Scyrivanth, the Lifebringer

"There is one last thing to do," you say, "before we can all finally rest. Everyone, step forward."

You flare your pheromones as the circle contracts around you. Not to start an orgy - not yet, anyway. There will be time for pure indulgence later.

"Tiana bears it already, but the rest of you have yet to accept my mark," you say. "It will bestow upon you health, longevity, and the ability to communicate telepathically with your fellow companions. I'll limit it to strictly intentional broadcasts to the group for now," you say. Nods all around - firm and confident from most, hesitant from Ichika.

With a thought, runes flare on the bodies of your chosen eight - mostly under their clothes. The one on Tiana's forehead fades; the others look around confused.

<Where is it?> thinks Tozi, and the others all startle.

<Good,> you broadcast with a grin. <It works.>

Tiana gasps and puts a hand to her mouth. <Not there for all of us, surely!> you hear in your mind, and as you turn to her, you see she's staring transfixed at Gromna. The scantily-wrapped Orc is the only one whose rune is visible, a darkened sigil peeking out from the fur just above her mound. Gromna looks down and squeals in joy; the reaction from the rest is more muted, but through the link you sense a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

<I placed it somewhere only we would see it,> you elaborate, grinning. This was why you'd started with the pheromones - to further associate your control with their arousal. <And I intend to take plenty of time to look at them up close.>

"For now, though," you say out loud, "that is all. Find a place to claim, and get some rest. In the morning, our work begins in earnest."

"A question, Dragonlord," says Nenetl. She speaks timidly, as if afraid of offending you or speaking out of turn. You turn to her with a warm, open expression, and you see some of that tension leave her body.

"Ask," you say.

"When we vanquish your enemies and conquer those who would defy you, what shall the name on our lips be? What shall we call your magnificence, other than the Sixth?"

You pause, embarrassed to realize you actually hadn't thought of it before. You are simply YOU. No further identifier should be needed to label your greatness. But of course, the notion is ridiculous. You need to call yourself something.

Eight different Ixtacotaki dialect words for "Sixth" echo through your mind, followed by hundreds of other candidates. Your racing thoughts abruptly stop as one name stands out from the bunch, like it's grabbing onto you. It feels powerful. It feels right.

"I am Scyrivanth, the Lifebringer," you proclaim, and your words ring through the chamber. A part of you can feel magic behind your announcement, carrying it to the ears of those who know how to listen far around the world. Let them hear, you think. Let them know the name of their new king.

Nenetl falls to her knees. "Hail, Dragonlord Scyrivanth," she says, the air of worship behind her voice.

To your surprise, the rest of your companions - even Ichika - follow your warrior's lead. "Hail, Scyrivanth," they say, as one. "Hail the Lifebringer."

You bask in their adoration. This moment feels good. You know it to be the first of many, a prototype for the thousands - millions - who will one day bow before you and honor your name. You etch it into your mind. In all your eternal life, you know you will always treasure this as the memory of when it all began.

"Rise, Companions," you say. "You honor me. And now, you are dismissed."

As they all turn to leave, you raise your finger. "Tozi. Not you. You come with me."

<Yes, my dragon,> you hear in your head, as the huntress turns to accompany you to your bed.