There was no rest to be had, especially with Obsidian having made appointments with so many Proto-Dragons.
The snowstorm outside the lair had been falling continuously for three days and three nights.
During these three days, Obsidian didn't go out, nor did he want to.
He dozed off while refining the draft in his mind, determined to make those Proto-Dragons obedient without losing face.
As for Frost Fang, he spent most of his time lying at the cave entrance licking the ice, sometimes secretly gnawing at the corners of the walls.
No one knew what he was thinking, and perhaps he didn't even know himself.
Shadow Wing, on the other hand, always guarded the outside of the cave, occasionally entering once, just silently standing at the entrance to glance at Obsidian, then flying out again to patrol the surrounding wind field, bringing back a few prey to feed Frost Fang.
The three dragons, one sleeping, one in a daze, and one patrolling, lived a quiet life.
However, this quietness would not last too long.
As time passed, more and more Proto-Dragons gathered on the peak where they had previously met.
They let out low roars, communicating in their own way, then quietly waited for that important moment to arrive.
This peak had witnessed the earth-shattering battle, and now it once again became the focal point for the gathering of Proto-Dragons.
Those ancient Proto-Dragons, on par with Saritus, had already sent out a call to arms to the Proto-Dragons of various tribes.
Even though these ancient dragons held extremely high status and prestige among dragons, it was not enough to command all Proto-Dragons, forcing them to personally appear on this peak.
Throughout the vast Storm Peaks, only some tribes would send representatives.
The time was drawing nearer.
By the deep night of the third day, Obsidian finally turned over on his stone bed, dug a few grooves in the rock wall with his claws, and let out a long sigh.
"...After this, I'll become a hidden deity."
No one answered him. Frost Fang was snoring, and Shadow Wing still stood guard at the cave entrance like a statue.
Obsidian patted off non-existent dust from his body and got up.
"Alright."
"Time to get to work."
He squinted his eyes, looking north towards the peak of the storm, where the dragon multitude had been waiting for three days.
—Divider—
The wind rose from the northern lands.
It was no longer a chaotic flurry of snow, but a swirling force from the heavens, as if the ancient cold winds had all closed their eyes and held their breath at the same moment.
Only to welcome the arrival of a deity.
Obsidian spread his wings, soaring from the cliff's edge, his figure breaking through the clouds like a black lightning bolt, tearing the horizon.
Shadow Wing followed closely, silent, his eyes gleaming with an irrepressible fighting intent.
Frost Fang flapped his wings, clinging tightly behind Shadow Wing, blown off balance by the wind pressure, but still enduring without a whimper.
—This was the moment of a god's appointment.
Their direction was the peak where the god's victory had been etched.
Three days ago, it had been a battlefield of dragon war, but now it was occupied by the figures of over a dozen colossal dragons.
In addition, nearly a hundred smaller Proto-Dragons were arrayed on nearby peaks, awaiting that moment to arrive.
The closer they flew, the heavier the air became.
The sky seemed to be plummeting rapidly, clouds rolled, and thunder coiled like slithering serpents among the distant cliffs.
At the peak of the cliff, there were no decorations or altars.
Over a dozen Proto-Dragons stood in silent circle, some lying on the snow, half-covered in frost; some curled up among the cliffs, their eyes tightly shut; and a few were so old they barely resembled dragons, as if they could return to the Shadowlands at any moment.
They remained silent, neither demonstrating nor exerting pressure.
Instead, they were all watching.
They wanted to see what this new god, who had easily defeated Saritus and boldly declared himself "a god not of the Titans," truly desired.
Obsidian landed, leaving no trace in the snow.
He did not bow his head, nor did he salute; he simply slowly folded his wings, then raised his head to scan the dragons—
Those old veterans who had fought valiantly in the War of the Scaled, those strong adult Proto-Dragons who had grown up after the war, and those young dragons who were still ignorant and unenlightened.
At this moment, the mountain was silent, the wind ceased as if holding its breath, and heaven and earth seemed to withdraw themselves from this gathering.
Obsidian took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, divine flames burned in his golden vertical pupils.
Obsidian spoke in a low, gentle voice, yet with an undeniable power:
"The Titans, in the name of order, established realms, assigned colors, and bestowed names upon us—"
His claw tip traced through the void, and divine power condensed into an illusion of five-colored giant dragons, each entangled by chains adorned with Titan runes.
"They commanded the Bronze Dragons to guard time, bound the Red Dragons to maintain life, and drove the Blue Dragons to control magic..."
The illusion shattered abruptly, and the chains broke link by link.
"Yet we were born at the dawn of Azeroth's winds and snows—"
Obsidian suddenly flapped his wings, and a storm gathered around him:
"When did we ever agree to be the hounds of others?"
Divine power spread beneath his feet, transforming into countless silhouettes of unyielding Proto-Dragons, roaring defiantly at the ethereal figures of the Titans.
"Today I stand here—"
Dragon might was like an abyss; the entire mountain range was silent:
"I do not bestow shackles upon you, only a path to transcendence."
Obsidian lowered his head, his dragon eyes like an abyss gazing upon all beings:
"And I establish this covenant—"
The tip of his tail lightly touched the snow, and divine power rippled outwards, drawing burning black flame boundaries beneath the feet of every Proto-Dragon.
"Those who doubt may return across the snow; I will not hinder them."
Frost Fang flinched, but saw the black flames bypass his claws, gentle as silk.
"Those who believe—"
Obsidian suddenly raised his head, his wings obscuring the light of the sky, and in the shadow appeared an illusion of thousands of dragon silhouettes soaring high.
"Shall tear apart destiny with their claws, and remold the heavens with dragonfire."
Shadow Wing suddenly let out a long roar, a cry of unprecedented clarity, as if some shackles had broken in response.
When Obsidian's words fell, the wind did not resume.
Storm Peaks remained silent. No howling, no clamor. The Proto-Dragons did not immediately respond either.
But silence never meant resistance.
Some dragons slowly opened their eyes, their pupils trembling slightly like the surface of a frozen lake; some dragons gently lowered their heads, shifting their gaze from the sky to Obsidian, as if scrutinizing, and also as if waiting; and a few dragons exchanged glances, growling softly as they communicated their thoughts.
Among them, some dragons had cold expressions, still harboring disdain; some had complex expressions, as if pondering whether a decision not made a thousand years ago had finally found another possibility.
And amidst this torrent of collective silence—
Shadow Wing stepped out from behind Obsidian.
He did not roar, nor shout, nor did he look back at Obsidian.
He simply slowly extended his claw, and a dark golden light slowly rose.
Immediately after, the ground trembled slightly.
A nearly invisible wave of pressure spread outwards from where Shadow Wing's foot touched down, like the intangible echo of some ancient monarchy.
Two younger Proto-Dragons who were closer were so startled they lowered their heads.
Obsidian narrowed his eyes.
He recognized what this was.
This was not the power of Azeroth, but the power He had given to Shadow Wing.