Once he was done, the dragon retreated from sight. Licking at claws and scales. Was he cleaning himself?

  Chickenclops. A ridiculous name for an equally ridiculous animal. Just a footnote in this world of high strangeness.

  Mereque thought of his ration cubes. His stomach wasn’t in the mood after watching that. He would eat later.

  Why would the dragon name its meal? Attempted humor. Dark, if true. It seemed fitting.

  A faint wisp of smoke rose from his ledge overhead.

  Mereque sat again on a cold stone, the weight of the cavern pressing in from all sides. The dragon's perch loomed above, Hexabulous's massive presence a constant shadow, the sounds of his movements kept him on edge. Mereque's gaze darted to the sealed wall where RX had vanished—secrets swallowed whole, leaving him alone with the fire-breather.

  The scent of burning bushes wafted down soon after. Not wholly unpleasant—the acrid odor was laced with sweet and savory spices—leaving Mereque curious about what the beast was doing up there.

  The silence stretched, broken only by distant echoes: a rhythmic whir, faint clanks, the low hum of energy pulsing through hidden conduits. The lair wasn't empty, only quiet; it breathed with purpose, ancient and guarded. Mereque's curiosity gnawed, but caution held firmer. He stayed put, pulse steady but elevated, the lingering buzz from RX's intrusion a dull reminder behind his eyes.

  His HUD pulsed softly (amber):

  ALERT: STRESS ELEVATION DETECTED

  HEART RATE: 118 BPM

  NEURAL RESIDUE: PERSISTENT

  ENVIRONMENTAL FACTOR: DRAGON

  PROXIMITY: CLOSE

  RECOMMENDATION: DEEP BREATHS

  – OR RUN –

  Hexabulous shifted, scales scraping stone, his face peeking out overhead. A low rumble escaped his throat—not quite growl, not quite laugh. "You sit silent now, little human. Wise. Curiosity killed more than cats in places like this."

  The dragon's voice rolled like distant thunder, casual but edged.

  Mereque took a deep breath.

  "I'm not trying to pry."

  "Har! Everyone pries. Some just live longer hiding it. You wait; RX will return soon. Then we can talk about the rescue."

  The word "rescue" landed heavy—Grace's name unspoken but present. Mereque nodded, though doubt coiled tighter. Allies? Or captors playing at help? The dragon's half-lidded gaze felt like judgment, amusement at his expense.

  With a flap, Hexabulous came down to sit on the lower shelf closer to him. Between clawed fingers he held a thick, cylindrical object—dark, rolled leaf wrapped tight. He bit the end with deliberate care, spat it aside, and a faint ember glowed as he puffed. Smoke curled lazily from his nostrils, carrying a rich, earthy scent that cut through the cavern's damp stone.

  Mereque blinked.

  A cigar?

  The dragon—ancient guardian, fire-breathing terror—puffed contentedly, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.

  Hexabulous caught his stare and his lip curled with a soft growl, sharp teeth glinting. “What? A dragon can't enjoy a fine smoke after a long day of work?”

  He didn’t answer.

  His HUD flashed again (soft amber):

  ANOMALY: VICE DETECTED

  THREAT LEVEL: MINIMAL

  POSSESSIVENESS LEVEL: HIGH

  RECOMMENDATION: DO NOT TOUCH POSSESSIONS

  The absurdity cut through his fear like a blade—monsters with vices. Yet the growl underlying Hexabulous's words reminded him: ally or not, this was still a dragon’s lair.

  The dragon let out a long stream of smoke that formed a series of spinning rings—floating lazily across the vaulted cavern.

  Mereque watched the rings dissipate, his curiosity overriding caution for a moment.

  Time dragged. Mereque's thoughts circled: Jenker's farewell, Grace's face before she was taken, the hack's violation still itching in his skull. He flexed his fingers, augments humming faintly—reliable, yet breached. Vulnerability raw.

  Then the wall seam reappeared with a soft grind. RX glided through, lights pulsing measured and calm. It hovered closer, a compartment irising open on its frame to reveal a selection of arms—strange, outlandish things that defied Leopold engineering.

  A curved blade glowing with inner runes, edges flickering like captured lightning. A compact launcher shaped like a coiled serpent, barrels twisting impossibly. Handheld orbs pulsing with contained energy, surfaces etched in symbols that hurt to perceive. Weapons blending ancient myth and forgotten technology—beautiful, terrifying. Forged for gods, not men.

  Mereque's eyes widened.

  RX's voice emerged, serene as ever. "Bzzz… Selection prepared."

  Speaking, much better than assaulting me, he privately mused, feeling some relief.

  Hexabulous grumbled. "Gifts."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The dragon resumed puffing contentedly, eyes half-closed in satisfaction, as if they were no more than an afterthought.

  Mereque stared, awe warring with wariness.

  He told them he’d do whatever it was that they wanted of him if they helped save Grace, but truth be told, he had no idea what that was. Since departing Havenlocke Harbour—coming to their floating mountain lair—they hadn’t said anything to him about it. After his experience with the machine, he worried it wasn’t going to be something pleasant.

  Mereque hesitated.

  His hand hovered, pulse quickening. The hack's echo lingered—a dull itch behind his eyes, foreign code still threaded through his mind. RX's "gift" of translation felt like a chain now, not a bridge. What else had it rewritten? What secrets did these arms hold?

  Hexabulous snorted again, cigar smoke drifting down in lazy spirals that carried the rich, earthy scent through the damp air. "Pick fast, human. Or stand there gawking till the Blanched baptize your fairy in tears."

  Mereque’s gaze flicked between the offerings.

  His HUD blinked (insistent amber):

  ALERT: MULTIPLE ARTIFACTS DETECTED

  ENERGY SIGNATURES: PROCESSING…

  COMPATIBILITY: VARIABLE (12-87%)

  POWER LEVEL: EXCEEDS LEOPOLD SPEC

  RECOMMENDATION: NONE

  — PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK! —

  The blade called to him first—elegant, lethal, clearly Hexabulous’s own work. He could imagine the dragon’s hammer shaping those runes, the same hammer that had rung like a mountain’s heartbeat. It felt honest in its brutality. But it was a melee weapon, and he was no swordsman. One mistake in close quarters and he’d be dead before the runes ever flared.

  The orbs were worse. They throbbed with a pressure that made his augments buzz in protest, as if the symbols were trying to crawl inside his skull the way RX’s code once had. He didn’t trust anything that hurt to look at.

  The crescent projector—the Hammerhead, his HUD tentatively labeled it after a quick scan—tempted him next. Heavy, deliberate, its boreholes pulsed with restrained power, promising slow but cataclysmic slugs that could immolate or shred anything in their path. It reminded him of siege weapons from Leopold archives: durable, versatile, unforgiving. But it was bulky, meant for planted feet and overwhelming force, not the chaos of a dragonback rescue.

  That left the serpent launcher.

  It was compact, almost handgun-sized, yet heavy with promise. The coiled body was warm to the touch when he lifted it—living metal, scales etched along its length shifting faintly under his fingers like breathing. The barrels twisted in ways that made his eyes water if he followed them too long, but the grip fit his palm perfectly, as though it had been waiting for a human hand.

  His HUD flared the moment his skin made contact (amber, then cautious green):

  ALERT: ARTIFACT INTERFACE DETECTED

  ENERGY SIGNATURE: PLASMA HYBRID

  COMPATIBILITY: 87%

  THREAT TO USER: MODERATE

  RECOMMENDATION: PROCEED WITH CAUTION – POSSIBLE SYMBIOTIC BINDING

  Symbiotic. The word sent a chill down his spine.

  RX hovered silently, lights pulsing in patient rhythm. Hexabulous watched from his perch, cigar ember glowing like a tiny forge as he inhaled.

  Mereque weighed the launcher. It wasn’t Leopold tech—he could feel that in his bones—but it was a ranged weapon. Distance. Control. Precision homing for a spaceman used to targeting from afar. If it bound to him the way RX’s code had, at least he’d have firepower while it happened.

  He slipped the serpent into the magnetic holster at his hip. It settled there with a soft, almost satisfied click, scales flexing once against his suit like a cat stretching.

  Then, after a beat, he reached back in and hefted the Hammerhead. His augments hummed under the weight, but he was built for heavier loads than this. Raw, overwhelming power as a backup—something told him the Blanched wouldn't like slow, crushing impacts any more than precise ones.

  His HUD flared (yellow warning):

  ARTIFACT ACQUIRED: HEAVY PROJECTOR

  ENERGY SIGNATURE: KINETIC HYBRID

  RECOIL ESTIMATE: HIGH

  – AUGMENTS ADVISED –

  DESTRUCTIVE POTENTIAL: CATASTROPHIC

  RECOMMENDATION: TEST IN OPEN SPACES

  Hexabulous’s lip curled around his cigar, approval or amusement—it was hard to tell. “The Wyrmspitter likes you... and the Hammerhead? Har! That one's special. RX helped with the forging. Belches ruin in five flavors. Use it when you want them broken, not just dead.”

  The way the dragon spoke about RX414—it sounded more like a partner than an appliance. Mereque didn't know what to make of it. He gave the machine a measured look—then away, the ache in his head flaring—before focusing back on the weapons.

  “Wyrmspitter?” Mereque echoed before he could stop himself, slinging the crescent projector across his back.

  “Aye.” The dragon exhaled a perfect ring of smoke that drifted past Mereque’s helm. “Forged from a shard of my own sire’s scale. Bites hard, twists mid-flight, finds the heart it’s aimed at. Don’t miss.”

  His throat went dry again. A piece of a dragon. In his holster. Pressed against his side.

  The dragon's eyes glinted—amused, but edged. The machine hovered silent, lights pulsing patient calculation.

  RX's voice emerged, serene as ever. "Bzzz… Selections optimal. Additional munitions loaded."

  A secondary compartment irised wider—disks, cubes, transparent triangles pulsing with unknown energy. Mereque loaded what he could carry, frustration gnawing. No questions answered. No tour. Just delivery, like feeding a wary animal.

  RX’s compartments irised shut with a soft chime. “Bzzz… Selections complete.”

  Mereque had his Pelter holstered on one side, the Wyrmspitter on the other, and the Hammerhead on his back—along with an assortment of ammunition and explosives. He was feeling confidently well provisioned.

  Hexabulous puffed smoke rings, watching. "Good choices."

  Mereque met the dragon's gaze. "I’m doing this for Grace. I’ll keep my promise to you.”

  The beast's lip curled—growl or grin, impossible to tell. "Aye. You will.”

  RX reconfigured smoothly into its more aerodynamic form, changing from ovoid to arrowhead, storage hold sealing. "Bzzz… Preparations complete. Departure advised."

  Hexabulous rose, wings unfurling with a sound like tearing canvas. The cigar was pinched out between two claws and tucked behind a scale like a bookmark.

  “Come, get on. It’s time to save the Fay girl.”, the fire-breathing reptile barked, as he hopped down from the lower shelf to rejoin them.

  Mereque approached, hand steady despite fear. The beast's heat radiated, smoke curling from nostrils. He gripped a spine, pulled himself up—vulnerable, exposed, but resolved.

  His HUD pulsed softly (green):

  MOUNT ACQUIRED: DRAGON

  STABILITY: VARIABLE

  – GRIP RECOMMENDED –

  ALTITUDE POTENTIAL: EXTREME

  THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE-HIGH

  RECOMMENDATION: ENJOY THE RIDE?

  “Okay. You have my thanks.”, the spaceman replied, feeling some of the tension lifting.

  For all the intimidation and fear, which a beast of this size could naturally cause by simply existing, flying through the clouds in the open air on its back—THAT had been an exhilarating experience he did not mind repeating.

  “Time to fly, little human. Hold tight—or don’t. I won’t catch you twice.”

  Mereque looked at the massive red face turned towards him, smoke still curling from nostrils that could turn him to ash in a heartbeat.

  He nodded once; handholds tightening.

  With a look of tolerant irritation, the Red Dragon flapped his wings and went airborne, while the machine followed closely behind, heading through the winding tunnels and eventually back outside.

  They set out from the floating mountain, lair of a monster unlike any other, soaring through the clouds—heading due southwest—towards the Blanched Lands and the Shimmering City, and to the unknown destiny that awaited them.