“Hugan, don’t put your hand on the table like that!”

Reflexively, Hugan jerked his left hand off of the table, mumbling an apology through his mouthful of food. There was nothing quite like his mother’s cooking. And nothing quite like her nagging.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full!”

This time, he didn’t say anything. Just ate, shoveling the rice and chicken dish into his mouth as quickly as possible. So good.

“I’m very sorry--Lila, was it? My son has the manners of a starving goblin.”

Lila said something polite, her voice soft and calm. It was a far cry from her usual strong, assertive tone. Hugan’s mother did that to you.

“Let me know if you need anything, won’t you?”

Lila made another noise, and got back to eating. The whole table lapsed into silence, all of them only occasionally asking each other to push the massive bowl towards them. Eating from the same bowl was proper for family, and Hugan’s parents hadn’t hesitated to ask Lila to do the same. However intimidating they could be, they were good people.

It looked a little funny, though. Hugan thought this scene would make a great painting, if he could have gotten an Illustrator to do it. Lila was already small by normal standards for Caelos, but Hugan by himself made her look like a child. One of his arms was almost thicker around than her waist. He’d gotten his size from his parents, though. Hugan’s father was a bear of a man, thick all around but with the arms and back of a Smith. There was no question that his arms made Lila seem like a twig in comparison, and even sitting he towered over the table like a giant, casting strange shadows all over the room. Hugan’s mother was just as tall, and nearly as big. She was also a member of the City Watch, a Brawler, in fact.

They finished eating, though Hugan thought he could have had a little more if there were any left.

“Let me help you clean up!” Lila jumped up immediately, but Hugan’s mother waved her down.

“It’s Hugan’s turn ten times over. Don’t worry about it.” She accompanied that with a look. Hugan had spent his days with his ba since he was little, helping him around the forge while his mother was on patrol. But even then, he couldn’t quite get Hugan to move like his mother could.

He collected the bowl, swept the stray bits of rice from the table, and set about cleaning the floor with the broom and dustpan. His parents and Lila retreated to the other room, chatting a bit as they did so.

“Where are you from again, Lila?” That was his father, speaking in his slow, amiable way for the first time. He had a voice deep enough to thrum in your chest, and hearing it was almost enough to make Hugan smile by itself.

“Oh, the East.”

“East? Isn’t that…” He couldn’t quite catch the rest of the words as they moved further into the next room.

Once he was finished, he also moved past the curtained doorway, to find everyone waiting for him. Hugan’s father had a slightly troubled look displacing his usually placid expression.

“Lila tells me that you two are planning on visiting her home? In the Waste?”

Hugan shifted uncomfortably. He’d wondered what they would say about this. “Yeah, ba.”

“You know how dangerous that is? What rank are you, anyway?” There was a bit of… anger? Annoyance? He couldn’t quite place the emotion tinging his father’s voice.

“Eleven,” he said, shifting a little uncomfortably. He’d gotten a lot more experience than Maiz had, that first Dungeon run, but he hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t really sure why, to be honest.

“And you want to go into the gods-damned Waste?”

“Ba, I--”

“--I don’t care what Roon did, half of those stories got made up by some drunk idiot! You--”

“--you should go.” This time it was his mother who cut in.

Hugan’s ba gave his mother a confused, even angry look, but Hugan smiled. What his mother said, went. His ba might argue, but he was all but set.

A knocking interrupted the flow of the conversation. Face like an angry storm, Hugan’s ba stood to go answer it, but his mother rose at the same time. She gave his ba the same look she’d given Hugan, and went to the door.

Hugan could hear a muffled question down the short hallway to the entryway. It was his mother, sounding polite, but guarded. Another voice, higher pitched and softer, answered. Huh. That sounded sort of familiar.

A few more words were exchanged, and then there was the sound of footsteps. Hugan’s mother walked past the curtained doorway, and behind her was a girl only a little taller than Lila, with short hair and a white tunic, cut the same as theirs. As she entered, a look of shock transformed her face, followed by a small smile. For her, it was an astounding display of emotion.

“Hey Ziya!” Hugan waved, grinning.

************************

“What issue?”

Shadar spoke calmly, but inside he was more than a little annoyed. A good part of that was from being forced to sit on his throne. The thing was enchanted black stone, and it gave of a subtle aura of doom when he sat on it. For this audience, he’d decided that would be useful, but the godsdamned thing was uncomfortable as nine hells.

It was almost amusing, seeing dragons shift uncomfortably. Despite growing up with them, they almost never acted as uncertain as the three in front of him were.

“We have regrouped, and incorporated your… reinforcements, God-Chosen. They have reinforced the garrison, and--”

“--all messengers heading North are being suppressed to the best to of our ability, my lord.” Digaratoth cut in, speaking respectfully for the sake of appearances.

Shadar noded. They wouldn’t be able to suppress word of the attacks, it would have been impossible even if all three had succeeded perfectly. Destroying the portal outpost had been a major victory, as Shadar would struggle with all of his forces to attack one of the outlying cities if it were reinforced by Corunti’s main army. Hopefully Digaratoth’s efforts could muddy the waters long enough to give them a chance.

“Yes, we still need to attack soon, God-Chosen.”

Taranil’al’Hankor was the one speaking, which Shadar approved of. The other two dragons were both larger, one of them being Shan, the eldest dragon in the Golden Nest save the Grandmaster. Tarangil was Shadar’s lieutenant, though, which made him the most powerful creature in the desert as far as he was concerned.

“True.” None of this explained why the welp was shuffling about like the floor was on fire.

“Master Halia returned from a fly-over of the Waste’s other borders today.”

Shadar frowned. Such a mission was largely pointless, and a waste of a Master’s time. Shadar’s own spy network had already infiltrated every single nation bordering the Waste, and more besides. But he had given Tarangil autonomy--he could not be truly angry that the dragon chose to use it.

“She reported a massive troop gathering at the southern edge. At least ten thousand. He could not close enough for accurate estimate.” The words fell from the dragon’s lips hesitantly at first, then tumbling out like water in an overturned cup.

Shadar felt his heartbeat quicken slightly, and he carefully did not look at Digaratoth. “Why not?”

“She claimed that an attack, some sort of white light, was sent up from over a mile away. The spell missed her by meters, but she believed it to be a warning.”

To spot a Master Dragon, who had presumably cloaked herself in her aura to interfere with divination magic, was not an easy feat. What was going on here?

“The troops flew a white banner, marked with a sun and… the lion.”

Shadar gave in. Appearances weren’t worth as much as knowledge now. “Digaratoth?”

“Our agents in Garron went silent hours ago, my lord. We thought it was an error in communications.” Digaratoth sounded as stunned--and worried--as Shadar felt. This was a time for decisions though, not rumination.

“And before?”

“They reported no changes in the area. No troop movements, and no changes in leadership.” The lion was central to the crest of Garron. But their colors where green and gold, and there was no sun in the image. That alone spoke of a radical political change that Digaratoh should have picked up on.

“Was there anything unusual?” No one could hide a fielding of that size, or a political uprising, for that matter. Garron was a large country, but ten thousand combatants would be more than half of their fighting force.

Digaratoth had quietly pulled out an etched stone tablet from a pocket behind the throne. Shadar found himself unconcerned that the dragons had seen it.

“The last report indicating anything out of the ordinary was a full year ago. A woman was gathering support in the Lumian temples, presumably to take over as Matriarch of the order there.”

“And then?”

“And then everything is reported as normal. No more mention is made of her. The matter wasn’t even brought to my attention.”

Shadar had a feeling he knew what was going on. Of course, there were any number of possibilities, but to completely destroy or somehow obfuscate Digaratoth’s spy network would take abilities that simply should not have been available in Garron. They did not even have a Grandmaster leading them, just a council of old Masters. All of the spies would have had to be compromised at the same time, and well before the perpetrator had control of the country. The power needed to do that would be fantastic. Or legendary.

“We will not be able to efficiently gather intelligence on them. Contact Eva. Tell her to bring bones.”

Silence reigned in the room for a bare moment, and Shadar realized that the dragons were still there.

“Suspend all activity against Corunti. I suggest that you contact your Grandmaster, and scatter from your Nest.”

Tarangil’al’Hankor and the other two Masters looked at Shadar, speechless. He couldn’t say whether it was his first suggestion or his second that had caused the reaction.

“Th-they would never find the Nest.” Tarangil’s stutter, the same one he had displayed when Shadar had first met him, was back.

“Do not question me.”

Shadar didn’t say anything else, just looked, stony faced, at the dragons. Finally they all bowed their heads in unison, light twinkling as it reflected off of their scales. After another few moments, they made to leave. Shadar didn’t stop them.

Once the dull thudding sound of their weight slamming into his floors had faded, Shadar felt his shoulders tense up.

“So. The Chosen of Lumia, is it?”

Digaratoth was hunched over slightly, and he’d already retrieved three more tablets from the space behind the throne. He manipulated the enchantments on them, sending messages and trawling through information.

“Most likely. The name listed here is Abraxa, and her title is unknown.”

“Capabilities.”

“Also unknown. Although we can guess. She is likely the source of the dragon’s detection, and the destruction of my network in Garron. I had already tasked someone with researching the God-Chosen and their powers, but they haven’t found anything specific.”

“Continue the research, although perhaps we shouldn’t worry too much about it yet. The real question is what she plans.”

To be God-Chosen was to be a servant. Shadar himself was meant to test the world. What would Lumia want of her champion?

“Apparently the first step is marching across the Waste.” Digaratoth sounded bemused, and with good reason. How this God-Chosen planned to move human troops of any numbers across the most desolate region in the world was beyond him.

They let the silence stretch again. Digaratoth focused on his tablets, and Shadar considered. Garth would tell him to challenge this God-Chosen, to force her to submit. But there was a better way.

“Your networks in the other nations around the Waste are intact?”

“Yes.”

“Begin broadcasting rumors. I want Garron to believe that there is a God-Chosen in Corunti.”