Page 43 of Fire's Storm
Not for political advantage, despite his opposition to Raak's leadership.
But for the survival of their species.
At least, that's what he tells himself as his yellow eyes gleam in the crystal's light.
The ancient chamber beneath Metu’s quarters fills with the scent of his co-conspirators before they fully materialize through the separate passages. Each arrival triggers a series of crystalline chimes—a security system predating current sanctuary construction.
The room itself speaks of forgotten history—walls bearing markings from the First Settlement era, protective wards carved into stone that's been worn smooth by centuries. Magic hums in the very foundation, a low frequency tuned to scramble any attempt at magical surveillance.
Elder Khorne arrives first, silver scales covering his entire visible form, ruby eyes surveying the chamber with the caution earned through centuries. The eldest council member moves with surprising grace for one so ancient, but his claws leave tiny gouges in the stone floor—evidence of agitation he cannot fully suppress.
"The demonstration was impressive," Khorne acknowledges without preamble, his voice a graveled rumble. He doesn't bother with pleasantries. Never has. "But spectacular displays often precede catastrophic consequences."
The scent of copper and sand announces Sarla before she emerges through her passage. Caramel skin shimmers with copper scales that catch the light of the ancientcrystals embedded in the walls. Her amber eyes take in the gathering with predatory assessment, muscles coiled beneath her ceremonial robes. The head of interrogation moves like the hunter she is—each step calculated, each gesture precise.
"The human female demonstrated unexpected control and precision," she observes, her tone clipped and analytical. Her nostrils flare, scenting the lingering rage in Metu’s pheromones. "The complementary approach proved more effective than anticipated."
"Which makes them more dangerous, not less," Metu snaps, teeth momentarily sharpening into points. He paces the edge of the chamber, unable to keep still. "They've achieved what the ancients feared most—harmonized storm manipulation beyond council oversight."
His dragon half chafes against the continued restraint. It wants to roar its outrage, to spread its wings and challenge the stupidity of the council elders who can't see the danger right in front of their fucking faces.
Not yet. Control. We need allies.
"Raak has officially recognized the Tempest Bond," Khorne announces, his voice carrying the rasp of someone in constant pain. "The human has been granted provisional status with full access to sanctuary resources."
"Then we are agreed," Metu states rather than asks, claws fully extending from his fingertips. The smell of ozone fills the chamber as his control slips further. "This cannot stand."
The others nod with solemn determination—not personal vendetta motivating their conspiracy but genuine conviction that they alone stand between their species and extinction.
"Let us be absolutely clear about our purpose." Elder Khorne's ruby eyes move between the gathered allies, scales glinting in the crystal light. "This is not about Vulcan's royal lineage."
"Despite his undeserved status," Metu adds, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
"Nor about the human contamination," Sarla continues, her mind focused like a weapon.
"Despite its obvious inferiority," Metu can't help adding.
"And certainly not about Raak's progressive policies," Khorne contributes, amber eyes fixed on the ancient carvings depicting The Sundering that cover one wall of the chamber.
"Despite their shortsighted foolishness," Metu mutters.
"This is about survival." Khorne's voice cuts through Metu’s commentary like a blade. "About preventing another Sundering."
The reference silences the chamber completely. Even the humming crystals seem to dim. The Sundering—the greatest catastrophe in dragon history. The cataclysmic event that reduced their population by eighty percent in a single day.
Elder Khorne rises from his seat, moving with sudden urgency toward the carved wall. His scaled hand traces the images—dragons with elemental powers linked through visible bonds, energy flowing between them in intricate patterns, then the pattern destabilizing, shattering, devastating the world around them.
"The ancient texts are clear for those with access to uncensored versions." His voice drops lower, rumbling with the weight of forbidden knowledge. "The Sundering resulted from elemental bond corruption—harmonic connections deteriorating into chaotic discharge, balanced partnerships degrading into destructive competition."
Sarla moves to stand beside him, her hunter's eyes analyzing the carvings with tactical precision. "With humans introduced as destabilizing variables," she adds. "Their shorter lifespans and emotional volatility create fundamental instability within bond structures designed for millennium-length connections."
Metu’s dragon half surges forward at the memory of Phoenix Ward standing beside Vulcan, her hand on his arm, steadying him. Heat floods his system. Smoke curls from his nostrils.
"And the Tempest Bond represents the most volatile connection," he growls, voice deepening as his partial shift progresses. "Storm energy inherently chaotic, electrical power fundamentally unstable, atmospheric manipulation intrinsically unpredictable even before adding human genetic variables."
A derisive snort escapes Khorne. "Raak accuses us of blind prejudice."
"While he pursues blind progressivism with equal zealotry," Sarla finishes.
