The mother of dragons sat in the wet mud in her soft, clumsy human form. Her pronounced hips were settled into the pumice and the uncreated grey ash dusted her bare shoulders, and both of her hands were still pressed flat against her belly. Her huge red eyes hadn't left my face.
'Escort quests are the worst.'
I stared at her.
The tectonic drain ground on behind me. The whole dimension was unmaking itself, caving inward to crush us before we could reach the lock, and somewhere out there in the dark the ecosystem was regrouping for a second wave.
And I was standing on a ruined seabed with a pregnant Primordial god.
I didn't have time to unpack the cosmic horror of it.
I looked back over my shoulder at the Tyrant Empress:
"Guard the god. Hold the perimeter."
