#c: keakaokalani

[spiteweaver]

The Council of Flights (and Fiver), Pt. 3

[spiteweaver]

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It was not yet a war, and perhaps it never would be, but tensions between the Scarred Wasteland and the Viridian Labyrinth had not run so high in over four hundred cycles. The residents of Clan Feldspar felt it very little; they had become so close to their clanmates, and so trusting of the safety of their lands, that the idea that they should be at one another’s throats over “foreign affairs” was laughable.

Plaquemine, however, felt it deeply, resonating in the marrow of his bones.

He had been abroad in the aftermath, in the company of Prince Phantasos. He had seen the mark Ambassador Liefa had left upon his homeland, and the malice in the eyes of his kin as they passed it by. Some who had been present during the initial conflict called still for retribution, though neither Warchief Morix nor the Mother Herself had acquiesced.

“It’s a reminder,” a gruff old Mirror had told him as they’d stood together at the edge of the breach, “a reminder of our weakness.”

Now he stood alone, staring out over the distant expanse of the Tangled Wood. On its far side was his birthplace, and although he felt no desire to return, there was a longing for something inside of him, a nebulous and indecipherable something that made him restless as he watched the sun dip below the horizon.

“Ambassador Plaquemine.”

Plaquemine started, but Keakaokalani had stepped up alongside him before he could turn in his shock. He had not heard his colleague’s approach; ever the silent, stoic pillar of the community, Kea was as agile as he was compassionate. Not even his scent, of tropical flowers and sweet fruits, had given him away. Beneath his mask of golden feathers, his deep emerald eyes were bright with bemusement.

“I’ve never seen you here,” he said.

“The c-c-cliffs are a p-p-popular p-p-place,” Plaquemine replied.

“For young lovers.”

“For thinking.”

Kea clasped his hands behind his back. He was a wild spirit among his brethren, but in front of his fellow ambassadors, he had always come across as unapproachable. There was a wall between he and them, and Plaquemine thought then that they were very much alike in that regard.

“We represent two sides of the same coin.”

“Excuse me?”

The Nature ambassador’s gaze cut to Plaquemine, who shied away inside his fox pelts. “I’ve never understood why our people are at odds,” Kea clarified. “Together, we form a necessary balance in this world; life and death, growth and decay, each of us survivors in our own rights--and still we come to blows over petty matters.”

“The b-b-breaking of the Armistice is n-n-no p-p-petty m-m-matter,” Plaquemine said. “It has b-b-been in p-p-place for f-f-four hundred and f-f-fifty-two cycles. It was a symbol of our history, of our d-d-dedication to l-l-learning f-from it.”

“Petty,” Kea persisted, “we need no such formalities to keep the peace. What died that day was a political statement; the true Armistice lives on, so long as we remain united.”

“That’s j-j-just like a N-N-Nature dragon,” Plaquemine murmured.

“You disagree?” Kea asked. “You believe there is just cause for our people to war?”

“N-n-not at all,” Plaquemine was quick to assure, “I’ve n-n-never viewed N-N-Nature dragons as a threat, or as l-l-lesser than my own k-k-kin. What I m-m-mean is that--it isn’t that simple.”

“No,” Kea conceded, “but it should be. We can map the stars, shape the land, bend the elements to our will, and yet we cannot forget a grudge that was never ours to bear. It is petty, it is childish, but we cling to it all the same, blinded by ignorance.”

It was the most Keakaokalani had ever spoken to him--or anyone, for that matter. Perhaps that was why Plaquemine found himself hanging on every word. He had met others who espoused similar sentiments, but none of them had ever done so with such conviction. To them, it was a passing thought, a fanciful dream to be pined after, but never obtained.

Keakaokalani spoke as if he were reaching for that fanciful dream, and grasping it tightly in his outstretched hands.

Plaquemine looked down, hiding the tumult of emotions in his eyes behind his long lashes. “I w-w-want to believe,” he said, “that someday, our two lands m-m-may be at p-p-peace, a t-t-true p-p-peace, without p-p-politics or n-n-necessity. Y-you...”

The moon was rising in the west, casting the Sea in pale shades, its waves like phantoms in the gloom of twilight. Again, Plaquemine’s eyes were drawn to the Scarred Wasteland; that same longing stirred deep within his chest, and he clutched at it with his bandaged fingers.

“You make me want to believe,” he concluded.

Kea seemed taken aback by his frankness. Even obscured by his mask, Plaquemine could note the wideness of his eyes, and his posture stiffened, his shoulders high and straight. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad,” he said. “In such uncertain times, we must support one another.”

“Of c-c-course,” Plaquemine agreed.

“I...” Keakaokalani sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Plaquemine watched the ripple of his strong fingers beneath his dreadlocks. He had never noticed before now, but Kea was very handsome. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Perhaps I came on too strong. The matter of our relationship has been weighing on me since the Breaking. I wanted to test the waters, but...”

“D-d-don’t apologize,” Plaquemine insisted. “I understand anxiety b-b-better than any of our p-p-peers.”

Kea laughed. Plaquemine had heard him do so before, but only from a distance, mingling with the laughter of other Nature dragons. It was deep and clear, and Plaquemine suddenly felt shy. It was the stress of the situation, he reasoned; he had never viewed Keakaokalani as anything other than a colleague, so some new factor must have skewed his perception.

Unfortunately, he could not reason the red from his cheeks.

“So then...” Kea turned to him, extending a hand. Still blushing, Plaquemine accepted it. “...allies?”

“Yes,” Plaquemine said, “always.”

@serthis-archivist @airris-fr @jaxxem (it won’t let me tag you?) @reanimatedfr

[spiteweaver]

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The day was fine and calm. Overhead, fluffy white clouds scudded across a clear blue sky. Dreamweaver watched them until they melded with the mists ringing Weaver’s Crown; the peak was some distance from Feldspar Proper, but visible from most parts of the territory, and theirs was a particularly lovely view. Its sides had begun to blossom with fresh verdure, threatening to push the snow back from its ever-white cap.

Below, where they stood in the village square, life proceeded as it always had. Tau’s troubles with the Lightweaver had been seen to largely in private, and so the clan had little reason to feel ill at ease. Most were unaware of his loss; he told only those he felt needed to know. The primary market was flooded with visitors from across the Continent. With winter now creeping toward spring, the caravans were more active than ever.

“I think this is everything,” Banrai said as he stepped from the cool shade of their home and into the humid warmth of the square. He wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “Argus should be coming along with Mergo soon enough. I thought you lot were only staying in the Wasteland for a few days. You definitely over-packed.”

“It pays to be prepared,” Dreamweaver replied, and pressed a sweet kiss to their husband’s damp forehead. “I could have carried that.”

“You’ve a long journey ahead across hostile territory,” Banrai said, returning their kiss with one of his own. “You’ll need your strength. By the way, Phantasos is still pouting.”

“I know he wanted to see the Wyrmwound,” Dreamweaver said, “but I need him here helping you oversee the clan while I’m away.”

“He understands,” Banrai assured. “He’s just wheedling you.”

“There’s Plaquemine,” Dreamweaver said. They waved to the Plague Ambassador from across the square; he did not return the gesture. Even at a distance, they could see that he appeared anxious--more so than usual. “Oh dear,” they murmured, “I wonder what’s happened now.”

The clan’s Nature Representative, Keakaokalani, joined Plaquemine as he crossed to the founders. They spoke in harsh, hushed tones, Kea moving his hands rapidly in a series of complex gestures. Dreamweaver strained their ears to catch snippets of the conversation.

“--a-a-and I trust you’re f-f-fully aware of to whom the b-b-blame will fall,” Plaquemine concluded.

“Yes,” Kea said, the mouth beneath his mask of feathers turning sharply downward, “I am. I trust you are fully aware that this was an unforeseeable mishap.”

“I am,” Plaquemine agreed, “but my p-p-peers are less easily convinced.”

The pair met Dreamweaver at the door to their home. They had already opened it, and stood aside to allow their ambassadors entry. Neither stepped forward. “You aren’t coming in?” they said.

Plaquemine and Keakaokalani exchanged a glance. “The meeting hall might serve us better,” Kea replied. “We’ll need to summon all of the clan’s Flight Representatives.”

“For what purpose?”

“There’s been an incident,” Plaquemine said. “The Armistice has been b-b-broken.”

In stark contrast to the pleasant afternoon outside, the air in the meeting hall was thick with uncertainty. Dreamweaver sat at the head of the table, their face craned low over a set of letters in their hands. The letters were a courtesy, come to them from the Scarred Wasteland and the Viridian Labyrinth respectively, informing the Lightweaver’s most trusted acolytes that the Armistice had died the day before following a series of (as of yet) unexplained events.

Reading the account in plain draconic did nothing to aid their comprehension of the matter. They knew of the Armistice, but the thought of it having ended, after over four hundred cycles of unbroken enforcement, seemed utterly improbable, if not altogether impossible.

Yet, there it was, in plain draconic.

“What does this mean for our clan?” they asked, eyes never leaving the parchment.

“Hopefully nothing,” Plaquemine replied. “Our clan is far removed from this c-c-conflict. Keakaokalani and I are b-b-both in agreement that, regardless of the outcome, we hold no ill will toward one another, and will d-d-do what we must to ensure stability within Feldspar lands.”

“No leads on how Ambassador Liefa fell so ill?”

“None yet. Her quarters were zealously g-g-guarded.”

“Keakaokalani, have you heard anything out of the Labyrinth?”

Kea bowed his head. “Only whispers of rumors,” he mumbled in response. “In Liefa’s visions, she saw the Behemoth wither, and with it the Labyrinth. Some have taken it as an ill omen; perhaps her visions were not merely fever dreams. She is returning to the Labyrinth with the First Seed.”

“What of Ambassador Yugona?”

Plaquemine shifted uncomfortably. He was a deeply asocial individual on a good day, let alone when eleven other sets of eyes were gazing at him expectantly. “She has not b-b-been seen since her d-d-dismissal from the Labyrinth,” he confessed.

“Sabotage?”

“We w-won’t know until she’s found.”

“There’s more,” Volskaya said. As always, he sat more rigidly than any of his colleagues, his face set in a grim mask. He was plucking almost imperceptibly at a loose fiber in one of his sleeves. “Crucis and I have both received word from the Oculus--something has happened to the Shifting Expanse ley line.”

“Magister Beatrix is suspected of foul play,” Crucis went on, “but Volskaya and I feel otherwise, especially after what occurred at the Oculus before the ley line went dark. The Crystalspines are on the move; they nearly engulfed the Oculus entirely.”

“There have been rumblings in Dragonhome as well,” Rosegold informed. “I know through my contacts that strange discoveries have been made, marked by stranger disappearances. One such disappearance happened seemingly instantaneously, in the presence of several other dragons. None of the missing have been located.”

“The Twisting Crescendo reversed its direction recently,” Dahlia chimed in, “after many months of absence. We do not know if it is merely the playful whim of the Windsinger, or perhaps something more dire. I have spoken with witnesses who claim that the Windsinger was present under a mortal guise, but they are merely guesses.”

“There was an odd occurrence in the Wood,” Silhouette continued, in their wispy, wavering voice. “A voidling disappeared from the Thorndark Alter during a routine gathering. Three guesses where he reappeared.”

Dreamweaver clenched their jaw. “The Sunbeam Ruins.”

“Close,” Silhouette said, “the Hewn City. A cartographer witnessed his arrival.”

“I met with the cartographer in question,” Dawn added hastily, noting the paleness of their founder’s complexion. “She confirmed the event, and the, er, ‘voidling’ has been taken into custody for the time being, to be returned to his mother shortly. He appears unharmed.”

Dreamweaver opened their mouth to speak, but dropped their head into their hands before they could do so. They suddenly wished they had allowed Banrai to accompany them; they would have given anything for his hand on their shoulder. “Is there anything else?” they croaked.

Izalith cleared his throat. “Apparently a new landmass arose from the seas between the Ashfall Waste and the Southern Icefield.”

“Why did you all keep this from me?” Dreamweaver asked.

The group conferred with one another in hoarse whispers, their gazes darting sidelong to gauge their founder’s reactions. Finally, Rosegold spoke. “We did not feel there was cause for worry until today,” she said. “The incidents were unnatural, but seemingly unrelated. We believed they may have been the results of magical mishaps, or perhaps merely the Eleven toying with the shapes of their own lands.

“However, with the Armistice now at its end, it has become clear to us that something greater is afoot. That is why Plaquemine and Keakaokalani chose to request a formal Meeting of the Flights. All across Sornieth, peculiar things are happening, and they appear to be growing in intensity.”

“I’d imagine we’ll be hearing from the Sea soon enough,” Levi said, “or else the Southern Icefield.”

“Perhaps we already have,” said Juneau. “I didn’t mention it before, because, well, everyone else’s reports seemed so much more dire, but there have been some odd weather patterns recorded around the Crags.”

“Just the Sea then,” Levi amended.

“Tighten security along the Water border immediately,” Dreamweaver ordered, getting wearily to their feet. Although they appeared weak, they spoke with authority. “I will inform the Wardens and our allies in Aphaster of the incident in the Hewn City. Volskaya, return to the Shifting Expanse. Learn what you can of the troubles with its ley line. Crucis, put us in contact with the Magisters at the Oculus as soon as possible. Silhouette, council with the Shadowbinder. She may have some insight we lack. Rosegold, continue to gather intel from Dragonhome; have Caesar send word to Ambassador Akhtar at the Warren. The rest of you, make contact with your respective homelands. Plaquemine, you will accompany me to the Scarred Wasteland.”

“You’re still going?” Dawn asked incredulously. “Shouldn’t you remain at home? There’s no telling what may happen next.”

“I will be gone for only a few days,” Dreamweaver replied, “and I promised our allies abroad a meeting before the eon was out. They are expecting us within the week. At this juncture, the Sunbeam Ruins appear stable. If they were not, the Lightweaver would have sought me out. We cannot be crippled by uncertainty. We must move onward.”

“Friendly Plague clans will be all the h-h-happier for our presence during this time,” Plaquemine agreed. “It may help to f-f-further f-f-facilitate a smooth alliance.”

“You all have your tasks,” Dreamweaver said. “Go, and do not breathe a word of this to the people. I will make a formal announcement upon my return.” When their ambassadors remained seated, they shouted, “Go!” and the group rose as one, retreating out into the square.

Plaquemine was the only member of the assembly to remain. “A-are you certain you’re well enough for t-t-travel?” he inquired tentatively. “You look w-w-worn.”

Dreamweaver sighed, collecting the letters and various other documents they’d brought with them in their arms. “We need to strengthen ourselves and our allies now more than ever,” they replied. “This meeting is imperative. There is power in unity.”

“United we s-s-stand, divided we fall.” Plaquemine nodded. “I ag-g-gree that the meeting is imp-p-perative, but...” He dropped his gaze shyly, hiding his crimson eyes beneath long lashes and his many pelts. “...but what if you sent Prince Phantasos in your place?”

Dreamweaver staggered and fell against the table. “Beg pardon?”

“He’s p-proven himself m-m-more than enough,” Plaquemine pressed on, “and y-y-your power should remain here, in case of emergency. You’ve t-t-taught Prince Phantasos w-w-well. M-Mergo and I would g-g-guide him; it could be a t-t-test, on your terms.”

Again, Dreamweaver opened their mouth to speak, but found that they could not. They knew that, logically, their only arguments against sending Phantasos to represent the clan in their place were emotional; they feared for their child’s safety, and so they coddled him more than they ought to. The very thought of allowing him to leave the Sunbeam Ruins terrified them.

Plaquemine was right, though. Time and time again, Phantasos had proven himself capable; reckless, perhaps, but certainly capable, and becoming more so with each passing eon. He had saved them all from the pink celestine growth on Observatory Hill, he has enlisted the aid of Ozymandias using only his own smart mouth and quick wit, he had handled Thalassinus’ arrival with aplomb, and he had cultivated a strong relationship with their people, Feldspar’s allies, and the surrounding Beastclans.

He had much to learn about magic, but as an ambassador, no one was better suited. He would be open and honest in a way Dreamweaver often struggled to be; more importantly, he would be unflinchingly sympathetic to the needs of struggling clans.

“He’s so young,” Dreamweaver whispered, “he’s still so young.”

“Sometimes, y-y-youth is what is c-c-called for,” Plaquemine said.

Dreamweaver nodded. They did not trust themself to speak. With Plaquemine in tow, they exited the meeting hall, making at once for their home across the square. Banrai awaited them on the stoop, eyes shimmering with worry. “Well?” he prompted.

“Phantasos will accompany Plaquemine and Mergo to the Wasteland,” they said. “Fetch him. There is much I must discuss with him before his departure.”

[ Like my work? Here’s my ko-fi! ]

[spiteweaver]

I’ve been struggling with comms lately, so have a rare smiling Keakaokalani.

This isn’t his usual attire, he only wears this when he’s boating. Although none of his people’s traditional clothing is particularly extravagant, boating attire is even less so, because too many extra layers get in the way, and if the fabric is too fine, you risk ruining it.

[spiteweaver]

Not Kea’s traditional attire, but I hope he makes y’all feel as gay as he does me.

[spiteweaver]

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Almost the entirety of Clan Feldspar, several-hundred strong, had gathered in the town square. A large stage had been erected, upon which Dreamweaver and Banrai now stood. Dreamweaver’s hand rested lightly upon their husband’s. They surveyed the crowd in patient silence, waiting for their people to settle.

“Quiet, you lot!”

Solaire’s hardy call cut through the commotion, and silence descended on the square. Now the only sound came from Phantasos, giggling in their brother’s arms and reaching upwards to grasp at the lanterns hanging overhead.

“Thank you, Solaire,” Banrai said. “Now, to business. I’m sorry we’ve called you all here so late in the evening, but we didn’t want to cut into your busy schedules. As you well know, we’ve all had our hands full this past eon.”

“That’s an understatement,” Castor said. “Seaglass took out half th’ village.”

“I-I didn’t--”

“I know ye didn’t mean to. I was only teasin’ ye, boy.”

“Good-natured ribbing aside,” Dreamweaver began, “and despite the fullness of our hands, Banrai and I have decided it would be best if we made an official announcement regarding some of our new members.”

Dreamweaver motioned to the group of eleven loitering by the stairs. One by one, they ascended to stand beside their founders, each of them with hands clasped and eyes downcast humbly. A murmur rippled through the crowd below as heads came together in gossip.

“Some of you are already familiar with them and their duties,” Dreamweaver said, “but this gathering affords us an opportunity to discuss future plans with the whole of the clan. Firstly, however, we must see to formal introductions.”

A short, stocky dam with hair the color of ripe peaches stepped to the edge of the stage. Dressed in dusty gossamer and strings of gold, she gave off a warm, inviting air. She bowed her head to the audience with a gracious smile.

“My name is Rosegold,” she said, “and I will be your Earth Representative. My first task, as decided upon by both the founders and myself, will be to reach out to clans in Dragonhome who have fallen under the tyranny of the Warren. The Warren’s queen has long cast a dark shadow over my people’s lands. I hope to put a stop to its spread, and gain us many strong, loyal allies in the process.”

Next to shuffle forward was a tall, gangling fellow. He had an anxious aura about him, as if he were the sort to never speak above a whisper--yet, when he addressed the crowd, his voice was surprisingly strong and clear.

“I am Plaquemine,” he said, “and I am your Plague Representative. My first task will be to journey to my homeland and commune with its medicine people. They have a wealth of knowledge concerning disease and rot that may aid us in coming eons. Our clan’s epidemiologist, Loyal, will be accompanying me. My hope is to gain not only allies, but experience that can be put to practical use here in the Light lands.”

“I’m sure you can all guess which flight I represent,” the third hummed. They were lithe and pale, clothed in shimmering silks and flowers native to the Windswept Plateau. “My name is Dahlia,” they introduced, “and I’m your Wind Representative. My first task will be to establish trade routes between clans in the Twisting Crescendo and Feldspar. Crescendo clans are infamously difficult to trade with, due to the volatile nature of their home. My primary goal is to work with them to find new, safer ways to transport goods.”

The fourth was a beast of a drake. Larger than life, seemingly clothed in the reflections of stars upon the sea, he commanded the crowd’s attention. With his dark skin and deep blue eyes, there was no mistaking what land he called home.

“My name is Levi,” he said, “and I will be your Water Representative. Like Dahlia, my first task will involve trade. The Leviathan Trench is just as treacherous to navigate as the Twisting Crescendo, if not more so, and clans there suffer for it. We could gain much by lending them our aid.”

The fifth, in stark contrast, was short and thin. One could tell at a mere glance that he was ill-tempered and overworked--as a Lighting dragon should be, their Patron would claim.

“I am Volskaya,” he said, and his voice was so heavily accented that several members of the assembly exchanged confused glances. “I vill be your Lightning Representative. My first task vill be to integrate my people’s knowledge of technology and machinery into the clan. To do this, I have requested aid from Feldspar’s inventor, Hyde, and from Mettaton, who is, himself, a mechanical marvel. My goal is to make our clan more efficient in everything it does.”

“Ah, well,” Juneau said, “you all already know me. I’ve been so involved in the clan’s affairs lately...” A slight blush colored his pale cheeks. “I’m Juneau, and I’m your Ice Representative. My first task has been and will continue to be keeping channels open between Feldspar and our distant allies in the Ice lands. With the Southern Icefield being so far south of the Continent, it’s important to establish and maintain communication. I’ll appreciate any cooperation from my fellow Ice dragons.”

Next was a sleepy being, obscured by ebony smoke and purple cobwebs. When they spoke, their voice echoed with an odd and otherworldly tone, as nebulous as their shifting, shimmering form.

“I am called Silhouette,” they said, “and I am your Shadow Representative. My first task will be to gather allies for us in the Tangled Wood. We have none at present, but I know my homeland well, and it is abundant in rare resources found nowhere else. I will begin with a journey to Darkroot Garden, with Mergo as my aid.”

Just as Silhouette was cloaked in shadows and illusions, the Imperial that stepped forth in their wake was cloaked in light. He seemed to radiate it, his sun-kissed skin illuminating the very air around him. If ever a being had perfectly encompassed light, it was surely he.

“Dreamweaver chose an Imperial to represent us?” one onlooker murmured to another.

“Shameful,” the other tutted, “it should have been a Pearlcatcher.”

“My name is Dawn,” the Imperial said. “I have been given the great honor of representing our homeland. My first task will be to aid Clan Aphaster in all of its endeavors. As a new clan to our lands, they will need the guidance of those born and raised under the Lightweaver’s banner. I hope to work closely with their Light Representative, and help them adjust their clan to their new surroundings without major incident.”

“Clan Aphaster appointed a Pearlcatcher,” the first onlooker said.

“Lucky them,” the second grumbled.

Then Dreamweaver’s gaze fell upon them, cold and sharp, and the dissenters bowed their heads. “Honestly,” Dreamweaver muttered.

“We did warn Dawn there may be naysayers,” Banrai reminded.

“Even so, it hurts my heart to think that there are those among us with such needless biases,” Dreamweaver said.

Unlike his colleagues, Crucis did not mince words. “I am Crucis,” he said, “and I am your Arcane Representative. I’ll be helping Clan Aphaster tidy up the mess they made of my homeland.”

“Crucis,” Dreamweaver hissed.

“What?” Crucis blinked. “What did I say?”

“Three guesses what flight he’s representing.”

The next dragon to step forward had hair so wild that his face had long ago been buried beneath it. Vials and trinkets dangled from his sleeves, so that he clicked and clinked whenever he moved. His voice was rich and deep to match the soil of his homeland.

“My name is Keakaokalani,” he said, “and I am your Nature Representative. For now, I intend to focus on establishing inter-clan relationships with the scattered tribes of my people. We are of many cultures and beliefs, but I hope to unite us under a common desire: happiness.”

Last to step forward was Izalith. He held his head high, as he always did, dipping it only slightly when prompted by Dreamweaver.

“I am Izalith,” he said, “and I am your Fire Representative. My first task will be to negotiate peace and alliance with the Beastclans of the Volcanic Vents. Fiver and I will journey to their lands the day after tomorrow and, if we are fortunate, return with delegates from each of the clans. Allying with them will offer us a great many opportunities for expansion and trade in the future.”

As Izalith stepped back, Dreamweaver stepped forward, opening their arms wide. “So it is,” they said. “You know now who they are and what purpose they wish to serve among us. I ask that you welcome them as you have welcomed all those that came before them.”

“You can all go to bed now,” Banrai added. The crowd laughed. Dreamweaver shook their head, but smiled all the same.

“Let this mark the dawning of a new era for our clan,” Dreamweaver went on, “and let us make it an era of peace, friendship, and growth. We wish you all a good night, and that, when you dream, you dream of our future together, as Clan Feldspar.”

Slowly, the crowd dispersed, but many lingered to converse with their new Representatives, eager to learn more about the mysterious strangers they’d seen skulking about in recent months.

“They kept most of you a secret from us,” Seaglass remarked. “'Course, I knew Juneau was our Ice Representative, so I figured there had to be more, but Dreamy’s funny about things sometimes, y'know?”

“We’re sorry for keeping to ourselves so much,” Rosegold said.

“Dreamweaver feared us simply appearing and claiming to be ambassadors may not sit well with the clan,” Levi explained. “Mmm, some of us, at any rate. Juneau was accepted almost instantly.” Though his expression was stern, his eyes were gentle. “Not very good at keeping secrets, are you?”

“Is it my fault Seaglass recognized me straight away?” Juneau asked.

“Every Ice dragon knows you,” Seaglass replied, “so, no, it’s not really your fault! I’m glad you told me you were our Ice Rep, though! I might’ve actually tried to fight you if you hadn’t!”

“I--I do hope my previous actions didn’t--”

“Nah.” Seaglass waved a hand. “I spent my youth along the Frigid Floes. Too far west for you, I think.”

“That’s...” Juneau sighed. “That’s good. That was my greatest worry when Dreamweaver invited me to settle here and represent the Icefield. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“You’re already making me uncomfortable,” Silhouette said, “you, and Rosegold, and Dawn; you’re all much too radiant for my liking.”

“We’ll take that as a compliment!” Dawn said.

“What I find curious,” Isaiah said, “is why they chose now, of all times, to appoint Flight Representatives. We’ve always done well on our own in the past, seeing as our clan is a major hub for trade in the east.” He fixed each of the ambassadors with his piercing gaze. “I don’t suppose any of you know why?”

“No,” Rosegold said, “I’m afraid we don’t.”

“All they said was that they felt it was time,” Dahlia said, “which, if you ask me, is a perfectly sound reason for appointing Flight Representatives.”

“You’re a Wind dragon,” Volskaya said, “of course something nebulous like that vould suit your tastes.”

“Is the ‘why’ really that important?” Dawn asked.

“Of course it is,” Isaiah insisted. “This is a big shift for our clan. I’ve been here since the first cycle. I know what that means.”

“You think something’s wrong?” Seaglass said.

“I know something’s wrong,” Isaiah replied.

They turned as one to watch as their founder descended from the stage. They could sense nothing amiss about Dreamweaver. They were smiling softly, conversing with Banrai in that loving way they always did. Yet, when the group returned their attention to Isaiah, the doctor was frowning severely.

“Mark me,” he said, “there’s a storm brewing.”