Kara spoke first, her voice cutting through the Dragons' planning with aristocratic authority. "If he was the First Dragon, he knows more than your weaknesses. He knows the bondvulnerabilities intimately. He experienced rejection. He's spent thousands of years studying exactly what makes bonds break."
She moved to the tactical table, her grace making the movement look casual despite the tension. "You're thinking like warriors. But this isn't a battlefield problem. This is psychological warfare. He's going to exploit every insecurity, every doubt, every crack in the foundations of your bonds."
Mira nodded, her gentle voice carrying unexpected steel. "He'll know which of us struggled to accept the bond initially. Which of us still carry trauma. Which relationships are newer and less stable." Her storm-gray eyes met mine briefly. Understanding passing between us—we were the newest, the most vulnerable.
"He'll use guilt," Wren added quietly. Her hand rested on her own throat, where bond marks bloomed across her skin. "Shame. Every terrible thing we've survived or done. He'll twist it. Make us believe we don't deserve the bonds. Don't deserve to be saved."
Lark clutched her rag doll tighter. "Make us think we're too broken. Too damaged. That we'll hurt the Dragons by staying."
The room went quiet as the Dragons absorbed their mates' perspective. These women understood rejection and corruption in ways the Dragons didn't. They'd all survived trauma. Had all fought to accept bonds despite believing they were unworthy.
Valdris would absolutely use that against them.
"So we fortify the bonds," Caelus said, though his voice lacked his usual confidence. "Make sure the connections are fully sealed."
"Not enough." Sereis's eyes had gone fully black. "The bond completion provides magical stability, but psychological vulnerability remains. He'll find the cracks. Exploit them. We need—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I don't know what we need. This is beyond tactical preparation."
The discussion devolved into increasingly desperate planning. Defensive perimeters. Early warning systems. Coordinated response protocols. But I could hear the futility underneath. They were talking about fighting one of their own kind. Someone who'd existed longer than their combined ages. Who'd spent millennia planning revenge while they'd grown complacent in their assumed victory.
Davoren slammed his hand on the table, leaving scorch marks. "We need information. More than what Thalia provided—no offense." He glanced at me briefly. "We need to know exactly what the sealing ritual looked like. What components we used. Where the weak points are."
"We need to know if he's already partially free," Garruk added. "If he's been able to influence events beyond just teaching Solmar. If there are other cult cells we don't know about."
"We need a miracle," Caelus muttered.
"I have an idea."
The voice came from the shadows near the corner. I'd almost forgotten Morgrith was there—he'd been so still, so silent, just watching the discussion unfold with those unsettling eyes that saw too much.
Every head turned toward him.
He stepped forward, his silver-black hair moving like living smoke. His expression was calculating. Certain. And underneath that, something that looked like resignation.
"But you won't like it," he continued.
Zephyron's eyes narrowed. "What kind of idea?"
Morgrith's gaze swept across the room, lingering on each mate in turn. When his eyes met mine, I felt like he was looking through me. Past me. At futures I couldn't see.
"The kind that requires sacrifice," he said quietly. "The kind that might work because it's exactly what he won't expect."
"You're being cryptic." Davoren's voice carried warning. "Explain."
"I’m not being cryptic, just precise. Before I share my plan, I need to research something in my archives first." Morgrith moved toward the glass wall, his form already seeming to fade at the edges. "Confirm my theory. Make sure the cost is—" He paused, choosing words carefully. "—acceptable."
"What cost?" Garruk demanded.
Morgrith didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to face them. "I'll contact you in two weeks with details. If I'm right, we have a chance. If I'm wrong, we need that time to prepare conventional defenses anyway."
Zephyron stepped forward. "Morgrith. What are you planning?"
"Two weeks,” he insisted. “And when—if—I come to you, bring reason to the decision,notjudgement. It's the only path forward I can see that doesn't end with all of you dead and your bonds shattered."
"That's not an answer," Davoren growled.
"It's the only answer I can give until I confirm the theory." Morgrith's form was definitely fading now, shadows creeping up his legs. "Two weeks. Meet here again. I'll either have a solution or we proceed with conventional warfare."
"Morgrith—" Sereis started.
