Somewhere on a peak on the south side of Storm Peaks, Obsidian was conducting a… rather challenging "enlightenment education."
Across from him lay a Proto-Dragon, slightly smaller in size with greenish scales, having just shed its youthful tenderness. It was the one he had brought down from the mountains for "special training."
Not far away, another dragon—the blue-scaled Proto-Dragon that had first converted to Obsidian—lay quietly on the cliff top, watching everything like a sentinel, neither approaching nor disturbing.
"Choose again." Obsidian flicked his tail, his tone tinged with patience, "Which symbol represents danger?"
He used his tail to draw three marks on the ground: a bear paw, a thundercloud, and a colorful loa symbol.
The young Proto-Dragon tilted its head, stared at the ground for a long time, and then suddenly—opened its mouth and licked the "bear paw" symbol.
"…Alright." Obsidian sighed, "At least it's not trying to bite me."
He looked at the unmoving converted dragon in the distance, which was still lying in the snow, as stable as a stone carving, as if it could remain silent all day as long as Obsidian didn't speak.
"How did your senior brother figure it out?" Obsidian muttered softly, "Did I beat him too hard, opening up some neural pathway?"
He shook his head and changed the question.
"You have three paths: one leads to prey, one leads to fire, and one leads to me—which one do you choose?"
Three different symbols appeared on the snowy ground accordingly.
The young Proto-Dragon shook its head, seemingly thinking for a while, and then slowly crawled towards "fire."
"Oh?" Obsidian raised an eyebrow.
The next second, the other party rolled around on the fire totem, roasted its belly, and revealed a satisfied expression of "it's warm here."
"…A genius." Obsidian was expressionless.
After several rounds of continuous testing, Obsidian reluctantly concluded:
These young Proto-Dragons indeed possessed considerable perceptual abilities, but most of their comprehension was probably only equivalent to that of a four or five-year-old child, especially when facing abstract concepts, relying entirely on intuition and emotion.
But the Proto-Dragon that had converted to him was an exception.
It couldn't speak, nor did it participate in tests, but it understood words like "respond," "master," and "shelter," and even proactively greeted Obsidian with a bowed posture when he descended.
This indicated one thing: its choice was conscious.
Obsidian glanced at it, then at his "student" still licking ice shards and occasionally rolling on its back nearby, and softly uttered a dragon word:
"Those who obey shall receive My protection."
The young Proto-Dragon paused, as if it had some reaction, but soon lowered its head and began digging for small insects in the snow.
Obsidian sighed.
"It's a bit stupid, but once it's tamed, it might be able to serve as a figurehead."
He turned his head to look at the sky, narrowing his dragon eyes.
"Alright, the teaching plan needs to be changed. It seems I can't just go in hard… I need to start by teaching them to read."
"I need to come up with a curriculum first." Obsidian lay on a protruding stone ridge, his tail casually flicking, occasionally stirring up wisps of snow, "I can't directly use the Ice Troll's methods; they're too barbaric and don't suit my status."
Thinking of the major project of transforming the Ice Trolls, Obsidian felt a headache coming on.
He shifted into a posture much like a salted fish, lying on his back on the stone ridge. Although his posture was lazy, his mind was not idle.
"First, no idols are needed."
He recalled the converted dragon's reaction; it neither erected a statue for him nor offered sacrifices, and it didn't even touch Obsidian's divine emblem, but every time Obsidian communicated with it via divine sense, it would appear.
Obsidian rolled over, his dragon claws scratching several marks on the snowy ground.
"No totems, no sacrifices, so how do I establish a faith connection?" He stared at his claw tips, and suddenly a thought flashed, "Wait… the bond between dragons inherently doesn't need those flashy rituals."
In the "Warcraft" setting, although Proto-Dragons have limited intelligence, they are exceptionally sensitive to the concepts of "pack" and "leader"—they instinctively follow the strongest individual, just like a wolf pack obeys its alpha.
"So that's it…" Obsidian grinned, "I don't need to teach them to read at all; I just need to make them recognize me as their master."
He suddenly stood up, spread his wings, and his dragon might was released like a tide.
"Roar—!"
The low dragon roar shook the snow peak, causing it to rustle. The young Proto-Dragon, who was playing in the snow, immediately froze, its scales bristling, instinctively prostrating itself on the ground. Even the converted dragon in the distance raised its head, a hint of awe flashing in its eyes.
Obsidian was very satisfied with this effect.
He slowly walked to the young Proto-Dragon, lightly tapping its forehead with his claw tip, and a wisp of shadow divine power seeped in.
"From today onwards, you shall be called 'Frost Fang'."
Of course, this idiot definitely wouldn't understand, but it didn't matter—Obsidian had imprinted three basic concepts: "obedience," "protection," and "hunting" into the divine power, like implanting conditioned reflexes into a wild beast.
Frost Fang suddenly shivered, and faint dark gold patterns appeared in its pupils. It tilted its head to look at Obsidian, a gurgling sound coming from its throat, seemingly vaguely understanding something.
"Very good." Obsidian retracted his claw, "Now, go call your lazy senior brother over."
Frost Fang was stunned, but then actually turned around and stumbled towards the converted dragon, almost tripping over its own tail.
Obsidian: "..."
With that IQ, it would be embarrassing even as a mount.
Three days later, Obsidian's "Proto-Dragon Kindergarten" finally showed some progress.
Through repeated divine power infusions and physical discipline, Frost Fang could now understand simple commands, such as "lie down," "take off," and "don't chew on my tail."
And the Proto-Dragon that had first converted—Obsidian named him Shadow Wing—showed astonishing learning ability, even able to convey warning messages through dragon roars.
"It seems individual differences are quite large…" Obsidian mused, stroking his chin.
According to game lore, Proto-Dragons were originally the predecessors of the five Dragonflights, only later given power by the Titans, which led to their divergence.
According to the "Dragonflight" expansion, Proto-Dragons themselves are not lacking in wisdom; rather, they refuse to express wisdom using "Titan language," believing it to be the beginning of servitude.
They have their own order, their own way of survival.
Obsidian yawned at this thought, feeling that his days as a nanny would be long, and he was a bit annoyed.
But the next moment, his divine sense twitched slightly.
A familiar yet strange aura came from the Storm Peaks. It wasn't divine power, nor was it enmity, but an ancient pressure from the depths of ancient dragon blood.
He raised his head, looking into the distance.
The high-altitude clouds seemed to be cut open by some invisible force, and a Proto-Dragon, covered in grey-gold scales and with a body size comparable to a mountain, swooped down from the sky, landing on the cliff.
It didn't roar, nor did it create a huge gust of wind with its wings.
It simply descended quietly, like a giant monument, steady, ancient, and impossible to ignore.
Shadow Wing stood up, bowing his head in acknowledgment; Frost Fang plopped onto the ground, not daring to move.
Obsidian's dragon eyes narrowed slightly.
The newcomer's horns curved like a crescent moon, and there was no wildness in its eyes, only insight and calmness.
Although the small, short arms tucked at its sides ruined the overall sense of majesty, they inexplicably added a touch of cuteness.
A living Proto-Dragon from the "old era."
Obsidian was silent for a moment, then lightly curved his lips:
"Finally, someone I can communicate with has arrived."