...Tchazzar sat upon the throne of Chessenta, and the marble beneath him remembered the weight of dragon claws. His eyes, faceted like a gem, held the depth of someone who had lived centuries and learned nothing except that strength was the only truth the world respected. Below the throne, courtiers shuffled through the morning's business, each one aware that their lives depended on his continuing to be entertained by their usefulness.

He thought of Tiamat, distant and divine, and felt the tug of her will against his own. One day, perhaps, he would be strong enough to resist her completely. Until then, there was the conquest before him, the city that had not yet bent the knee, the war that would cement his dominance across the continent. Tchazzar rose, and the courtiers scattered like insects. The dragon lord would not be bored today...