Page 29 of Fire's Storm
"Second," supports the copper-scaled female immediately, a strategic alliance-building. "Adria Stormclaw supports confirmation trial as a historically appropriate resolution method."
Raak studies both supporters with an unreadable expression before shifting attention to remaining councilors. Metu appears ready to object before a subtle head movement from another member—a dark-haired dragon with minimal scales, suggesting a political moderate—silences him temporarily.
"Proceeding to formal vote," the clan leader announces after sufficient pause to establish authority over the process rather than being carried by factional momentum. "Council will determine whether confirmation trial proceeds during tonight's celestial alignment."
The subsequent voting process proceeds with formal efficiency that suggests frequent practice despite supposedly rare circumstance. Each councilor indicates their position through a crystalline interface built into the chair arms, results displaying on a central projection visible to all present.
Final tally emerges immediately—five supporting, two opposing, sufficient majority to authorize proceeding.
"The council has spoken," the clan leader declares, formality masking whatever personal position might differ from the official outcome. "Confirmation trial will proceed at moonrise in the grand amphitheater. Participants will demonstrate bond authenticity through coordinated ability manifestation under witnessed observation."
His attention shifts specifically to me, eyes communicating something beyond official proclamation—warning, perhaps, or possibly encouragement.
"Captain Ward will be provided appropriate preparation time with an assigned guide," he continues, glancing meaningfully toward Spark who nods once in acknowledgment. "Vulcan Aetherion will prepare separately as tradition requires. Council stands adjourned until trial commencement."
The pronouncement triggers immediate activity—councilors rising from ornate chairs, and witnesses dispersing through various exits.
Throughout the controlled chaos, I maintain position, processing implications with thoroughness that has served me through countless professional evaluations.
Only when the chamber largely empties do I turn toward Vulcan, finding his electric blue eyes already focused on me with intensity that sends fresh electrical current racing through my system. The connection between us pulses visibly, stronger than previously.
"Trial?" I question quietly.
"Opportunity," he responds, voice low enough to prevent eavesdropping from remaining dragons gathering belongings nearby. "Formal recognition would provide protection beyond temporary status. Few will challenge confirmed bonds regardless of political objections."
"And if we fail?"
Failure isn't an option. Not for Captain Ward. Not ever.
His expression darkens, scales rippling more prominently beneath his skin as emotions surge beyond careful control. He shifts closer to me, though careful not to make physical contact, his body angled to shield our conversation from observation.
"Failure rarely occurs when a genuine connection exists," he assures me, though something in his tone suggestsconsequences remain significant. "Focus on connection rather than technique. The bond itself will provide necessary guidance."
Before further explanation, Spark approaches with a purposeful stride that suggests time constraints.
"We need to move," she informs us, golden eyes reflecting genuine concern beneath professional demeanor. "Preparation protocols require a minimum four hours before trial commencement. Traditional separation applies once preparations begin."
The information triggers visible tension in Vulcan's massive frame, reluctance evident in his expression though he makes no verbal objection. His hand rises unconsciously toward me before halting midway, cultural protocols apparently preventing contact during the pre-trial period despite biological needs.
"Tonight," he states simply, the single word carrying weight beyond its syllables. A promise rather than a simple chronological indicator.
"Tonight," I confirm, matching his tone despite unresolved questions swirling in my head.
As Spark leads me from the chamber through a side entrance different from our arrival route, I maintain a professional demeanor despite increasing awareness of what's at stake.
The trial represents more than simple bond confirmation—political standing, legal protection, potential alliance all hanging in the balance.
I have never failed a professional evaluation in my career. Tonight's trial, supernatural context notwithstanding, represents just another test to navigate with precision and dedication.
Failure isn't an option I'm willing to consider.
SIX
VULCAN
Glass shatters against the far wall. The third casualty in as many hours. A fucking vase—who even put a vase in this room?
Blue current snakes between my fingers and the metal fixtures. My skin crawls with suppressed energy, too tight for what churns beneath. Three hours of forced separation, and already my body rebels.
