Chapter Text
The wind shear above the Waking Shores followed a predictable northwestern current between the hours of dawn and midday. Drozara banked into it, wings angled to conserve energy, eyes scanning the volcanic ridgeline below. Three months since awakening. Fourty-five patrol routes logged. Zero deviations from established parameters.
He adjusted his harness strap with one clawed hand. The buckle had loosened again, metal fatigue, probably. He'd need to replace it soon.
Below, the landscape was a study in controlled chaos. Lava flows carving new paths through ancient stone, primal earth elementals migrating in clusters that made no tactical sense, and the occasional adventurer picking through ruins that had already been picked clean. Drozara had mapped most of it by now. The disorder bothered him less than it had in the first week, though "less" was not the same as "not at all."
He descended in a wide spiral, claws finding purchase on a basalt outcropping that overlooked the eastern approach to the Life-Binder's observatory. A good vantage point. Sight lines clear in three directions, thermal updraft nearby for a quick exit if needed.
Nothing moved except the wind and the distant shimmer of arcane wards.
He settled onto his haunches and began counting the wards. One, two, three... fourteen visible. Sixteen if he factored in the probability curves. The pattern had shifted slightly since yesterday, someone had reinforced the southern perimeter. Logical. There had been increased primal activity in that quadrant.
A sound.
Drozara's head snapped left. He heard stone scraping against stone. Twenty meters downslope, partially obscured by a shelf of volcanic rock.
He rose to his full height, claws gripping stone, tail extended for balance. His fingers flexed, arcane energy threading through the scales of his palms in faint azure traces.
Three gnolls emerged from behind the outcropping, dragging something, no, someone. A blood elf mage, unconscious or dead, robes torn and scorched. The gnolls wore crude leather armor and carried chipped axes that had seen recent use.
Drozara's mind processed the scenario in the span of a breath. Gnolls didn't typically range this close to draconic territory. Which meant they were either desperate, displaced, or being driven. The latter was most probable. The mage was likely a scavenger caught alone. Poor tactical judgment.
One of the gnolls looked up and spotted him.
It barked something in its guttural language and the other two dropped the mage, weapons rising.
Drozara didn't move.
The lead gnoll snarled, took a step forward, hackles raised. Posturing. Testing.
"Inefficient," Drozara said quietly.
Then he moved.
He leaped from the outcropping, wings snapping open to angle his descent, and landed between the gnolls in a crouch that cracked the stone beneath him. Before they could react, he thrust both palms forward and pulled.
Azure energy erupted in twin lances, Azure Strike, slamming into the nearest gnoll's chest and pitching it backward into the rocks with a wet crunch. The arcane magic unraveled, tearing through the creature's crude armor like it was made of parchment.
The second gnoll lunged with its axe. Drozara sidestepped, the blade whistling past his shoulder, and his tail whipped around in a tight arc to sweep the creature's legs. It stumbled, off-balance, and he followed with a backhand strike, claws raking across its throat in a spray of arterial red.
The third gnoll hesitated. Drozara could see the calculation in its eyes. Fight or flee.
It chose poorly.
It charged with a howl, axe raised high. Drozara's maw opened and fire poured forth, Fire Breath, green-tinged and roiling with primal heat. The flames didn't consume the gnoll so much as erase it, flesh and bone reduced to ash in the span of two heartbeats. The axe clattered to the ground, blade glowing dull red.
Silence returned.
Drozara straightened slowly, shaking embers from his claws. His breathing was steady. Controlled. He glanced at the scorch marks on the stone, the spray of blood, the crumpled bodies. Clean engagement. No wasted energy. Optimal force application.
He stepped over to the blood elf and crouched, he could see she was taking shallow breaths. Lacerations on her left arm, minor burns on her hands. Survivable injuries to be sure.
Drozara looked toward the observatory in the distance, then down at the mage.
He didn't know her. Had no reason to intervene further. She'd made poor tactical decisions and paid the expected cost. Leaving her here would be the logical outcome.
His fingers twitched.
He checked his harness strap again. Still loose.
"...inefficient," he muttered.
With a low growl of frustration, at himself, at the situation, at the world's insistence on presenting him with variables he couldn't predict, Drozara bent and carefully lifted the mage over one shoulder. She was lighter than his field pack. He adjusted her weight, checked the positioning, then spread his wings and launched skyward.
The wind shear caught him and he angled toward the observatory, jaw tight.
Patrol parameters: deviated.
Reason: unclear.
He didn't like that at all.
Twenty minutes later, he landed outside the observatory's medical tent and handed the mage off to a surprised drakonid healer without explanation. The healer opened his mouth to ask questions, Drozara was already airborne again, wings cutting through the morning thermals.
He had a patrol route to finish.
And a harness buckle to replace.
And, somewhere in the back of his mind, a question he didn't have the framework to answer. Why did you do that?
He ignored it.
For now.