The Milf's Dragon

Owen glanced through the wall toward Gorvax’s cell.

The silhouette sat motionless by the window. Staring toward the section of the station where the medical quarter was located.

He hadn’t eaten the meal delivered earlier. Hadn’t slept.

Owen spoke quietly. "You need to stay strong. For Seri."

Gorvax didn’t move. "I am strong. Strong enough to survive three days without food. After that..." He trailed off.

"After that, we survive Prison World. Together."

Gorvax finally looked toward Owen’s cell. His silhouette shifted. "You still believe we can make it through this?"

Owen thought of Yuki. Of Drak’thar. Of the hatchlings waiting for him.

"I have to. Because if I don’t, then what’s the point of any of it?"

Gorvax was silent for a long moment.

Then quietly: "You remind me of myself. Five hundred years ago. Before the desperation. When Seri made me still believe things could be better."

"Maybe they still can be."

"Mhm... maybe."

But Gorvax didn’t sound convinced.

---

The next day, prisoners were allowed one hour in a supervised exercise yard.

Owen stepped onto the platform. It was large, maybe a hundred meters across with force fields on one side, station architecture on the other.

The open side faced space.

And there, dominating the view, was the neutron star.

Blinding. Beautiful. Terrifying.

It pulsed every 3.7 seconds. Precise. Mechanical. Like a cosmic heartbeat that never missed a beat.

Owen stared at it.

"Justice that cannot be escaped. Time that cannot be stopped."

Then movement caught his eye.

Above the exercise yard, elevated platforms allowed station personnel and visitors to pass without mixing with prisoners.

A group walked past.

A Female. Tall, about seven feet. Half-draconic features. Scales along her neck and arms, elegant horns swept back, golden eyes with vertical pupils.

A Progenitor.

She glanced down. Her eyes scanned the prisoners. Then locked onto Owen.

For a split second, their gazes met.

Owen felt the weight of her presence. Not hostile but Evaluating. Like she was cataloging him.

Then she moved on.

Yalira appeared beside Owen. "That was one of theirs. A Progenitor. You noticed how she looked at you?"

"Yeah."

"We’re but ants and prey to them. Little tiny cogs in a machine of their making."

Owen said nothing.

Further along the platform, three Nullborn warriors walked past. Furred. Horned. Armed with blades and hunting weapons. They laughed among themselves.

One of them looked down. Sniffed the air. Grinned.

Not Raxka. But clearly her kin.

They moved on.

Owen felt the tracker in his chest pulse faintly.

---

Near the end of the hour, Owen stood at the edge of the platform. Staring toward the station’s center.

The amphitheater.

Massive. Circular. Five colored lights beamed upward from it; gold, blue, white, green, and red. Representing the five Noble Races.

Thoss appeared beside him. "That’s where you’ll stand in three days. In front of thousands. With the Five Judges deciding your fate."

"Have you been inside?"

"Twice." Thoss’s stone-like face didn’t shift. "It’s designed to make you feel small. Powerless. Judged by beings so far above you that your life is just... data."

Owen stared at it.

That evening, all prisoners were gathered in a common area.

Heavily guarded. Enforcers lined the walls. Energy barriers separated groups.

Massive holographic screens activated above them.

The Prison World Season 47 Promotional Broadcast began.

The opening shot showed a planet from orbit. Scarred. Beautiful. Deadly. Continents ravaged by ancient wars. Oceans dark with pollution. Atmosphere thin but breathable.

A voiceover spoke in multiple languages simultaneously, translated by universal tech embedded in the station.

"Welcome to the greatest show in the cosmos."

"200 prisoners. 6 months. One planet."

"Only the strongest survive. Only the clever thrive. Only the entertaining earn freedom."

Then a montage footage followed.

Massive beasts being slain. Prisoners fighting each other in brutal combat. Environmental disasters—volcanic eruptions, sandstorms, tidal waves. Dramatic betrayals. Heroic sacrifices. Final moments before pardons granted to bloodied, exhausted survivors.

Then the screen shifted.

Season 47 Prisoner Roster Preview

Faces flashed across the screen. 200 mugshots in rapid succession.

Owen’s face appeared.

"FALSE FIST - Tier 5, Five-Stars - Lesser World Human - Unknown Potential"

Viewer stats appeared beneath: Pre-Season Interest: 127 Million Followers

Owen’s stomach dropped.

"Damn, People are already watching me Before I’ve even set foot on the planet."

Gorvax’s face appeared next.

"THE SOWER - Tier 4, Five-Stars - Infamous Cosmic Criminal - High Threat Level"

Viewer stats: Pre-Season Interest: 890 Million Followers

Other notable prisoners were highlighted:

Varkoth (Tier 4, 3-stars) - A hulking being with four arms and stone-like skin, convicted of leading a rebellion.

Pre-Season Interest: 1.2 Billion Followers

Zhen (Tier 4, 2-stars) - Sleek, serpentine humanoid with iridescent scales, convicted of mass poisoning.

Pre-Season Interest: 670 Million Followers

The broadcast ended with a final message:

"Season 47 begins in 4 days. May the worthy earn their freedom."

---

The screens went dark.

Prisoners reacted differently.

Some looked excited—veterans who knew how to play the game.

Some looked terrified—first-timers realizing what awaited.

Some looked resigned—those who’d been through this before and survived.

Yalira grinned. "127 million followers before you’ve even started. You’re going to be a star, False Fist."

Vrinn’s glowing organs pulsed. "Or a target. Popular prisoners get hunted by others trying to steal their spotlight."

Korvan’s deep voice cut through. "Ignore the numbers and Focus on survival. The followers don’t keep you alive, your skills do."

Owen looked at Gorvax.

Gorvax stared at the now-dark screen. Expressionless.

Then quietly: "890 million people want to watch me die."

Owen’s jaw tightened. "Or, they want to watch you win, you pessimistic fuck."

Gorvax almost smiled.

Almost.

---

Late that night, Owen tried to sleep.

The cell was quiet. Dark. The station’s artificial night cycle dimmed the lights.

Then he felt it.

A presence. Approaching.

Not guards. The pressure was different. Stronger. Denser.

Owen sat up.

Through the energy barrier, a figure appeared in the corridor.

Female. Tall. The same Progenitor from the exercise yard.

She didn’t announce herself. Just stood there, observing him.

Her CE signature was overwhelming. Tier 2, 2-stars. Maybe higher.

She spoke. Her voice was melodic but carried absolute authority.

"What... are you?"

Owen stood. His restraints hummed. "W-Who... are you?"

"Hmm. My name is Agis. I serve Matriarch Frauja."

She stepped closer to the barrier. Studying him like a scientist examining a specimen.

"You carry Progenitor blood. Diluted as it may be. But unmistakable, it is, from that aura."

Owen opened his mouth. "I uh—"

Agis tilted her head. "...Interesting."

Silence stretched.

Then Agis continued. "The Matriarch is curious about you. She wants to see how strong a diluted descendant can become."

Owen swallowed. "Oh?"

Agis’s eyes narrowed. "But... I think you’re an abomination that should be deleted before you become a problem."

Her gaze was cold. Clinical.

"But Frauja has other plans. So you’ll go to Prison World. You’ll survive. Or you’ll die. Either way, we’ll learn what you’re capable of."

Owen found his voice. "And if I survive? If I earn the pardon?"

Agis smiled. Predatory. "Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of Progenitor blood. Or if you’re just a clever imitation of something you’ll never truly be."

She turned to leave.

"Wait." Owen stepped closer to the barrier. "Why tell me this?"

Agis paused. Looked back over her shoulder.

"Because I want you to know what’s waiting for you. Even if you survive Prison World, even if you earn your freedom, the Progenitors will be watching. Judging. And if you fail to meet our standards..."

Her golden eyes gleamed.

"...deletion is always an option."

She left.

Her footsteps faded into silence.

Owen stood alone in his cell.

Her words echoed in his mind.

---

He sat on the bed.

Stared at his hands. The gauntlets had been removed for confinement. His fingers looked too small compared to the hundreds of beings he has seen so far.

He thought about everything.

Yuki. Drak’thar. The hatchlings. Dominus. Vorthraxx. Gorvax. Seri.

Three days until trial.

Four days until Prison World.

’I’ve survived demons, celestials, cosmic dungeons, and Enforcers. I’ll survive this too.’

He closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, the real preparation begins.