A subtle alarm resonates in my earpiece just as I begin to drift into the deserved embrace of sleep. Leia signals that the reconnaissance droids have reached the location of the massive life form detected earlier. My heart races as I connect to the visual feed of the lead unit.

  The camera displays an immense clearing, a crater spanning several hundred meters, surrounded by gigantic trees whose canopies disappear into a light mist. At the center of this opening lies a colossal creature, resting peacefully. My eyes widen in astonishment at the unexpected sight.

  It’s a dragon.

  A being straight out of legends and fantasy tales. Its size defies imagination, easily exceeding 50 meters in length. Its scales shimmer in a mix of dark and silvery hues, reflecting the dim ambient light. Even folded, its wings look capable of generating powerful winds. A muscular tail coils around its massive body, and its head, adorned with elegant horns, rests on its clawed forelimbs.

  I sit speechless, staring at the images on my screen. How is this possible?

  “Leia, analysis. What can we determine about this creature?”

  Leia’s typically impassive voice carries an almost hesitant tone.

  “Admiral, the creature partially matches mythological descriptions of 'dragons' from human cultures. However, its vital signs indicate a real and functional biology. Preliminary analysis: endothermic organism, powerful cardiovascular system, unknown capabilities. Recommendation: avoid direct contact until more information is gathered.”

  I am overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions: wonder, confusion, and a tinge of unease. If dragons exist here, what does that imply about the nature of this world? Where in the hell have I landed? This thing radiates the energy of a nuclear reactor, and judging by the footprints we found previously, it was awake not too long ago.

  I instruct Leia to conduct detailed observation. The droids remain hidden at the edge of the clearing, their sensors focused on the creature. They collect data on its slow breathing, the subtle movement of its muscles, and even faint energy fluctuations around its body. One droid zooms in on the dragon’s head, revealing closed eyes with rapid movements beneath the lids. It’s sleeping.

  “Leia, do you detect any similar life forms in the area?”

  “No comparable signatures detected within a ten-kilometer radius. This entity is unique within our current field of analysis.”

  Thank God. At least I don’t have multiple monsters like this to deal with—though even one is more than enough.

  I think quickly. This creature could represent an immense danger but also an opportunity to learn more about this world. Assuming, of course, it’s not hostile—and given that my ship literally wrecked its forest...

  Possibilities flood my mind. The droids could attempt to collect samples from a distance or install sensors to monitor its movements. But the risk of waking it is real, and I have no idea how it might react.

  I can’t believe it. How could such a gigantic creature remain motionless through the absolute chaos of my ship’s crash? The fiery shockwaves, the impacts, the forest fires—all of that should have woken it, driven it away, or at least elicited a reaction. Yet here it is, still asleep. Or perhaps unconscious.

  The droids’ sensors zoom in on its massive body, revealing troubling details. Several patches of its scales are dented or missing entirely, exposing dark, leathery flesh. Wounds.

  Fragments of Colossus metal are lodged between its scales, some melted as if exposed to extreme heat. My ship must have struck this creature during its descent, or perhaps it was directly in the path of the impact.

  A strange tension grips me. Is this dragon merely a victim of our arrival in this world? Damn it, this doesn’t bode well. Either it’s so injured that it’s dying, or it’s going to harbor a deep hatred for whatever caused such harm.

  Soon after, another reconnaissance report arrives. A massive debris field has been discovered further north. My droids confirm that this area contains a large concentration of Colossus fragments, including identifiable sections: residential quarters, shattered cryogenic pods, and parts of the outer hull.

  This confirms my worst fears. The ship broke apart long before it hit the ground. The unstable gravitational fields of the black hole must have torn it into pieces before the remnants crashed onto this strange, infinite surface. So my fellow colonists, all dead, lie in the north. My jaw immediately tightens at the thought, I might not be able to recover them anytime soon.

  “Leia, analyze the trajectory of the debris. Could the dragon have been struck by falling sections?”

  Leia responds after a moment of calculation.

  “Probability of direct collision between the dragon and debris fragments: 92.6%. Thermal data also indicates that the debris on its body originates from high-integrity structural materials, likely armor or propulsion sections. Hypothesis: the creature was struck by high-velocity fragments during atmospheric entry.”

  I clench my jaw. The Colossus crash hasn’t just destroyed human lives; it’s literally scarred a part of this world in its passage.

  I return to the visual feed of the droids still observing the creature. With this new information, an idea slowly forms in my mind: the dragon might be unconscious because of its injuries. If that’s the case, it would explain why it hasn’t reacted to the impact or the presence of the droids.

  However, this raises an even more troubling question: what happens when it wakes up?

  A creature this massive and powerful could pose an existential threat to everything I’m trying to build. If it decides to destroy my base or my droids, I’ll have no way to stop it. Yet at the same time, it could be an invaluable source of information about this world—perhaps even, in some impossible scenario, an ally.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I must think carefully about my next steps. Several options lie before me:

  I could examine its injuries, as I know nothing about it, I could better assess the creature’s condition and possibly collect samples. However, this carries a huge risk: if it wakes suddenly, it might attack.

  I also consider exploring the northern area could reveal more information about the crash’s impact and potentially critical Colossus fragments, such as survival modules or data systems.

  But for now, my mind races, and I think the dragon represents too great a potential danger. Focusing on securing the base and salvaging Colossus resources might be a more pragmatic priority.

  I lean against a console, my hands gripping my temples. This isn’t fair. This world didn’t ask for me to be here, yet my arrival has already broken it, just as it shattered the millions of lives now lying beneath the debris.

  And yet, I can’t afford to be paralyzed by guilt. This dragon could be an obstacle or a key to survival in this place. Everything depends on how I choose to play this hand.

  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.

  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.”

  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.