As if ’coming quietly’ to be murdered was a real choice.
And being outnumbered, believing there was nothing to be done but stay quiet... that is familiar to me, and it burgeons my wrath once again.
The priesthood has not changed for the better.
I feel the moment the dragon’s magic changes form, and it jolts me into motion.
After transformation into their draconic forms, dragons have a narrow window before they have to hibernate. The shift uses too much energy.
Urgency and wrath propel me toward the double doors of the temple.
Aggravating man, putting himself at risk to defend me when he’s the one who needed help—
With both hands, I burst open the doors.
The tableau before me freezes.
Which is good, because for a moment, I’m blinded.
It’s been a long time since my eyes have been exposed to sunlight.
In their surprise, the priests shift automatically into a holding pattern—I feel the magical energy plateau—waiting to see if they need to adjust tactics and forms.
Then the dragon, shimmering like ivory—I hadn’t known he was white, always imagined blue—shifts toward me, shielding me briefly, and I can see well enough to step toward him.
Beside him.
A sage and a dragon, on the same side.
The Order may never change unless forced, but I am a sage, and I can.
And I can make that count.
It’s two of us facing what looks like twenty priests—more must have joined them once the dampening field came down.
For a long moment, nobody moves.
Then the spokespriest demands, “Who are you?”
A brief moment of surprise that then contributes to my wrath.
Maybe they don’t know.
Maybe they’ve forgotten, or been made to forget, what happened here.
In their absence they haven’t had to know me, but I’ve always had to know who they are.
Maybe they can’t see my magenta eyes.
But they will.
I roll my wrist again, a bare movement that gets the aura of my power glowing again.
Then I move quickly through an abbreviated kata—a shortcut I developed for myself many years ago for battle use, the muscle memory coming back and the power-up faster than ever.
Magenta magical aura surrounding me, I reply, “Who do you think?”
The wide-eyed priests stumble into a defensive form.
