“The witch has provided actionable intelligence on the Blood Regent’s network structure.” I force my voice level. “She’s identified vulnerabilities in the cascade system that our own analysts missed. Her cooperation is contingent on my direct involvement—she doesn’t trust Flight authority, and frankly, given her history, I don’t blame her.”
Seravax interjects.
“Her history? What history?”
“Multiple prior captivities. The Vireth bloodline has been hunted, caged, and exploited for generations. She has no reason to believe collective oversight would treat her any better than previous owners.”
Owners. The word tastes wrong in my mouth. The word tastes like fury.
“So your solution is to become her owner instead?” Kaelreth’s voice drips with implication. “A more benevolent cell, under your personal governance?”
Scales ripple across my shoulders beneath my jacket, pressing through fabric. Around the hall, dragons respond to the spike of power—some stepping back, some leaning forward, all recognizing the warning signs.
“My solution is to win this fucking war.” Heat edges into my voice, rough and barely leashed. “The Blood Regent is expanding faster than we can respond. Our current tactics are failing. The witch represents our best chance at systematic dismantlement, and I will not sacrifice that advantage to procedural comfort.”
The hall holds its breath. Kaelreth and I stand locked in confrontation, his traditionalist authority pressing against my enforcement mandate, neither willing to yield.
Then someone speaks from the tiered seating.
“Perhaps the solution is simpler.”
The voice belongs to a dragon I barely recognize. Minor council member. Some administrative position I’ve never bothered to learn. He stands from his seat with the casual confidence of someone who doesn’t understand the danger he’s walking into.
“The witch is valuable for her bloodline, yes? For her ability to sever oaths?” He descends toward the central platform, addressing the council as if presenting a reasonable compromise. “Then extract that value efficiently. Use her for the immediate crisis. When the Blood Regent is defeated, dispose of her and eliminate the security concern entirely.”
The fire in me goes very, very still.
“Dispose of her,” I repeat. My voice has gone flat. Empty.
“A tool has limited utility. Once that utility is exhausted—” He shrugs, the gesture dismissive. Casual. “The Vireth bloodline is nearly extinct anyway. One more death hardly matters in the larger calculation.”
Time slows.
I’m aware of Kaelreth watching me with sudden sharp attention. Aware of Seravax’s pale gaze tracking from the minor dragon to me and back. Aware of thirty-five other dragons holding perfectly still, sensing the shift in the room’s atmosphere.
But I can still hear her voice from the interrogation cell.
A tool. Disposable.
I move.
SIX
IZAN
The dragon doesn’t even have time to flinch.
One moment, he’s standing on the platform, mouth still forming whatever justification he planned to offer. The next, my hand is around his throat and my fire is pouring into him—not the explosive violence of battlefield combat, but surgical. Precise. Targeting not his flesh but his authority.
My fire doesn’t burn. It unmakes.
I feel his power shatter under my assault. Feel the magical structures that gave him voice in this council crumble to ash. I want to hear the sound of his spine groaning under the weight of my will. I don’t just want him silenced; I want the dragon inside him to cower and whimper, acknowledging that his very breath exists only because I allow it.
The whole thing takes perhaps three seconds.
When I release him, he collapses. Still alive—I’m not that far gone—but choking on ash that used to be his authority. His voice comes out as a wheeze, barely audible, stripped of the power that let him address the council. He’ll recover eventually. The damage isn’t permanent.
But the message is.
