Winter, 515 BCE, mountains of western Persia

  THICK WAVES OF utter darkness sloshed against the wyrm, carrying with them the agonized screams of the dying.

  He turned to face the waves that weren’t water and the screams that were not sound, but nothing changed. Another dark, viscous wave slammed into him, though he felt nothing more than an odd tingle in the back of his mind.

  Curious, he thought.

  The last thing he remembered was waiting in his lair, plans complete, and everything set for the future. And now this… whatever it was. A world of utter darkness, which seemingly had no beginning and no end.

  A whispered word reached his mind, from where he could not say, but he could not comprehend it.

  He turned over, directing his attention back to the past. Surely, there must be something in his memory to explain where he was and what was going on.

  The whisper came again, more insistent this time, yet still every bit as incomprehensible. What was making that irritating sound?

  Although he had vague memories of what he’d been before this, he couldn’t quite pin a talon on exactly who he was or what his plans had entailed.

  He delved further into his mind, digging for the memories, seeking an answer. A tremorous sound rumbled around him, setting the darkness around him to vibrating with power.

  Sealed within that powerful sound was a name. His name. Yet he didn’t recognize it. Nothing about it felt familiar. Perhaps he was imagining it?

  The rumbling sound came again, more insistent than before, then vanished again. What did it want? What was going on? He couldn’t fathom what has happening or what any of it could mean.

  Without warning, the dragon found himself rocketing upward out of the rolling darkness. Above, for the first time he could remember, was light. A pair of thin lines emitted only the smallest bit of light, yet it was blinding to his dark-attuned eyes.

  Below, as his eyes adjusted, he found the world he had left behind. In truth, it was pure blackness, roiling and swirling with the tide, from horizon to horizon. No structures, no caverns, no other creatures, just pure, viscous blackness in every direction.

  He looked upward again just in time to feel his non-form crash into the black surface around the pair of thin cracks of light. He had just enough time to wonder what he would do next when all existence vanished from his perception.

  The pyrite dragon pulled open heavy lids, a thick layer of mucus adding to their weight. Glancing about, it took him a moment to realize where he was and what was going on.

  That’s right, he thought as memory returned. He hadn’t expected waking from the relatively short slumber to be such an arduous experience.

  Pulling a whisper of power from his Apex, he cleared the film from his eyes and looked to the annoyed visage of the golden wyrm standing at the entrance to his lair.

  The gold’s eyes narrowed slightly, his frown growing more pronounced. “You sleep much more deeply than the rest of us,” he said.

  Chrys shrugged. “That’s odd.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  The gold did not seem inclined to speak further, however.

  Standing, Chrys stretched his limbs and looked around. His lair appeared in good order. “What do I need to know?” he asked through a jaw-popping yawn.

  The gold talked him through many of the changes throughout the human world over the last two centuries. The peoples of eastern Asia were solidifying into a unified empire and beginning to experiment with flammable powders as weapons. The Jōmon islanders to the east of them had begun to unify and turn largely to an agricultural existence. A few outliers were beginning to use metal for weaponry, but most of their communities still relied on the older technologies of wood, stone, and bone.

  In the west, the descendants of Gurgastius and his ilk were campaigning across the continent, destroying all opposition with their superior weapons. For while the vast majority of the continent was still using bronze, the Celts had discovered a method of smelting iron into steel, making their weapons far stronger than their counterparts. Largely though, in other parts of the world life continued, nearly unchanged, much as it had for millennia.

  Chhry’stuulliound accepted the information with simple nods. There was nothing to be concerned about. Nothing he could imagine the Humans doing would impede Vordillainsura’s plans in any way.

  “None of the sleeping dragons have been discovered?”

  The gold shook his head. “None. There was one close call, but it was…” he grinned nastily. “Dealt with.”

  “And no wyrms have violated the agreement?” There was no need to be more specific.

  “None,” the golden Watcher said confidently. “No dragon has been seen by man since The Sleep was enacted.”

  Outwardly, Chrys projected an aura of calm, pleased acceptance. Inwardly, however, he cringed. Sura had planned to be active in the world. Perhaps not overtly, but he’d felt certain it would have been noteworthy enough that the Watchers would have noticed something. What did it mean that such had not happened?

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  “Who is my fellow Watcher?”

  The gold frowned. “Jorrduliannsa, the celestine. He was wakened several moons ago. You will meet him at the Stonehenge monument in three days’ time. There, the two of you can decide on a schedule and separation of duties.”

  Chrys nodded.

  “Unless there is something you need of me, I will return to my rest. I am weary of the petty conflicts of Humankind.”

  Chrys nodded again. “I can’t blame you. Enjoy your rest. I’m sure I’ll see you again in… what? A millennium?”

  The gold gave a curt nod, then turned and leaped from the mountain lair’s entrance.

  “A wyrm of few words, that one,” Chrys mused.

  Moving to the open entrance to his lair, Chhry’stuulliound looked out over the valley below him. He breathed in the lush, humid heat. The scents of life, heat, and green were energizing.

  His lair seemed a bit higher than it had when he’d gone to Sleep— though certainly no more than a few claw-widths —but otherwise the view was unchanged. He took another deep breath and touched his Apex. It, too, was little changed. A bit brighter, but otherwise much the same.

  With only a hint of trepidation, he touched his other source of power.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  The total strength of arcane power available to him seemed little changed. Perhaps a slight upward tick. But two of the sources had vanished!

  Were they lost, somehow? he wondered.

  For long moments, he kept his eyes on the lush forest outside his lair and pondered this new information.

  They must have, he decided finally. Yet while I slept, the others have grown more than enough to make up the difference.

  With a slight shiver of anticipation, he shrugged. In the end, it didn’t matter if some were lost so long as his power remained intact.

  Nodding, he directed his attention to the present. The pressing question was, why hadn’t Sura been noticed? The wyrm was not that subtle. Had he succumbed to the Sleep with the rest of Dragonkind after all?

  He supposed he would have to visit the agate’s lair to be certain. He was loath to do so, the stench of the swamp never failed to incite his stomach into turning somersaults, but there was nothing for it. Even if he woke another wyrm first— or corrupted Jorrduliannsa first —only he could enter the agate’s lair.

  Why had the agate put so much trust in him?

  Because the others he associates with would turn on him in an instant, Chrys thought with a soft chuckle.

  The platinum might be an exception to that, of course, but he wasn’t certain. The truth was he didn’t know what to make of the young platinum at all. What was the wyrmling doing siding against his own family?

  Chrys understood his own motivations. He didn’t believe in the agate’s crusade, not in the slightest. He didn’t exactly wish to sleep away the ages while humans ruled the Earth, but neither did he have any desire to destroy them.

  What he did believe in, however, was paying his debts. Together with the agate, he had discovered an entirely new source of arcane power. One he never could have imagined on his own. And for that, he owed the agate a deep debt.

  With a long, shuddering sigh, Chhry’stuulliound leaped from the mouth of his cave and spread his wings, propelling himself westward. If Vordillainsura was under the influence of the Long Sleep, Chrys was honor-bound to wake him. It was time to move their plans forward.

  * * * * *

  The sight of the black, waterlogged vegetation turned his stomach, but the overpowering stench of the steamy swamp in high summer was worse. It very nearly forced the pyrite to abandon his course and fly on to Prydein to meet with Jorrduliannsa.

  How could the agate stand it here?

  Summoning a stream of power from his alternate source, he cleaned the air before it entered his nostrils, filling it with the scents of dry earth, green leaves, and rock-walled hot springs.

  He breathed easier.

  Coming to the agate’s lair, he circled the spot several times. He focused his gaze on the ground around the lair entrance, alert for any signs of life. For any activity, draconic or otherwise.

  There were none, however.

  With a deep breath, he came in to land within a wingspan of the lair entrance. He approached slowly, wondering that it was in such plain view.

  How is it that no humans have stumbled upon it? he wondered. Then a darker thought came, I do hope he remembered to allow me access.

  With only faint trepidation, he moved past the latticework of vines— which gave surprisingly little resistance —into the downward sloping stone corridor that led into the agate’s lair.

  Inside, the place was untouched by time. Not a single speck of dust marred the pristine floor. No animal tracks or stray scents belied the perfection. It was a place of pure, solitude. Untainted by any outside influences.

  In the center of the chamber, Vordillainsura lay on his side, one claw clutching the black-shafted Dragon Scepter. He snored peacefully, as though in the throes of a long-deserved nap after a hard day’s exertions.

  Chrys stepped closer and felt a piece of himself melt away and vanish. He cried out in agony.

  Yanking his head this way and that while he raced within himself, he found nothing untoward had happened. Nothing had harmed him. Yet something was not right. Something was missing.

  He directed his attention inward and instantly he found what was amiss and wondered at it for the briefest of moments before realizing the reason for it.

  He had not been attacked. He was not wounded. His extra source of power had been severed when he moved closer to the agate.

  Of course he would do something like that, Chrys thought. Hopefully I can reacquire them when I’m done here.

  Forcing a shrug, he directed his attention back to the agate. The glossy black scales of the wyrm’s flank rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

  Sleeping peacefully. Might it not be easier to just leave him to it and let him wake only when all dragons have awakened?

  He shook his head, disparaging. He’d made a commitment to do this, and by Ryujin and his first ancestor, he would do so.

  With no further delay, Chrys delved into his Apex and summoned forth the stream of power needed to power this ritual. Directing it outward in widening bands, he spoke the ritual words. As was specified, he repeated the steps of the ritual seven times before sending his power surging into the agate’s body. The arcane power delved into the wyrm to reawaken his body and reconnect it to his mind.

  He activated Arcane Sight and watched the power course through the agate’s form.

  The bright red power made several circuits of the agate’s body, growing brighter with each revolution.

  At last, the power dissipated, absorbing into the agate’s still form. Chrys watched, but nothing further happened.

  The black form remained inert, but now he wasn’t even breathing!

  “Oh, gods, what did I do wrong?” Chrys said in a panic. “I’ve killed him! What did I do?”

  The wyrm paced the floor in frustration. What was happening? What did he do wrong?

  He paced faster, racing from one side of the cavern to the other. How could this have happened? He didn’t understand what he did wrong!

  “Will you stop that infernal pacing,” a rasping voice growled. Chrys froze mid-step.

  Turning his head, he found Vordillainsura standing, glaring at him with gummed eyes, the yellow-within-green shot through with agate-black blood vessels.

  “Y-you’re awake…”

  The agate growled deep in his chest. “Of course I am. What have you been doing?”

  “I came straight here, my lord.”

  Towering over him, the black-scaled wyrm smiled darkly. The expression made Chrys’s scales crawl. “Good. We’re behind schedule, so let’s get started.”