Lately, he had been spending less and less time in his natural form. Korialstrasz flapped his wings, moving at speeds that blurred the world below into mere streaks of green and blue. The island sanctuary of the red dragons loomed ahead, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. It had been their refuge since the Dragon Isles were lost to time and catastrophe, ever since the sundering reshaped the world ten millennia ago. But for him, this place was more than a sanctuary, it was where his beloved awaited for him.
For decades now, he had lived as Krasus, the high-elven magus of the Kirin Tor, walking among mortals, shaping their fate to his will from behind veils of secrecy. He had become more accustomed to the hushed corridors of Dalaran than the open skies that once felt like home, for so long he had lived in those cramped halls. But no matter how much time he spent among them, he was, and always would be the last living consort of the Dragon Queen Alexstrasza, The Life-Binder.
The mortal races had faced strife nearly unmatched in history, the echoes of which reminded him of the Burning Legion's first invasion. He had joined the Kirin Tor, not out of curiosity for magic or a sense of duty to Dalaran, but out of desperation. When the Dragonmaw clan enslaved his beloved and all her consorts, he alone had been spared—too young, too unknown for them to bother with. He had spent years searching for a way to free her, but in the end, it had been mortals who shattered the Demon Soul and ended their torment.
The memory of that battle was etched into his very soul. Deathwing had descended upon them in an attempt to steal the red dragon eggs for his own twisted purposes. The ensuing clash had been cataclysmic. His fellow consorts had perished one by one. Tyranastrasz, his mentor and Alexstrasza's first consort, had shielded him from a blow meant to obliterate him, his final words still an open wound in Korialstrasz's mind: Live. She needs you.
And so, he had lived. The Demon Soul, that accursed artifact of Deathwing's creation, had been destroyed, thanks to a single enchanted scale ripped from Deathwing's hide, and the world had been spared the black wyrm's dominion… for some time. Yet, in the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, survivor's guilt clawed at him, as it always did. His queen had vowed never to take another consort. The pain of losing them all had been too much, and she had confided in him once, in the stillness of night, that if he were to fall, she would become truly alone in this world.
Korialstrasz flared his wings, dispelling those thoughts as he neared the island's heart. Red dragon patrols in the skies recognized him and gave way without a question, welcoming him back. He was expected. He was home.
The plateau in the island's center came into view, its lush greenery starkly contrasted against the rugged gray cliffs. This was where she awaited. His heart pounded with anticipation. To see her again, to bask in the warmth of her presence, to feel her gentle, loving touch; he yearned for it more than he cared to admit.
He touched down gracefully, talons pressing into the soft grass before shifting seamlessly into his elven form. A tall, regal figure now clad in red and gold robes, his long silver hair tied neatly behind his shoulders, he strode towards the garden.
Alexstrasza knelt among her flowers, her hands delicately removing stubborn weeds one by one, her golden eyes fixated on a particularly prickly plant as if contemplating its very existence. Even in the simplest of tasks, she was mesmerizing. Her armor, crafted from the scales of her own children, gifts of devotion and reverence, glowed in the sunlight. Crimson and gold adorned her gorgeous form, her mighty curved horns crowned with delicate rings of precious metal and gemstones. She was every bit the queen of dragons, and yet, at that moment, she was simply a woman tending to her garden.
Beside her stood Merithra, daughter of Ysera, a vision of the Emerald Dream in mortal guise. She wore robes woven from soft grass and was adorned with twigs and flowers, her green hair cascading like fine vines, her glowing eyes reflecting the ancient wisdom of her lineage. One of the rare few to bear horns in her night elven visage, she exuded an aura of tranquillity, though Korialstrasz had long since learned that the green dragons, despite their ethereal serenity, possessed a mischievous streak rivaled only by the blues. Even he had fallen for their mischief on the occasion.
"Mother isn't waking up and neither are her consorts! You have to help me!" Merithra pleaded, her voice carrying the weight of an anxious daughter forced to watch a nightmare unfold with no means to rouse those trapped within it.
Alexstrasza, however, remained composed, her gloved, ruby-red fingers delicately shooing away a bug that had been feasting on the leaves of a dragon teeth plant. The little creature buzzed in protest before lazily flitting away to find a less-defended meal.
Alexstrasza had always been that way. Unwavering in her love for all life, she wouldn't kill even a bug that disturbed her garden. Were Deathwing himself reborn as a particularly unfortunate beetle, she might still hesitate to crush him underfoot despite his sins. She could only justify taking life when said life was against natural order or a great threat to life itself.
She finally turned her gaze back to Merithra, her golden eyes filled with understanding, yet bound by the immutable reality of her own limitations. "I will do what I can. But dreams are not my domain. If my sister has chosen to sleep, there isn't much I can do to wake her." Her voice was gentle like a mother consoling a child over a wound that would not heal.
Before Merithra could protest, the measured footsteps of another presence broke the moment. "My Queen, Merithra," Korialstrasz greeted as he approached. He inclined his head, a gesture of reverence that belonged to a consort rather than a subject. Alexstrasza rose to her feet, her movements fluid and effortless, and embraced him, holding him close. The scent of sunlit fields and dragonfire lingered on her skin, a fragrance he had never quite been able to describe but one that had long since rooted itself in his memories.
Her lips brushed against his in a kiss-sweet, tender, fleeting moment. Korialstrasz had long preferred his elven form for such moments, as the sturdy, scaled forms of their true nature did not lend themselves to such gentle caresses.
When she finally pulled away, she whispered, "I missed you so much,".
"And I missed you more than words can express." His voice was lower now, softer. He longed to hold her for longer, but to continue such intimacies before a guest, even one as patient as Merithra, would be unbecoming of them. He reluctantly let her go, stepping aside.
An awkward silence settled in, the kind that comes when love met propriety in a three-person conversation. Merithra, in an effort to break the awkwardness, cleared her throat, "What news do you bring of the Eastern Kingdoms?"
Korialstrasz exhaled before responding, his expression darkening ever so slightly. "Much."
And so, he told them. Of the Nazarick Empire. Of its enigmatic rulers. Of the impossible feats they had achieved, not through the slow toil of conquest, but with an effortless precision that left no room for resistance of those nearby. He recounted the tales of their supreme beings, enigmatic figures who wielded dominion with an authority that should not belong to mortals.
The dragons had always known patience, even the dangerous black ones. They had lived long enough to see numerous mortal empires rise and fall like the tides. But this? This was not the work of time or fate. It was something else entirely. These events were now the business of all dragons, regardless of color. The world had grown even less manageable, and change was afoot.
When he finished, the wind stirred the leaves in the garden, filling the silence with whispers, seemingly of times of the future.
Alexstrasza's expression remained unreadable, though there was a flicker of doubt behind her golden eyes. "Are you certain they were not lying? You know how deceptive the black dragons are."
It was a reasonable suspicion. The corruption of the old gods was considered basically permanent, unremovable by even the strongest of magics. The black dragons had long been synonymous with treachery, their very essence steeped in deceit to the core. To hear that they had not only been 'cleansed' of their corruption but had willingly pledged themselves to a foreign empire? That was beyond implausible, it was practically outright heresy against the natural order.
Merithra folded her arms, her green brows furrowing. "And this forest they created," she mused, her voice carrying a note of unease. "I didn't feel its addition to nature. Something about it… is off. Something unnatural."
Korialstrasz let out a slow breath before replying, "Perhaps. But I can attest to their power." His fingers clenched slightly as he recalled the sensation. "They almost forced me to my knees with their presence alone. It was like standing in the presence of a weight upon the soul."
Alexstrasza's lips pressed into a thin line.
Korialstrasz continued, his voice growing firm, "These two entities are not to be taken lightly, if for no other reason than that they have forced the entirety of the black dragons into their service."
A silence followed, heavier than before.
The very idea of black dragons bowing to anything other than their own ambitions was absurd to everyone, from the youngest offspring to the oldest elders. The black flight did not serve, they manipulated, they schemed, they ruled through shadow and claw. And yet, the Nazarick Empire had done what no one had accomplished, putting them under the heel.
Alexstrasza exhaled, crossing her arms as she glanced toward the distant horizon, where the sun was beginning to dip below the waves. "Then this is no longer just a matter for mortals," she murmured, half to herself. "It is a matter for all dragonkind."
"Indeed. They need to be monitored and if necessary, decisive actions must be taken. We cannot blindly believe them to be the protectors of Azeroth. They are not titans. They are something else. Something new and unknown." Her gaze darkened. "I fear the mortal races might be the first to pay the price for their ignorance."
A breeze rustled through the garden, carrying with it the distant playful roars of young dragons soaring above the cliffs of the unnamed isle, ignorant of the things being discussed and the things to come.
She turned her piercing golden gaze toward Merithra. "Could you employ the Cenarion Circle to investigate this forest Ainz Ooal Gown has created? Korialstrasz and I will attend the meeting of the leaders of mortals to learn more about them."
Merithra exhaled, considering the weight of the request. "I will find out what I can," she conceded. "But you must help me figure out what is happening with mother and the Emerald Dream. No one is waking up, including the druids of Cenarion Circle. It is as if an unnatural slumber has fallen upon them."
Alexstrasza placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I will do what I can and try to contact my sister directly once I sense her presence. Be patient, we'll get to the bottom of this."
Merithra nodded, though the furrow in her brow did not ease. "Very well. Then I shall have druids infiltrate Nazarick and report their findings. As a neutral organization, they should be able to settle within this new forest without raising suspicion, they come and go as they please."
With those final words, Merithra shifted to her true form. Her body expanded, twisting and growing into an immense emerald dragon, her wings unfurling like the blooming petals of a great, ancient flower. The sunlight shimmered off her verdant scales, casting a dappled reflection on the ground below. She was not as large as Alexstrasza, but her presence was no less powerful. With a single powerful beat of her wings, she ascended into the sky, sending a gust of wind rolling through the garden, causing the dragonteeth plants to sway in protest.
Korialstrasz watched her go before shifting his attention back to his wife. "I should re-"
He never got to finish the sentence.
Alexstrasza silenced him with a sudden, possessive kiss, cupping his face with hands that were at once gentle and firm.
"You're not going anywhere yet." She mumbled against his lips, her breath warm as she pulled him in.
Korialstrasz barely had time to react before she kissed him again, this time with a hunger that betrayed just how much she had truly missed him. It was a claim, an unspoken demand that he would be hers for this night, and hers alone. "You can be Krasus tomorrow," she whispered, her fingers trailing along his jawline, "Tonight, I need my husband."
There was something undeniably intoxicating about her presence, a force of nature wrapped in the body of a queen.
"You should take new-" he tried again.
"Shush. Not a word more. You are the last and will remain as such."
Her voice was a command as absolute as a decree from the Titans themselves. Korialstrasz smirked slightly, though any protest he might have had was swiftly erased as she further deepened the kiss. On most days, he would have been able to resist. Most days, duty outweighed desire. But tonight? Tonight was different. The distance between them had been too long, the yearning too great, and it was time to rejoice.
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. "In that case, I suppose I can stay a while longer."
She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Oh, you will stay."
He allowed himself to be guided back onto the soft grass, his body sinking into the earth as she and the flowers straddled him.
"In that case," he murmured, his hands settling on her hips, "Perhaps we should work on making another clutch."
A low, pleased growl rumbled in her throat, the sound distinctly draconic, "That," she whispered, "is exactly what I wanted to hear."
Buku leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly as she warily eyed the mountain of documents before her. The folder was thick enough to double as a bludgeon, its edges worn from constant handling, and she swore she could still feel the residual heat of feverish, sleepless labor radiating off the pages.
Four hundred pages.
On one hand, she had to appreciate the sheer audacity of a fifteen-year-old handing her a complete dissertation on reorganizing the Defias Brotherhood into a fully functional intelligence agency, comprehensive and detailed to bot. A rebranding really - Nazarick's Central Intelligence - with multiple subsidiary organizations, all interconnected like the threads of a vast, clandestine web through both legal, illegal, and gray ways. The lesser elements of Defias would remain as independent crime cartels, their chaotic nature turned into an asset, a tool to destabilize enemy forces from within, the more important elements would become even further consolidated, centralized, and controlled.
The plan was brilliant. Ruthless. Efficient.
And the girl standing before her, barely upright, had clearly given everything she had to craft it, so much so that she could barely keep her posture.
Vanessa VanCleef looked like death barely warmed over. Dark rings encircled her sunken eyes, her skin pale with the unmistakable waxy sheen of sheer exhaustion, and her crimson hair, usually tied in a neat ponytail, hung loose and tangled over her shoulders. Her hands, trembling from strain, were dotted with ink stains and raw sores, her fingers stiff from gripping a quill for days on end, striving to do her best.
Buku tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she studied the young girl, pondering. There was no question about it. The girl, despite her young age, was a genius. A prodigy. A child who had been forced to grow up too fast in the ruthless underbelly of Azeroth, learning what had to be learned in order to survive. She had absorbed knowledge like a sponge, mastering alchemy, politics, espionage, and sabotage before most noble brats even learned how to wield a dining knife properly.
In time, she could be molded into the perfect spymaster. But that was the problem. Time.
It would take a decade to shape her into someone truly fit to helm an operation like this, a decade that Nazarick didn't have, considering the numerous forces present in this world.
Buku let out a soft sigh, tapping her fingers against the folder. "I think you already know what I'm going to say, so let's get the obvious out of the way." Her voice was steady, measured tone using her natural speaking voice. There was no sharpness, no dismissal. She knew the kind of damage careless words could inflict, especially on someone so young, having seen it throughout her former career. A poorly handled rejection now could fester into resentment that might never be undone.
Vanessa swallowed hard, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I know I am too young." Her voice wavered, not with uncertainty, but desperation. The icy composure she usually carried, the façade of the hardened revolutionary, cracked just a little. For the first time in their conversation, Buku saw not the would-be spymaster, but the young girl left scrambling to hold onto the one thing that gave her purpose, hoping for the best. "I have been trained for this my entire life," Vanessa continued, her words coming out in a rush. "I know how to command. I know how to run an organization. I know how to plan operations. I can do this. Please do not take this away from me. This is my one chance."
Buku held her gaze, staring at the girl.
There was something deeply tragic about Vanessa's plea. The girl wasn't just asking for a job. She was asking for an identity. A reason to keep going.
"Vanessa, it's not that I want to shove you into some menial position. I see how talented and dedicated you are. You have a great future within Nazarick, no matter what. Neither Ainz nor I want to waste your potential.." She placed a heavy hand on the thick stack of documents. "But we are talking about the position of spymaster."
She let the words sink in.
"Your proposal is a great blueprint, there's no doubt about that. But that's all it is. A blueprint. Plans on paper are one thing, but executing them in the real world is a different beast. And for that, you need experience. Experience that, frankly, do not have yet." Buku was as gentle as possible while turning her down.
Buku watched as Vanessa's face twisted, her hands curling into tight fists. The girl shut her eyes, her shoulders trembling with barely restrained anger that overwhelmed even her exhaustion. "I can do it!" She hissed. And then, with an edge of resentment that she clearly couldn't hold back, she added, "Please don't give that position to a dragon. They already do everything important!"
Buku's eyebrow twitched. "First off," she snapped, "we don't have a dragon to put in as spymaster!" She threw her hands up. "If you haven't noticed, we're lacking competent subordinates! If we had someone suiting, do you really think we'd even be having this conversation?"
Vanessa flinched at the outburst, but Buku wasn't finished.
"Second," Buku's tone grew harsher. "Don't think you can guilt me into giving you what you want. That kind of emotional manipulation might work on lesser leaders, but I see right through it." Her crimson eyes locked onto Vanessa's with an intensity that made the girl visibly shrink before her. "And that, right there, is exactly why you're not ready. You are ambitious - too ambitious. And you let your emotions rule you. That is dangerous in a position like this."
Vanessa looked away, her lip quivering, but Buku's voice softened just a fraction. "Being the spymaster of Nazarick isn't your birthright."
The words hit Vanessa like a physical blow by a dragon, ripping her mentally to shreds. Her fists loosened, her anger melting into something more fragile. Fear.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her lips trembled as she tried to keep her composure. "I didn't mean to offend you."
But the damage was done.
Buku sighed. She had no desire to break the girl's spirit, she had enough to deal with without a sullen, bitter Vanessa on her hands, but she wasn't going to coddle her either.
She rubbed her temples. Leadership wasn't nearly as fun as she'd imagined, and at times like this, she really wished she could've taken the easy route: sitting pretty as the imperial consort, her only duty being to look good and keep her husband happy.
Instead, she was here, arguing with a fifteen-year-old over spy networks.
Buku pinched the bridge of her nose, glancing at the four-hundred-page monstrosity on her desk. With a groan, she contacted Ainz
{ Short version: Vanessa's trying to talk me into making her Nazarick's spymaster. She put together a ridiculously detailed plan - like, scary detailed - but she's fifteen, and I don't think she's ready. Now she's about two seconds away from having an existential crisis. Thoughts? }
There was a long silence.
{ Losing her would be bad. } Ainz's voice came through. He wasn't giving anything for her to latch on.
She rolled her eyes.{ No shit. Better tell me what to do with her. I think I'm one line away from creating a slasher villain with poisoning as a hobby who's primed to run off and murder every dragon we have. She fears losing to the dragons, enough that if I continue saying no, she will probably go insane and have to be put down. }
She could almost hear Ainz rubbing his skeletal chin from beyond the mental veil. { If her proposal is as good as you say, then she is more or less ready for the position and would only require some guidance. Perhaps we can make a tutoring team for her and allow her to hold the formal title while she is brought up to speed. I doubt we'll just find someone as competent as her anytime soon. }
Buku hummed in approval, her mood lifting slightly. For once, Ainz hadn't gone into his usual overthinking spiral, breaking things down into pointless subcategories before inevitably circling back to the obvious conclusion. { You know, that might actually work… and we could make her feel indebted to us in the process. Keeps her loyal, keeps her sharp. So we need Onyxia or Nefarian for politics and some orcs and trolls for field duty training. }
Ainz didn't hesitate. { You can take Onyxia. Nefarian is busy with administration and research. }
{ Sure. She'll do just fine. }
Decision made.
Buku let out a breath and turned her gaze back to Vanessa, who still stood stiffly before her, appearing about two steps away from either fainting or dropping dead from sheer exhaustion. 'Damn, this girl really worked herself half to death for this.' The tremors in her fingers, the bloodshot eyes, the way she swayed slightly on her feet. Vanessa was burning through her mortality like kindling in a wildfire, all in the sheer desperation to keep who she was.
Like father, like daughter. Stubbornness must run in the bloodline.
Buku drummed her fingers on the desk before finally speaking. "Ainz and I agree to give you a chance," she said, watching Vanessa's exhausted but still sharp eyes widen. "But you will need to prove you are suited to keep the position. We'll assign advisors… you will listen to them, learn from them. This isn't just a title, Vanessa. It's a responsibility."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Vanessa's legs nearly gave out, and she caught herself just in time, gripping the back of a chair for support, a single moment of unsightly breaking of decorum. Her lips trembled and when she blinked, fresh tears welled at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over.
"Thank you. I won't disappoint, mistress," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. She hastily wiped at her eyes, trying and failing to hide the mind-shaking relief washing over her.
Buku sighs, waving a dismissive hand, "Good. Now go get some sleep. I don't want to have to resurrect you because you stupidly worked yourself to death."
Vanessa nodded vigorously, but her body had other ideas. She swayed again, and Buku half-wondered if she was going to pass out right there in her office. She wouldn't blame her. After all, the girl had likely spent several days and nights straight buried in documents.
As Vanessa turned to leave, Buku let her head fall back against the chair, propping her feet up on the desk. She let out a long, weary groan, staring up at the ceiling.
'I surely hope this decision won't bite us in the ass.' she muttered to herself.
Leading Nazarick was becoming more cumbersome by the day and the problems never seemed to stop piling up. It was one thing after another like an endless game of strategy. And now she had a teenage spymaster to deal with.
Perfect.
Editing by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.
Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, fvvck, and aidan_lo.
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