The Sorcerer looked on with some amusement as the furious Emperor paced, not even acknowledging his presence as his every thought was consumed with visions of vengeance.

He could feel the hatred emanating off of the man in waves and it was a delectable thing, feeding his own strength as surely as drawing upon the Fade itself… or drawing upon that shard hidden in the folds of his cloak, silent now as it had been for many hundreds of years, but still feeding him power, keeping him stronger than he had ever been before.

And keeping all the dragons under the sky in check.

From the back of the great Onyx Hall, scales darkened from so much time spent under the sway of his Fade-fed power, Taeminiros the Sky Father stirred, sensing the Emperor’s anger and knowing He must answer His master’s will.

That included obeying the Emperor to whom the Sorcerer had given his loyalty, as he had every other member of the fool’s bloodline since destroying the Four and claiming the remnants of their power for himself. The last of the Great Drakes had more than enough hatred of His own, aimed at His slaver directly, but as with the Emperor the negative emotion only served to strengthen him.

It amused him to taunt the Sky Father with that knowledge, from time to time.

That is, on the few occasions when His mind cleared enough for Him to do ought else but obey like a whipped dog. Right now, His mind was not clear. Taeminiros, once the grandest being in all the world, stepped up to the Emperor’s side and growled like nothing more than a mad animal, letting His master know He could feel his rage.

“Yes, Nostros. We will burn them out of their homes and slaughter them in the streets of that accursed city. Their queen and that filthy wyvern and its rider will be brought before me in judgement and reap their reward,” the Emperor said, acknowledging the massive dragon with the manic snarl of his words before resuming his pacing.

The Sorcerer grinned; that had been a brilliant punishment indeed, ‘gifting’ the Imperial line the Sky Father under that horrendous misnomer. No one save His true master knew what He truly was. Though he supposed that at this point, it could barely be called living.

Thoughts for another time, however, as finally the doors into the Onyx Hall were opened. In strode the two men for whom the Emperor had been waiting, making their way along the dark blue, thin carpet that ran between two lines of Imperial guards. The guards themselves were adorned in plate so dark blue it was nearly black, the same color the Sky Father’s scales had become after centuries of slow discoloration. One of the approaching men made his way with a casual grace, the other with a military rigidness, which made sense seeing as the two High Lords could not have been less alike. Yet they were unarguably the heads of two of the Empire’s greatest Orders, and as such were the perfect choice for this job.

It was a rare moment in which the wills of both the Sorcerer and the Emperor were perfectly aligned.

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Reaching the foot of the stairs that led up to the platform upon which the Emperor’s throne sat, His Imperial Majesty finally stopped his pacing as the High Lords knelt, the man in golden armor casting his cape back in a flourish while the man in red armor moved with a perfunctory readiness.

“High Lords Arthur and Xeltos, I have commanded you here to task you with the most important mission of your lives,” the Emperor hissed, his lips peeled back with the strain of his barely contained fury. The two kneeling men simply awaited his word, knowing better than to try and speak up before their master had finished.

As if to emphasize this, despite the obedience they already showed, Taeminiros began to growl, bringing His head – ten times the size of even a Patriarch's – to the side of His master’s throne. The Onyx Hall had been built with His size in mind, after all. It would not have done for His Sixth Imperial Majesty, the man responsible for the construction of this massive structure, to not be able to make full use of his dragon’s power, and that meant he had to be able to use Him to intimidate loyal servants before his throne.

A foolish waste of resources, the Sorcerer had always believed, yet each member of the Imperial bloodline to follow had used the massive beast’s strength in the same way.

If only they knew the power that lay just beyond their reach, hidden right before their eyes. Parovia would have fallen completely long ago, and the world beyond soon after. He could have used the beast’s power himself, of course, but his plans required a careful biding of time over many, many years. So the careful groundwork had been laid to lead the world towards this time and place, now.

Which was why the Sorcerer’s eyes narrowed in dark satisfaction at the Emperor’s next words to the High Lords, addressing a threat to both the continued expansion of the Empire as well as the Sorcerer’s own, far more important machinations.

“You will take your Orders and fly South and East, across the Bay of Scales. You will ride to the heart of Manidar, to the heart of our last true enemies, and you will burn their ‘Iron City’ to the ground. Then, when all the peasants of their filthy country have been slaughtered, you will bring me their queen to be hung before the people of the Empire. And, most importantly,” here the Emperor paused, his voice growing deathly quiet as the Sorcerer grinned, still looking on from his place in the shadows, where only the Emperor knew he waited.

“You will bring me the wyvern rider whelp, so that he and his disgusting beast can burn.”

As if on cue, Taeminiros opened His mouth and a dark, orange glow began deep inside, slowly growing brighter and brighter until a jet of golden fire became visible, only to be cut short as the Sky Father slammed His mouth shut to cut off the flames. Then He let loose a roar that would have cowed the mountains themselves.

The Sorcerer stroked his jaw and cackled as he watched.

As the roar subsided the two High Lords stood, keeping their eyes respectfully on the ground as they spoke to their Emperor.

“Your will shall be done, Your Majesty,” Xeltos of the Crimson Marauders assured him, his tone that of a loyal soldier, happy to obey.

“We will not fail. I assure you, Great One,” Arthur added, pressing his long blonde hair back as he spoke and then – the gall! – smiling as he began to back away, Xeltos following close behind, though certainly with no smile.

“You had better hope that you do not,” was all that the Emperor said.

For that was all that was needed. The High Lords were gone moments later, off to rally their Orders. Off to prepare for war.

The Sorcerer grinned. The boy pretender would not hinder his plans. The only true threat was the Highborn, the one that Bound itself to him. It was the only reason the child was of any importance at all... and soon the the wyvern filth would no longer pose a threat.

Not once the Sky Father, his little puppet, melted the flesh from its bones.