Page 27 of Fire's Storm
My mind shifts instantly to high alert, professional assessment overriding personal considerations that occupied my night. Political developments take precedence over philosophical contemplation when survival potentially hangs in balance.
"Vulcan?" I question, glancing toward connecting door that remains closed since our predawn interaction. I find myself unconsciously moving toward it, body seeking his presence even as mind focuses on immediate tactical situation.
"Already there," Spark explains, expression suggesting political maneuvering beyond simple status determination. "Raak thought you might appreciate a friendly escort rather than security detail. I volunteered."
The consideration surprises me—evidence of allies I haven't consciously considered within dragon hierarchy. Raak's support, however peripheral, represents a political advantage I hadn't anticipated given his initial hostility toward my presence.
"Thank you," I acknowledge, genuine appreciation coloring my tone. In unfamiliar territory, both literally and figuratively, guides with insider knowledge represent tactical advantage impossible to overvalue. "I'm still learning to navigate dragon politics."
"Dragon politics," Spark repeats with soft snort that suggests familiarity with my current position. "Three weeks in, I'm still figuring it out. Centuries-old grudges, bloodline rivalries, ability hierarchies—makes human office politics look straightforward by comparison."
The commiseration creates unexpected common ground between us.
I study my companion with renewed interest as we walk through crystal-illuminated corridors toward the council chamber. "You were human," I state rather than ask. "Before meeting Raak."
"Completely human," Spark confirms, holding up one arm where copper-red scales shimmer beneath skin that appears otherwise normal at casual glance. "Glassblower, not firefighter like you. Different circumstances, but similar transition experience. Human to hybrid through bond formation with a stubborn dragon who insisted it couldn't possibly happen until it did."
The parallel situation to mine surprises me.
"That's..." I hesitate, searching for appropriate description, "statistically improbable."
"Dragon prophecy bullshit," Spark translates with refreshing bluntness that triggers an unexpected laugh from me—genuine amusement gone since entering dragon territory.
The offered alliance, implicit rather than stated outright, provides comfort as we approach the imposing council chamber entrance. Support from someone who's navigated similar transition represents an advantage I hadn't anticipated in this hostile environment.
"Any advice?" I ask. The massive doors loom ahead, intricate carvings depicting dragon history in stylized images I can't fully interpret without cultural context.
"Be yourself," Spark suggests after brief consideration. "Your human perspective represents your primary value to the progressive factions. Dragons born to hierarchy rarely question its fundamental premises. Outsiders see structural flaws invisible to those raised within the system."
The insight carries heavy political implications—suggesting my human background provides strategic advantage rather than weakness. My mind catalogs the perspective shift for potential use in upcoming confrontations.
"Also," Spark adds as we reach the entrance, hand resting momentarily on my arm in a gesture that communicates solidarity, "they respect strength and despise perceivedweakness. Channel your captain persona—the one that keeps human males twice your size following orders without question. Dragons respond to a commanding presence regardless of physical size."
The advice aligns perfectly with my professional experience—authority projection transcending physical intimidation through confident demeanor, through absolute certainty in issued commands.
I straighten automatically, shoulders squaring, chin lifting as professional persona settles around me like familiar armor.
"Ready?" Spark questions, hand poised to activate entrance mechanism.
"Ready," I confirm, Captain Ward's voice emerging—the tone that expects immediate compliance, that has served me well through countless crisis situations far more immediately threatening than political crap.
The massive doors swing inward, revealing a circular chamber larger than I expected—seven ornate stone chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing a central platform where Vulcan already stands, midnight-blue scales fully visible along arms crossed over his massive chest. His posture communicates barely contained tension, predatory alertness beneath forced stillness.
Seven seats contain dragons in various states of shift, some appearing nearly human save for unusual eye colors and subtle scale patterns, others displaying more pronounced draconic features—elongated limbs, partial wing structures, tails curled around chair legs.
Dozens of additional dragons line the chamber walls, witnessing proceedings with expressions ranging from open hostility to wary curiosity to occasionally, surprising support.
The crowd parts as I approach the central platform, escorted by Spark who maintains protective proximity without intruding on personal space.
As I take position beside Vulcan, electrical current arcs visibly between us, blue-white energy bridging the six inches between our bodies. His body shifts subtly toward mine, angling to both shield and support simultaneously. A council member gasps. The energy pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat—a physical manifestation of the bond.
The display triggers immediate reaction from assembled dragons too—whispers rippling through the crowd, expressions shifting from skepticism to reluctant recognition as evidence manifests before them.
"The bond," murmurs one council member—elderly female with silver scales covering most of her visible skin, amber eyes narrowing as she observes the electrical connection. "It appears Vulcan's claim holds merit despite its unprecedented nature."
"Parlor tricks prove nothing," counters another councilor—Metu, the dragon from my medical examination. His black scales ripple with agitation, eyes glittering with hostility. "Electrical generation can be faked through multiple means. The human's supposed dragon heritage remains unverified by council research."
"My examination verified Tempest genetic markers," interrupts a new voice as Kellamir enters through a side entrance, copper eyes bright with excitement despite the political tension permeating the chamber. "Complete analysis confirms dormant dragon genetics activating at an accelerated rate. Results cataloged and available for council review."
