Desert Dragons:

    Habitat: The massive West Deserts beyond the Middle Mountains.

    Coloration: Pale yellow and golden scales, colors matching sand recorded.

    Appearance: Tall and large stature. Four legs, two wings, long neck, long tail with giant stinger. Weird frill thing along the spine. Black tongue. Dead black eyes.

    Abilities: Can survive in desert conditions for long periods of time. Can fly, breathe fire, use their stinger tails as a stabbing weapon as well as a blunt weapon. Acute hearing and smelling.

    Description: Almost as bad as Mountain Dragons, in terms of brutality. All dragons are naturally without mercy or remorse, but Desert Dragons take to this trope to a yet greater extent. You had better be grateful these things live on the other side of the continent, and that they almost never cross the Middle Mountain ranges to come over here.

    Desert Dragons live within, and are well-suited for the hot and barren West Deserts that covers much of Pyrrhia''s western regions. A massive stretch of sun-blasted endless sand dunes and desolation, broken only by the occasional oasis of water seeping up from the ground.

    We have little personal experience with these dragons. Most of our own knowledge is conjectured from knowledge shared by those born and raised in other settlements closer to the desert.

    From what we know, Desert Dragons are similar to Swamp Dragons in that they usually prefer to remain within their usual territory. Though they also don''t use pack tactics. They conglomerate around oasis within the desert, creating large dragon dens that are some of the most infamous places in human folklore. What is fact and what is fiction about what is in and what happens in those dens is impossible for us to determine, but we are certain nobody wants to find out. Those that have are among the Dead.

    As an Archer Guard, your duty regarding these dragons resembles those regarding Swamp Dragons. Guard Scout units patrol the woods in between Safe Harbor and the Gate River, searching for signs of Desert Dragon activity. If any are identified, all humans in the area are to be evacuated back to the city, and an Adept Scout unit dispatched to locate, lead away, or drive off the encroacher.

    Note that these dragons are usually taller and step lighter than Swamp Dragons, and often leave gashes in trees from their tail stingers as they blunder through them. (Judging from what few examples we have confirmed to be Desert Dragon trails in the woods, we have determined that they are unused to hunting in non-desert environments and tend to make a mess)

    Note: Patrolling units would bear in mind that Desert Dragons are highly attracted to precious metals, even by dragon standards. Exposed shiny objects on the ground can attract their attention. So you would do well to ensure any potentially reflective materials (such as a well-polished knife) are concealed under your overgarments.

    Common knowledge for any human, but the Safehold had better burn before we lose a Guard Scout unit to that oversight.

    Night Dragons:

    Habitat: Undetermined.

    Coration: Black scales.

    Appearance: Large and stocky in stature. Four relatively short legs, two wings, long neck and tail. Black tongue. Shiny scales on underside of wings.

    Abilities: Capable of stealth at night, effective night hunters (presumably). Can breathe fire. Little else known.

    Description: One of the dragons we are most worried about. What bothers us most about these dragons is how little is known about them. Where they dwell is known not. In very old records, speculation about Night Dragons originating from some land beyond the West Deserts. Whether they still live there, or in some other region on the continent, is known not. This is considered a problem by the Archer Guard.

    At least with the filthy Swamp Dragons, Desert Dragons, and Mountain Dragons, we know where they live, and therefore where to avoid. Night Dragons are known to appear all over the continent seemingly at random, and we don¡¯t know where from.

    Barely anything is known about these dragon¡¯s behavior habits, so there is little advice that can be given in terms of what to do if these dragons are encountered. Although they are of course known to attack and kill any people they come across. How exactly they usually go about attacking, (alone, in packs, directly against the city, otherwise) is not determined.

    Unfortunately, the best advice regarding these dragons that can be given without appealing to unreliable sources is to simply be ready for anything, and to treat them like other dragon types unless a good reason to do otherwise is identified.

    Note: One of the most threatening aspects of these dragons is that they are probably nocturnal. As you know, all other dragon types are not, which is why many activities outside the city are usually conducted at night if possible. If these dragons normally hunt at night, they threaten night-working commoners.

    Ice Dragons:

    Habitat: North Tundras and Ice Wastes

    Coloration: White and pale blue, colors of snow and frozen water recorded.

    Appearance: Large and covered in dozens of additional elongated spikes all over. Four legs, two wings, long, thin tail, hook-like serrated claws. Dead black or dark blue eyes.

    Abilities: Survive and dwell exclusively in dangerously cold environments. Ghastly hunters. Can exhale a form of ¡®ice-breath¡¯ to literally flash-freeze victims.

    Description: The amount of stories that surrounds these beasts are staggering. They are a fantastic source of scary campfire stories by people all over the continent. Also a source of much annoyance, for those of us trying to sort through the tall tales trying to seek out reliable information.

    As common legend has it, ancient people tried to venture out from the Greater East Peninsula and Middle Mountains for the Great Tundras in hopes that the dragons they already contended with would be unable to handle the frigid climate due to their reptilian nature. One could imagine their dismay when they ran into these things instead.

    Whether or not these tales are true, it is known that there are small tribes of very hardened people who live in the Ice Wastes. Because some of them sometimes venture southwards, and tales shared by what Ice Dragons are known to do to people they meet make everyone else who lives in more habitable climates very glad that Ice Dragons only live up there.

    As an Archer Guard, your chances of facing and having to deal with these dragons are almost none. We have never seen one of these dragons for ourselves, only going off conjecture gleaned from people who have.

    Since we know next to nothing about these dragons beyond speculation, including usual behavior and hunting habits, Common Procedure for counteracting dragon threats apply.

    Rainforest Dragons:

    Habitat: Southern Jungle.

    Coloration: Capable of shifting colors.

    Appearance: Lanky in stature. Narrow body, smaller than other dragons. Four legs, two wings. Scales seemingly capable of appearing any color at will. Long thin tail, usually coiled.

    Abilities: Obviously can survive in the dangerous Southern Jungle. Agile, can maneuver around trees and dense foliage far easier than all other dragons. Scales can change colors to blend in with surroundings. Several existing accounts of a ranged venom spit attack. (Cannot breathe fire.)

    Description: Past records suggest these dragons at some point being almost as big a problem for us as the Swamp and Mountain Dragons. Venturing out of their territory to hunt and slaughter our farmers and shepherds semi-regularly.

    However, all modern experience points to these dragons isolating themselves within their rainforest turf as much or more than Ice and Sea Dragons normally stick to their own territories. Whatever the reason for this change in behavior, we are not keen on sending even Adept Scout units into the Southern Jungle of all places to investigate.

    The Rainforest Dragons lurk within the Southern Jungle, also known as the Wooded Deep; a hot, wet region of frequent rainfall, soggy soil, and huge trees that perpetually blot out the sun. Casting the jungle floor and all the horrible plants and animals that live within it in near darkness. It contends heavily with the Great Swamps for the official title of: ¡°Absolute worst place for humans to try and live on the continent.¡± It is also the other half of the reason why The Gauntlet even exists.

    Why people with sense, and why your job is to make sure people without it, stay out of the Wooded Deep are numerous. Most of them cornerstone around the idea that the term ¡°jungle¡± in our language is closely associated with ¡°literally everything in nature aggressively trying to kill each other and you at all times¡± for a reason.

    The Rainforest Dragons themselves are one of these dangers. Although many may joke that they are probably not even in the top five most dangerous things you''ll encounter in that place. (In fairness to them, you are probably more likely to be bitten by a venomous bug or snake before you encounter a Rainforest Dragon.)

    Nonetheless, these dragons and the threat they pose should be taken seriously. Even if we see about as many of them around here as we do Ice Dragons. They are capable of surviving in that awful jungle, and therefore must be dangerous.

    Since we know so little about these dragon''s behavior and their hunting patterns, all that can be said is that Common Procedure applies if signs of these dragons are detected near the city.

    Note: Since these dragons possess camouflage abilities far beyond other dragon types, it is reasonable to suspect that their hunting habits could more closely resemble Adept Scout reconnaissance tactics rather than the effective but unstealthy brute-force habits seen in other, bigger dragon types. If one of these things is identified, prepare to actually put the counter-tracking strategies many among you boast for training on to use.

    Also remember to keep a sharp eye out for talon prints on the ground, scratches on trees, and other giveaways of their presence in the area. Watch out for out-of-place mounds on the ground or deformations in the foliage. It could be one of these dragons trying to hide. Not to render you paranoid, or anything of the sort.

    ~

    *For English readers, it should be noted that instances where text was translated to mean phrases like ¡®at all costs¡¯ or ¡®by any means necessary,¡¯ original wording in local language more heavily implies suicide attacks in local culture.

 Human map of Pyrrhia

    Human-Made Map of Pyrrhia:

    Southern Section:

    Southeastern Section:

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Annotated Version:

    =====================

    ''Key:''

    Biomes and landmasses:

    1) Ice Wastes

    2) Northern Tundras

    3) Western Deserts

    4) Middle Mountains

    5) Greater East Peninsula

    6) Great Sea Dragon Bay

    7) Lesser East Peninsula

    8) Southern Jungle

    9) Great Swamps

    Major Human Settlements:

    10) The Indestructible City

    11) Safe Harbor

    12) Valor

    13) Talisman

    Water and other land features:

    14) Blood River

    15) Mist River

    16) Sandy River

    17) The Gauntlet

    18) Gate River

    19) Middle River

    20) Bitter River

    21) Bitter Lake

    Broken Skull: Place of Much Death (i.e. where lots of dragons are)

    ===================

 Scavenger Hunt

    >Somewhere at the edges of the Mud Kingdom_

    Muskeg didn¡¯t much like water.

    ¡°Just a little farther, now!¡± He heard Grouse¡¯s deep voice bellow out.

    Water was cold and wet. It covered you all over and made you feel heavy. It chilled you and made you feel empty. Running water, just like this, was particularly bad. Always moving, always rushing, always cold.

    Mud, though, that was great. Mud was thick and full. So full of stuff! It felt great to wallow in, never making a dragon feel empty and cold like simple water always did.

    Muskeg wished he was napping in a mud pool right about now. All his siblings probably did. Any reasonable MudWing, even unsibs, would. Unfortunately, that wasn¡¯t something that they could be doing right now.

    Well, they probably could, but it wouldn¡¯t be a very good idea.

    Officially, they were supposed to be tramping around near the beach, making sure no SeaWings were trying to come out of the water to attack them again. But they hadn¡¯t done that in like¡­ forever. Grouse, their bigwings, didn¡¯t really care for doing those boring laps all the time anymore. None of them did.

    So instead, they were going out to go find some food. Muskeg was absolutely starving. It felt like he hadn¡¯t eaten in a whole day! It had gotten really hard to find decent prey around the area of the swamps they were in, probably something to do with all the other soldier dragons that were there these days. The area they were hunting in was close enough to their usual worn patrol paths that they could get away with it; and it wasn¡¯t as though their superiors would really check hard enough to know they had gone off-route, anyway. They never did.

    The small troop of MudWings lethargically waded to the other side of the river, and slowly climbed onto the dry soil. They could have just flown over- they could just be flying around in general. But flying was tiring. Tiring was hungrier-ing. They also ran the risk of being spotted by ¡®friendly¡¯ SkyWings or higher-ranking troops farther back if they took to the air, who would suddenly be a lot less friendly if they saw a bunch of MudWings going off patrol. Likewise, if any unsib troops were stalking around the area and saw them flying in the sky, but his troop didn¡¯t see them on the ground; they could go back and snitch his troop out. That would be bad.

    Oh, there was also the chance that SeaWings, their actual enemies now, might see them from the water. For all that would accomplish them.

    ¡°Hey, you guys smell that?¡± Muskeg heard Drizzle, their light-brown sister, call out once she got ashore.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Several other dragons responded, all dripping water.

    ¡°I think I smell scavengers! There must be some around here!¡±

    ¡°Well, of course there are.¡± Limpkin, a tall dark-green remarked. ¡°This area is infested by them. There¡¯s a big scavenger den around here, don¡¯t you remember? Of course their smell would be all over the place.¡±

    ¡°You think we might be able to find any of them?¡± Fungus, a small greenish piped up.

    ¡°Moons, I hope so.¡± Muskeg replied. ¡°I¡¯m hungry. Feels like we haven¡¯t eaten anything in forever.¡±

    ¡°Scavengers are kinda rare, these days¡­¡± Drizzle said. ¡°They¡¯re worth a lot, at least compared to other prey. It could take a while to find any, even over here.¡±

    Hmph, that¡¯s annoying.

    Muskeg huffed, ¡°Maybe if we find a bunch, we can bring some back; win some favor with the superiors. Maybe even some SkyWing commander. We could get a promotion above running these stupid patrol routes all the time. Do something interesting for once.¡±

    Everyone, even Fungus, was a little hopeful at that prospect.

    Grouse, though, was a little less enthusiastic. ¡°Hrrr¡­ don¡¯t start making plans. Keep your head. Remember: scavengers are aggressive, especially near their dens, like we are. They also don¡¯t just roll over and die, no matter what the SandWings say. If there¡¯s a pack of them, they¡¯ll probably attack us.¡±

    Grebe, A big dark-brown similar in size to Muskeg, snorted in response. ¡°Come on, Grouse, you can¡¯t be worried about scavengers, of all things? What¡¯s a bunch of angry marmot things going to do to an entire troop of MudWings? Poke us with sticks? Pelt us with heavy things?¡±

    Muskeg agreed, but didn¡¯t say anything. He sometimes found Grouse¡¯s tendency to caution annoying, and it had often proven unnecessary. But it was more or less his job as bigwings to do so, even if it serves little practical purpose. Muskeg supposed that was at least better than a bigwings who never cautioned, and instead always drove their troop to precarious situations. There were certainly plenty of those around.

    The small sibling troop put their snouts to the ground, and smelled for any particularly strong concentrations of scavenger smells.

    ¡°I¡¯m not picking up any trails.¡± Drizzle said after a moment. ¡°It¡­ kinda smells like they¡¯re everywhere¡­ or maybe their trails all intercross? I can¡¯t find any directions.¡±

    Limpkin huffed. ¡°Let¡¯s just wander further into these dry forests. If we get close to a group of them, we¡¯ll smell them. Then we can sneak up on them.¡±

    Nobody argued, or offered any better ideas. Grouse nodded his approval, and off they went. Spreading out a little and slowly stalking between the trees of the decidedly not-swampy woodland.

    ***

    >Amidst the forests of the Lesser East Peninsula_

    Corporal Desmond Walters kicked a pebble with his foot, watching the light gray mineral bounce into a tree.

    ¡°Holy shit. The precision.¡± Private First Class Davis deadpanned from just behind him.

    The assistant squad leader huffed a chuckle, adjusting the strap on his M1 rifle. ¡°You hot, Davis?¡± He grinned back at him.

    ¡°Damn right it¡¯s hot. Are you not?¡± The city boy BAR wrangler grumbled immediately. ¡°How many more of these trees we gotta walk past? It¡¯s past noon, and I don¡¯t know about the rest of you assholes, but this gun is heavy as shit.¡±

    ¡°Oh, noes. Is the poor baby tired of carrying the machine gun?¡± Private Andrew Gibbons, laden with magazines as the BAR Ammo Bearer, gave him a scathing look.

    ¡°Man, fuck you, Gibbs.¡±

    ¡°Can it, boots.¡± Sergeant Jonathan Dyche cut in sternly. ¡°Need I remind you for the umpteenth time this is an actual patrol? Also man up, Davis. We¡¯ve only been out here for a few hours.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    Walters grinned, but said little further. While it would be nicer to pass the time with some useless talk and banter, Dyche was right. They were indeed on an actual mission this time, as much, or little, as that really meant in this case.

    A patrol task, for what that was worth. Apparently some diplomatic shenanigans had been pulled with the higher ups, and now his squad was one of the guinea pigs for joint activities with the local paramilitary-thing. One such activity was running their routine territory patrols with them.

    It seemed a little much to attach an entire rifle squad to an existing scout unit for what was supposed to be just another patrol run, but this was (literally) unknown territory, and nobody was particularly keen to take any chances by breaking up squad-level structures at this point. Also because Uncle Sam would probably have an aneurysm through even worldly rift at the prospect of grunts not doing something at all times.

    So, here they were. 12 American dudes of assorted background, along with a scout patrol unit of 6 locals. Making 18 men in total. Quite the crowd- hopefully they¡¯ll be able to throw enough lead downrange to make up for their relative deficiency of stealth.

    18 men, plus one dog. Desmond amended himself. Eyeing the rather peculiar large mottled brown canine that the local Guard Scouts apparently regularly brought along with them on their patrols. If he had to wager what breed it was, he might say something close to a greyhound. With a lean body, long legs and a thin tail. It was a little bigger and bulkier, Desmond thought, than a true greyhound.

    Obviously these folks¡¯ breeds don¡¯t quite match up with what we¡¯re used to. He didn¡¯t doubt for a second that the dog was fast, and had an extremely acute sense of smell. As would make sense for a tracking dog assigned to a patrol unit.

    Desmond had to admit; he was a little impressed with the surprisingly utile MO these folks worked by. When Dyche had let him know they were gonna get stuck doing menial operations with the local armed forces, he was expecting something more¡­ medieval. Not that a platoon-sized unit of general-purpose infantry or pikesmen or whatever would really make sense in this context, to be fair.

    What these folks were, if anything, were specialized forces. Highly configured and adapted to their specific mission profile, to the exclusion of most anything else. Small six-man ¡®squads¡¯ with a tracking dog for patrolling forested areas where peasants worked, making sure everything was alright, screening the area for certain ¡®fauna¡¯ and making sure they stayed away if possible.

    The young Corporal was distracted watching the big hound-like dog cheerfully trot up to another squadmate to sniff at his hand, and didn¡¯t notice one of the local scouts approaching him.

    ¡°Oya, you get forest like t¡¯is where you from Tyekt¡¯ikn, la?¡± He said.

    Desmond turned and regarded the man. Rough as his pronunciation was, he still had a surprisingly good grasp on communicating in English, given the relatively short time he would have had to study it.

    Lazik¡¯krn, his name was. Desmond heard it translated to ¡®ferret¡¯ in English. It seemed a little¡­ insulting to refer to a fellow man as an ill-tempered polecat-thing as his actual name, so they had come to just call him Lazik or Laz.

    Guardsman Laz was one of the few in his profession that had managed to pick up much English, hence why the respective unit and squad had agreed to work together. Even with him as translator, communication obviously wasn¡¯t great, as nobody else in either group could understand the other. Such was part of working with foreign operatives.

    ¡°Kinda like this, I guess. I¡¯m from an old town called Marshall, in a place called Texas. We got some woods around that town kinda like this. Not as hot and humid as it is around here, though.¡±

    The forests around Marshall, his hometown, had a lot more pine and oak trees than whatever these woods were, though they were a similar density. They got particularly beautiful in fall, when the deciduous trees would begin to change colors.

    One of Desmond¡¯s favorite times of the year was when his dad would take him and his brothers hiking up the Old Stagecoach Road, admiring the trees. Struck bright shades of red, orange, and yellow by the season chill.

    Don¡¯t think about home.

    ¡°Ye? It ¡®cause we live nea¡¯ t¡¯e jungle an¡¯ t¡¯e swamp, la! Such humid!¡± Laz said brightly. ¡°You not from nea¡¯ jungle, Tyekt¡¯ikn, la?¡±

    Corporal Walters chuckled. ¡°Naw, not really.¡± Texas has many things. ¡®Rainforest¡¯ was not one of them.

    The party of men marched along. Davis and Gibbons, miraculously, managed to keep their mouths shut for more than six minutes.

    The local scouts showed their experience in the routine, relegating themselves to communicating almost entirely nonverbally and easily keeping low profiles as they made their ways through the woods.

    They moved not as one large unit, but rather split up in pairs and followed along seemingly random courses that intersected and separated and bisected and just went all over the place. It was incredibly confusing to keep track of, but they insisted there was a strict pattern to them, which they held to closely. Dyche took their word for it and had the American squad split into teams to follow their lead.

    For what felt like quite a while they all moved along in this manner, covering ground and finding nothing of particular interest beyond the ever-repeated trees and occasional fallen log or stone interspersed randomly. The canopies provided much welcome reprieve from the heavy sunlight, but it was still sweltering. Especially laden with all their gear as they were.

    Eventually Lazik came up to him again. ¡°Oya, we is gettin¡¯ close to waypoint, la.¡±

    In response, Desmond pulled out a hastily sketched map of the area they were wandering around in, and realized he probably ought to have been keeping better track of their position as they trekked along. He wasn¡¯t sure where they were on it, nor did he see any particular landmarks indicated by the existing map on their way.

    Laz pointed a finger to a particular spot close to the center of the peninsula, which seemed to have an icon denoting a small structure marked on it. ¡°Got t¡¯e whole map up ¡®ere!¡± He reached up and adjusted the juniper green hood that was part of his lot¡¯s strange uniform with a grin. ¡°Been doin¡¯ t¡¯is too long, la.¡±

    Walters, along with the rest of the squad, had been briefed beforehand that there were a few ¡°watchtowers¡± spread throughout the forested region that serve as rallying points for local operators and landmarks for local civilian workers. They hadn¡¯t, however, been given any physical descriptors as to what these buildings would look like. Only that they were there.

    In a couple of minutes, they would get those physical descriptors.

    Pushing through a bush, Desmond laid eyes on what was¡­ decidedly smaller than what he was expecting. A stout structure of stonework, it was hardly a ¡®tower;¡¯ being not much taller than a fairly large shed in height. It had a thick base of cobblestone, a short pyramidal roof of brick-like slabs; held up by pillars of yet more rock. Well worn by countless days of weathering, and covered almost utterly in creeping ivy vines. A meager, unhappy edifice; yet standing defiantly against the elements as the only man-made building in the area.

    The soldier within Walters reasoned the belfry-shaped thing could make for a good machine gun nest, although he doubted it would stand up to 37mm anti-tank or 60mm mortar fire for long.

    The mottled greyhound happily cantered past their team up to the tower, sniffing around for things undetectable by the humans. The respective American and local squads converged around the tired lookout.

    Lazik¡¯krn spoke up again: ¡°T¡¯is ¡®ere one o¡¯ our old bell towa¡¯, la. Someone see Nrgvynrch all flyin¡¯, ring t¡¯e bell. Ready for fight.¡±

    Desmond had been briefed on some of the functions of these ¡®towers,¡¯ as they had been apparently the subject of some discussion and debate between his folk and the locals. Questioning the utility provided by a bunch of buildings such as this spread throughout the forest, given the infrastructure it would have cost to set them up.

    Apparently, they served multiple purposes; so they had been told. A rallying point like they were using it for now, and a landmark for more civilian folk out and about. If airborne (or otherwise) hostiles were spotted, some scouts would hurry over and slam the bell as Laz said, which Desmond couldn¡¯t see at the moment, to both get the attention of other scouts and civilians to either take cover or get ready for a fight and hopefully distract the hostiles. Other towers within hearing range would also start clanging, furthering the disorientation and making a chain that went all the way back to the town. Alerting literally everyone to the situation in mere minutes.

    It seemed a pretty good system, if it all went to plan.

    Lazik went up to discuss something with his apparent squad leader. Seemingly coming to a quick consensus, he then went up to Sergeant Dyche. Relating something in broken English.

    Eventually, Dyche nodded and turned to address his squad: ¡°Congratulations, Davis! You girls get to take a breather. We¡¯re stopping here to reassess and get our bearings, and dodge the sun a little. Then we¡¯re continuing our lovely hike.¡±

    Everyone, not just Private Davis, groaned gratefully at that. Marching through a hot forest in full combat load for hours was not fun for anyone involved.

    While the boys competed for spots in the small structure¡¯s shade, Corporal Walters noticed the local officer raise his hand and create an impressively loud whistle with multiple notes using his hand.

    Laz once again appeared behind Desmond. ¡°Oya, t¡¯at e¡¯ whistle signal, la.¡± The shorter man, who Desmond actually thought was older than him by a few years, pulled out a small carven wooden whistle from his uniform.

    ¡°Use t¡¯ese signal ot¡¯er peoples. E¡¯eryone get one, la, but ones can make whistle wi¡¯t hand a¡¯way brag ¡®bout it.¡± He said with a small huff.

    Desmond snorted at what he was pretty sure was a joke. Eventually, another whistle sound came from the distance; similar to the notes from the local squad leader, but with a few extra. It sounded fairly far away.

    Laz spoke up again. ¡°T¡¯at mean t¡¯ere some farm guy o¡¯er t¡¯ere la. Bunch o¡¯ ¡®em. Also e¡¯eryt¡¯ing all good wit¡¯ t¡¯em, la. K¡¯kcyvlik rik ynnli q¡¯tkxiv j.¡±

    Sometimes, Walters wondered how some of the boys in the language learning efforts picked up the local language as fast as they did.

    Guess some folks are just wired for that. There are also a lot more locals that can speak English, even ones like Laz, here- than there are us that can talk to them.

    ¡°Y¡¯all got a whole set of whistle signals like that?¡± He said.

    ¡°Ye. For all kinda¡¯ sit¡¯ation. Bo¡¯t scout and normie peoples learn ¡®em la. Us scout learn more. Take fore¡¯er, la.¡±

    The young Texan was sure of that. He was never particularly good at whistling, and just those two signals sounded rather complicated. Learning and mastering an (presumably) entire system suitable for communicating needed messages would no doubt take time. He could see some higher-up folks getting impressed by this feature of the primitive paramilitary.

    Eugh. Better make sure my squadmates keep their mouths shut about it, actually. He thought with a wince. None of them wanted to give a certain Staff Sergeant or Major any ideas.

    For a good handful of minutes, both squads, American and local, took a well-appreciated break from the sunlight glaring through the relatively sparse tree canopies by taking cover in the shadows cast by the watchtower.

    The six local scouts hung out in the short belfry-thing, losing some of their gear, which they had kept largely concealed under the rather cloak-like uniforms they wore. Desmond imagined they were probably hotter than his squadmates were, although the heavier attire offered better camouflage in their current environment.

    Three of the guardsmen, including Laz, had peculiar-looking recurve bows that were about less than half the size of the massive 10ft longbows the guards stationed in and around their castle-bunker-thing in the town.

    Desmond didn¡¯t know a whole lot in terms of practical knowledge about bow hunting. His Dad¡¯s Model 107 had been the only true hunting weapon he¡¯d used until he joined up. Although he would wager those bows could hit pretty damn hard with iron heads. They looked a lot more serious than some of the bows he''d seen back at home.

    Two of the Guardsmen had not bows, but rather peculiar oversized quiver-looking things that reminded him a little bit of a caddie bag. Rather than carrying various golf clubs; they instead contained several- roughly 100 inch long, he¡¯d guess- javelins with mean looking heads indeed.

    The last man of their unit was the commanding officer, as evident by his posture and bright blue cuff on his right sleeve. Desmond had noticed that blue color was common amongst ¡®official¡¯ stuff in the town regarding its leadership. He didn¡¯t pull out any ranged weapons like the other folk did.

    Their tracking dog didn¡¯t do much in particular. He trotted up to some of the American infantrymen sitting on the ground in the building¡¯s shade, sitting himself and panting.

    As for his squad, everyone found some spot or another to cool down a little and drop some of their gear. The BAR team; PFC Harvy Davis the gunner, Privates Pete Brown the assistant gunner and Andrew Gibbons the ammo bearer, had all propped their weapons against the stone foundation and were seemingly arguing about something. Riflemen Terry, Lukens, Gray, all Privates- along with Rifle Grenadier Benford, PFC, were discussing something with Sgt. Dyche. The rest of the Riflemen, O''Reilly, Kent, and Manuel, were sitting against the foundation with their helmets pulled over their eyes.

    Around them, the wind- a gentle passive breeze blowing from the south- switched directions and appeared to blow from the west. Coming from the marsh area they weren''t supposed to go, he believed.

    Walters had to say; this was going pretty well. Certainly, it was hot and boring, but that was to be expected. The boys were getting along better than usual, which made this a lot easier. The locals, too; even though they seemed even more unfamiliar with working with foreign operators than they were.

    Sgt. Dyche called Walters over, and they discussed details about their traversed route on a map and the remaining territory they still had to cover with Lazik¡¯krn.

    Dyche was fixing up to call it and tell his squad to get off their butts and get a move on, when the local¡¯s tracking hound- who had been calmly walking around sniffing the dirt for things- abruptly switched to tense position; hackles raised and snarling furiously.

    The local scouts immediately jumped to the ready, drawing their weapons and scanning the area frantically. The Americans, much more slowly, followed suit.

    Laz came up to Walters and Dyche again. ¡°T¡¯ere only one t¡¯ing get him piss off like t¡¯at, la.¡± He said, referring to the dog, with a grimness uncharacteristic of his usual tone.

    ¡°He smell Nrgvynrch, Tyekt¡¯ikn. T¡¯ere eit¡¯er some ¡®round ¡®ere, or t¡¯ere was some ¡®round e¡¯re, la.¡±

    ¡°I think he means their dog detected either current or recent dragon scent in the area, Sarge.¡± Walters translated for Dyche.

    ¡°That mean we¡¯re getting serious?¡± He said. ¡°What do we have to do first?¡±

    ¡°Find farm guy an¡¯ we gotta find Nrgvynrch sign, la.¡± Laz replied. ¡°Eit¡¯er new trail, or¡­¡± He trailed off.

    ¡°Secure the civilian workers and locate dragon signs or actual dragons present in the area.¡± Walters conveyed.

    And, if we do find live dragons, drive them off. He thought.

    Dyche hurriedly filled the rest of the squad in on the situation while the local officer did the same.

    ¡°Finally, shit¡¯s happening.¡± Davis muttered.

    ¡°Move out!¡± Dyche shouted. He turned and gestured to the local officer to lead the way.

    He produced a strange clicking noise with his tongue, and the mottled greyhound-like dog went running with an angry bark. Nose to the ground, trying to find a scent to track.

    The humans all hustled double-time after him, the locals were evidently careful to step lightly and keep their silhouettes down, the Americans tried to follow suit.

    ***

    >Somewhere in the forests of the Tail Peninsula_

    The scavenger trails were proving a pain in the tail to track.

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    Even Drizzle, who possibly had the best nose out of them, couldn''t pick out a direction. What scent trails they did find were short, criss crossed randomly, or led in circles.

    It was so frustrating. Why couldn¡¯t this just be easy and straightforward like normal? Then again, nothing was supposed to make sense with scavengers. That was kind of their point.

    I guess that¡¯s why they call it a ¡®wild scavenger chase.¡¯

    After what felt like hours of searching, the mud dragons managed to find something more substantial than a sparse trail that went nowhere.

    Muskeg once again brought his head close to the ground and inhaled through his nostrils. There was a rather strong scavenger smell coming from somewhere up ahead. As though there was a talonful of scavengers all together, in one place. Not really moving anywhere in particular.

    The troop of siblings, spread out as they were, slowly made their way closer and closer to the apparent origin point of the smell. Muskeg could both see in his periphery and hear his sibs pushing through trees and bushes as they tried to creep along.

    Eventually, the wind shifted direction and blew from behind them, and the scavenger smell diminished until it was almost undetectable.

    Muskeg hissed angrily, while the rest of the sibs conglomerated together into one group just ahead. He moved forward to join them.

    ¡°We lost the scent.¡± Drizzle moaned sadly once Muskeg got close.

    ¡°The wind moved against us. The scavengers should still be there, right?¡± Limpkin said.

    ¡°The wind¡¯s blowing from us towards them. Can they smell us coming, now?¡±

    ¡°I think they¡¯re too dumb for that, Fungus.¡±

    ¡°Shut up.¡± Grouse growled. ¡°We keep moving up. Fungus, you go further ahead and stalk them.¡±

    ¡°What? By myself? Why me?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re smallest. Less likely to see you.¡± Grouse rolled his eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m with Fungus.¡± Limpkin retorted. ¡°Why bother sending the runt forward when we can just rush the scavengers all together? What¡¯re they gonna do?¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    ¡°Same here.¡± Grebe said.

    Grouse only rolled his eyes again. ¡°We¡¯re sending Fungus ahead, so we can see how many scavengers there are and if they have claws.¡± He hissed.

    The older sibs looked like they still wanted to argue, but nonetheless kept their snouts shut under Grouse¡¯s glare.

    They pushed Fungus forward, and he reluctantly crept through a bush, and towards where they used to smell the scavenger cluster coming from. Quickly disappearing from their direct line of sight.

    Muskeg rolled his eyes as he heard what he was sure was Fungus rustling through bushes and stepping over sticks and stuff on the ground. Even small as he was for a MudWing, he still made an annoying amount of noise trying to get through the foliage.

    Hopefully he¡¯ll figure out how to quiet down before those scavengers figure out where he is¡­

    The troop, minus Fungus, quietly sat around for a time. Listening to the wind rustle through the trees, watching the midday sun shine through the leaves. It was quieter than the swamps here. Much quieter than the army encampment. Lacking the constant buzz of insects and growling clamor of dragons pushing over each other.

    Where are those dumb scavengers hiding? They can¡¯t be too far; it''s not like the things move very fast.

    Eventually, after what felt like forever, The sibs finally heard the rustling and crackling of Fungus trying to sneakily make his way back to them.

    ¡°There¡¯s- hhhheh- a small pack of scav- hhhheh- scavengers in a little clearing- hhhheh- up ahead.¡± The small greenish said once he made it to them.

    ¡°Why are you wheezing?¡± Muskeg said flatly.

    ¡°Mind your own mudpile, Muskeg!¡± He retorted.

    ¡°Did they have things?¡± Grouse hissed.

    ¡°...No, not really, I think?¡± Fungus said tentatively. ¡°At least, I didn¡¯t see any claw-looking things or treasure or anything scavengers are supposed to carry. They were all doing¡­ stuff¡­ in and around these weird trees. I didn¡¯t get a super close look.¡±

    ¡°See! They don¡¯t even have their stupid claws! Can we please just go get them now?¡± Grebe complained.

    ¡°...Fine.¡± Grouse growled.

    With that long-awaited confirmation the troop quickly began to move out. Following along a similar path Fungus apparently took, trying their best to keep low profiles. (With even less success than the much smaller sib did.)

    Under tree and leafy marquee, through brush and thistly bramble the MudWings crept, keeping to an uncharacteristically stealthy hunt than was normal for their tribe.

    With bulk and strength like theirs, (and all dragons, but them especially) it was simply easier to just rampage through, terrorizing their prey into blundering into their clutches rather than going to all this effort to stalk and ambush them. Perhaps it would seem Grouse¡¯s cautious attitude had subconsciously worn off onto them, but such should be the case; given he was the bigwings.

    Muskeg ducked under a low-hanging branch, when he finally caught the scent of the scavengers once again.

    He wrestled the instinct to quicken his pace, feeling another hungry pang. Creeping low, he craned his neck up to peer over a hedge to see a little farther ahead.

    He froze when he finally laid eyes on the prey they¡¯d been hunting this whole time. Scavengers.

    As Fungus had claimed, there was a whole pack of them, in and around these small talonful of trees that looked decidedly different from the rest of the ones that made up the wood. Rather than hanging around in the trees like monkeys should, most of the lanky things were all over the ground. While some were clumsily clambering around the lower branches of the trees, reaching with their pathetic paws up to pull brightly colored things out of the canopies and toss them down at the scavengers on the ground.

    Stupid freaks. He scoffed. They¡¯re just bumbling around doing useless scavenger things. Not even watching for dragons, not even ready to try and fight.

    It was no wonder there were so few of these things left on Pyrrhia.

    Muskeg stalked forward a step, but winced instinctively when his talon met the ground with a sharp crack! sound.

    He looked down. He¡¯d stepped on a stick. Of course he did. There¡¯s always a stick to be stepped on at the perfect moment.

    Whatever. If these scavengers are too deaf to hear Fungus blundering around, they definitely didn¡¯t hear that.

    He looked up again at where the scavengers were. Just his luck; one of them had whipped its head around, and was staring with its beady forward-facing eyes directly at him, completely frozen. Muskeg stared back for a moment, also immobile.

    Does it see me? The MudWing wondered.

    As if to answer him, the scavenger suddenly dropped the weird thing it was holding, reached its paw up to its face, and made the most absolutely annoying intense high-pitched screeching noise he¡¯d ever had the displeasure of hearing.

    The rest of the scavenger pack immediately dropped whatever it was they were holding, jumped out of the trees, and fled as fast as their two legs could take them.

    Muskeg snarled frustratedly and surged from his position, charging after the cowardly creatures as best he could through the trees. His siblings, realizing what happened, abandoned their own approaches and loudly followed suit, roaring hunting cries as they did. The six sibs spread slightly out in case the scavenger pack tried to split up or change direction, crashing through trees and over bushes as they pursued their much smaller prey through the light forest.

    ***

    >Amidst the Forests of the Lesser East Peninsula_

    Corporal Walters noticed, not for the first time, that the locals were very evidently better at this than they were.

    As it stood to reason, since they literally grew up here and made a career doing this. The Americans didn¡¯t exactly cover ¡®tracking and counteracting dinosaur-sized fire-breathing super lizards in wooded environments¡¯ in basic.

    The locals, despite their shorter stature, moved quicker and more easily through the brush, around the tree, over root and small ditch. Footfalls much lighter and surer than their American counterparts.

    That of course wasn''t to say that the American boys couldn¡¯t keep up; they fairly easily kept pace with the locals as they double-timed it through those woods; even if their gait wasn¡¯t as quiet. This environment wasn¡¯t all that dissimilar to ones they themselves had grown up in.

    Most of them, anyway.

    ¡°Damn this, damn this running. Always running. Fucking hate running.¡± PFC Davis huffed.

    ¡°We¡¯re in the Army, shithead! What¡¯d you expect!?¡± Gibbons shot back.

    ¡°Shut it.¡± Walters ordered, cutting them off.

    The young Corporal adjusted his grip on his rifle yet another time. There was a chance- a good one, even- that they weren¡¯t actually about to see combat. The tracking dog had only apparently picked up the scent of a dragon, which means there was one nearby, and it could very well have already passed through.

    If there had been a confirmed dragon sighting, they would have slammed the crap out of the bell in that watchtower, and would be moving a lot more frantically right now.

    At least, that was what he had inferred from what the local scouts told him already.

    Scouts that were just ahead of his squad, keeping low and moving along with practiced pace. Various weapons were drawn and gripped firmly. Except for their officer, Walters still didn¡¯t see him brandishing any visible weapon. Their mottled brown greyhound-like dog ran ahead of them, sniffing around, growling and chuffing agitatedly.

    Desmond was just getting into a rhythm; when a piercing, frantic whistle of only one note came from somewhere ahead, the same direction the response whistle came from earlier. He didn¡¯t think he needed to be filled in by Laz on what that one meant.

    Surprisingly, it seemed the dog didn¡¯t, either. He charged ahead of his masters with a howl, barking angrily as he made off.

    With a shout, the local squad immediately broke into an all-out sprint; abandoning any previous vestiges of keeping a low profile. The Americans promptly followed suit.

    The local squad leader made another whistle signal, this one shockingly loud- with a piercing, rapidly oscillating tune.

    Walters made a point to run up to Lazrik. ¡°Laz!¡± He shouted, ¡°Is this what I think it is!?¡±

    The local scout looked frantic, and mad. ¡°Oya, Tyekt¡¯ikn, la! Nrgvynrch fuck hunt farm guy!¡± He spat, running alongside the American.

    ¡°T¡¯at signal; boss-alarm! T¡¯ey know we ¡®ere! T¡¯ey know we comin¡¯!¡± Laz shouted in between breaths.

    Without wasting a moment, Walters slowed his pace slightly and hollered to Dyche: ¡°Code red, Sarge! We got civvies and dragon hostiles! They know we¡¯re here!¡±

    The implications of this were obvious.

    That panic whistle means civilians have spotted, and are probably being assailed, by dragon creatures like the ones they shot down over the town. Most likely the ¡°Swamp Dragons¡± they had been briefed on. He remembered those ones were supposed to hunt in packs, and were huge.

    The response whistle the local officer is giving is meant to let the peasants know their location, so they can run towards them. That also meant there was a pack of 3-ton armored lizards crashing after them.

    And that meant he and his boys were running straight to them.

    Suddenly, an enormous sound- a chilling cross between a big cat¡¯s roar and gator¡¯s snarl- with the force of a small foghorn reverberated through the trees, from ahead of them.

    Desmond drew a blank on what they should do. This was so unlike anything they had been trained for, and it was the first time any of them had actually been in a combat situation.

    ¡°Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit-¡± Davis panted.

    ¡°Walters!¡± Dyche shouted. ¡°Get the BAR ready! Gray, Lukens, Kent, get on and flank west! Rest of you, with me!¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±

    The squad listened without hardly a moments¡¯ hesitation. The three Riflemen broke off to the left, ducking under a tree branch as they made their way up a small bluff to their nine o¡¯clock.

    The BAR team fell in with Corporal Walters, ready to set up a firing position at his discretion.

    The Rifle Grenadier and the rest of the Riflemen took up the forward position along with Dyche, with Walters and the BAR team running behind.

    The men ran into view of a small clearing in the woods, only about 40 yards long. A small creek ran along the eastern edge at a 50 degree angle relative to their position, the bluff the other Riflemen ran up to perform a flank was on the western side.

    The local squad leader started issuing his own commands. Although he didn¡¯t shout orders, rather raising his right arm and making several series of hand gestures and motions to the operators behind him.

    The javelin-throwers and compact archers closed into a V-formation behind him, arrows loosely knocked and javelins ready. Laz slowed down and formed up with Desmond¡¯s team, also readying his weapon. The leader then made a sort of jerking motion with both arms, a pair of serrated bayonet-sized knives suddenly appearing from each arm- as though concealed under each sleeve of his coat.

    Another massive sound, this time like a tree snapping, came from ahead.

    Eyeing a large fallen log at the edge of the clearing, Walters ordered the BAR team to set up the rifle upon it, as it seemed a suitable spot. Hopefully the automatic weapon would provide enough firepower to scare off the impending dragon creatures.

    ¡°Get that weapon ready!¡± Desmond shouted.

    Davis slid to a stop and almost slammed the BAR down, Gibbons and Brown coming down on either side of him, readying their own M1 Rifles and spare ammo mags for the auto rifle. Walters crouched next to the three, his own weapon at the ready.

    It did not take long to set the BAR up, as it was not a true LMG. Davis extended the bipod and set it upon the log, trained the weapon forwards and racked the charging bolt. A ready magazine already in the receiver.

    ¡°Ready, Corporal!¡± He shouted.

    Laz fell in beside Desmond, having separated from his squad. ¡°Oye Tyekt¡¯ikn, we far back. T¡¯at bolta betta¡¯ hurt, la.¡± He hissed, nocking an arrow.

    ¡°Hey, Gibbs! More rounds I shoot off, the less shit you have to carry back to base!¡±

    Far ahead of them, Desmond could see treetops shaking and thrashing as though something huge was crashing through them. Several somethings, as the shaking came from multiple spots. He could hear what we really hoped wasn¡¯t ridiculously heavy footfalls. Another snarling roar came.

    The Texan exhaled shakily. Fingers on his rifle white with his grip. This was nothing like shooting for game. This was more terrifying than a Drill Sergeant in basic training after some idiot trainee touched his round brown.

    Another sound like a tree snapping. Desmond thought he heard a scream.

    This was impending death approaching.

    ¡°Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,¡± Desmond whispered. ¡°I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff comfort me.¡±

    Keep us, Lord. You¡¯ve kept us this far; shield us from this horror. Please.

    He charged the op rod on his rifle.

    Suddenly, numerous figures suddenly burst into the clearing from the opposite side. Locals. There were about a dozen of them, not wearing the cloaks of the paramilitary scouts, rather more random drab simple tunic-and-mantle-esq attire of kinds he¡¯d seen commonly donned by pedestrians back in the town. Men and women, and a few teenagers. They looked to be some of the most panicked people Walter¡¯s had ever seen.

    And they were in between the machine rifle and the incoming hostiles.

    ¡°Move it, dipshits!¡± Davis hissed.

    The local scouts rushed to try and put themselves in between the civvies and the hostiles.

    Corporal Walters grit his teeth. All they could do was shout at them to move, but they wouldn¡¯t understand them. Even if they spoke the same language, they probably still wouldn¡¯t get why they suddenly needed to change course.

    If they used the BAR, they would risk hitting friendlies. If they didn¡¯t, it was down to the handful of Riflemen outside of cover to neutralize what felt like an oncoming carnivorous freight train.

    This was bad. This was real bad.

    The trees just behind the clearing started to shake. Desmond thought he could see a huge shadow appear.

    Sergeant Dyche met the small stampede of panicked civilians head on, and yelled straight in their faces to duck in the creek, pulling out his combat knife- a weapon they would be more familiar with- and pointing towards the ditch for effect.

    The locals, despite not being able to understand his speech, seemed to find the screaming 6¡¯4 American pretty persuasive. It probably helped that he, and a few Privates he¡¯d brought up with him, started shoving them towards the small trench.

    The dragons were almost upon them.

    The local scouts looked on at what they were doing with horror. People lying prone in dikes were even easier targets for dragons than those with full mobility on flat ground. They abandoned their ready positions in the middle of the clearing to try and assist the civilians in spite of the foreigners, in doing so removing themselves from the machine rifle¡¯s line of fire.

    The trees were still shaking.

    Walters didn¡¯t waste a second. ¡°LET ¡®EM HAVE IT!¡± He hollered at the BAR team.

    All other sounds vanished as the BAR roared to life, spitting .30 caliber suppressive fire at the hostile approach. Davis probably shouted some profanities at them as well, but they were drowned out by the chattering cacophony of .30-06.

    Davis burned through an entire 20-round magazine in fast-fire mode before any of them could so much as realize it.

    ¡°FUCKING SON OF BITCH ¡®MACHINE GUN¡¯ MY ASS!¡± The idiot gunner spat as his fun was cut off, ejecting the spent mag and shoving another Gibbons had already had at ready into it.

    The lull in fire was quickly filled by pretty much the rest of the rifle squad laying in fire with their M1 Garands. 7.62mm ball and tracer rounds from Brown and Walters, as well as Dyche¡¯s team from their prone position in the ditch, sprayed the treeline with a torrent of indiscriminate suppressive fire, ripping up foliage and knocking down a few small trees themselves.

    From the corner of his eye, Walters could see muzzle flashes coming from 10 o¡¯clock high. The three-man flanking team, adding their own semi-auto weapons to the fray.

    The entire American rifle squad hit the incoming pack of dragons with a barrage of suppressive fire, not even waiting to make visual contact. The power behind the battle rifles easily able to punch through the sparse foliage.

    ***

    >Somewhere in the forests of the Tail Peninsula_

    They were going to get these stupid scavengers.

    The pathetic treasure-thieves had managed to make distance from the sibling troop, weaving between trees with their weird lanky bodies while the MudWings had to crash through them.

    But now they were gaining on the pests. They were not going to let them get away, not after tracking and chasing them for so long.

    Muskeg plowed through another bush with an angry huff. He could hear the scavengers just ahead of him. He could hear their annoying squeak noises. He could hear another high-pitched screeching coming from farther ahead.

    The MudWing prepared to put on a burst of speed, he was going to charge forth and pounce on one of the stragglers. He could see a clearing coming up past a few more skinny trees. His siblings, all beside him, could keep chasing the rest of the pack.

    It was then that the forest itself decided that it hated them. Because it suddenly started exploding.

    With no warning, painfully loud, impossibly rapid thunderclap-like sounds shook the entire woods. Strange, fiercely sharp cracking noises like wildly intense stick-snapping accompanied by horrible buzzes like gigantic insects whipped through the air around him.

    Everywhere, leaves and branches and tree trunks and everything started getting blasted apart by unknown forces. Bits of wood and bark and shredded leaves splintered apart and flew everywhere as small trees keeled over and branches were ripped off their trunks.

    Muskeg felt as though claws were being driven into his ears. The clamoring din of crackling thunder was deafening, quickly reducing the entire perception of his acute dragon hearing to little more than a dim ringing.

    The pounding sounds rattle across his wings and spine and skull and hurting ears, disorienting him. He stumbled on his talons and nearly lost his footing- forgetting for a moment which way up was.

    Suddenly, a small tree trunk right in between him and where the scavengers ran- right in front of him- burst with a small splintering eruption and he felt something tiny and hot slam into his left shoulder. Piercing through his scales and jarring his entire body.

    Muskeg jerked and tumbled to the ground with a pained roar. It felt as though he¡¯d been stabbed by a SandWing tail. (If a small one.)

    On the dry dirt, his wild eyes caught a streak of ruby-red light blaze over him to his right, smashing into a tree just beside him with a cracking thud he could feel. A bright glare of the same color fell from the spot of impact, drifting almost leisurely down until it landed on his wing. Leaving singing, burning pain on the part of the membrane it contacted.

    The MudWing hissed and tried to shake his wing out, when another tree right beside him erupted in splinters. The wooden fragments mostly bounced off his scales, but some got stuck in his other wing membrane. One of the splinters smacked off his snout right in front of his eye.

    Muskeg huddled under his singed wing, mind addled with a wild terror and panic quite unfamiliar to it. He could feel the thundering and the crackling and the buzzing and small bursts of wind on his wings.

    They were being attacked by everything, from everywhere, all at once.

    WHAT IS GOING ON!? ARE WE BEING ATTACKED BY GHOSTS!? FOREST MONSTERS!? WHAT IS HAPPENING!?

    Another hot thing bit through his wing, and it felt like something glanced off one of his horns, breaking it. It jarred his head and sent dizzying shockwaves bouncing around in his skull.

    Muskeg dropped his wing and peered around with unfocused eyes. Maybe we should retreat? That¡¯s an option¡­

    He saw a huge Grouse-colored shape rear up and probably roar something he couldn¡¯t really hear. He saw the Grouse-looking shape pick up and throw a smaller Fungus-looking shape in the opposite direction they had been chasing the scavengers, and the Fungus-looking shape took off running.

    Yep. Retreat, then.

    Muskeg staggered to his talons and turned around. Limping on his injured foreleg. He felt something bite into his tail and roared, but grit his teeth and determined to press on.

    He tried to build up a running start so he could jump into the air, but his wings were wracked with pain by big splinters, holes, and the singe. His sense of balance felt all messed up, too; he could barely walk in a straight line. There was no way he¡¯d be able to fly like this.

    He could see his siblings moving with as much haste as they could manage in his periphery. They were also sticking to the ground, and also had limping gaits.

    Running, then.

    This was the worst hunting trip in Pyrrhia.

    ***

    >Amidst the forests of the Lesser East Peninsula_

    ¡°CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE IN THE HOLE! CEASE FIRE!¡± Corporal Walters hollered his own voice hoarse.

    Davis finally laid off the BAR. Dyche¡¯s team had already stopped shooting. The flank team promptly followed suit. His M1 Garand felt hot under his left hand.

    Desmond breathed shakily. Is that it? Did we scare them off? We better have; if a whole rifle squad doesn¡¯t do it, what would? A .50? Mortars? Artillery support?

    When they opened fire, the thrashing treetops had suddenly ground to a halt while they sprayed the treeline with suppressive fire. They started up again after about a minute, but this time going the opposite direction.

    Walters ejected the empty en-bloc clip with a ping! he couldn¡¯t hear over his own tinnitus.

    He wasn¡¯t ashamed to admit he was shaken up. That was possibly the most terrifying thing he¡¯d experienced. (He was green, and the only hostile fauna had experience with was some Texan wildlife. A bobcat and boar at worst.)

    Somehow, that they never actually laid eyes on the massive creatures tearing through the forest at them, having only heard the huge things, made it more terrifying. Leaving exactly what such powerful creatures that could do that looked like up to their imagination. But that was probably the normal human response, right?

    ¡°FUCK YEAH, BITCHES!¡± Davis roared, ¡°FREEDOM: ONE, FOREST MONSTERS: ZERO! FUCK ALL OF YOU!¡± He picked up his BAR by the stock and carry handle and heaved the heavy gun victoriously over his head, holding it aloft.

    Laz jumped up as well: ¡°OYA Q¡¯RXCT ICT NRGVYNRCHLI Y¡¯KNI! ZIKN YICT¡¯SIRK N¡¯AKT!¡± He screamed what was sure to be profanities, clapping Davis on the shoulder and sprinting off to meet his squad.

    Walters and the BAR team picked up their stuff and spent magazines and followed him, intending to meet the rest of their squad. The flank team emerged from the western treeline,

    The local¡¯s tracking hound came running from the eastern side, over the small creek. It had apparently fled there once the shooting started.

    ¡°Davis!¡± Sargeant Dyche shouted once they got close. ¡°The hell you do to that poor gun¡¯s barrel!?¡±

    ¡°Spread liberty and democratic values, sir!¡± Davis hollered back.

    Dyche rolled his eyes ¡°Tell that to the quartermaster when he comes to rip you a new one.¡±

    ¡°You all right, Sarge?¡± Walters cut in, addressing his whole team. ¡°Sorry for, well, almost shooting y¡¯all.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d it sound like?¡± Davis grinned.

    ¡°We¡¯re fine. If you assholes¡¯ aim was any better, you would have taken my damn helmet off. Talk to the locals, they¡¯re the ones you probably traumatized. Corporal, ask Laz if we need to pursue those hostiles.¡±

    ¡°Oya?¡± The local in question perked up at the mention of his nickname. ¡°P¡¯sue? Mean like chase? T¡¯e Nrgvynrchli go back swamp, la! Not come back. We no follow!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t pursue hostiles after they rout?¡± Dyche said somewhat incredulously.

    ¡°You see how fast those things were moving, Sarge? You wanna run after that?¡± Someone said.

    Dyche shook his head. ¡°How likely are those things going to double back on us?¡±

    ¡°T¡¯ose? Prob¡¯ly ne¡¯a.¡± Lazrik snorted.

    The local scout officer shouted something authoritative-sounding, seemingly addressed at both the civvies and his unit. The civilians in question were still slowly climbing out of the ditch Dyche¡¯s team had dragged them into to get them out of the way of the BAR.

    Walters quickly made over to help them out, as any gentleman should. He was halted from actually offering his hand to any of them, however, when a young-looking local woman with a battered dark-green mantle who¡¯d already gotten free of the indenture approached and threw her arms around him.

    ¡°T¡¯syei-t¡¯syei, t¡¯syei-t¡¯syei, t¡¯syei-t¡¯syei¡­¡± She choked out, gripping the stunned Corporal. Another woman, who looked old enough to be Desmond¡¯s mother, put her hand on her shoulder. Saying something softly and pulling her away. She gave him a respectful nod.

    Walters absentmindedly tipped his helmet back at her, still rather taken aback. He watched them reconverge with the rest of the civilians, about a dozen of them. The younger woman seemed to be crying.

    Could be in shock. The American Corporal wondered.

    ¡°S¡¯ee say t¡¯anks, Tyekt¡¯ikn.¡± He heard Laz say solemnly from behind him.

    ¡°Yeah, I gathered.¡± Walters replied. ¡°It¡¯s Desmond, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Oya?¡±

    ¡°My name. Desmond.¡±

    The shortstack scout chuckled. ¡°A¡¯ight, t¡¯anks Dezz.¡±

    Walters turned and regarded the local for a moment. ¡°...Sure thing, Laz.¡± He replied eventually.

    ¡°Alright, boys!¡± Sergeant Dyche shouted. ¡°Hope you enjoyed our lovely sightseeing hike! We got a bunch of fragmented scales and shit to drag back to base for the eggheads, and civvies to bring home! Get your shit and let''s move! Terry, Kent, quit playing with the dog! Let¡¯s go!¡±

 XXI - Tintenfische Things (i)

    >On a rock outcrop, somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea_

    Cuttlefish felt like he was figuratively bonking his head against a rock.

    He was also literally bonking his head against a rock, but that was only tangentially correlated.

    He felt stuck. Enclave life was dull and dreary for the sprouting dragonet, but that was nothing new. That had always been the case, for as long as he¡¯d lived here. (Indeed, his entire life.)

    Living in an undersea rock outcrop far removed from the warm currents of the Kingdom of the Sea by vast dark waters was boring. That was a reality he¡¯d grown used to. A feature of life. He and his friends had always managed to content themselves on mundane adventures and bouts of play. Mako always made sure to have them study scrolls and complete homework assignments, even when doing so served no practical purpose for them all the way out here. What use did any of them have for learning scrolls, when no-one uses writing or reading on a regular basis?

    That had always been the same. But something was different, now. Cuttlefish had this feeling that he had something new to do.

    A subtle, nagging feeling that he nary noticed; much less put a claw on. He had this faint inclination, like a muted scent originated from afar; something important was happening. Or perhaps it was supposed to be happening? Perhaps it will come to happen? He just couldn¡¯t place it.

    Cuttlefish listlessly lifted his forehead off the rock he had bonked it against with a low snort. The same dry rock in the middle of the ocean he had visited but a few times before. It was difficult to manage getting out here on his own, given his friends Oyster and Clam were both rather apt at sniffing him out. The two together always made attempts at concentration impossible. They were always together.

    Today though, he had managed to make his way out to this outcrop, a small rock not much bigger than he was that barely poked above the waterline; distanced by a good swim away from the enclave, on his own. Clam and Oyster were predisposed with tutor Mako, thus not able to follow him. He was partially sitting on the rock, but most of his body was floating in the sea. Only his shoulders, forelegs and neck out of the water.

    Despite himself, now that he¡¯d been out here on his own for a decent while; he found himself somewhat wishing they were here anyway.

    It was quiet out here. Endless blues of sky and sea- disturbed only by lively whisk of tired breeze, and lazy roll of restless sea.

    Within such tranquil milieu; Cuttlefish could listen plainly to his thoughts running into the proverbial sandbar.

    The blue-green SeaWing dragonet glared at the blank scroll before him. The vacant parchment glared back. Mocking him for his inability to put cohesive thoughts to writing.

    Cuttlefish huffed. WELL, maybe if I didn¡¯t just have this one scroll and had some scrap paper, I could practice and figure out what it is I want to write without messing up my only scroll, I would have written more stuff!

    The blank document did not relent upon Cuttlefish¡¯s incredibly super reasonable objections.

    Well, written any stuff, I guess.

    Cuttlefish sighed, reaching up and rubbing his snout with a webbed talon. This whole personal project of his wasn¡¯t going anywhere. He was still trying to make his own informative scroll regarding scavengers. Specifically, regarding the massive water-borne constructs they had encountered so long ago.

    It wasn¡¯t actually very long ago. Cuttlefish knew, but it certainly felt like it. Happening across those scavengers and their enormous metallic hulks had been, without a doubt, the most interesting thing he could remember occurring to him and his friends.

    It was for this reason, Cuttlefish thought, that he could not stop thinking about them. Even when he would have much rather wished to be concentrating on something more prevalent or more¡­ real in his life, his errant thoughts still circled back to those scavengers.

    What was going on with them? What were they doing? Why were they out doing it?

    Cuttlefish thought that strange nagging sensation that something demanding attention was happening was simply his dragon mind trying to puzzle out those strange ¡®boats.¡¯ He hoped he could make it go away by writing out an informative pamphlet-thing on them, because the ginormous things seemed like they were probably important enough to warrant a scroll written on them. Even a scroll written by some random dragon like him from some nowhere enclave.

    The problem was, in order to write an information scroll, it kind of seemed that one needed to know a fair bit about what he was writing about. Cuttlefish, for all practical purposes, knew next to nothing about those boat-things.

    He knew from memory roughly what they looked like. He knew that there were a lot of them. He knew they could move on their own, and he knew they could summon explosions onto dragons flying in the air. He also knew that, in some way, they were connected to scavengers.

    He knew scavengers were on them. He knew scavengers were in them. He thought scavengers most likely built them; since he knew those things had to have been built. Scavengers were known to build things, and he knew dragons had no way to build anything like those floating metal ¡®boats.¡¯

    That was about the extent of his knowledge on those things. Other than the scavengers on the underwater-boat-thing being very keen to chat with one another, and could easily respond to simple instructions from him.

    Cuttlefish tapped a claw on the craggy rock he was half-resting on. It took a lot more than that to write a worthwhile information scroll. More than that, he didn¡¯t really have. That was why he was still yet to actually put anything to writing.

    Perhaps instead of just focusing on the boat-things, I should broaden the surf to be about what scavengers are in general known to build?

    That seemed a pretty good idea to Cuttlefish. Sure, there were probably already a plethora of scrolls detailing what scavengers already build in the forms of the little dens they live in. Dragons surely already knew plenty about what those dens are like, since they¡¯ve been being made for so long.

    Cuttlefish figured he wouldn¡¯t be adding much worth to the collection if he just made another scroll talking about scavenger dens, but connecting the dens to the big boat-things would give him more to write about.

    Maybe even thinking about the boat-things in relation to existing scavenger dens while writing would help him answer some questions as to their nature that he just couldn¡¯t figure out.

    The problem was, he didn¡¯t know a whole lot about regular scavenger dens, either. The definitive scavenger guide scroll, that he had been trying to use this whole time, only said about scavenger dens that they were made of tree wood and ¡®other natural materials¡¯ - in a way that made them similar to beavers.

    Cuttlefish didn¡¯t actually know what ¡®beavers¡¯ were, but he assumed it was another kind of land creature. He asked Mako about them once, she only said they were little brown furry things that pile up sticks and block up rivers.

    He wondered if they were connected to scavengers. It was possible, given ¡°little brown not-so-furry things that pile up sticks and hide from dragons¡± was pretty close to how the other dragons he talked to always referred to scavengers.

    Cuttlefish remembered that he in fact had seen a scavenger den for himself, if from a distance and rather briefly. When he, his friends, and Mako had gone off to investigate where the pod of artificial floating constructs had gone off to, they had come into sight of the ¡®large seaside scavenger den¡¯ that Grouper had mentioned being there. His attention had kind of been distracted by the swarm of massive metal things on the waters in-between them and the den, but he could remember seeing this big almost castle-looking structure surrounded by what looked like¡­ huts, maybe? They looked like buildings.

    Cuttlefish reached up and scratched one of his small horns with a claw, clicking his teeth together. He wouldn¡¯t say he remembered the scavenger den super well, but what he was pretty sure he saw didn¡¯t look a whole lot like a pile of sticks.

    Cuttlefish sighed, annoyed. At this rate, he was just going to keep thinking himself in circles and never actually get to writing anything. Maybe he should go asking around some other adults at the enclave what they knew about scavenger dens. He wasn¡¯t super sure they would know any more than he did at the time, but it couldn¡¯t hurt to ask.

    As he slowly picked his stuff back up off the rock and prepared to leave, Cuttlefish couldn¡¯t help but think about how he sometimes wished he would just drop this whole thing with the scavengers. It would just be easier, and it wasn''t as though any other dragons he knew much cared, either. He was the odd one out. Maybe if his life was any less dull and boring all the time; he might would just try to move on. But those scavengers had been one of the most interesting things to ever happen to him, (certainly the most ¡®interesting¡¯ thing that didn¡¯t involve taking a family member away) and he couldn¡¯t shake that subtle, nagging sensation that something was out-of-place with them.

    ***

    >At a SeaWing enclave, on the outskirts of the Kingdom of The Sea_

    [¡°Grouper? Can I ask you a question?¡±] Cuttlefish flashed brightly in an attempt to get the old dragon¡¯s attention.

    It was very dim. As it always was underwater, but the latter parts of the day always made things harder to make out. SeaWings were able to see very well in the dark, but colors quickly became impossible to tell apart when the light grew faint. Everything just ended up looking various shades of gray after a certain point, and distances harder to gauge.

    It was for this reason that Cuttlefish had a surprisingly difficult time locating the old blue SeaWing, as his faded scales almost exactly matched the surrounding endless blue void. Making him rather sneaky despite his large size. That he was never in a hurry to get anywhere also didn¡¯t help.

    The big dragon looked towards Cuttlefish. [¡°Why, hello there, young dragonet. Something on your mind?¡±] He flashed in his slow manner, turning to face Cuttlefish.

    The young SeaWing took a moment to collect his thoughts. [¡°Sorry to bother you, Grouper. Do you remember that scavenger den you pointed us to a while ago?¡±]

    The dull blue elder SeaWing looked at Cuttlefish for a moment. [¡°The large seaside scavenger den? Yes. This isn¡¯t in relation to that big pod of ¡®sea monsters¡¯ you and your friends came across? Did something else happen that I haven¡¯t heard about?]

    Cuttlefish signaled a negative as he paddled in place. [¡°No - no one¡¯s gone over there since the thing with the smaller one that¡­ showed up over our enclave. I just wanted to ask: since you knew that den was even there when it wasn¡¯t on Mako¡¯s map, do you know anything else about it, or about scavenger dens in particular?¡±]

    Grouper looked at Cuttlefish for a moment. The SeaWing dragonet couldn¡¯t tell if the elder was giving him an incredulous look, or just thinking the question over.

    It seemed the latter, when Grouper lit his scales to answer him. [¡°Well¡­ I¡¯ll tell you the truth: It has been many times more than all your days yet that I have seen such dens for myself. Most SeaWings never see them at all. Count yourself as one of the few, young dragonet.¡±]

    He continued [¡°...Scavenger dens¡­ just aren¡¯t something much worth bothering about. Unless collecting scavengers just happens to be your job, but that¡¯s not a concern for dragons of our¡­ stature. I suspect I wouldn¡¯t be able to tell you much more than you already know about those dens. They are more or less the scavenger¡¯s habitat, and they usually make them in places that make it easier to hide from predators.¡±]

    Predators, like us.

    Cuttlefish scrunched his frill, just a little. It was uncharacteristic of elder dragons to admit a lack of knowledge in anything. Then again, Grouper was always a rather strange character.

    Still, Cuttlefish felt the need to point something out. [¡°But¡­ the seaside scavenger den wasn¡¯t hidden very well. It was kinda on a hill. Very easy to see.¡±]

    The big SeaWing only raised his wide wings in a shrugging motion. [¡°Perhaps those scavengers are a little crazy.¡±]

    Weren¡¯t scavengers all supposed to be crazy? Cuttlefish wasn¡¯t sure. He thought he remembered seeing that somewhere.

    [¡°Do you know what they¡¯re usually made of?¡±] The dragonet asked anyway.

    [¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±] Grouper mused slowly. [¡°Mostly wood and dirt and things of that sort, I would assume. They aren¡¯t terribly complicated creatures, mind you.¡±]

    Cuttlefish remembered seeing what he was pretty sure was a stone structure at the natural scavenger den, so he pointed that out.

    [¡°Perhaps an old dragon fort they infested, or something of the sort.¡±] Grouper shrugged his wings again. [¡°Once again; it has been many moons since I have seen any such dens for myself. I would not be the¡­ best dragon to ask anyway, as far as knowledge regarding scavengers is concerned.¡±]

    Cuttlefish internally sighed. It seemed no one he asked was.

    [¡°Perhaps if you still wish to know more, you can raid Mako¡¯s cave for any scrolls she might have. She might have found some new ones on scavengers, after her little trip to the Kingdom proper. I¡¯d take care if I were you, though. She might not be happy to find you still¡­ interested, lets say, on the topic of scavengers after what you dragonets did with that¡­ thing. Make sure she isn¡¯t there.¡±] The old dragon smiled slightly.

    Cuttlefish ducked his head. [¡°Thanks, Grouper.¡±] He paddled in place there for a few moments, not super sure of what he was supposed to do next. [¡°Should I, uh, go do that? Right now?¡±]

    [¡°If that is what you wish.¡±] Grouper flashed.

    Cuttlefish ducked his head again and quickly turned around, propelling himself forward with a flick of his tail. He needed to go look through some scrolls, and probably go talk to a lot more SeaWings¡­

    ***

    Cuttlefish ¡®snorted¡¯ an annoyed bubble as he took another look-over of some of the scrolls he surreptitiously borrowed from Mako¡¯s cave. Aside from the ¡°Scavengers: Everything you need to know!¡± scroll, Mako only had a few other short scrolls that mentioned scavengers in her cave. Cuttlefish remembered once seeing her complaining to herself about not being able to find anything, this could have had to do with it.

    It had taken a while of waiting for Mako to vacate long enough for Cuttlefish to slip in and find the scrolls he had with him. Internally, he doubted Mako would actually mind him wanting to take some scrolls to read for himself. Short-tempered as she was; that wasn¡¯t like her.

    Even then, Cuttlefish couldn¡¯t shake this weird feeling that there was something weird or out-of-place of what he was doing. Making him feel as though he had to be discreet about his actions, even though he really didn¡¯t.

    That is to say that Cuttlefish felt like he had put some stakes into the scrolls he had collected; which made him disappointed and annoyed when they didn¡¯t really offer any further additional information on scavenger dens.

    The scrolls, really barely more than pamphlets, were indeed about scavengers, at least. They described some useful and interesting things about scavengers.

    Many of them didn¡¯t seem to be originally written by SeaWings - because just like the ¡°Scavengers: Everything you need to know!¡± scroll - they involved such things that only fire-breathing dragons would be interested in.

    One such thing was ¡®cooking,¡¯ which several of those scrolls were about. Cuttlefish wasn¡¯t sure what that was. Though from context it sounded something like where fire-breathers would set the scavengers¡¯ bodies on fire to partially or all the way burn their meat. Obviously, SeaWings would not be able to do that.

    What would that even¡­ taste like? Setting meat on fire? Cuttlefish didn¡¯t really even have any reference to what land animals tended to taste like, so he had no idea.

    Several of the scrolls, rather intricately, described how to do that. One of the scrolls, which seemed more relevant to SeaWings, described in detail a way to cut a scavenger¡¯s body open and apart in certain ways, and add other stuff like dried seaweed and things from other prey animals to it, to make a kind of ¡®sashimi.¡¯ Apparently that was rather a popular thing amongst royals in times past. To the point where one writer remarked that many contemporary dragons had thought that the entire scavenger supply in that area had been eaten.

    The young SeaWing wasn¡¯t really interested in that stuff. Though it was technically relevant as scavenger information, it had little to do with what he was actually trying to research.

    It also seemed a little¡­ mean?

    Cuttlefish wasn¡¯t sure. It would certainly be a rather cruel thing to do to another dragon. That was a given. But¡­ scavengers were just prey, so he guessed it wouldn¡¯t really matter in the end.

    Nonetheless, Cuttlefish found he¡­ he didn¡¯t much like the idea of the bright-eyed scavengers he met on the boat-thing being set on fire. But perhaps he was the odd one out. Other dragons obviously didn¡¯t mind; or else these scrolls wouldn¡¯t exist.

    Cuttlefish himself didn¡¯t notice; but his wings drooped slightly.

    Elaborate ways to prepare scavengers for being eaten aside, none of the new scrolls Mako found were of any help to him, unfortunately. He was really hoping they would have been, because he¡¯d spent much of the day swimming around the enclave rock to ask any SeaWings he could find about what they knew of scavenger dens.

    None of the other enclave dwellers had anything more to say than the scrolls regarding them.

    ¡°Scavenger dens? They¡¯re just rodent holes. Why do you care?¡±

    ¡°Creepy things. Who knows what goes on within them? I don''t want to. Makes me feel like I got crabs crawling all over.¡±

    ¡°Wait, the SkyWings haven''t burned them all out, yet? Huh.¡±

    ¡°I don''t know. Maybe that''s where they hide the treasure they steal. Otherwise what¡¯s the point in bothering?¡±

    Nobody cares. Why do you?

    Cuttlefish felt¡­ strangely conflicted. On one talon, literally every dragon he spoke with and every scroll he read agreed with each other: Scavengers were just annoying, useless animals worth only the meat on their bodies, and the bother they served when trying to sneak into royal palaces. Likewise; their dens were just dirty holes and pathetic structures where they clumped together and hid from hunting dragons.

    On the other talon, Cuttlefish saw one of these ¡®dens¡¯ for himself, if that was truly what it was. He didn''t think what he saw looked like a den of sticks and holes. It looked like real buildings. Were they referring to the same scavenger dens?

    On the third talon, he was the only one that seemed to think that scavengers were in any way worth bothering about. That posed (in his opinion) a rather serious question: Why?

    Given that all dragons he asked and all scrolls read all concurred that scavengers were vermin and their dens were scoff-worthy hovels, and that they had all of course agreed on this fact of life for a very long time; it was far more likely that he - the lone differing opinion - was incorrect.

    That seemed pretty sound reasoning. Cuttlefish knew as well as anyone how boring his life always was. Growing up on an underwater rock, looking at a dark blue abyss all the time, with only his two friends he¡¯s lived with all his life to spend time with. He could have just latched onto the first different thing that he came across? Played up its significance?

    Maybe he¡¯d seen - or perhaps remembered - too much into the seaside scavenger den, because he wanted to?

    But what about the bright-eyed scavengers he¡¯d seen on the lone boat-thing? The ones that he could get to play a light-flashing game with him? That could say his own name back at him?

    What about them? A voice within demanded. Scavengers are weird and do weird things. Is that suddenly unusual?

    I guess not¡­ Cuttlefish had heard and read plenty of times that scavengers and their often defied reasonable explanation. Them doing strange things would fit their description¡­

    But¡­ What about what the scavengers on the boat-things did? I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s ever heard of scavengers using signals to communicate, flashing lights, or mimicking speech.

    Exactly. Is being literally the only dragon who¡¯s ever ¡®heard¡¯ of that not bothering you?

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    It¡­ it did kind of bother Cuttlefish a little. Cuttlefish knew things weren¡¯t the same (in a bad way) after Father had been called away. He knew his Mother hadn¡¯t been like she should; perhaps he wasn¡¯t, either - despite his attempts to be otherwise.

    Was he a little stir-crazy? Isolation and sameness weren''t really things that bothered dragons. He¡¯d heard of and read about dragons that lived on their own for decades and were perfectly happy with it. Even preferring it over company. But Cuttlefish also knew he was just a dragonet; maybe it was different for him?

    A few tiny bubbles emerged from his snout and his lights strobed worriedly. What about the boat-things? Cuttlefish knew those were too fantastical and complicated to have just come about on their own. Grouper said that ¡®boats¡¯ were things that had to be built. Scavengers had to have built all those gigantic boat-things, right? Otherwise who did?

    Cuttlefish covered his face with a wing and groaned internally. This was all so hard, so confusing. Something about it all just seemed wrong and out-of-place.

    How Cuttlefish wished he could just move on and forget about all this confounding mess. It would just be easier. But he couldn¡¯t shake this strange feeling that there was something important going on with all this.

    And he wanted to know what that was.

    Cuttlefish moved his light-green wing and stared at the scroll illustrating the ¡®proper¡¯ way to eat a scavenger for nobility. Carefully, piece-by-piece; to make it taste better.

    The young SeaWing snorted another frustrated cluster of bubbles. These scrolls were hardly of any help. Neither were any of the other dragons at the enclave. If he wanted to get any semblance of an answer to these nagging feelings, he thought he¡¯d have to take the matters into his own talons. Try to see it for himself.

    That actually might have given him an idea.

    A rather fish-brained, potentially very super dangerous idea; but an idea nonetheless.

    ***

    >At a SeaWing enclave, on the outskirts of the Kingdom of the Sea_

    [¡°Cuttlefish, that is the dumbest idea I¡¯ve ever heard. And I hatched with Clam for a brother.¡±]

    [¡°Yeah! Cuttlefish, don¡¯t you remember what those monster-things could do to dragons? Don¡¯t you remember what happened last time we went off to find one?¡±]

    Evidently, his blue-colored friends didn¡¯t think much of his ¡®plan,¡¯ if it could be called that.

    [¡°We¡¯re not going to get close to them this time.¡±] Cuttlefish countered. [¡°I just¡­ want to see that seaside scavenger den for myself again. The boat-things might not even be there anymore! It¡¯s not like we¡¯ve heard anything of them!¡±]

    Oyster rolled her eyes. [¡°We haven¡¯t heard anything of them because no one¡¯s gone over there. Because it¡¯s dangerous.¡±]

    [¡°You¡­ just want to see the¡­ scavenger den? Why?] Clam looked confused.

    Cuttlefish turned towards the light-blue dragonet. [¡°Clam, you remember you thought the scavengers on that underwater-boat-thing were cool, right? You remember you said you thought they were funny, right? Don¡¯t you want to see what they get up to in their habitat?¡±] Out of the two siblings; Clam had taken a somewhat ironic twist into being more interested in the boat-things after it was revealed that scavengers controlled them.

    Clam paddled in a half-circle, glancing around uncomfortably. [¡°Well, yeah¡­ but Cuttlefish, this is dangerous! You¡¯re supposed to be the smart one of us!¡±]

    Cuttlefish shook his head. It wasn¡¯t like his friends that they¡¯d both reject an idea for something to do. Usually one would, who would then be outvoted. He still wanted to try and win them over. [¡°Remember the last two times we got close to one of those things; it didn¡¯t do anything to us? The scavengers didn¡¯t attack us? Don¡¯t you want to know why?¡±]

    [¡°Not particularly.¡±] Oyster snorted a bubble. [¡°I can live with not knowing what does or doesn''t trigger a scavenger attack. Especially after what they did to those NightWings.¡±]

    Cuttlefish¡¯s snout fell. His friends made sense. What they were saying seemed the smart, logical position to take. Why potentially risk your life on an unknown potential - for scavengers you¡¯ve seen be aggressive - to attack you?

    At the same time: The only times they had actually interacted with the boat-scavengers, they¡¯d either been left alone or had, in Cuttlefish¡¯s opinion, a rather fun interaction.

    Fun was almost a rare treasure to dragonets that lived as they did. Only really having Clam¡¯s play-fights, and Mako¡¯s work assignments. But this wasn¡¯t about doing something that was fun.

    [¡°Alright, fine. We won¡¯t try to go see that scavenger den. I¡¯ll let it go.¡±] He flashed.

    Cuttlefish didn¡¯t want to do this just because it was interesting (though that it was a break in the usual monotony of life was certainly a positive). Something about all this was starting to feel wrong, somehow. Weird. Off-putting. He wanted to know why.

    Even if that meant going off to go see the den by himself, which scared him a little, to be honest. He¡¯d always been with Clam and Oyster when they were doing things. He¡¯d been with them the last times they¡¯d been confronted by the hulking boat-things.

    But if he had to sneak off and go alone, then go it alone he shall.

    ***

    >Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea_

    Cuttlefish wondered, not for the first time, that he had quite possibly made a mistake.

    Where exactly that mistake had occurred - whether in a wrong turn he made, a wrong direction he swam off in, or perhaps just in deciding to swim off in the first place - was what he was wondering.

    He drifted to a slow stop, paddling in place. He really wished there were any undersea currents around this part of the ocean, but he wasn¡¯t aware of any. That meant he¡¯d have to swim the entire distance, from his enclave to where he thought the scavenger den was, completely on his own strength.

    SeaWings were very strong swimmers, but this kind of long-endurance swim made his muscles burn and ache. His wings felt like they were dragging through the thick blue, slowing him down and making forward movement more difficult.

    To make matters worse: Cuttlefish wasn''t even sure he was going in the right way this whole time. Good with directions as he usually was; it had been a rather long while since they had traveled to the seaside den, and they had only done so once.

    The young SeaWing looked around, a futile action. All that could be seen was the never-yielding expanse he¡¯d been looking at his whole life. Pitched an eerie black by the night sky above.

    A part of Cuttlefish always hated the prospect of swimming about in the empty seas at night. He had this tiny inclination that there was something deeply terrifying about staring into the endless dark. An inclination that he was pretty sure he did not share in common with the other enclave dwellers; as none of the other SeaWings seemed particularly bothered by it.

    They all lived in the sea, after all. How unfortunate a happenstance; to be a SeaWing and be afraid of the sea.

    Not to say that Cuttlefish was scared - no, nothing of the sort. That creeping sensation going up his frill was just his nerves acting up because he¡¯d snuck off under cover of darkness. He was certain.

    He¡¯d never really done anything like this. Despite being able to see in the dark; SeaWings, or at least ones he knew, always swam around and did things within daylight hours. Sleeping when the moons emerged. Maybe many of them also secretly found the suffocating blackness of nighttime deepwaters terrifying. Maybe it was just easier to do things when there was at least a little sunlight to go by. ¡®Seeing in the dark¡¯ was only so helpful when there were things to be seen in the first place, after all.

    Cuttlefish idly wondered if it was similar for dragons that lived in the Kingdom of the Sea proper, or around one of the palaces. Water over there was shallower and warmer. He¡¯d heard there were lots of reefs and things that SeaWings lived around. With all those shapes and colors, surely things were less dull? He could imagine it being much brighter, with all the dragons around flashing their lights.

    That would definitely be better than this darkness¡­

    The little SeaWing anxiously lit up his glowing scales, hoping that it would help him see a little more. The deep wilds smugly devoured his lone paltry glow, revealing nothing of the secrets it held for the likes of him.

    Cuttlefish tried to squash down a shiver, and hastily started swimming again, keeping a brisk pace. Still not sure if he was going in the correct direction, he rather wanted to just be moving again.

    Stop being scared, Cuttlefish. You¡¯re a dragon, a SeaWing! Things are meant to be afraid of you! This is your environment! The ocean!

    ¡­

    I¡¯ll be able to see something big coming before it reaches me, right?

    It was at that point that he became aware of a strange vibrating rumble, softly shaking the water around him.

    As if turned to a carven statue, Cuttlefish abruptly seized up and floated freely in the water for a few seconds; frozen mid-stroke.

    He decidedly did not cry out; that bubble cloud had absolutely nothing to do with him. He¡¯d never met it before in his life. He did, however, flounder around in a few panicked circles, nearly dropping the blank scroll and ink pot he had with him. Loosely tied to him with an old wound seaweed strap he definitely borrowed.

    It was a few agonizingly long moments of terror before Cuttlefish realized that subtle rumble wasn¡¯t coming from behind him - whichever direction that was at this point. Rather, it actually seemed to be coming from¡­ closer to the direction he had been going?

    There was also something oddly familiar about the vibrating rumble. It shook the water around his wings in a way he felt as though he¡¯d known it from before. Didn¡¯t the boat-things do something similar in the water? He thought he remembered something like that¡­

    Cuttlefish frantically shook his head out, trying to clear the residual panic. For the first time, he was somewhat glad he was out here alone. Nobody saw that.

    The little SeaWing paddled in place for a moment, trying to gauge the subtle rumble. He couldn¡¯t really hear it in the sense of hearing a noise, it was more like he rather felt it. It felt sort of like a sound, which was weird. It felt kind of like a splash from a SeaWing performing a water landing above you, but less. And more steady.

    Like a distant whale call, he felt it reverberate across his entire body. It pressed his ears and made him feel a little weird. But where was it coming from?

    After a few minutes of thinking, he had an idea on how to potentially find out. He had no idea where the idea came from; or even how by the tides it was supposed to work.

    Slowly stretching his wings out to their maximum extension, Cuttlefish held as still as he could and tried to feel the rumbling vibrations shake his wings. He slowly paddled in a half-circle to feel it from another angle.

    Then, he retracted his wings and swam to a different spot, a talonful of tail-lengths from his first spot. Again extending them, feeling the vibrations across his membranes.

    He repeated the process several more times, continuing until he thought he may have had a rough idea as to where the water vibrations were coming from. It was a path at least similar to the one he had been following, but he had been off. Though perhaps through what was the strangest method he¡¯d ever imagined; he thought he found a way to correct his course.

    Cuttlefish gathered his courage, and determinedly set off to what was probably the dangerous boat-things that had started all this mess.

    ***

    >In the waters nearby Safe Harbor_

    Cuttlefish had long lost track of how long he¡¯d been swimming for. He was pretty sure it was a while, though.

    The waters around him were still cast in darkness wrought from the night skies above. Although he could just see a dim flare of orange refracting off the ocean¡¯s surface. Dawn would break soon. Soon too, would the enclave dragons discover him missing. If they haven¡¯t already. He should haste.

    The subtle rumbling had grown in intensity, though not by all that much. He was sure he was getting close, nonetheless.

    Slowly swimming towards the surface, Cuttlefish made to surreptitiously poke his head out of the water and look around. He did so, and what he saw once the seawater cleared from his eyes took him aback.

    ¡®Jumping¡¯ back in the water, Cuttlefish was not expecting the amount of everything that he laid eyes on.

    The massive pod of hulking metal boat-things had not moved. All the fatter-looking ones were clustered together in groups closer to the shore. The smaller (relatively) ones were either interspersed throughout the formations of fatter ones, or resting at the outside of the pod. A few even seemed to be slowly moving around.

    Gently lit a warm orange by the awakening sun, Cuttlefish could see¡­ a lot of small white and yellowish lights across the top parts of the floating things. Casting them all in strange artificial glows. It made them look even more like strange kinds of floating buildings; if complicated, metallic ones.

    Unfortunately, he couldn¡¯t see a lot of what was on shore. Sure, he had night-vision, but it was so much harder to see detail when it was dark, even more so when the thing you were trying to see was far away. Not to mention the lights from the boat-things making it harder to see the darker shore.

    However, he could see that there were quite a fair amount of lights on the shore, around the area he knew was the scavenger den itself. He thought they looked a little like firelights, even though he wasn¡¯t super familiar with what those were supposed to look like. He was also pretty sure he could see outlines of what he was sure looked like land buildings.

    Cuttlefish quickly ducked back underwater. It was a little bit of a mess-up that he came here when it was dark, because he couldn¡¯t see the actual scavenger den - the very thing he¡¯d set out to see - very well.

    I¡¯ll just¡­ wait around until the sun comes out, and I can see better. Yeah, that¡¯s a good idea.

    He probably didn¡¯t have long, considering dragons back at the enclave might have noticed him missing by now. If they haven¡¯t already. Oyster and Clam would be able to guess where he disappeared to pretty quickly.

    Still, it was quite a distance. Even if the adults could swim faster than him, it would take them a while for them to get here. He most likely had time to see the scavenger den in daylight and be able to take a few notes with his scroll before having to slip away and sneak back a roundabout way.

    Cuttlefish flinched when he suddenly realized something rather important. He looked down to the waterproofed parchment and inkpot tied against his chest.

    I need to be out of the water to write on this¡­ Rotten fish heads.

    He smacked his face with his wing. That was a bad oversight. Even despite what he said to Oyster and Clam; there was no way he was getting out of the water anywhere near these things.

    Though¡­ I have never been out of the water near shore before¡­ Cuttlefish quickly shook that thought. Indeed he had spent very nearly his entire life swimming under the sea, and had never been ashore; that was a very stupid idea.

    He was still afraid of what these boat-things could possibly do to him if they decided to attack. He wasn¡¯t keen to leave the water to try and see if they would decide; which meant that he couldn¡¯t write on his scroll while he was over here.

    Cuttlefish spent some of the air he just inhaled huffing some frustrated bubbles. His gills flaring slightly to match his annoyance. It looked like he really was just going to be stuck here waiting for the sun to hurry up and come out.

    The young SeaWing pouted there for only a few moments, when movement coming from ahead caught his eye.

    Looking up, he saw one of the ¡®smaller¡¯ boat-things - that had been moving around at the outside of the pod - slowly turning towards where he was floating. The main epicenter of the shaking vibrations, Cuttlefish could just make out the signature bubble trail emerging from the back of it.

    The huge boat-thing was coming towards him. Cuttlefish wasn¡¯t sure what to do. Did it notice him? Was it just doing its own thing? That seemed likely.

    ***

    Unbeknownst to our naive dragonet, deep within the great beast known only to unspoken few as a ¡°Corvette,¡± dwelt a strange creature indeed.

    The mysterious little being, fueled by caffeine, remained transfixed to a bizarre edifice. Baleful, bloodshot eyes gazed upon a spartan panel of indicator lights and simple instruments. A strange device clamped over its head as it rested; hypnotized by that which was before it.

    The hunched creature - known to its varmint peers as an ¡°ASDIC Technician,¡± had been subjected to the horrors of ¡°watch duty.¡± Eventually, the creature¡¯s sleep-deprived mind became aware of a sound coming through the magnetic devices stuck to his head.

    That wasn''t unusual to the creature. But the creature had heard these sounds before. The creature knew these sounds.

    The creature alerted its friends. They had another one of these ¡®things¡¯ again.

    ***

    >Random human PoV

    >Somewhere Near The Middle Mountains_

    Junco sighed, pulling her old hoe from the soil and leaning exhausted on its shaft. She rubbed sweat from her brow and adjusted her loose headscarf, pulling the brown fabric forward to shield her eyes from the sun glaring through the sparse tree canopy.

    ¡°Wings above, I scorching love this scorching weather. How about you suckers?¡± The gruff cadence of one of her fellow farmhands came from behind her, practically dripping with sarcasm.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about you peasants, but I absolutely love dragging potatoes out of the dirt all day while the sun tries to melt me. I scorching love it. Wouldn¡¯t want to do anything else with my life.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I bet you do, you potato-brained loser.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn''t be able to do anything else if you tried.¡±

    The potato-brain in question was known colloquially as Potato. Junco hadn¡¯t the faintest clue what his actual name was, only that it wasn¡¯t that. She didn¡¯t know anyone who knew his real name, and she was honestly a little afraid to ask. Everyone in her little village simply referred to him as ¡®Potato¡¯ for reasons that became emphatically obvious to anyone that spoke to him for more than two minutes.

    ¡°SCORCHING RIGHT! Potatoes are everything, brother!¡± He hollered,

    ¡°Work is potato, pay is potato, food is potato, dirt is potato, life is potato, everything is potato.¡±

    ¡°Your mother is potato.¡±

    ¡°Save your spit, dirt-munchers. Sweat it out later. I swear if any of you pass out from heat stroke, I¡¯m leaving your butt out here.¡±

    Despite herself, Junco laughed. Which was probably the intended reaction. Whether or not Potato was a jester at heart or just an idiot, he did like trying to cheer up his fellow farmhands by doing¡­ whatever it was that he was doing.

    Usually though, all he really accomplished was getting on everyone¡¯s nerves.

    Today, there were only 4 people out working today, not counting herself and Potato.

    Dill, the chatsizer and oldest of the bunch, a figure with a history almost as mysterious as Potato''s, and the only man here with any semblance of personal responsibility.

    Badger the Kindly, a quieter fellow that through some unknown means managed to get married and start his own family.

    Finally the brothers Frog and Toad, who were unmatched in their ability to pick (and win) fights in and around the village tavern.

    Junco herself was the odd (surprisingly) one of the bunch. Everyone else here were people you¡¯d expect to find working meager subsistence crops. All young men, well built and in or about to reach their primes, with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. All of them were poor, but then again, so was everyone else.

    Junco was only here because her father, known as Fennel the Widower, was the owner and manager of the land they worked on. And a shining example of how relative ¡®wealth¡¯ can be out here. He had no surviving sons to his name, thus why she was out here working the soil rather than studying to be literate or versed in the arts; in the hopes to pilgrimage to the Indestructible City or Safe Harbor to find better-paying work as many girls her age and stature would be doing.

    Perhaps many would find her situation unfortunate, but she didn¡¯t let herself mind. Someone had to be out here. She¡¯d been working these gardens full-time since her first period, not too many seasons ago. Everyone else in her team had long been working fields as well, with Dill being the longest-serving among them with many seasons. She had come to like them, and they, her. They were all good friends.

    Technically, as the daughter of the landowner, she should be the one in charge. But they¡¯d all come to think of her almost like a little sister, and she of them as her goofball big brothers. Dill was far better cut out for the role of example-setter, anyway. That didn¡¯t really stop her from being second manager, though. Mostly because she acted more like a mature adult than all of them combined. Sans Dill, of course.

    It wasn¡¯t a particularly honorable, exciting, or glamorous life. It was boring and hard, very hard. But it was the life they¡¯d all been dealt. Complaining wouldn¡¯t do anything to fix it, despite Potato¡¯s best efforts.

    Even then, Junco could agree with the sentiment. The hardy tubers they were tending to made up the overwhelming majority of the food they consumed. The sturdy plants were well-suited to the small, concealed garden patches they had to use, which proved poor growing grounds for anything less persistent than weeds.

    Other than the small amounts of rye that were also grown in certain places, and apples that came from a shoddy orchard: work was potato, pay was potato, and food was potato.

    Potato was wearisome. But again, what could they do? At least they could supplement a little with sweet potatoes as of late, though Junco found the orange things a little strange.

    Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hoe and plunged it back into the stubborn soil in a certain spot and levered, breaking the ground apart and rendering a much softer earth.

    She even happened to raise fist-sized brown lump of starch to the surface, as she was tilling the dirt right next to one of the plants. Reaching down and yanking it off its root, she tossed it to a small pile.

    Junco made to stand back up, but became woozy from the motion. She braced herself again on the shaft of her tool.

    ¡°You good, Junco?¡± She heard Badger call out.

    ¡°I¡¯m alright. Just a little hot is all.¡± The pant in her voice did little to make her sound convincing.

    ¡°Take a break.¡± Dill¡¯s tone did not permit argument.

    Nonetheless, she did anyway. ¡°No really, I¡¯m alright. I can keep going.¡± Junco again raised her tool, and shoved it into the dirt. Not really aiming for any particular point where she figured another potato to be, just trying to make a point.

    She promptly heard marching footsteps, and a strong hand grip her shoulder. Dill semi-dragged her over to the shade of a tree, and sat her down before its trunk.

    ¡°I said take a break. You need it.¡± He ordered sternly.

    She looked up at him. An imposing figure, glistening with sweat, with strong shoulders and considerable musculature toned from years of hard labor. He stood a head above the other hands, and towered over the much younger Junco. Though she knew he wasn¡¯t the kind to use his stature to intimidate others.

    ¡°We need to pull all the potatoes out of this patch before the heat of the day passes and the mountain dragons start flying again.¡± Junco retorted. ¡°Father will be upset if we come up short, and we still have a whole other patch to go through. He might even dock your pay.¡±

    Dill¡¯s deep brown eyes rolled. ¡°You know that isn¡¯t true, Junco. Old Fennel isn¡¯t gonna rot himself if we take a couple extra days to harvest. Besides, this season¡¯s harvest has been better than usual. More potatoes means we need more time to unearth them.¡±

    Junco huffed. He is always so hard to argue with.

    He pulled a small flask from his belt, and held it out to her.

    She glared back. ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    ¡°You need it.¡±

    ¡°So do you. I¡¯m not going to take your water if you¡¯re just gonna make me sit here.¡±

    Dill stared for a few moments, before shrugging and returning the water container to his belt. He turned on his heel and returned to his duties. ¡°I had better not see you get back up for a good while!¡± He called back.

    ¡°Yeah, whatever.¡± She muttered.

    Leaning back against the tree, Junco stared up at the copious overhead foliage. Much of it was tree canopies, but there were a few small ropes which ran from tree to tree across the largest gaps. All of them teeming with carefully cultivated ivy.

    That had been an absolute pain to set up. She remembered the long days of perilously clinging onto the trees in weather not dissimilar to this, meticulously helping to string up those ropes with other workers. It had taken approximately forever by her estimations, but the benefits the rudimentary camouflage net offered outweighed the effort.

    She was pretty sure, anyway. It was a little difficult to tell how well it concealed their activities from the air, given they couldn¡¯t exactly go up there and look.

    The only real way to reliably judge the effectiveness of a given garden patch¡¯s tree camouflage was by keeping track of which farm hands came back, and which didn¡¯t. Trial by error and fire, if you will.

    On occasion, Junco sometimes realized how scary her job actually was. Going out from the relative safety of their tiny village everyday to the same few spots near where Mountain Dragons were known to lurk about, hunting. With nothing to defend themselves except their farming tools, dragons snatching up people like her and her friends were a regular occurrence.

    All for a handful of potatoes. It seemed to Junco that kind of risk merited a much more intrinsically hazardous, adventurous, and lucrative line of work, like treasure-seeking or something. All they were out here for was their own potatoes. But such was the way of things.

    It was a miracle that nothing had happened to her or any of her friends yet. There had been some awfully close calls, but Dill had always known what to do to get them out of the way, always seemed to have a plan for when things went into the inferno. Junco thought he knew more about dragons than he let on.

    Perhaps she, and all of them, should be a lot more alarmed and cautious in their day-to-day lives; but anything will stop being scary, if you do it for long enough. That''s what she figured.

    At least her friends didn¡¯t seem scared by the impending prospect of potential doom by dragon fire. Then again, the brothers Frog and Toad didn¡¯t seem to be afraid of anything, and Junco was pretty sure Potato wasn¡¯t capable of being afraid of anything.

    The young farm girl closed her eyes, suddenly feeling excessively sore. She could feel the oppressive heat beginning to wane but a little. Eventually, it would be cool enough that the Mountain Dragons would be more inclined to take to the skies again, and they¡¯d have to go back to the village to take cover.

    Until then, she might as well get a little bit of sleep. Potato¡¯ll probably make fun of her for sleeping on the job, but who cares what he thinks.

    ***

 XXII - Tintenfische Things (ii)

    >In the waters near Safe Harbor_

    The imposing floating metal construct loomed overhead. Like a lazy bull shark it nonchalantly grew closer and closer. What paltry warm light the awakening sun cast imparted a dark shadow under the strange thing¡¯s bulk.

    Cuttlefish was frozen. He¡¯d no idea what to do. Should he try to swim away? Get some distance from the boat-thing? Would that agitate it? Should he just remain still? What if that was what it wanted him to do? What if it didn¡¯t even know he was actually here?

    He tried to remember what he did the last times he¡¯d been confronted by things like this. The first time; he and his friends were kind of dumbstruck on the spot, and didn¡¯t move. Nothing bad happened to them that time, but that was in the middle of the open ocean, and before these things proved dangerous to dragons.

    The second had been with the underwater-boat-thing. Twice, actually. Both times Cuttlefish literally swam up to it and poked his head out of the water. In hindsight, that seemed a pretty foolish idea. Neither time ended badly when he did, though¡­

    But would this boat-thing be the same? Cuttlefish still didn¡¯t know what these things were capable of. It probably could kill him if he just held still like this. It probably could kill him if he tried to swim away. It could definitely kill him if he tried to swim up to it and say hello like last time.

    It also might not. It might be like with the scavengers on the underwater-boat-thing. Where was that thing, anyway? He thought it might have come over here, but he couldn¡¯t see it from where he was. Then again, he couldn¡¯t see most of the boat-things¡¯ undersides from his current underwater position.

    Cuttlefish stared up at the boat-thing as it drew closer. The bubble trail coming from behind it was clearly visible, and the shaking vibrations in the water around quite apparent indeed.

    This could also prove an opportunity to see scavengers up close again¡­ Isn¡¯t that what you wanted?

    More or less¡­ Cuttlefish found himself wondering why exactly he had blundered all the way out here.

    Because he was bored? Because these scavengers were weird? Because he was curious? To be honest, he wasn¡¯t fully sure. This had seemed like a much better idea beforetalon, before he actually went out and did it. But now that he is here¡­ Maybe he might as well go all the way?

    The young SeaWing found himself seriously considering doing what he did with the previous boat-thing, and just going up and saying hello. Despite his wariness, that went well last time, right?

    Maybe then, this could be an opportunity for him to be a brave SeaWing for once. Not that anyone was around to bear witness to his courage, anyway.

    Still, it would feel pretty redeeming after his whole ¡®scared-of-the-ocean¡¯ thing¡­

    Come on, Cuttlefish. You¡¯ll be fine. What¡¯s the worst that could happen¡­?

    Cuttlefish stared up at the gradually approaching metal hulk for a few moments, stalling. He eventually managed to harden his resolve, and nervously paddled up to the boat-thing¡¯s right-talon side. He tried to squint through the rippling surface up at the above-water portion of the boat-thing, but couldn¡¯t make anything out through the disturbed seawater.

    This is it, no turning back¡­

    Cuttlefish hurriedly popped his head out of the water, and hastily shook it to clear the water from his eyes; coughing and spitting out water as he cleared his gills to use his lungs again.

    No sooner than he took his first complete breath of the salty air, did he hear something that sounded rather like the scavenger barking he¡¯d known from before:

    (¡°What the¡­ YIKES!¡±)

    Cuttlefish felt something lightweight and hard bonk off his head, something hot and sticky splashed his horns. He yelped and frantically shook his head again.

    (¡°Oh, no, dammit!¡±)

    (¡°What!? What¡¯s the matter?¡±)

    (¡°What¡¯s the matter is I dropped me bleeding tea!¡±)

    Cuttlefish looked up. The first thing he noticed - other than this boat-thing being quite a bit bigger and taller above water than the last one - was that there were a few weird-colored scavengers across it. They looked rather like the last ones he¡¯d seen on the underwater-boat-thing, and were seemingly at least as eager to bark at each other.

    (¡°Oh, there¡¯s also another one of those fish-dragons, too.¡±)

    (¡°NO, you don¡¯t say?¡±)

    (¡°What happened?¡±)

    (¡°Steve dropped a clanger again.¡±)

    (¡°Dickhead.¡±)

    Cuttlefish tilted his head up at the scavengers. There were¡­ actually quite a few of them atop the boat-thing. Fairly high out of the water from their vantage point, they had strange white coverings on their bodies. The barking sounds they made were¡­ similar to the sounds the previous scavengers made, but also different? They seemed a little¡­ less, somehow, and had a lot less noises that dragons usually used when talking. Their scavenger voices seemed a little softer, though they were chattering quite loudly.

    (¡°Crikey, we¡¯ve got another one!¡±)

    (¡°How many of these things are snooping around here?¡±)

    (¡°Now what?¡±)

    The scavengers engaged their barking antics with zest. They seemed to be entirely directing their noises at each other, but all of them were rather intently staring at him. Leaning on strange horizontal bars and pointing at him with their clawless paws.

    Cuttlefish suddenly remembered something he did with the last boat-thing that the scavengers responded too. He lifted a single webbed talon out of the water, and waved it back-and forth at the assorted scavengers.

    The scavengers all suddenly grew quiet, and stared rather strangely at him indeed. One scavenger eventually seemed to bare its flat teeth in a smile and waved a paw back at him. The scavengers quickly resumed their vocalizations.

    (¡°Heh heh. He looks funny.¡±)

    (¡°Did he just try to say ¡®hi?¡¯¡±)

    (¡°Looks a little like a big sea lion¡­¡±)

    (¡°It looks like it hasn''t realised which bloomin¡¯ colour it is.¡±)

    (¡°I think that¡¯s called ¡®turquoise,¡¯ you plonker.¡±)

    (¡°He¡¯s also got blue and green, there!¡±)

    (¡°Wasn¡¯t the last one green?¡±)

    (¡°Is it a he or a she?¡±)

    (¡°Well, I can¡¯t bloody tell.¡±)

    Cuttlefish had no idea why, but he decided these scavengers were pretty funny. They sounded funny, anyway. Something about the way they directed their phrases at each other? Did all scavengers sound like this when they were together? These ones didn¡¯t seem particularly scared of him. If they weren¡¯t looking directly and waving their paws at him, Cuttlefish might have thought they were almost ignoring him.

    It felt a little odd being so close to a bunch of scavengers. Odd too, that he would be so interested in watching a bunch of scavengers chatter at each other, bearing in mind all that he¡¯d learned about scavengers so far: He should probably be trying to lunge up to grab and drag one of them into the water with him. Cuttlefish didn¡¯t want to do that, though. He didn¡¯t want to hunt these scavengers. He didn''t come here wanting to hunt them. He didn¡¯t care if the scrolls said hunting them was what he was supposed to do.

    Though it wasn¡¯t what he had risked coming all the way over here to do - try to see a scavenger den up close - watching a bunch of scavengers bark at each other was surprisingly entertaining for whatever reason.

    Cuttlefish reached his raised talon up and touched it to the top of his head, where something hit him. What was that? He sniffed at his talon. It smelled kind of funny.

    He wrinkled his snout at the scavengers. They continued their chattering match unabated:

    (¡°Think that look¡¯s for you, Steve.¡±)

    (¡°What¡¯re we supposed to do now, sir?¡±)

    (¡°With Fishy, here? Probably try to get him like the last one.¡±)

    (¡°With what? Hit ¡®im with the four-inch gun?¡±)

    (¡°Alive, twat. Smart people want to know more about these thing when they¡¯re still kicking.¡±)

    (¡°Fish it out of the water?¡±)

    (¡°Well, in that case, anyone have a line handy?¡±)

    (¡°How we supposed to get ¡®im, then? Anyone got any ideas?¡±)

    Cuttlefish thought these scavengers were a lot like the ones on the other boat-thing. If perhaps slightly less excited to see him, as weird as that was in the first place. He found himself worrying if that was why scavengers always kept getting caught.

    (¡°Oooh, I got it! Let¡¯s net ¡®im with that monster tangle of wires in the dinghy!¡±)

    (¡°Are you having a laugh??¡±)

    (¡°Distract Fishy while someone gets it!¡±)

    (¡°Bagsy!¡±)

    One of the pale scavengers ducked away from the group towards something farther up on the huge boat-thing. Cuttlefish had absolutely no idea what these scavengers were up to, or what they were chattering about. He still remembered that scavengers were supposed to be rather noisy with each other, but this seemed a little much. He couldn¡¯t stop himself from wondering what they could possibly be talking about, as though they were talking at all.

    Another of the scavengers that remained to gawk at him suddenly leaned over the horizontal bars, and seemed to bark directly at Cuttlefish this time:

    (¡°OI! Sea Dragon! It¡¯s too early for this shite! May we be so rude to ask you to kindly come back just before noon?¡±)

    Cuttlefish started, he was not expecting one of the scavengers to start shouting at him. What could it possibly be doing that for?

    ¡°Uhhh¡­¡± He mumbled, staring up at the noisy scavenger. He truly had little idea what was happening. He heard a weird clattering noise come from somewhere on the boat-thing, out of sight.

    The scavenger, apparently, had more to shout about: (¡°No? Come to pass the early morning chat, are we? In that case: Horrid weather we¡¯re having, eh? Entirely too hot! A nice rain shower every now and again ¡®d do wonders to cool things down, if I should be so bold to say. Wouldn¡¯t you think so? Living underwater as you do?¡±)

    Cuttlefish tilted his head sideways at the scavenger barking at him. Scavengers being weird was definitely one thing those scrolls were accurate about beyond a doubt. That was for sure.

    The scavenger continued to articulate its nonsense at him:

    (¡°Perhaps not? Could we bother you with some refreshments? We have¡­ uh¡­ fantastic dried biscuits. And tea. We fortunately have tea! How do you take yours?¡±)

    The last series of barks seemed to have another inflection, rather like the last one the scavenger produced. It kind of made it sound like the peculiar mammal was asking him questions. A strange thought that was.

    Cuttlefish heard another clattering noise come from up the boat-thing. The scavenger quickly continued:

    (¡°No tea for you, then? Well, I simply must apologise for the inconvenience, but may we be so rude as to bother you with some feature entertainment of ours? Such as - but not limited to - THE TWAT NET!¡±)

    Without warning, the barking scavenger suddenly barked extra loud, leaned back upright and dramatically flung one of its skinny arms out to the side and back, as if trying to direct attention to something occurring just behind it.

    What that something was supposed to be - indeed, if it were something at all - Cuttlefish had no idea. Literally nothing else changed. As if he for some reason started believing a scavenger barking would get anything to happen in the first place.

    The rest of the scavengers were quiet, for some reason. One of them held a paw against the upper part of its face and seemed to exhale significantly.

    The young SeaWing regarded the pale scavengers for a few moments. I should probably be taking notes, or something. He mused to himself. This was some very strange behavior indeed.

    He was considering casually slipping back underwater, (slowly, he had no idea how these weird things would react to sudden movement) when suddenly: There was a loud bark sound, and a big, snarled knot of gray line heaved out of nowhere, and careened over the boat-thing¡¯s side¨C

    Straight at him.

    Cuttlefish¡¯s eyes widened. Oh no.

    He didn¡¯t have time to react before the cluster of loose lines hit him. Smacking right into his neck and going over his shoulders, the shockingly heavy mess of wires fell over his wings and around his limbs.

    He hurriedly ducked back underwater, flipping over himself in the process and getting the tangle across even more of him.

    Thrashing. He was thrashing back and forth in a panic. He had to get free of the lines. He tried to wiggle himself out of the unexpected snare. The wires seemed to crawl over him on their own.

    The lines, whatever they were, were really strong. He couldn¡¯t break them. He tried to push and pull himself around every-which-way; they still held him. His wings were already caught up in it: he could barely move them at all. He tried to use his foretalons to scrape the thick wires off. The lines had gotten around his forelegs. He couldn¡¯t reach them very far. His shoulders weren¡¯t flexible enough to be able to reach around to his back.

    Oh no, oh no¨C

    Cuttlefish tried to use his hindlegs and tail to paddle away from the boat-thing. He had to get free. Had to get distance. The lines looped themselves over him again. They tangled even more. The momentum from his off-center attempt at pushing off sent him spinning in the water. The wires were all around.

    Suddenly, something in the lines jerked. An immense force started to drag him back up the surface. He tried to fight back. The wires¨C they were all around him.

    Oh no, oh no, oh no¨C

    This time the light and air of the surface seemed to sting him as he was slowly dragged kicking out of the water. The snarl proved able to hold his weight¨C he was being steadily lifted straight out of the sea.

    Cuttlefish coughed up water again and breathed heavily. His tail thrashed below him, only prompting him into slow spin as he dangled helplessly. He twisted his neck to look at the scavengers and the boat-thing.

    A bar-thing had extended over the side of the construct just over him, which the mess of line seemed to be connected to. A high-pitched whining and clicking noise accompanied him being slowly lifted into the air.

    Cuttlefish stared wide-eyed at the pale scavengers. They stared back. Did he actually just get caught by a bunch of scavengers? There was no way he¡¯d just been caught by scavengers. What was going to happen to him? Since when did scavengers have the ability to literally catch dragons like this? What are they going to do to him?

    He¡¯d been caught by the very creatures that dragons were supposed to catch. This was not supposed to happen.

    This is bad. This is really bad.

    The scavengers, previously quiet, suddenly decided they had more to bark about:

    (¡°...Would you still be interested in some refreshments, mate?¡±)

    (¡°Well, would you look at that.¡±)

    (¡°We got ¡®im!¡±)

    (¡°I¡­ cannot believe it. You wankers managed to catch Fishy with a cack-handed net. Now I¡¯ve seen everything.¡±)

    (¡°Now what¡¯ll we do?¡±)

    (¡°... Let¡¯s take it back to shore, I suppose. The boys in charge of the other one ought to find this interesting.¡±)

    (¡°Oi! What¡¯s that thing tied to ¡®im? That don¡¯t look like we did it!¡±)

    A bunch of the scavengers leaned towards Cuttlefish, pointing at him with their paws and chattering indistinctly. A lot more scavengers started to slowly appear from little doors and things across the boat-thing, seemingly attracted by the commotion.

    Cuttlefish was left to dangle helplessly as many, many scavengers emerged, moved about, retreated, and did all kinds of things he couldn¡¯t keep track of. They were evidently very busy. Possibly almost as busy as his own brain worrying itself to pieces.

    What is going on? What is happening? Why is this happening? What is going to happen to me?

    What have I gotten myself into?

    Eventually, the enormous boat-thing¨C which Cuttlefish was now stuck to¨C rumbled and gently accelerated. Slowly turning around the giant pod of other hulks towards the shore.

    Well, looks like you might finally get to go ashore for the first time. An optimistic part of his mind pointed out.

    Would have hoped for it to have been under better circumstances¡­ He replied to himself.

    Congratulations. You finally get to see scavengers and their den up close. Just like you wanted. Another voice snarked.

    Oh, dear¡­

    ***

    >Nearby Safe Harbor_

    Cuttlefish was unceremoniously flopped onto a long platform of flat wood, eliciting a loud creaking plunk! on the wood¡¯s part and wincing grunt on his.

    The line that snared him was released from the boat-thing, leaving him tangled up on the long wooden platform in an awkward position. He tried to push himself up to his talons, but his haphazardly-restrained limbs made it difficult.

    He¡¯d only just managed to roll upright when pounding biped footsteps surrounded him¨C scavengers with various things rushed to close him in on the platform.

    Cuttlefish instinctively flinched back from them. His brain sparked with disjointed thoughts as alarm took over.

    He just wanted to see the scavenger den. He didn¡¯t want the scavengers of that den to, well, get him. He remembered reading that scavengers were aggressive near their dens when dragons came close.

    He didn¡¯t expect ¡®aggressive¡¯ would pertain to¡­ whatever it was that just happened to him.

    Namly being actually captured by scavengers. If it literally hadn¡¯t just happened to him, he would never have believed such a thing possible. It was such an absurd reverse in the natural way of things that it never would have ever occurred to even relatively imaginative (and perhaps fretful) dragonets like him.

    Through the confusion, Cuttlefish was suddenly stuck by what he remembered was supposed to happen to scavengers caught by dragons. While we were on the topic of ¡®order reversion,¡¯ that was what his traitorous mind followed-up with.

    Needless to say: if he wasn¡¯t panicking before, he certainly was now.

    The dragonet attempted to lurch to his feet and do something. Anything. He had no idea what. Fight? Flee? He wasn''t sure anymore what he was doing, or what he was thinking. He just had to do something.

    It was suddenly as though his mind had become blinded¨C like another SeaWing had lit up all their glowing stripes as bright as could be done right in front of him, preventing him from being able to see anything else.

    All his mind could see in that moment was fear; not a slow, creeping dread induced by staring into an unknowably vast, seemingly bottomless watery abyss. Rather, this was an absolute hysteric fright that gripped his awareness and blocked his mind from being able to think about anything else.

    Eyes wild, the little SeaWing slipped and tripped over his wet talons and tangled wings, sprawling back on the platform with a squawk. He hit his head on the wood upon impact.

    The wires felt like they were tightening around him on their own as if they were huge snakes: making it harder to move, harder to breathe.

    He could hear the scavengers around him barking rather loudly. Whether at him or at each other, he didn¡¯t know.

    Head planted forehead-down on the rough-feeling dark brown wood, Cuttlefish squinted his eyes closed, hyperventilating. He tried to block everything out.

    I promise I never hunted any scavengers! I promise I didn¡¯t come here to hunt any scavengers! He pleaded uselessly to only himself, as though that would make any difference.

    He made a, rather embarrassing, squeaking whine noise when he felt something sharp poke against either side of his neck. Just between his gills and head.

    This is it. I¡¯m done for.

    This wasn¡¯t even fair! He was just a little dragonet! Not even a full-grown adult! He wasn¡¯t cut out to fight off a whole pack of scavengers that had him tangled up, and sharp things against his neck!

    Cuttlefish expected to feel what was probably the metal-claw things he¡¯d read so much about being driven through the soft scales on his throat. He sat there for a few moments, continuing to expect it. He expected it for a little while longer.

    What next he rather felt was something heavy-feeling pushing his head down, and something rough-feeling going tightly around his snout. Holding it closed.

    Oh, right. My teeth. Cuttlefish remembered. Those might have been useful¡­

    Mako had once remarked that he would¡¯ve been useless in a fight. Forgetting about his own weapons probably warranted that.

    Something else¨C several something else''s, for that matter¨C grabbed onto the wires looped all over his shoulders and wings. Those somethings started to pull upwards.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Cuttlefish slowly wobbled to his feet, gripping the wood below with his claws as though an undercurrent were about to rip him away. The scavengers around him were making lots of barking chattering noises.

    Speaking of fighting¡­ Cuttlefish suddenly considered. He could just try to fight his way away from the scavengers. Even with his wings and legs all tangled up and snout tied closed, he was still pretty strong compared to them, right? He also still had his tail.

    Cuttlefish cautiously cracked an eye open, wincing as the rising sun hit it directly. He tried to look to where one of the scavengers was, and was immediately taken aback.

    They were¡­ bigger than he was expecting.

    Standing upright, he found himself even having to look slightly up to meet the eyes of one of the scavengers standing right next to him. From the ways the scrolls always described them, he¡¯d kind of expected them to be a lot smaller up close. Then again, those scrolls were written by adults, and he was a dragonet.

    Even then, the idea of having to look up at a scavenger felt weird, somehow.

    The scavengers around him all stood at, close to, or just above eye level to him. It made him feel uncomfortable. It made him think these scavengers could really hurt him if they tried.

    Cuttlefish felt the wound kelp strap that kept his scroll and inkpot tied to him, the very thing he¡¯d gone to all this trouble to try and use, suddenly vanished from around his body. Did the scavengers just steal his scroll?

    He felt the need to protest this, but the scavengers had already pointed a few apparently sharp-looking things at him, as if to threaten him. Instead of stabbing him, they started to pull him by the wires down the long platform-thing. Towards the shore.

    It was at that moment, Cuttlefish realized that he didn¡¯t remember how to walk.

    That wasn¡¯t actually true. He of course knew how to walk; but it had been a very (to him) long time since he had done so. He¡¯s spent his entire life, except for a few weeks when his parents taught him how to fly as a much smaller dragonet, swimming underwater. Aside from a few short bursts of flight or occasional hour or so sitting on a rock, swimming was all he had known before or since then.

    Completely outside of the water for the first time in a long time, he felt heavy. So heavy. That he was in a dangerous situation, stressed out, and surrounded by completely new sounds and smells like nothing he¡¯d ever known before compounded to disorientate and render him unstable.

    The scavengers dragged him forward. He tried to keep from tripping over his talons again, awkwardly hobbling on his tangled legs. He squinted his eyes closed again to shield them from the glare of the awakening sun. Though it and the bombardment of strange shore-sounds against his ears had already given him a headache.

    Eventually, upon another unwieldy step forward, did his webbed foretalon not contact the weird flat wood below him, but instead something crumbly-feeling and dry.

    Cuttlefish risked peeking his eyes open. Dirt? Is this dirt? Given he was on the land, there was a decidedly good chance that this was dirt. At least in his opinion.

    The brown stuff he was now walking on didn¡¯t feel much like sand, the only other land-material he was familiar with. This was firmer, and he noticed bits of it sticking to his wet talons as he walked over it.

    He wrinkled his snout. Ew.

    The SeaWings dragonet kept being reminded that he really shouldn¡¯t be letting a bunch of scavengers of all things drag him around, but every time he considered trying to fight them off, his mind kept circling around to how easy it would be for just one of them to stab him if he tried to push the others off.

    Even if this might prove the best opportunity he still had to break free that he was going to have, and his chances of escape only got worse the longer he stayed, he was still afraid of getting stabbed.

    Coward.

    ¡­ Maybe. He sulked.

    Cuttlefish looked at the ground as he trudged along. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, accompanying all the other strange land noises he could hardly conceive the origins of. He tried to keep himself from imagining what was in store for him.

    Maybe I ought to apologize to Oyster and Clam for this¡­ They were right, after all. There were a lot of dragons he probably ought to apologize to for this. His friends, his mother, even Mako.

    The scavengers around him stopped walking. He stopped too. They started chattering at each other again. They, to his mild surprise, started to untangle the wires from his body. He could totally imagine Oyster snarking ¡®I told you so¡¯ at him for this. He could imagine Clam perking up and numbly asking what she was referring to. He could imagine¨C

    Cuttlefish looked up at something ahead of them. He could imagine seeing¡­ Dark green scales?

    The young SeaWing felt a burst of energy. Whether it was of alarm of excitement, even he wasn¡¯t fully sure.

    Green scales? Is there another dragon already here? Another SeaWing? What¡¯re they doing here? What¨C

    Cuttlefish realized he recognized that color of scales. He realized that there was no other dragon with scales quite like them, and he realized that he had not seen those scales in quite some time. His breath caught in his throat.

    ¡­How? What¡­?

    Nothing about any of this made a droplet of sense. From the boat-things, to the den, to the scavengers themselves. Nothing about this situation seemed at all reasonable or believable. Least sensible of all, that he would see those scales in a place like this.

    But for maybe one of the first times in his memory: Cuttlefish didn¡¯t care that it didn¡¯t make sense.

    ***

    ¡°Oh, shit, he¡¯s loose!¡±

    The rather mopey blue-green small green sea dragon they¡¯d fished up wrenched itself free of the wires that had kept it all tangled up, hobbled and crashed to the ground; got up, and repeated the process a couple times; and then galloped full tilt at Kevin, the green sea dragon they¡¯d caught much earlier.

    ¡°They¡¯re both males! Are they gonna fight?!¡±

    ¡°Shit, we¡¯re cooked.¡±

    ¡°Quick! Get the- uh¡­¡±

    ¡­

    ¡°Uhh¡­ I dun¡¯ think they ain¡¯t fightin¡¯ none.¡±

    ¡°What the hell?¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t nuthin¡¯ of a zoologist or nuthin¡¯ like that, but I dun¡¯ think no territory fight should involve the big one licking the smaller one.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­ what¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡±

    ***

    When Argonaut felt something heavy, and kind of wet, barrel into his side¨C his first thought was that one of the scavengers had finally completely lost its pearls.

    He whipped his head around to hiss at the unbearably annoying disturbance - that was all he was gonna do, promise - but his jaw was left hanging open by what he saw.

    Many other dragons at the enclave remarked that his only successful hatchling looked a little strange. Light-green wings, webs and underbelly with darker green scales on his talons and lower jaw not unlike his own coloration; Dark blue scales on the top of his snout, head, and down his spine like his mother; the rest of his scales a blue-green teal color.

    Certainly, it was an unusual combination. Argonaut had never seen any other dragon with anything like it. But, especially right now, he thought it was beautiful. He was certain there was no other dragon in the entire ocean anything like the little dragon that wore those scales.

    ¡°[-Father? Father?! Father!]¡± The little dragon mass of turquoise scales and blinking lights flashed.

    Argonaut hurriedly wound back, bracing his wings¡¯ foreclaws against the ground and planting his front talons on the smaller dragon¡¯s shoulders, looking him over. There was absolutely no way this should be happening; but that didn¡¯t matter to him at this moment.

    ¡°-Cuttlefish?¡± he breathed.

    The dragonet¡¯s head bobbed up and down frantically. [¡°Yes! Yes!¡±] He flashed with the stripes on his face.

    Argonaut bit the rope bind on his snout apart, and promptly sniffed him all around his face, neck, and shoulders¨C instinctively checking for any latent injuries. Smelling none, he raised his wings and threw them around his dragonet. Squeezing as tight as he could.

    Cuttlefish babbled something incoherent as he pushed his head into Argonaut¡¯s neck, breaking into a brief coughing fit. Argonaut licked the top of his head a few times, and they held onto one another for a time.

    ¡°What- What are you doing here? Are you okay??¡± He demanded.

    ¡°Are you okay!?¡± Cuttlefish squawked back, looking up at him. ¡°What¡¯re you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Wha- I asked you first.¡± Argonaut said.

    ¡°You answer first.¡± Cuttlefish insisted.

    The older SeaWing rolled his eyes. ¡°Alright, fine. I¡¯m okay. I¡¯ve been¡­ stuck here for a while.¡±

    ¡°Wait! A while!?¡± Cuttlefish immediately interrupted. ¡°How long is a while?¡±

    ¡°A while.¡± Said only Argonaut, flatly.

    For some reason, his son seemed to sigh, relieved. Closing his eyes with a groan, sinking into Argonaut again.

    Unable to support the dragonet¡¯s weight and his own on his own hindlegs for long, he slowly lowered both of them to the ground. Cuttlefish moved until he was against Argonaut¡¯s side. He tented a wing over the smaller dragon¡¯s body.

    He felt the need to inquire as to why Cuttlefish would find the prospect of being stuck here for a long period of time relieving, but there were more pressing matters at talon.

    ¡°I was sent by officials at the Summer Palace to investigate a report of strange things around a scavenger den that suddenly showed up, and proved themselves able to kill dragons.¡± He waved a wing towards the ocean. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re¡­ aware of what those things are by this point? Needless to say: they got me. I¡¯ve been here since then.¡±

    The scavengers got me, but they didn¡¯t kill me. I¡¯ve a pretty good idea why they didn¡¯t, but it¡¯s going to be a little more than a shock to him. Argonaut mused to himself.

    But there was something much more pressing he was worried about at this moment. He wrapped his talons around Cuttlefish¡¯s.

    ¡°What about you? You weren¡¯t¡­ ordered here, were you?¡± Argonaut asked tentatively.

    Cuttlefish stared at him for a few moments with a blank look, but eventually shook his head. ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t ¡®ordered¡¯ here. I came here on my own.¡±

    It was the dark green SeaWing¡¯s turn to sigh, relieved, this time. He hadn¡¯t been conscripted. Though he quickly did something of a double-take.

    ¡°Wait¡­ what do you mean ¡®on your own?¡¯¡±

    The dragonet shifted in place under his wing. ¡°...I, uh¡­ came out here on my own to see the boat-things.¡±

    ¡°How did you know they were here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve, uh, seen them before?¡±

    ¡°How did you know they were here, specifically?¡±

    ¡°We tracked them down to be here after they first showed up. That¡¯s when we saw them blow up those NightWings.¡±

    Argonaut gave him an incredulous look. ¡°You knew these things were dangerous, and yet you deliberately came all the way out here on your own?¡± Snuck off, I would even bet.

    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah.¡± Cuttlefish nodded.

    They both stared at each other for a moment.

    ¡°...You¡¯re grounded forever.¡±

    ¡°Wh- hey!¡±

    Argonaut smacked his face with a webbed talon. ¡°Cuttlefish, I know you¡¯re smarter than this.¡± Dolphin is going to be so mad¡­

    The dragonet in question only muttered something sounding like: ¡°Still not fair,¡± and tucked his head under his own wing¨C still enveloped in turn under Argonaut¡¯s.

    Nothing is fair, buddy. He kept that to himself. He really hoped Cuttlefish wasn¡¯t witness to the destroyed NightWing corpse, or the machinations that led to its death. All dragons quickly were made used to blood and death, but whatever had happened to those NightWings was beyond what he was personally disposed to let his dragonet see.

    Argonaut looked up. A bunch of discolored scavengers were loitering around, observing the strange spectacle. Keeping their distance, nonetheless. He wrinkled his snout at them.

    ¡°How is the enclave?¡± He asked Cuttlefish passively, trying to direct the topic away from the crazy mammals for a little while longer.

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    Argonaut rolled his eyes again. ¡°How¡¯s mother?¡±

    ¡°...She- she really misses you, I guess.¡± Was all Cuttlefish said.

    Dolphin¡¯s probably not been doing too great, then. That disheartened him. Cuttlefish sneaking off isn¡¯t going to help any¡­

    ¡°... I really missed you, too.¡± The dragonet murmured, touching his tail to Argonaut¡¯s.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m here.¡± Argonaut gripped one of his son¡¯s talons within his own, sighing through his nose. Now wasn¡¯t the time to get annoyed at his dragonet. Later, sure. But this was probably still supposed to be the ¡®happy reunion¡¯ phase.

    Then again, Cuttlefish was looking rather sulky all-of-the-sudden.

    ¡°You know what I¡¯ve said about moping, Cuttlefish.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not moping.¡± The dragonet in question protested, ¡°My head just really hurts.¡±

    ¡°Did the scavengers hit you in the head, too?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ no?¡±

    Argonaut tilted his head to the side, confused. ¡°How¡¯d they get you, then?¡±

    ¡°I, uh, got stuck in a net.¡±

    ¡°Got stuck in a net¡­?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    How does a dragon ¡°get stuck in a net?¡± It probably wouldn¡¯t be hard to become ensnared over the wings, but it also didn¡¯t seem hard to escape if you knew what you were doing. And kept calm. He kept from pointing that out, though.

    That aside, what Cuttlefish said indicated he indeed hadn¡¯t been captured in a manner similar to himself. Namely through being forcefully battered unconscious by an underwater explosion-cylinder. That was good, for the scavenger¡¯s sakes. He hadn¡¯t tried to hit any of them with his tail, yet. But that could change.

    It was probable, then, that Cuttlefish was complaining of headache because this was the first time he¡¯d truly been ashore. Under what was no doubt a stressful situation, at that.

    Coming up on land for the first time will do that to a dragon. That was another thing that rather sunk for SeaWings that truly lived out in the deep ocean like them. ¡°Have you remembered to use your lungs and wings? I hope so, or being on land like this is really going to sink for you.¡±

    Cuttlefish nodded under both of their wings. ¡°I still feel like a sick rock, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Well, it would have been a lot worse if you never exercised your lungs. Trust me.¡± Argonaut snorted, remembering something funny that came of being conscripted into the General Army.

    ¡°At least you didn¡¯t try to immediately swim up a freshwater river from the ocean. Knew one SeaWing who lived in the Kingdom proper his whole life that tried that. Came up spluttering and flopping around like a dying fish. Pretty funny for the rest of us, though.¡±

    ¡°Mrmph.¡±

    ¡°...You¡¯re sure you¡¯ve made sure to use your lungs every now and again?¡± Argonaut poked him.

    ¡°Yes, father. I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°Alright, good.¡± He nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll feel better in a bit, then. Just let your body get used to being on land.¡±

    The two dragons could have sat next to each other in (relatively) peaceful silence for that time, but Argonaut felt it prudent to try and distract Cuttlefish a little with some small talk, to get his mind off how much it hurts. That it¡¯d been some time since he¡¯d had anyone to actually talk with was also a plus.

    ¡°What prompted you to swim all the way over here from the enclave? Was there something else other than ¡®just wanting to see the boat-things,¡¯ as you called them?¡± Argonaut felt as though there was another reason Cuttlefish would go so far out of his way and risk getting in trouble than just trying to see something he¡¯d already seen before.

    He also had a suspicion it may have had something to do with that one scrawny-looking scavenger being able to say ¡®cuttlefish¡¯ in dragon for no reason.

    ¡°I¡­ I guess I wanted to see the scavenger den up close?¡± The dragonet offered.

    He wanted to see a scavenger den up close. The SeaWing sighed internally. Since when was he interested in scavenger dens? Enough to try something like this?

    ¡°Have scavengers piqued your interest?¡± He eventually asked.

    Cuttlefish brought his head out to look at his father. ¡°I¡­ Yeah, I guess so.¡± He said. ¡°I¡¯ve read all about them. Tried to, I¨C well, I read all the scrolls we have on them at the enclave. I, uh, wanted to try and see them up close for myself, though.¡±

    Argonaut snorted. Well, in that case, you¡¯re certainly going to get what you wanted. Then again, maybe Cuttlefish could distract that one really chatty scavenger for a change.

    Still, he found it interesting that his son would have taken it upon himself to try to investigate scavengers, even reading a bunch of scrolls on them. That was certainly more than he himself ever did; he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever read a single scroll about scavengers in his life.

    Maybe he knows more about them than I do. Maybe he¡¯d be able to make better sense of their antics than I can. Maybe he¡¯d even be able to navigate this situation better than he could, but he didn¡¯t want to put that on the little dragon¡¯s back.

    Argonaut did, however, kind of want to see how Cuttlefish would react to the scavengers trying to learn to speak using him. Assuming he already was more interested in scavengers than he himself was, going into this. The weird mammals had managed to pick up a couple more dragon words since he had realized that was their intention with all this; he let himself think that Cuttlefish¡¯s reaction to that might be rather funny. For him, anyway.

    ¡°Uh, father?¡± Cuttlefish said, now looking around. ¡°...What are we surrounded by?¡±

    It seemed, in Argonaut¡¯s opinion, that they were surrounded by tents. He himself wasn¡¯t super familiar with them, but he¡¯d remember hearing that Blister¡¯s SandWing contingent often used them in their base camps. Temporary land camps in general, tended to be used to shelter from relentless sun, wind, or rain. He¡¯d never heard of scavengers using tents, but then again, he¡¯d also never heard of scavengers having a military.

    The green SeaWing sighed. How does he go about explaining this?

    ¡°Well, you see-¡±

    ¡°(TINTENFISCHE!)¡±

    Argonaut winced. Speak of the scavengers, and they appear.

    He didn¡¯t hear them coming this time. He himself was a little distracted, it would seem. He¡¯d still come to recognize that scavenger¡¯s little voice in particular. It seemed that Cuttlefish would get his introduction sooner rather than later.

    ***

    Cuttlefish wasn¡¯t sure what exactly he was looking at.

    On one talon, it looked like a bunch of¡­ big dark green fabric drape structures in almost perfect rows. That wasn¡¯t anything like he¡¯d read scavenger dens to be like.

    On the other talon, was he really in the middle of a scavenger den? Was his father really right next to him? Why was this happening?

    He heard a particularly loud scavenger bark come from somewhere among the lanky creatures observing them. He felt his father stiffen a little beside him. He felt the need to inquire as to why.

    His father beat him to it: ¡°Alright, Cuttlefish. This is probably going to be a lot. But you¡¯re already interested in scavengers, right?¡± He looked him in the eye.

    Cuttlefish tilted his head to the side, confused. ¡°What was what going to be a lot? Why-?¡±

    He suddenly saw a scavenger running up to them. Another pale, rather skinny one. It looked a little smaller than the others. The scavenger abruptly stopped before reaching them, nearly stumbling over itself in the process. Looking at him in particular with huge bright blue eyes.

    Cuttlefish started a little, but the scavenger didn¡¯t do anything else; other than start barking:

    ¡°(Ich erinnere mich an dich! Hallo, Tintenfische-drache! K?nnen Sie sich an mich erinnern?)¡±

    Actually, Cuttlefish might have recognized this scavenger a little. Was this somehow the same one he had played with on the underwater-boat-thing all that time ago?

    ¡°Well, Cuttlefish,¡± Father started, sounding resigned, ¡°This is a scavenger named ¡®Hans¡¯ I don¡¯t know why. That¡¯s his name. I guess he¡¯s trying to say hello.¡±

    That¡­ What? He was certain he misheard something in there. His head probably still wasn¡¯t sorted out or something.

    But then he heard another dragon voice; or perhaps that wasn¡¯t quite accurate:

    ¡°Hello¡­ Cut-cuttleFISH! Hello! Mine- my name¡­ was Hans!¡±

    ¡°Is.¡± Father said, seemingly automatically.

    ¡°Is!¡± The scavenger amended, ¡°My name¡­ is Hans! Is¡­¡±

    Cuttlefish only stared, at a loss. ¡°Wh- what¡­?¡± He breathed.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t teach him that, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking.¡± Father interjected. ¡°Well, actually I did. But probably not in the way you¡¯re thinking? I didn¡¯t train them. I don¡¯t think anyone did. I think they did on their own.¡±

    The dragonet had no idea what that was supposed to mean. ¡°...What? What¡¯re you¡­ why?¡±

    Father seemed to suddenly consider something: ¡°Is there any chance the scrolls you read about scavengers mentioned them forming military encampments? Or trying to talk in dragon language? Or building huge stuff like that?¡± He waved his wing towards the ocean, indicating the boat-things.

    Cuttlefish shook his head numbly. ¡°N-no¡­¡± He breathed.

    Father huffed. ¡°That would have been useful to know about beforetalon¡­¡± He muttered.

    The little SeaWing felt as though ice was beginning to crawl through his veins. No, the scrolls never mentioned anything like that¡­

    He looked at the scavenger a short distance before him. The same one from the boat-thing that he played the light-blink game with. It looked almost excited to see him.

    ¡°Hello, Cuttle-fish! My name¡­ is Hans!¡± The scavenger repeated, with apparent difficulty.

    The scavenger is trying to talk? To me? There was a tiny, almost unnoticeable spark of excitement within him. Scavengers can talk?

    Something else, much different than excitement, emerged from within him and snuffed it. The ice spread to his spine.

    Scavengers can talk?

    The scrolls never mentioned anything like that.

    Scavengers can make a military? Like an army? Like what us SeaWings have to fight off invaders?

    The scrolls never mentioned anything like that.

    Scavengers can¡­ talk?

    Could scavengers talk this entire time?

    Oh, no.

    The scrolls never warned of such a thing. Why?

    What did they hint of?

    ¡°Many cooking recipes have been spawned from preparing their flesh¡­¡±

    Oh, no.

    The world was starting to feel cold.

    ¡°Cooking styles such as frying, smoking, boiling, steaming, grilling¡­¡±

    Please, no.

    If scavengers can talk, and think enough to form a military¡­

    ¡°Pulled, steak, ribs, legs¡­The diminutive creatures are often served at important ceremonial banquets and dinners.¡±

    Cuttlefish couldn¡¯t breathe.

    Scavengers can talk? Scavengers can¡¯t talk. Please don¡¯t let them talk. There¡¯s no way scavengers can talk. Not after¡­ no, no, no, no, no, no¡­

    The scavengers¨C they were trying to talk to him this whole time?

    His mind kept quoting the scrolls he read back at him, trying to find anything that could help explain this. Anything that could have warned of this.

    ¡°Tenderized scavenger meat is a very popular snack in particular, and scavenger veal has always fetched a high price¡­¡±

    NO! PLEASE, NO!

    His eyes burned as though he was staring directly into the sun. He couldn¡¯t breathe. Faster and faster, his lungs tried to pull in air. Shaking. He could feel shaking. His body was shaking. Bile. He could taste bile on his tongue. He was dry heaving.

    Why didn¡¯t the scrolls warn of this? Why did nobody warn of this? Why was the only thing he¡¯d been told of scavengers was their worth as food?

    Scavengers can talk. Can scavengers talk? Scavengers can do other dragon things like make a military? Do they have a kingdom? What are their dens? Why can they talk?

    Why have- what have we- oh, no. No, no, no, no, please no. Anything but that. No, no no¨C

    Father was grabbing him. He was coughing. Coughing as though he were trying to bring his own lungs up. Father was saying something. He couldn¡¯t hear. Was the scavenger also saying something?

    Scavengers. So many scavengers. Eaten. Set on fire. Cut apart. Hunted. Killed. How many? How many? How many?

    Oh, that can¡¯t be¨C anything but that, please¨C no, please no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, PLEASE NO¨C

    It was too awful. It was too much.

    Cuttlefish broke down.

    ***

    Cuttlefish was hyperventilating. His body was twitching and shaking erratically. Lights flickering and strobing wildly with emotional overload. He was coughing as though desperately trying to disgorge water from his lungs, though there was no water to do so. It made him sound as though he were trying to cough his own lungs out. His head was pointed at Hans-the-scavenger right in front of him, but his eyes were blank.

    Argonaut hurriedly closed his wing over Cuttlefish once again in an attempt to console the dragonet. He¡­ maybe should have guessed this was to happen.

    ¡°Cuttlefish. You need to calm down.¡± Argonaut ordered.

    His dragonet choked out something incoherent, and suddenly retched bile into the dirt right in front of him. He quickly buried his face in Argonaut¡¯s shoulder, hiding it from the scavengers around them. A sharp, high-pitched wailing sound came from his throat. He was keening.

    The green SeaWing¡¯s mind shifted modes. Keening was a unique sound that only dragonets could make, losing it as they got older. Usually, only hatchlings made it when they really needed their parents¡¯ attention.

    The only other time Argonaut had ever heard Cuttlefish make the sound was when he was first learning to fly. He¡¯d messed up a landing and broke his wing. The keening sound did not only mean that Cuttlefish was upset.

    It meant he was in distress.

    As the father, the only thing that sound meant to him was that he had to make it stop.

    He needed to do whatever he could to fix what was distressing his dragonet.

    But he knew he couldn¡¯t. He already knew what the cause was. He knew he couldn¡¯t fix it.

    After all, he didn¡¯t seriously expect the ¡°scrolls about scavengers¡± Cuttlefish said to have read mentioned them being able to learn to talk or anything of the sort. If anything, the dragonet was probably more aware of what dragons liked to¡­ use scavengers for¡­ than he himself was.

    This was his fault. Argonaut, like all dragons, was no stranger to death. The sights of other dragons that had met gruesome ends was something he¡¯d become almost used to in his time in the General Army, and even before that. It took a lot to truly faze him.

    Cuttlefish, on the other talon, was just a dragonet. Not only that, but a dragonet he¡¯d taken a deliberate effort to shield from some of the more awful things in Pyrrhia when he was able to be around. Other adults never agreed with him doing so, but he didn¡¯t want his only dragonet to turn out as bleak and grim as himself. Maybe he never wanted to see his dragonet grow out of that cheerful, curious spark that everyone else lacked.

    But now something awful had come for Cuttlefish, and it was his fault that the dragonet was unprepared for it.

    ¡°(Tintenfische?)¡± Hans-the-Scavenger said softly, reaching a paw out to the distraught dragonet. The pale scavenger refrained from touching him, though, and retracted the appendage. He tapped the paw against his own leg a few times, muttered something, and hurriedly pattered off.

    Still strange. No matter what else, Argonaut still thought scavengers were weird.

    ***

    Hans wasn¡¯t sure what was going on, or why.

    Somehow, the Cuttlefish-dragon from all that time earlier had shown back up seemingly on his own, and was now here. He really wanted to see if the friendly-seeming water dragon would remember him. It seemed an off chance, but one nonetheless. So, he came over to say hi as quickly as he could manage.

    But now it was incredibly obvious that Cuttlefish-dragon was upset. To the point where it looked like he was doing something like the water-dragon equivalent to crying. He¡¯d no idea why.

    ¡°...Cuttlefish?¡± If that is your name? Hans tried, fighting the urge to pet the smaller blue-green creature. What¡¯s the matter? Quar¡¯rahkt¡¯lliu never did anything like this, obviously.

    Did we scare Grahkt¡¯lliu? Is that why he¡¯s upset? That seemed a little silly, given the water dragon was still a good but bigger than a human, though not taller, and probably a good bit stronger.

    Still, it seemed from the size difference between the two water dragons that Grahk¡¯lliu was probably a juvenile. Hence why Quar¡¯rahkt¡¯lliu was willing to put one of his much bigger wings over the smaller water dragon. Which seemed sweet, to Hans.

    Silly as it were, the idea that they¡¯d scared Cuttlefish-dragon into acting this way made Hans feel bad. He should definitely try to make it better, if he can.

    Okay, think. This water-dragon is probably a juvenile. How do you make kids feel better after being frightened? Hans had little idea. That wasn¡¯t exactly something he had a lot of experience in.

    He didn¡¯t, but his older brother might have. (Because reasons.) What did Archie always try to do whenever I got all worked up? Or at least what he did when in a charitable mood.

    Hans remembered, but he didn¡¯t think it would work here. Still seemed worth a shot to him, though.

    ***

    Cuttlefish was still showing little signs of calming down on his own, and Argonaut still had little idea how to actually comfort him.

    He knew his son well enough to know that just tenting his wing over him and holding his talon wasn¡¯t enough to fix what was making him distraught. He knew he was upset over the scavengers. He knew he didn¡¯t know what to say to make him feel better.

    Argonaut rarely knew what to say to make other dragons feel better. He was a little useless that way.

    A collection of scavengers had gathered around the outside of their small clearing. Watching the two dragons. Seemingly drawn by the sound of Cuttlefish keening.

    That is weird. Argonaut considered. It made sense that a dragon parent would have their attention caught by the sound of a dragonet keening, but those were a bunch of scavengers. Why would a keening sound catch their attention, when they weren¡¯t even dragons to begin with?

    While watching the quietly spectating mammals, he caught sight of the Hans-scavenger appear from behind a tent and quickly approach. This time, he was carrying something small in his paws. Something perfectly round, colored white with black spots spread across it.

    The peculiar creature approached briskly, and tentatively poked Cuttlefish on a quivering wing with one paw. Chattering something at the dragonet.

    The little SeaWing noticeably flinched at the contact, keeping his face concealed against Argonaut.

    The scavenger backed up a couple steps, and dropped the white-and-black sphere on the ground. He used a long leg to punt the sphere at Cuttlefish, chattering something again.

    The sphere bounced off Cuttlefish¡¯s body, and slowly rolled back to the scavenger¨C who then used the same leg to stop the sphere in place.

    Argonaut watched the strange mammal repeat the process a couple more times, slowly bouncing the sphere off the dragonet. It¡¯s a game. He realized. The scavenger wants Cuttlefish to bounce the sphere back.

    Seeing the opportunity, the older SeaWing slowly lifted his wing off his dragonet¡¯s back, releasing him. Cuttlefish, for his part, gradually lifted his head off of his shoulder on the next bounce of the sphere, looking towards Hans-scavenger. Argonaut could see glistening around his eyes.

    Tears shed for the sake of scavengers¡­ He thought. That¡¯s not something I ever expected to see.

    That, and a dragon and scavenger playing a game together. Neither were things he¡¯d ever conceived.

    The scavenger kicked the sphere again, this time soft enough that it contacted Cuttlefish¡¯s tail and didn¡¯t move. The dragonet stared at the white-black thing for what felt like a couple of minutes, then lightly pushed the sphere back with his tail.

    The scavenger made an appraising noise, and backed up another few paces. Kicking the sphere back to the dragonet once again. He pushed it back with his tail again.

    Argonaut watched the two push the sphere back and forth with a face of open intrigue. Cuttlefish slowly got back up to a sitting position, and then all the way up to his talons. Continuing to return the scavenger¡¯s sphere every time it was kicked to him. The scavenger slowly backed up with every pass, making them both have to push the thing a little harder.

    Eventually, Cuttlefish whacked the sphere back towards the scavenger, but it went way off to the side. Rolling to the outside of the small clearing. One of the spectating scavengers stopped it with its own leg, and kicked it back. That one and a few others approached from between the tents.

    The sphere eventually rolled its way back out to them, and they seemed to start taking turns kicking it from themselves to Cuttlefish. The dragonet used his tail to return the sphere each time it rolled to him.

    He watched his dragonet closely. He could see his breathing slowly stabilize as the scavengers played with him.

    Argonaut could hear some of the scavengers barking at each other:

    ¡°(Does this mean I don¡¯t gotta be goalie no more?)¡±

    ¡°(Shut up, Norman.)¡±

    ¡°(Lizard kickball. Who would¡¯ve thought?)¡±

    One of the scavengers, upon the sphere rolling to it, used both legs to maneuver it in a way that Argonaut decided definitely took practice on the scavenger¡¯s part.

    This is definitely a game to them. Argonaut thought as he watched Cuttlefish and the scavengers kick and push the white-and-black sphere around, the smallest of smiles threatening to sneak its way onto his snout.

    His dragonet playing a game, even if it was with scavengers and in such a strange and precarious situation, still made him feel good to see.

    A dragon. And scavengers. Playing a game together. He still wouldn¡¯t have believed it if he hadn¡¯t seen it. That was for sure.

    ***