The dream began in chains.
Cold iron weighed against scaled wrists as he knelt on polished marble, the vast throne hall filled with nobles arrayed like vultures around a feast. Golden candelabras flickered, throwing long shadows across jeweled walls. At the center sat the Naga King, bigger than any naga, spikes perusing out from his back, his snake hood drawn outward like a crown, his massive coils resting lazily on the throne of iron and stone, eyes glittering with contempt.
The sound of murmurs washed over the kneeling blacksmith.
"Refused the royal command."
"Arrogance from a mere craftsman."
"Unthinkable."
The blacksmith's body trembled, but not with fear. His hands clenched into fists, eyes blazing as he glared up at the throne.
The king's voice rumbled across the chamber. "You were ordered to forge the chains of dominion. Shackles that would break the will of lesser races. And yet you—" his tongue flicked in distaste, "—refused. Tell me, artisan, what excuse have you?"
The blacksmith bared his fangs. His voice thundered back, resonant with conviction.
"I will never forge tools of slavery! I create to free, not to bind. My hammers only forges for freedom, not chains!"
Gasps echoed across the hall. Nobles recoiled, scandalized.
"Blasphemy!"
"Treason!"
"Defiance against the crown!"
The king's eyes narrowed to slits, venom dripping from his words. "Then hear your sentence, Shiri."
At last, his name cut through the dream like a blade.
"You are stripped of your position, exiled from the capital. Never again shall your hands touch the forges of our people. Carry your ideals into the wastelands, and see if they protect you there."
Two armored guards seized him by the arms. Shiri thrashed, his tail coiling around their spears, his voice ringing out across the chamber one last time.
"I will not bow to tyranny! My creations are for freedom! For life!"
His cry echoed even as he was dragged through the grand doors, the laughter of nobles chasing him like hissing snakes.
And then the dream shifted.
The throne hall dissolved into smoke, flames, and screams. A village lay in ruins, fire licking the night sky. Shiri staggered amidst the wreckage, his caravan—his companions—already slain. Scattered tools and shattered weapons lay among the burning carts.
Then came the shadow.
A massive lizard-like monster, scales glinting crimson in the firelight, stalked through the ruins. Its maw dripped with blood, its claws shredded wood and flesh alike. It tore through the survivors with horrifying ease. The air was thick with the smell of ash and iron.
"No…" Shiri rasped in the dream, dropping to his knees. "Not again…"
The monster turned, its reptilian eyes locking on him.
The dream shattered.
Shiri's eyes snapped open. His breath came ragged, scales slick with cold sweat. Instinct drove him upright, his tail lashing defensively.
But pain roared through his body, forcing him to collapse back onto the bedding. His eyes darted to the shadows—where pale, hollow-eyed ghouls crouched silently, watching him with hungerless patience. Their claws flexed, waiting.
A human sat nearby, calm as stone, firelight painting his face in warm tones.
"Easy," Kairo said, voice level. "You're still injured."
Shiri hissed, tail coiling tight. "Who are you? Where am I?"
"My name is Kairo," the man said. "You're in my territory. Inside the ruins."
Suspicion blazed in Shiri's eyes. His gaze flicked to the ghouls—ten of them, each positioned with unnerving discipline. "A necromancer, then?"
Kairo smirked faintly. "Not exactly. Think broader. I am a Lord."
Shiri stiffened. His face twisted with open disgust. "A Lord? Even worse."
Kairo raised a brow. "Worse than a necromancer? That's a new one."
"Necromancers enslave corpses," Shiri spat. "Lords enslave the living. They turn people into pawns, discard them like broken tools, and call it governance." His tail lashed against the floor, though his body trembled with weakness. "If you think I'll stay here—"
"You'll tear your wounds open," Kairo interrupted coolly. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And you'll die out there if you try to crawl again. Trust me, I saw you dragging yourself through the dirt. You wouldn't have made it another hundred steps."
Shiri's lips curled, but his silence betrayed reluctant acknowledgment.
Kairo studied him for a moment. Then he muttered under his breath, "If you won't speak… I have other ways."
The Command Nexus flared in his vision. Letters scrolled into place, detailing the being before him:
Status Plate
Name: Shiri
Race: Naga
Tier: 2 (Hero)
Class: Soulcrafter (Blacksmith Variant)
Skills:Soul Anvil, Molten Memory, Cursed-Resonance Forging
Kairo's lips twitched. "So… Shiri, the Soulcrafter. A rare class."
The naga froze. His eyes widened. "How do you know that name?"
Kairo only smiled. "Let's just say I have my ways. Think of it as… an artifact of analysis."
Shiri narrowed his eyes. "Artifacts. Secrets. And ghouls waiting at your command." His voice dripped venom. "Yes… you are exactly what I hate."
Kairo tilted his head. "And yet, you're alive because of me."
The silence between them stretched taut. Then Kairo asked softly, "What happened to you? Why were you crawling toward my walls?"
Shiri's jaw tightened. He turned his head away, refusing to answer.
Kairo didn't push. He simply waited. Patience was as much a weapon as any blade.
Finally, Shiri muttered, voice raw with grief: "Revenge. That's what keeps me alive."
"Revenge?" Kairo echoed.
Shiri's fists clenched, claws digging into his palms. "A caravan. My caravan. Destroyed. Near here—a monster, scales and fire, ripped through everything. Burned a village to ash. I survived only by chance, loosing my hammer in the process." His voice faltered, his teeth bared. "It killed everyone."
The Command Nexus pulsed again.
[Command Nexus Notification]
Key Individual Detected: Shiri the Soulcrafter. Task 1: Aid Shiri's recovery and vengeance. Reward: gain trust of Shiri, the soulcrsfter.
Task 2: Recruit Shiri as a vassal. Reward: Territory Upgrade (Forging Facilities).
Kairo leaned back, mind sharpening. So the Nexus itself recognized this naga as essential. That made Shiri more than just a wounded survivor—he was an opportunity.
"Then we share a goal," Kairo said quietly.
Shiri's eyes narrowed. "You… want revenge too?"
Kairo's voice was steady. "What I want is growth. But if your enemy threatens my land, then our paths align. I'll help you strike back. But until then—stay. Recover. You're no use to vengeance if you die crawling."
Shiri's tail twitched. His pride warred with exhaustion. His voice came low, bitter: "Stay with a Lord… even worse than being alone."
Kairo didn't flinch. He only smiled faintly. "Give me time. I'll prove I'm not like the others."
For a long moment, Shiri said nothing. Then, with a tired exhale, he let his body relax against the bedding. "…Fine. Until I heal. No longer."
"That's all I ask," Kairo said smoothly.
Outside, night pressed close, the faint glow of fires still visible on the horizon where the monster roamed. Inside the small ruin, a wounded Soulcrafter and a rising Lord shared uneasy ground.
The Nexus hummed with new objectives, and Kairo felt the weight of the world shifting around him. For the first time, he wasn't just commanding mindless ghouls—he was negotiating with a will as sharp as steel.
The night continues with Shiri's eyes lingering on the fire, haunted, while Kairo's gaze gleamed with determination.