Mother of Dragons.
A title carved not in words but in fla, claw, and scale. A being who had existed since the first breath of terror haunted the newborn world—since the birth of the first monsters, the so-called Leviathans. Back then, she was nothing. Not even a dragon, not truly. Just a scrawny, trembling lizard with bones too soft to bite back and scales too thin to hold heat. She scavenged what she could—ash, bone marrow, half-digested leftovers—while above her, the world shook beneath the thundering crawl of titanic beings.
The Leviathans ruled then. They were hunger made flesh, immortal storms that chewed mountains into gravel and drank rivers dry. They tore through the land without opposition, as if the world itself bent to serve their endless appetite. They devoured monsters by the hundreds, played with them like fire with paper—light it, laugh, let it burn.
And so, because of them, she stayed weak.
Because of them, she learned to crawl lower than the dirt, to bow, to hide, to survive.
In those forgotten days, the Yggdrasil Tree was still a child, barely more than a sapling of divine ambition. It stretched toward the stars with branches not yet thick with wisdom or ripe with power. The Leviathans chewed on it, tasting its unripe fruits like impatient gods. But they did not devour it entirely. Perhaps even they feared what it might beco. Or perhaps it simply tasted bitter.
There were no humans.
No elves.
No giants.
No voice to na the stars, no hand to wield fire, no civilization to crumble.
Only monsters.
And fear.
And then—on a day etched into the mory of all things—sothing fell.
A star, or sothing like it. A searing light screaming from the void above, crashing like judgnt near the roots of Yggdrasil. A great tremor followed, splitting land and sky. The Leviathans stirred, sniffed at it, and then—dismissed it. It was beneath their notice. Just a rock.
But Yggdrasil did not dismiss it.
The World Tree cradled the fallen thing. Sheltered it.
Wrapped it in ancient bark and whispered its sap into its cracks, filling the stone with residual mana—the gift of ti and patience.
A hundred years passed.
To the dragon, it was barely a blink.
And she—the little lizard that crawled near the tree—still ca.
She was still weak, still unnoticed, still surviving off scraps the Leviathans left behind when they fed near Yggdrasil. But on that day, sothing changed.
The rock...
It cracked.
Like an egg.
And from it, sothing stepped out.
Not a beast. Not a dragon. Not a thing made for clawing or roaring or flight.
It walked on two feet.
It had no tail. No fur. No horns.
Just smooth, unbroken skin and golden eyes that glowed not with instinct, but with thought.
Fire and starlight swirled behind those eyes.
She watched from the shadows, breath held, tongue slithering from her maw.
{...beautiful...}
The word escaped her like prayer.
It was the first ti she had ever spoken a word not out of hunger, not out of fear—but wonder
.
.
.
"I said... do we have a deal?" Atlas’s voice cut through the wind, low but edged with steel, each word deliberate as his hand rested on the hilt of his blade.
He wasn’t a man accustod to begging, but he knew the weight of this mont. The fate of his kingdom, Berkimhum, hung in the balance.
Before him lood the Mother of Dragons, an entity ancient beyond mortal reckoning. Her form shimred between corporeal and ethereal, a massive silhouette of scales and shadow that seed to drink in the dim light.
Her eyes, twin orbs of molten gold, glead with a predatory intelligence. She was silent, her presence a suffocating weight that pressed against the very air, her aura sprawling across the borderlands like a living storm.
She was not here—not entirely. Her mind wandered, pulled back to a mory older than the mountains.
She saw it clearly: the birth of the Fallen, the one below all, a being woven from chaos and cast into the abyss.
A ti when the world was young, and gods still bled. Her thoughts drifted to the leviathans—those ancient, insatiable pests stirring once more in the deep places of the world. They were a threat even to her, and she needed power. More offspring. Powerful offsprings. More claws and fire to rend the skies.
A mory clawed through the veil: a younger version of herself, hiding beneath black rock as a leviathan thundered past. The ground trembled, then as it did now. The fear, the sha, the hunger—it all ca back. She rembered the sll of burned sap from the Yggdrasil roots. She rembered the starfall.
Her trance broke as she exhaled, a slow, rumbling breath that sent ripples through the air. The scent of ozone and sulfur filled the wind. Her gaze sharpened, refocusing on the mortal before her.
{{{Deal, Avatar of GUIDE...}}} Her voice was a low, resonant hiss, like the grinding of tectonic plates. {{{In your cycle of creation and destruction, perhaps you can aid . And in return?}}}
Atlas’s lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. He hadn’t expected to get this far, not with her. Jormangander blood—rare, potent, a key to unlocking power even he couldn’t fully grasp—was within his reach. He straightened, his voice steady but laced with audacity.
"Nothing. You’re not going to kill . That’s all. That’s enough."
A ripple of confusion passed through her aura, her massive form shifting slightly. Her nostrils flared. The sky above them pulsed red, like a wound refusing to close.
{{{...?}}}
"I’ll sweeten the deal," Atlas pressed, ignoring the sharp cry from Claire, who stood a few paces behind him, her face pale with disbelief. His breath felt like fire in his throat, but he didn’t blink. "I’ll give you lands for your offspring. All the borders of my kingdom—they’re yours."
"Atlas!" Claire voice cracked, desperate. "What are you saying? You can’t—"
He raised a hand, silencing her without breaking eye contact with the Mother. A flicker of mory passed behind his eyes:
"The only promise I need from you is this: not a single life form—not even an ant—within Berkimhum’s heartland will be hard by your dragons. Just ...don’t let anything else bother your lands while you’re at it. Like you usually do.."
{{{HAHAHAHAHAHA....}}}
The Mother’s laughter erupted, a sound like thunder splitting the heavens, shaking the ground beneath Atlas’s feet. Her mirth was old, weary, and tinged with sothing like pain.
{{{.....You clever little shit,}}} she rumbled, her amusent laced with grudging respect. Her eyes narrowed, assessing him anew. This mortal was no fool. He offered her what she craved—land, dominion, a cradle for her brood—while binding her with a vow that protected his people. A cage woven from words.
{{{Deal...}}}she declared, her voice final, sealing the pact with a weight that felt like the world itself shifting.
A faint chi echoed in Atlas’s mind, an otherworldly notification that only he could perceive:
[Congratulations. You have made a deal with the Mother of Dragons, before the Main Character. You have gained 150 points and 1 Ego point.]
He didn’t flinch. His gaze flicked upward, where dark shapes circled in the crimson sky—leviathans, their massive forms blotting out the stars. The air itself trembled under the weight of their presence, heavy with primordial hunger.
"Okay, then what’s the wait?" he said, his voice calm but commanding. "You see them in the air, right? They are breaching your land....Do what you must..."
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