The Warden. There are no words for the disgust he provokes in the rare times that he visits the bowels of his kingdom, where he struts around, admiring the gold-plated shimmers his magical skin brings to the world that has never seen the sun. Like how there are no words to describe the hunger his prisoners feel, trapped like rats in the suffocating darkness. Magic keeps them alive, and if magic does it, then why feed them?

Tamlin, the jovial previous clan leader, was a fool. It had taken more poison than the Warden expected, but a few extra doses later, he got the job done. He appointed Murazaki as his royal guard. Skydancers are such gullible creatures. It took almost no effort to convince the stupid skydancer that the kingdom would be better under his rule. Murazaki is a faithful servant. At least Murazaki will never know that it was he, the Warden, who had taken his first born son to the sacrifice in order to curry favour with the Icewarden for riches and power.

The first thing he did when got his kingdom under his brutal claw was segregate the dragons. His criteria was simple. The worthy could live in his glittering palace, where the bodies of the Light Slaves sparkled as they served the royals. The rest, those who had spoken out against Basil II or were otherwise unworthy, were stripped of their former names and put in cages in the dungeons. Then, he ordered all the lanterns in the bowels of the dungeon extinguished and all the windows blacked out with brick. 24 hours of everlasting night that played cruel mind tricks on even those in the dungeon who could still be considered sane.

Recently, he heard rumours of a little cockroach somewhere in his new kingdom. None of his subjects knew where he had come from, even under the pain of torture.

Then the king made a new decree: Any dragon who brings him the head of the cockroach shall be rewarded with as much riches as he or she desires.

But so far, there has been only silence from the tomb-like dungeons and the King's patience is waning.