Chapter 649

Chapter 649: The Cage

In complete darkness, without anything visible, Jesse opened his eyes wide. Where were Vereesa and Greed? They should have been sleeping right beside him.

He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here; the memory in between felt broken.

Shouldn’t he be in Tor Lona? After finally finding an abandoned dwarf village to rest in—dry and sheltered—it shouldn’t be this dark. No moonlight, starlight, any light to see by.

Jesse tried moving sideways to touch the wall of their rundown shelter. Instead, his hand met a smooth, vertical surface.

This wasn’t a dwarf stone house. He was somewhere else. He could almost guess what was happening.

Since leaving Stormwind, Jesse hadn’t entered the Dream again. Though he’d faced wind and rain with Greed and Vereesa, he hadn’t forgotten Deathwing’s death mark still watched him.

Maybe the father of black dragons had started trusting him—or decided to spare him—since he’d shown no betrayal or doubt.

So why now?

Did Deathwing have something to say? Or was there some doubt inside him needing answers? Jesse didn’t know.

Maybe just a normal nightmare?

Jesse stretched his arms, feeling around. The space felt narrow—a dead end, like a hallway’s terminus or a cramped room trapping him.

A bad feeling stirred, but he refused to name it.

Only when his fingers brushed cold Dark Iron bars did he know: a prison.

Even a dream prison tightened his chest.

Had Deathwing seen his true purpose? Read his thoughts? Locked him here in rage?

Or was this a warning?

Flames burst from a black brazier beyond the bars, lighting a narrow space. A man knelt there, his arms chained to thick black walls.

Jesse gripped the bars. Dried blood caked the prisoner’s head. His short hair was filthy, like weeds torn out by roots.

Yet in the firelight, it shone pale gold.

Was he the captive?

Then what was Jesse? Just a neighbor in the next cell?

Jesse’s thoughts tangled. In the Dream, he couldn’t think straight. The prisoner coughed twice, speaking words Jesse didn’t know.

Who was this?

Was this Deathwing’s Dream?

Jesse frowned. His mind felt like a toy. This wasn’t his nightmare—the scene was sharp, the logic clear, the timeline solid…

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Who am I?"

He spoke Common. The voice tugged at Jesse’s memory.

But here, in this dream, Jesse couldn’t place it…

Then he knew: he’d been fighting this voice in his mind.

"Krasus?"

"I thought you’d forgotten me." The figure shook his head. "Not surprised to hear you here, Jesse Seso."

Every word he spoke pounded on Jesse’s consciousness like heavy stones. This prison cell held Krasus and himself—what did that mean?

Jesse looked around, trying to spot anything else, any clues… but his gaze eventually fell back on the red dragon. Had the other ended up like this because of him?

Was it because he hadn’t told him everything about Kel’Thuzad, or because he hadn’t confessed his connection to Deathwing?

Or earlier mistakes, other things he’d done wrong? How far back did it go? Did Krasus believe Jesse had betrayed him?

These waves of reflection, recollection, and regret flooded his mind but vanished within seconds, crushed by the will surging within him.

This changed nothing. It would never change, and after all, it was just a dream. Jesse thought, instinctively tightening his grip on the metal bars.

Then the red dragon raised his head. His once handsome face was covered in blood, with black-purple spikes piercing his chest and shoulders. One eye was a bloody hollow, his legs broken at unnatural angles, uselessly crumpled on the ground, one hand missing fingers…

"Don’t look like that. I don’t blame you." He struggled to open his lips, words mixed with pus and blood. "I couldn’t expect a mortal to refuse Deathwing’s terms. It’s a pity I failed in every way—maybe they’re right. The situation’s beyond saving, everything I do is pointless… But I regret nothing. I gave my all. Everything here witnesses my final loyalty to Queen Alexstrasza, including you."

"In the end, I’m the one who should apologize. My stubbornness led you to ruin."

Jesse stayed silent, staring at Krasus’s tortured form, waiting for that person’s arrival. Soon, a shadow approached from behind, resting a hand on the metal bars beside Jesse’s left side.

Jesse felt he’d never seemed so towering in past dreams—like an unmovable dark bronze statue.

Deathwing eyed the prisoner behind the cell door. "Look who it is. Now carry out your mission without worry, Seso. Enter Grim Batol early and take over the Dragonmaw Orcs. Deal with his queen too."

At that last order, Krasus lifted his head, grinding his teeth as burning dragon blood spilled from his mouth.

"I recall you saying you didn’t care about the Red Dragon Queen’s fate," Jesse said.

"I’d planned to apologize—forced egg-laying by Orcs is absurd." Deathwing chuckled, then turned icy. "But it seems insufficient. These roaming red flies are more venomous than I thought. The one before you plotted to murder me—Lord Dalaran Prestor, Alterac Kingdom’s sole heir—and lead purple-clad circus performers to wipe out my family. Utterly reckless."

"Admit it—your earlier suspicion was right. This vermin cares only for his queen, certainly not you. Even with nothing left, his race near extinction, desperate enough to need mortal aid, he still won’t lower himself to speak with you as equals. He expects humans like you to leap into fire for his whims. That seemingly fiery chest hides shocking coldness, Seso. Can’t you feel it?"

"Once you free the Red Dragon Queen and lose value, he’ll cast you aside. Maybe toss you hollow titles—‘Dragon Race’s Benefactor,’ ‘Khaz Modan’s Great Savior.’ Then strangers will worship you but mispronounce your name, since none truly care about your sacrifice."

He stared past the Dark Iron bars. "You know I’m right, Korialstrasz."

Krasus didn’t respond, bowing his head again as thick blood dripped from his nose.

"I’ve your interests in mind," the father of black dragons added, turning back. "You’ve come this far. If you don’t kill Alexstrasza, will she spare you later?"

Under the twin pressure from tortured Krasus and Deathwing, Jesse barely kept calm outwardly while trembling uncontrollably inside.

He feared losing his façade—not just his emotions, but even his surface composure…

He could only fixate on Krasus—head lowered, arms chained—staring at his bleeding scalp. "I’ll finish my mission."

Hearing this, the red dragon’s shoulders shook twice, as if mocking mortal cowardice and his own folly. "Speak clearly," Deathwing demanded.

His yellow magic eye had become truly reptilian—slitted pupil, molten-iris swirls. Jesse met that gaze, feeling his consciousness crushed, burned, dissolving into dream-filth.

Yet he clung to his last shred of sanity, surviving Deathwing’s might long enough to force out words.

"I’ll kill the Red Dragon Queen. I’ll retrieve the Demon Soul for you." The black dragon blinked and finally looked away.

Jesse felt like being freed from a torture rack. Uttering that sentence felt like months of agony.

"And the dragon eggs—you always forget," Deathwing chided lightly. "Without Alexstrasza, those eggs matter more. Especially females. May one grow as strong-willed as our Prince Korialstrasz—only then can she strengthen the Black Wing."

The black dragon chuckled—a twisted, strange sound.

Jesse suppressed all emotion—fear, tension, doubt—maintaining fragile calm. "I understand, Master."

"Then proceed. I’ve other matters." The black dragon’s voice turned cold.

Deathwing’s form blurred and vanished. Jesse felt a searing black claw hurl him from the prison…

He bolted upright, gasping. The stone wall’s cold drizzle couldn’t soothe him. Would Krasus die?

Or was this another Deathwoven illusion—to ease Jesse’s mind, dismiss the red dragon’s threat?

To crush his hope, make him abandon the red dragon?

Or merely a test: true loyalty to the black dragon, or secret aid for Krasus?

Had he passed? Did Deathwing believe him?

Yet he sensed it was real—truly Krasus. That fierce warmth blazed even under Deathwing’s darkness, unlike any false dream-thing… like that stage-actor Vereesa Windrunner.

Jesse refused to accept this. If Deathwing had captured Krasus, his worst fears were reality.

Trapped, Krasus couldn’t warn other dragon lords of Deathwing’s return. No others would come to Grim Batol.

Tor Lona’s night grew darker than any dream.

He covered his eyes, breathing deeply—then a burn shot through his arm.

Pulling back his sleeve, he saw the rune glowing like fire in the rainy dark. Startled, he covered it and yanked the sleeve down.

After a quiet moment, he sensed Molofeel watching from above for intruders, while Greed snored nearby.

But in a shadowed corner, two pale blue lights glimmered. "You’re hiding something," Vereesa murmured.

"Sorry," Jesse said.

"You think I missed your heavy heart?" Vereesa sighed softly. "Greed knows you better—he sees it too. I don’t know your burden, but don’t shut us out. We came here ready for anything."

"Death doesn’t frighten me. I fear you ceasing to be you." Jesse gripped his magic wand, silent as rain pattered outside, drowning the room’s sounds. "So… can I trust you, Jesse?"

Jesse’s lips trembled. He looked up into the elf’s eyes. "Yes."

"Then nothing else matters." The ranger smiled faintly, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. "Dawn’s far off, Jesse. We enter the mountains soon—rest awhile longer."