Sitting with the virtual reality headset over my face, the streams of data and readouts intertwining in my exhausted mind, an idea strikes me: could it be that this dragon actively played a role in preserving this forest?
The thought hits me like an epiphany. Part of the forest around the clearing where the creature rests is astonishingly intact, as if shielded by some force. The debris from the Colossus has scattered across miles, destroying everything in its path, but in this area, the trees stand tall, untouched. Even the canopy appears almost pristine.
I revisit the droid’s scans and observations around the clearing. Leia quickly compiles my inquiries with the available data:
The dragon’s crater, and by extension the creature itself, is perfectly positioned between the two primary impact zones. It’s evident that the dragon’s presence caused this division. Without it, the impact zone would have been a single, unbroken expanse.
Leia points out that the visible injuries on its body correspond to impact angles that suggest it intercepted fragments of the Colossus before they could reach the forest. My theory gains ground: for some reason, this dragon shielded the forest, even at great cost to itself.
This would explain its injuries—it intentionally intercepted debris, using its massive body as a shield to protect this particular area. If that’s the case, it raises even more intriguing questions.
Why protect the forest? Is it instinct? Attachment to this environment? Or is it guarding something specific hidden in this zone? Eggs, perhaps? For a brief moment, excitement seizes me. If that’s true, I could have my own dragons! Then reality hits. What a fool I am—this isn’t a fairy tale.
I wonder if it’s aware of my actions. If it’s capable of such an act, it might also be conscious of my presence and what I’m doing. Even if it seems asleep or unconscious, I don’t know the extent of its capabilities. This creature is so alien to anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty—psychic entities in some systems, things that live in space, devour entire stations, and drain the essence of the paranoid inhabitants.
I shift my focus to the feed from the closest drone. Its injuries, though deep, don’t appear fatal, but they have rendered it immobile. If it truly intervened to protect this place, everything changes. It’s no longer just a mythical creature—it’s a guardian, a potential actor in this ecosystem.
Imperial protocols flood my mind, even without Leia needing to remind me: secure, understand, observe. Minimize disturbance, or at least reduce our impact on an unknown biodiversity. Large-scale risks often escape immediate notice but include viruses, bacteria, and the disruption of trophic chains—very real dangers.
The decision crystallizes in my mind: no interaction. This dragon, as fascinating as it is, is far beyond my understanding and capability. Its sheer size, its resilience against the impact of my ship, and the possibility that it shielded the forest in some way convince me to avoid its path. It’s not an enemy I want to provoke, nor a mystery I’m equipped to solve.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I take a deep breath and issue my orders.
“Leia, recall the reconnaissance droids around the creature. Maintain a passive surveillance network at a safe radius to monitor its movements, but no attempts at interaction or close proximity. We must avoid it at all costs.”
Leia responds immediately.
“Understood, Admiral. Recalling units. Establishing long-range sensors to monitor the area.”
A sigh escapes me. The priority is clear: leave this area. The sooner I can establish a secure base far from this creature, the better.
I consider the steps necessary to leave this area, each one critical for survival and long-term planning.
First, the reactor must be stabilized and transported. It is my lifeline—without it, I cannot sustain the droids or power critical systems. Its relocation is non-negotiable. As I analyze the map, the cliff near the massive fissure catches my attention. It’s a naturally defensible high point with a clear vantage over the surrounding terrain. The karst mountains to the west present another option—a natural fortress, concealed and defensible, ideal as a hiding place if needed.
Meanwhile, resource consolidation is a pressing task. The droids need to accelerate their recovery efforts in the impact zones, scavenging anything transportable or useful: materials, intact technologies, and survival tools. Every piece counts if we are to establish a stable foothold in this world.
Environmental reconnaissance also cannot be ignored. Though I plan to avoid any interaction with the dragon, the surrounding forest and the zone of giant mushrooms in the north, could still yield exploitable resources. I instruct the droids to continue their exploration while remaining cautious and limiting their exposure to potential threats.
Finally, preparations for a massive relocation begin. Transporting the reactor and the entire cohort of droids will demand flawless coordination. The transport units must be reinforced and repaired to manage the immense load. Leia is already planning a secure route for the convoy, but every detail must be perfect if we are to succeed.
I can’t help but keep an eye on the dragon. Even though it remains motionless, I feel its presence like a sword of Damocles hanging over my operations. At any moment, I expect it to open its eyes or unfurl its wings. If that happens, my base could be obliterated in minutes.
I must act quickly.
The more I think, the more time feels like my enemy. This world is unknown, dangerous, and teeming with mysteries I neither have the means nor the luxury to explore. But leaving this area raises an essential question: where to go next?
The exploration droids have identified a relatively quiet area to the west, marked by immense karst peaks reminiscent of China’s natural formations, I once saw that in a book about earth. I think leaving the forest, once I’ve salvaged critical debris, will be the next step.
“Leia, continue monitoring the dragon, but focus our efforts on consolidation and transport. We must be ready to leave this area as soon as possible.”
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THE DWARVES’ CATASTROPHE
In the dark, ancient depths, where millennia-old stones still whisper the echoes of forgotten forges and battles, the dwarves stir. The ground trembles faintly, cracks snaking through walls like veins in a cold corpse. The grand halls resonate with alarmed voices, hammers abandoned beside silent anvils. The great dwarven kingdom has suffered a catastrophe.
More than ten hours have passed since the Great Cataclysm struck. A series of shocks from the surface, so violent they fractured the sturdiest and deepest citadel walls. Ceilings collapsed, trapping miners in the lower tunnels, and fear spread like wildfire. Even the oldest among them have never witnessed such a disaster. Hundreds dead, trapped, or missing; colossal damage to forges and rubble clogging the fields of the chasm.
In the sacred halls, where torches fueled by earth-oil still burn, the elders—guardians of dwarven memory—mutter fervently around the great runic table. Their centuries underground have hunched them more than the younger dwarves, but their eyes carry the same gravity. One of them prepares to speak.