July 6
Midnight. The coffee house was old—real wood counters, analog lighting, steeped in history and the smell of cardamom and bitter roast. It sat in the shadow of a thousand glass towers, like a relic that had simply refused to move on. The address Ayesha gave me came with no explanation. Just instructions: midnight sharp, come alone, bring no weapons, and wear something that doesn’t scream “corporate.”
I took a seat by the window. There were a few others in the room: the proprietor, his daughter, and a handful of locals.
At midnight, a man entered. I knew him instantly from Wizkid's brief: Colonel Dastan Nurali, Commander of the Azure Guard.
Except it was, of course, Vivek.
The moment he entered, the room emptied. The proprietor and his daughter stayed behind. Not much of a choice, really.
He stared at me for a while. Didn’t blink. Just watched. Then said, “You remind me of someone.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. I didn’t ask who.
The ice broke—strangely—when Phoenix Rising came up. Turns out the Great Dragon is a fan. That explains the invite, I suppose. Not Halo’s concerts, not the storm-breaking miracle. He wants to meet the people behind the curtain. The storytellers. The manipulators.
The coffee turned into something stronger, smoother, older. We made a deal right there. A few Phoenix Rising episodes set in Samarkand, with Vivek himself making a guest appearance—as the villain, naturally. He said, “I’ve cultivated a certain brand. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the critics.”
Then came the real talk.
Vivek, with a gesture, removed our hosts from the conversation. Sleep, not death. Merciful, for a dragon with his reputation. Then the dragon took another, still human form, that of a Grand Vizier of ages past, the face of the First Speaker of the People of Samarkand.
Technomancy. Politics. Aztechnology. Samarkand. Power.
He listened when I laid out my goals: expand the research effort into technomancy, make it real, give it legs. And how maybe, maybe, Samarkand could be the third pillar in a tripod of power—Aztechnology, Indonesia, and Vivek. Unholy, sure. But stable.
I'm sure Herr Krieg will moan and complain, but he had his shot and didn't deliver, and now another Great Dragon gets a go at it.
Vivek didn’t laugh me out of the room. This... there is a lot of work to be done, and much that could go wrong, but the risks are outweighed by the huge upside.
I made a couple of personal asks, too. I want Almira to come to Seattle and be a simsense star—she has presence, the kind people don’t forget. And Arazzi? I want her to join our research. She’s wasted hiding in Vivek’s library.
Then came the pièce de résistance. I pitched it softly at first, like I wasn’t sure myself. “What if... what if you rose from the waters of the oasis? At the climax of Halo’s private show. Not as Colonel Nurali. Not as an actor. As yourself. The world would never forget it.”
He considered it. I could feel the heat behind those dark eyes. The ego. The ancient pride.
He smiled. How could he say no to such an offer?
July 7
The public concert was... fine. Nothing worth writing about unless you’re a reviewer desperate for metaphors. No major incidents. No security problems. No divine interventions.
Just 120,000 screaming fans and a rising tide of influence. Not a bad night.
July 8
The private concert at the oasis was something else.
Picture this: starlight above, arcology spires in the distance like a sci-fi skyline, ancient ley lines humming underfoot, and Halo drifting on notes that pulled at your spine. And then... the water trembled. Not a ripple—a pulse. Like the world inhaled.
And Vivek rose. Not in human form. Not pretending to be less. His full self: scaled, winged, crowned in horns and silent gravity. Halo didn’t miss a beat—she flew to meet him, black wings against the moonlight.
The feed went global. The world watched. And for a moment, all the jokes and politics and agendas disappeared. It was just art. Power and beauty in synchrony.
After the show, we kept the party going until sunrise. Drinks, stories, laughter. Even dragons drink, I’ve learned—though what they get drunk on is magic and power, not booze or tailored chemicals.
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