17. The Call of the Dragon

The night’s festivities were coming to an end—the music softened, and the crowd slowly dispersed like shadows at dusk. As the last echoes subsided, Thathu emerged from the departing throng and swept the remaining group aside with an urgent, measured tone. “You have been summoned,” he declared softly, his eyes dark with unspoken resolve.   Without wasting a moment, Thathu led them away from the now-empty ballroom into the chill of the building’s entrance—a place still buzzing with the scandal of Lark’s arrest just minutes before. He strode purposefully past the corridor where, not long ago, Lia had traded coy smiles and playful flirtation with a guard to secure her passage to the library. Every step they took carried memories of fleeting courage and whispered rebellion.   Their path wound to a secluded doorway hidden behind a tattered curtain. Beyond it, a narrow, spiraling staircase beckoned upward. The climb was steep and shadowed, each step heightening the tension that seemed to pulse in the very air. At the top, they entered the council chambers—a mysterious sanctum shrouded in ancient stone. The floor, paved with cold, black stones, was dominated by a solitary crescent moon of white stone at its center; delicate vines and unruly plants clung to the walls and crept across the ceiling, suffusing the room with a strange, diffused luminescence whose source remained a mystery.   In the midst of a broad, timeworn table stood an enormous red-capped mushroom, as tall as a man. Its cap, vivid against the stony background, lent an air of surreal enchantment to the chamber. Then, in a deep, resonant voice that carried both weariness and a hint of mirth, it spoke:   “Well, it’s nice to meet you all formally. It’s been a bit of a day.”   In a seamless, almost imperceptible motion, the mushroom shifted—its appearance melting away to reveal Faeyth in her everyday wear. As the group exchanged hurried yet heartfelt greetings with her, gratitude mingled with the palpable tension of the moment.   Before anyone could settle into conversation, a shrill alarm shattered the fragile calm. From behind came frantic, echoing flutters—then, in the blink of an eye, something swooped overhead. It brushed past Gwen, depositing her bag at her feet with an unceremonious grace. Morgana, now standing resolute beside Faeyth, leaned in close and murmured, “It’s happening, he’s been spotted approaching.” Her tone shifted as she added with a wry smile, “I thought you might need all your things now. Perhaps it’s time to ditch those fancy clothes.”   In unison, Faeyth and Morgana raised their staffs. Channeling ancient magic, they directed their power toward the ceiling. Slowly, tangled vines and gnarled branches shifted aside to reveal a breathtaking late afternoon sky—an expanse of vivid blue punctuated by a glimmer hinting at a brass dragon soaring afar. A collective tension rippled through the group as they watched the spectral creature approach, only for it to vanish into thin air at the last moment, leaving nothing but a charged silence.   Then came a sudden, bone-jarring crash—a human form slammed into the sturdy table, its impact fracturing the stone surface into three splintered cracks. Faeyth rushed to the fallen figure, gently cradling his hand as he coughed up blood. “They destroyed the village… Aurora is trying to head them off at the holm… she’s not—” His words broke off as weakness overtook him.   Without hesitation, Morgana scrambled onto the table and hoisted her staff high, invoking healing magic with a determined incantation. Amid the swirling magic, Faeyth turned—her expression a mix of grief and fierce urgency. “Please, I beg you—go help Aurora. They can’t reach the temple in time,” she pleaded.   In that moment, resolve overtook despair. Faeyth slammed her staff into the ground; the impact reverberated through the chamber as the earth split open and a mighty tree surged forth. The tree’s branches spread wide before collapsing inward, transforming into a swirling portal that shimmered with possibility. “If you say no, I will understand,” she intoned firmly, “and I will not think any less of any of you.” One by one, the group stepped through the portal, leaving the enigmatic chamber behind and emerging atop a rugged mountainside.   There, carved from the very storm itself, stood a giant blue-skinned woman. Her hair and eyes glowed with a fierce, inner luminescence, and in her hand pulsated a massive hammer crackling with lightning. With a mix of defiance and awe, Faeyth leaned forward and demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”   The woman’s answer was neither confused nor hesitant. “Reinforcement!” she declared before abruptly retreating back into the folds of her aura. As she did, the magic around the portal dissipated, and her blazing features softened to reveal a weary calm. “I’m Aurora, the Chief of Winters Rest and Protector of Sky Holm,” she announced, lowering her mighty hammer. “I hope you’re all prepared for a fight, because we must protect the temple at all costs.”   Before any further words could be exchanged, distant sounds of marching and clashing echoed from the other side of a narrow bridge. The approaching army stirred the air with grim promise. As they plunged into the fray, chaos reigned—a battle that would test every fiber of their resolve. In the tumult, Lia burst into the temple, her eyes wide with terror as she caught sight of Areria sprinting through the shadows before a piercing scream shattered the commotion, leaving the fate of the day hanging in the balance.   The night had transformed into a storm of magic and strife, with every heartbeat echoing the uncertainty of the coming battle, and every whispered promise of hope standing as a fragile shield against the encroaching darkness.