The Nest, Part I (Babysitters)

The crater feels like the inside of a wound the world decided not to heal. Jagged glass juts from the earth like broken black teeth, slick and reflective, catching the pale sky in warped fragments. It's almost beautiful. Each step crunches beneath my boots with a sound halfway between breaking bones and grinding sugar crystals. The descent isn't as steep as I initially feared and I did not fall to my horrific death, but every pace downward felt like it was dragging me closer to something I should not be touching.

Now that we were at the bottom of the caldera, the towers loom over us. They're clearly not something that was constructed, but is it right to say they look like branchless trees of grass that were grown from the very earth. Like tumors of shadow glass punched through the ground by the wrath of some angry storm god. This close to them I can hear that they crackle faintly, like static caught in a jar or of a broken TV, the occasional blue spark dancing across their seamless surfaces from their storm cloud crowns.

Clyde is beside me, crouched low. His brow is furrowed as he stares intently at the shards of dark glass lining the ground like a nightmarish carpet.

"Storm Essence," he mutters, nodding to the nearest pillar.

I crouch down and examine the black glass-like substance.

[Storm Essence]

[Description: A crystalline manifestation of concentration aetheric Storm energy.]

[Note: Storm energy is a byproduct of combined Wind, Water and Lightning aetheric energies.]

I blink. "Storm Essence."

Jelly Boy glops forward, excited, and stretches a pseudopod to the base of a shattered fragment. The black glass hisses as it dissolves into him, crackling faintly.

I almost forgot he could absorb spell elements. This was a borderline buffet of Storm-powered magical fuel. "Nice."

Jelly Boy gurgles in what I assume is contentment. He pulses faintly, little sparks of static jumping across his surface as he digests the stuff. Probably not healthy. But then again, he's made of jelly and nightmares. Who am I to say what's good for him?

"This could be pretty expensive stuff back on the other side," says Clyde. "I wonder if it's safe to touch so we can pull it into our Inventory?"

"Only one way to find out," I say as I pick a finger-sized shard of the Storm Essence from the ground. My fingertips tingle but the sensation—which might have been painful before I was granted a System-enhanced body—isn't even enough to summon my Health bar. "Safe enough," I announce.

And just like that we start scooping up shards. Approximately twenty of the finger-sized shards take up an entire slot in my limited Inventory. I fill two of my Inventory slots with the material before deciding I've gathered enough.

"It'll be nice to harvest some Other Realm material and not have to fork it all over to the municipal guild," I say.

"The problem will be figuring out how to offload it without raising too many eyebrows," says Clyde. He straightens and gestures across the wide basin. "She's over that ridge. Dragon and her welp. Probably in a smaller crater where the actual nest is." At this point, the guy's practically memorized that journal we purchased.

"Welp," I echo. "Cute word for something that can probably cook us medium rare."

Veronica squints. "How do you know there'll be a baby? Aren't there equal chances of just one pissed off adult dragon… Or a lot of baby dragons?"

Clyde's already in full lecture mode. "We just saw an Adult Storm Dragon returning to a nest? Means she's raising one. Females don't leave their nests before the egg hatches, and they don't abandon it afterward. Not for a long while anyways. We're lucky. The kid's still young. And Storm Dragons only lay one egg at a time, but are continually mating."

"We have a chance, even if the timing component may screw us over," he adds.

He's not wrong. Our plan hinges on the mother dragon leaving the nest. The journal said they hunt daily. Sometimes two or three times a day. The plan we devised during our trek up the mountain was a simple one: we watch the mother dragon, follow her routine, measure the time she's gone from the nest to hunt for her newborn, and hit hard when she's gone. Not a long window, but better than no window.

As we approach the other side of the crater, I stop to examine one of the towers more closely.

[Storm Essence Pillar]

[Description: A pillar of Storm Essence. This pillar has accumulated so much storm energy that it is capable of generating powerful thunderstorms. These pillars can often be found near the nesting sites of Storm Dragons.]

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

We climb the far ridge. When I finally poke my head above the edge, I follow Clyde's lead, pulling myself onto my belly and army crawling my way forward, which feels ridiculous when I'm wearing a cape and a large ass wizard's hat. I take a position between Clyde and Veronica, Jelly Boy near my shoulder.

I take in the sight before me.

A gigantic mass of black glass, all jagged lines and unnatural geometry, much like a bird's nest. Shards of Storm Essence woven together into a sprawling basin the size of a three-story house. Lightning dances across it in slow, lazy arcs—drifting sparks from an entity too bored to hide its borderline godhood.

The Storm Dragon.

She sprawls behind the edge of the nest like a living stormcloud, scaled in deep blue and gleaming steel. Her wings are folded, but still dwarf most commercial aircraft. Each breath sends a ripple through the air, charged and hot. Her horns arc backward like obsidian blades, each streaked with a yellow-and-white pattern mimicking chains of lightning and her eyes… Are thankfully closed. A sound like distant thunder beats rumbles from her throat.

New Monster Identified: Adult Storm Dragon, Level ?

Classification: Adult Dragon

Then I see the other one. Tucked deep in the nest. It's smaller. Probably the size of a smaller passenger aircraft, and looks much like its mother. The infant dragon is curled around the remains of something once living. Blood and ichor cover its face, dripping and dangling from its chin. A forked tongue snakes its way out of the thing's mouth, tasting the blood in the air.

New Monster Identified: Baby Storm Dragon, Level 47

Classification: Infant Dragon

I don't dare to move, or even breathe for that matter. Similar to the Not-Deer, it's like a force is pushing down on me, keeping me frozen in place. Something touches my cheek. It's a cold, slimy pseudopod. Jelly Boy. Is he trying to comfort me?

The Slime's eyes are locked on the dragons. I can't tell whether or not they look scared. The dark orbs near the surface of the ooze's body simply look… Curious?

After a few long, terrified seconds, we retreat, making our way away from the nest, but remaining on this side of the caldera. We settle down near a cluster of rocks near the base of some pine trees.

"Well," Clyde says, once we're clear, "at least now we know she sleeps too."

"Yeah," I mutter. She sleeps alright. Probably a lot like volcanoes do.

"And confirmed she definitely wasn't concerned with our presence. Even that close to her nest," says Veronica.

Jelly Boy buzzes.

Clyde exhales sharply and gives Veronica a half-hearted smile. "When you shit out babies that are over Level 40, what is there to be worried about?"

We camp in the shadow of apocalypse, tucked behind an outcropping of jagged rocks formed of pure Storm Essence and pine trees, branches crowing around the black, glass-like substance. It provides good coverage but is close enough to the caldera and provides a good view of the sky to track any movement from the mother dragon.

Around noon, the mother stirs. Her wings snap open in a slow-motion nightmare and she takes to the sky with a thunderclap that I feel in my teeth. I swear the entire earth beneath my feet vibrates like I'm standing on Jelly Boy's head. She disappears into the clouds above. As soon as she's outside our line of vision, we each use our System interfaces to set timers.

She returns one hour and five minutes later.

We also spend some of the time clearing some of the weaker mobs in the area. We cautiously fan out to get a feel for the territory, keeping our senses on high alert. Turns out, this whole place is crawling with low-level monsters. Lesser creatures hiding in the shadow of the terrifyingly powerful Storm Dragon.

A particularly common monster is the Crabbit. These terrifying fuckers are approximately the size of a large dog. Shells covered in reddish-brown carapace, crab like claws and pincers. Extending from the shell is the head and neck of a large rabbit, with a puffy tail extending from the back-end of the shell. It's almost like a rabbit chose to pilot a miniature crab tank.

They explode like gore-filled grenades when Lefty and Righty pummel the shells to living hell with rocket-powered punches.

You have defeated Crabbit, Level 9.

You have defeated Crabbit, Level 8.

You have defeated Crabbit, Level 8.

Jelly Boy enjoys the extra treats.

By the time we return to our post, the sun is low in the bruise colored sky, and I've even managed to level up again. I'm Level 16 now.

Clyde didn't level up, but he doesn't seem too bothered by the fact.

Veronica also level up, which isn't surprising given her new Trait she acquired in La Galcia. Jelly Boy also leveled up.

That meant Clyde and Jelly Boy were both Level 12. And Veronica was now the second highest level in our party at Level 13. We've made so much progress since entering the Bronze Gate, but even four-against-one the Level 47 infant Storm Dragon seemed like a steep challenge. We're probably in over our heads.

"I know that look," Clyde says. "You're thinking too much about the numbers."

Yup, he read me like a book. "Well yeah, Clyde. Because math says we're all gonna die. Probably." I feel something scratch at the back of my mind, reminding me that the dark pool of hopelessness is only a step away. And it had been so long since I've taken a nice dip…

"Math says we should die," he corrects. "But we've got information, terrain, teamwork, and surprise on our side. This ain't just big number trumps small number. It's about execution."

"Comforting," I deadpan. "Really. Let me just go ahead and put on my 'surprise and strategy' armor. It'll keep me safe when the baby decides to cough a lightning bolt through my chest."

"You mean that tee shirt of yours isn't Lightning resistant?" asks Veronica.

I snort. Her comment pulls me away from that cold pool within my mind. I pull my bedroll from my pack, and settle back into dragon watch.

Evening comes. The sky turns purple-black. The Storm Dragon takes flight again, her wings cleaving through the darkness, each powerful beat looking like a flash of lightning in the night.

We run the timer again. Another hour. Fifty-nine minutes, to be exact. It seems like we have a little under an hour to execute on Plan Cradle Robbing.

That night is blessedly quiet. No monster attacks and the mother dragon doesn't leave the nest again. There's just the whisper of cold wind through broken glass and the faint sizzle of lightning bleeding from Storm Essence towers down in the caldera.

I don't sleep that night. I don't think any of us do.

In the morning, we creep closer to the edge of the nesting area, and we wait for mother to take flight and go on her breakfast run for baby. We use the time to prep our hotlists, memorize our strategies and contingency plans, and calm our nerves the best we can. It almost feels like we're cramming for an exam.

The Adult Storm Dragon goes airborne. Clyde raises a finger and we all start our System timers.

We wait.

Ten minutes… Fifteen.

He nods.

It's go time.

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