Page 1 of Vex
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His brother was going to get himself killed.
Lord Vex stalked back and forth across the room and grit his teeth. A wisp of smoke came off of his shoulders, which only made him more frustrated. That lack of control was emblematic of some fledgling, not a dragon warrior of Vemion.
If he left today, he could be on Earth in a week.
Would Rook already be dead?
His last call had left Vex, well, vexed.
What in all of the stars could have induced his brother to walk into a situation like that without backup?
That settled it. He was going.
Vex yanked open the armored cabinet beside his bed, the biometric lock recognizing his fingerprint with a soft chime. His field kit was already assembled: backup power cells, currency chips, tactical armor folded into a compression pack no larger than his fist. He grabbed his travel bag from the closet and began shoving items inside with military efficiency. Extra clothes, his personal sidearm, the diplomatic credentials that would get him through jump gates without questions.
He paused, holding a formal dress jacket. When had he become the brother who dropped everything to chase after the others? Rook was a grown dragon. A lord of Vemion. He could handle himself.
The jacket went into the bag anyway.
His communicator buzzed against the nightstand. Vex lunged for it, hoping for word from his brother, but the display showed only routine fleet reports. Nothing from Earth. Nothing from Rook.
His butler, Orinn, stood in the doorway, and Vex stopped in his tracks. His own expression was bland, he knew, but he'd torn up half the room looking for his things rather than calling a servant to do the job.
This was not like him.
He didn't like to worry.
If Rook survived, Vex was going to kill him.
Orinn's weathered face remained perfectly composed, but Vex caught the slight tightening around his eyes as the butler surveyed the chaos. Drawers hung open, formal uniforms draped over chairs, and navigation charts scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. The old servant had seen Vex prepare for dozens of missions over the years, each one methodical and precise.
This was neither.
"What?" Vex demanded. It was a bit snappish.
Damn it. Damn Rook.
He straightened, running a hand through his hair. Taking it out on servants was unbecoming.
"A message from your uncle, my lord." His tone was perfectly neutral, the way it always was when delivering news that might not be welcome.
His uncle. The king. Orrin seemed to take a certain pleasure in always referencing the familial relation. The parchment was sitting on a silver tray in his hands.
Vex snatched it and read, his scowl growing deeper with each word. The parchment was expensive and thick between his fingers, the kind that crinkled softly when handled. His uncle's personal seal was pressed deep into the crimson wax, the dragon sigil catching the light.
Assistance is requested at your earliest convenience.
Then there was an address. Nothing else.
His uncle did like to be brief.
Vex looked up to find Orinn watching him with that patient expression that meant there was more coming. The butler's hands were clasped behind his back now, the silver tray tucked under one arm.
The butler cleared his throat. "There was also a message from your brother, sir."
Vex's grip tightened on the parchment. "Which brother?" he snapped.
