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  Grak is dead. That makes... was he the sixth? Might be the seventh. I've lost count. They never listen. No matter how many times you tell them to avoid the cages while cleaning or to keep their antivenom with them or just to not stand still when the subjects breathe fire.

  Good help is impossible to find.

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  Dragons one and three have chosen names for themselves: Tlaloc and Itzli, respectively. Dragon two insists on using her research designation as her name: Coatl-ome. She says that it is the name I gave her, so she will keep it forever to never forget what I have done to her.

  Note to self: stop letting flammable objects or orcs near Coatl-ome's cage.

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  Tlaloc and Itzli have been very beneficial to my studies. They allow me to draw blood for analysis without a fight. Coatl-ome, however, continues to be recalcitrant. She lets nobody near her unsinged and makes up words just to confuse me. Like "sitlali," which seems to translate as something like "sky-light-night," which makes no sense. There are no lights in the sky at night. There is only the Void.

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  Disaster! Everything is gone!

  My new assistant must have let Coatl-ome out of her cage. She roasted him, killed Tlaloc and Itzli, and smashed all the eggs in storage. All my research notes are gone. She must have taken them. I can recover, replace, and rebuild everything, but the missing notes make me nervous.

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  I have one last option.

  Drang and I deserted during the evacuation of Vrarag after the wyrmkin swarmed it. I have one vial of Coatl-ome's blood left and little chance I'll see more. Drang does not have my knack for survival, so I must perform the transfusion on myself. I'll leave my notes with Drang so they will not be lost if I don't survive.

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  I passed out from the pain of the transfusion, and in my sleep, I was visited by a dragon. It was black, unlike any other in Serinor. It was surrounded by wyrmkin of every size and shape. "My finest work," it said. "And all because of you. My Chosen."

  I woke with a splitting headache. But when I laughed in surprise that I was alive, the shadows laughed too. They are always watching.

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  The transfusion corrupted my left arm. The scales are as golden as Coatl-ome's. Otherwise, the experiment was a success. I get better at shackling minor wyrmkin every day and can even command Drang. It's exhausting, though the headaches from the attempts grow weaker as I grow stronger.

  I have never been strong before. It is odd.

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  I have reached the limit of what I can learn on my own in a cave at the edge of a desert. I must find new subjects and assistants

  The dragons used my research to create the wyrmkin. I must use my research to give the Trotzen the power to resist. They will hate me, but they will survive. And survival's always been enough before.