It took James nearly an hour to walk to his new claim, zig-zagging and winding through the safe path. By the time he arrived at the edge of it, the sun had fully risen beyond the horizon. Using the map his grandfather had given him, made finding the claim quite easy. Especially since, upon arrival, he saw that his grandfather had already come by and staked the area out; complete with danger signs showing that explosives would be used in the area. Again, he felt immense gratitude toward the man that raised him. The most time consuming part had already been done. 

That meant that he could move straight to checking the ground for weak points and sinkholes. Finding a large length of rebar, he began walking through his claim, testing each step with a few hard pokes of the metal. Every weak spot he found was circled with red flags. He would come back later and collapse them himself, when he had the time. This took a couple of hours to complete and when he was finished he stopped for a quick breakfast of hard biscuit and water. After he ate, he decided to get started. He remembered seeing what might have been a shaft, leading down; it was around the southwest edge of his claim and covered by a large slab of concrete. He could blast away that slab easily and perhaps find a stable place to make his new home beneath. It would be a great place, being only about a half an hour walk to the southern edge of town. Walking back to that point, he easily found the slab he was looking for, marked with a blue flag. There were several of these, scattered throughout his claim. They showed points of interest to be investigated later. 

Arriving at the slab in question, he began the laborious process of finding cracks and crevices to drill into so that he could place his charges. Once he had a plan, the real work began, drilling and then placing the charges in such a way as to blast the slab away from the shaft opening. Adding the fuse so that they would blow almost simultaneously, he began backing away, letting the fuse trail out behind him from the spool. As he went, he looked for something large and heavy to hide behind. Too bad Richter's mom isn't around! He chuckled at his own mean-spirited joke for quite a while. He was about fifty feet away before he found a large corner stone to hide behind. He kept chuckling, randomly, at his own thoughts, while he hid behind the stone and cut the fuse. Putting the spool back in his pack, he retrieved his lighter and started rolling the flint wheel. 

Once the fuse was finally lit, he watched it march away from him, around the stone. Putting the lighter away, he pulled his pack up over his head, covered his ears and put his head between his knees. Butterflies were at war in his stomach, while he waited. This part always made him nervous. If he had made a single mistake, he would be dead or maimed soon. He could have done some calculations in his head, to count down to the explosion. But not knowing was better. Kept him from getting tense. Thus, he was fairly relaxed when the explosion came. Rumbling up through his feet a split second before it hit him in the chest like a physical thing. The rumble in the ground seemed a bit off, more violent than it should be. For a split second he thought perhaps he had used too much explosive. Though he immediately dismissed that thought. 

Is it not interesting, the way a single choice can alter the whole course of events for the entire world? If James had done a single thing differently, his life would have been much different. If he had not been chuckling to himself, he would have noticed the other large rock, some twenty feet away. It was larger and more sturdy looking than this one. Or he could have gone around, collapsing the weak spots, before getting started on the real work. There were a hundred different instances where James would have avoided his fate, lived his whole life as he intended. He would have grown old, found a wife and had many children. He would have died as an old man, wrinkled and leathery from years in the sun; surrounded by his family as he drew his last breath. 

But, alas, that was not what fate had planned for him. In the second after the explosion, James did not think about any of this. As the ground fell out from under him and he began to fall into the darkness below, he had one thought: Well, fuck me sideways and call me Sally. 

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Pain. When James woke, he felt that his whole world was made up of that one feeling. Every beat of his heart was felt in the throbbing of his head as it felt ready to explode. All over his body, there was a burning sting to accompany the bass that was his throbbing head. His life was a harmonic symphony of pain as he lay there in the darkness. There was a moment of panic, before he realized that he could still make out vague shapes. Light was at least somewhat getting to him, keeping the darkness from being absolute. He could see that he was not buried by debris and he could make each of his limbs move, though sluggishly at first. He sat up, grabbing his head as it made clear the fact that the earlier pain was just a playful warning. Once the pain died down enough to be bearable, he took in his surroundings. 

He sat at the bottom of a steep ramp of debris that led up and away from him. He could see the smallest speck of daylight toward the top, meaning it was either far away or only a little bit made it through. His pack lay a few feet away, partially buried beneath a pile of dirt and small stones. Immediately, he retrieved it and pulled out his canteen to wash the dust from his mouth. Putting the canteen away when he was done, he pulled out a torch and lit it with his trusty lighter. Light flooded his surroundings, letting him get his first good look at the situation. After a quick glance at the ramp, he put it behind him to look at the rest of the room he was in. 

The ceiling was smooth, directly above him, ending behind him in a jagged, broken way. In front. The ceiling went on farther than his light revealed. The ground he was on continued to slope down until it became level, about ten feet away. The room he was in was only about twenty feet wide, as he could see both walls to his left and right, white paint peeling off of reinforced concrete. Scooting down the rest of the debris, he decided to check out the room. When he got to level floor, James stood slowly, testing the ground twice before committing his full weight to any step. The floor seemed sturdy, though covered in a thick carpet that maintained its squishiness. This was disconcerting at first, but James eventually got used to it. The room turned out to be empty, except for a door at the far end. It was roughly forty feet from where he landed to the door. To his surprise the door was wooden and still quite solid. Most wood in these places had given in to dry rot years ago. Reaching for the handle after running his hand over the ornate door, James stopped for a moment. 

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A cold sense of foreboding came over him as he grabbed the door handle. He did not understand why, but he felt like something very bad was about to happen. He felt the fear settle on his shoulders like a thick blanket, cold and unforgiving. He let it lay there for a moment before physically shaking it off and turning the handle. When the door swung open and let the light in, James was stupefied. He had stumbled on a horde. His grandfather had talked about them, places where wealthy people had kept their valuables that somehow survived. All around the room was a thick wooden bench, covered in gold, silver, platinum and even a medium sized crate full of mithril ingots. Judging by the thick dust and stale air, no one had been here in decades, perhaps centuries. Walking further into the room, he found jade statues of dragons and large locked chests with contents unknown. It was the end of the room he wanted most, however. After walking more than fifty feet, a fireplace resolved itself from the gloom. Sitting on the mantel were two mithril daggers in ornate sheaths, pommels pointing towards the sides of the room. In between those was another large box. 

This box was half as tall as he was and made of a material so black it seemed to drink the light in. Walking slowly toward the box James began to feel giddy. He recalled stories of people finding hordes like this. Sometimes, they held relics. Items from the past, like a machine that could tell you where you were or guns that fired light so intense it would burn a hole through steel in a moment. They ran on batteries that never died, powered by an energy that they had been unable to replicate since the fall of the world. Basic electricity was easy, though rare, as war was a common thing and power stations were always a first target. Coming finally to the box, he found he could not find a seam to open it. Pushing against the top half, he was shocked into letting it fall closed again, without a sound.

It was not the fact that it opened with almost no effort, or that the substance it was made of seemed to be tungsten, an ore that even unrefined, begged a hefty price. It was what he saw as it vegan to open. Steeling himself against the fear he felt start to engulf him, he opened the box all the way, holding his breath until the light found the object inside. Opening the box fully, he let out an explosive breath of relief. The shadow he had seen had so reminded him of a dragon egg, he had panicked. But what lay inside was not the porcelain white or splotchy yellows, browns, reds and greens of the empires dragon eggs. Sitting in a cushion of red velvet was an egg shaped item that was even more perfectly black than the box it called home. 

If he had to guess, a noble in years past had commissioned the work to look like an egg. It was roughly two feet tall and almost a foot at its widest point. The outside looked smooth but held no gloss from being polished. If this two was a large chunk of tungsten, then James had struck rich! He could buy a whole fief for himself, become a count in the country. He could perhaps even afford to grease enough wheels to find himself a barony. He would take his grandfather and they would live the good life, free of hard work and la-... 

James had reached out and laid his palm against the outside of the object. As soon as his hand made contact he felt a static shock, making his hand clench on the object and noticed that it was not smooth but rather very finely pebbled on the outside. This was James' last cogent thought before he lost consciousness for the second time in a single day. His first day as a salvage tech was not going so well...

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She had told her rider how she felt about the way things were going in the imperial court. He had listened to her concerns with patience and understanding. After watching him think for long minutes, he had finally decided she was right. Her egg could not be trusted to the court like usual. Looking down inti his dark eyes, she felt his acceptance. The egg she carried would be secreted away and kept safe, far from the machinations of the nobles and backstabbing courtiers. She felt for her rider. He held a heavy weight on his shoulders. He was the Grand Emperor after all, supreme leader of the world and First Wing of the dragon rebellion. He wanted to lead the world to peace and prosperity. 

However, too many of his 'friends' and nobles wanted more power. Where he and a select few had joined the rebellion against the governments of the world to stop their treatment of the dragons and their riders, many joined only for more power. Why stop at taking out the governments? Why not split the world up and let each of them be king of their own little world? Because more fighting was inevitable, as each tried to expand their territory. And so, as the sun fell to the west, the Emperor came out to meet her, wearing all black, including a mask over his face. If it weren't for his scent then Stormwing would have thought about attacking him. Instead she sent him her feelings of affection. 

He climbed aboard her back and they began the long flight to his safe-house. It was hours of flying in the cold mist of the clouds before he finally sent her a thought, 'Go lower, my dear. We are almost at our destination.' She was elated by this, as keeping her egg inside was becoming incredibly difficult and painful. Lowering her altitude, she saw tall buildings, as far as the eye could see. One, in particular, emitted a faint infrared light, which she was able to see, with her dragon eyes. Aiming for it, they soon landed on the small roof. It was only about two hundred feet wide, barely enough to accommodate her. Her rider slid down her foreleg and onto the rooftop. 

'You can let it out now and I will carry it to safety below.' His thoughts were a balm to her mind. 

'Would you like to say anything, for your son?' She sent her reply, gently, as his mind was as weak as the rest of his species. Watching him closely, she saw him fall into thought deeply before opening his mouth to reply. 

"I am Robert Ellesworth, First Wing of the United Dragon Riders and Grand Emperor of the world. If anything happens to me, I have instructed Stormwing to bring my son to this place. This egg is yours by right of blood. Hatch the dragon inside and live as the kind of man I know you can be. I love you, my son. Goodbye."

With these words, he put on leather gloves and walked towards her rear. She craned her neck to watch him, letting the egg slide down and out. She watched as he picked it up, still covered in the offal of birth and attached to her by a cord. With a sharp tug, he pulled. 

Everything went black.