Several tense minutes go by. They’re late. Drenar is worried they got word someone was snooping and decided to just abandon the trip. This isn’t exactly on the beaten path, this far out here. The old fire watch tower up above is a tinge ominous in the twilight.

“Targets coming into range. Two vehicles,” Levine relays crisply over the radio. He tightens his grip on the autobow and scopes in on the house, scanning for motion. It still looks dead, but he knows it’s hiding something. It has to be. “Also getting an energy read from the drone. Nick, anything on your mana sights?”

Nick slowly leans in from his prone position, when Drenar looks at his concealed position. “I see something. Energy buildup. Coming from a generator likely below ground, maybe a mana crystal reactor, small-scale, the draw-time is pretty short.”

“Nick, I see it. Mana lines, just below the foundation. I think…ah…I think my mana sight is coming in.” Drenar instantly recalls Amaranth’s books–Aurans could see into a spectrum of vision beyond any dragon that wasn’t merely ultraviolet or infrared. That means Julia could detect arcanist circuitry that flowed mana to and from devices–an analog to electricity, but with its own unique properties. “There is something obnoxiously bright below the ground level Nick, it’s giving me a migraine just to look at.”

“Teleportal most likely, if it’s giving off that kind of mana spike. One spliced into the grid, and well hidden,” Levine responds over the radio. “The Talons were rumored to have a master teleportal engineer in their ranks. It takes years to get that good to hide one like this.”

“Focus on the details later. Levine, can you identify who’s bailing out of the cars?” Drenar relays quietly. There’s a brief pause.

“Based on yours and Nick's Intel... Jonaleth, two of his affiliates. Kelly, and two of her friends–would need to check the yearbook to confirm. They’re working their way to the cabin. Jonaleth just looks smug. Cocksure little bugger. I've read his file, can't blame him for him being the way he is, though.”

“Why?” Drenar demands with a hint of anger.

“Let it go, lad. I hear that tone. I get that he threatened your family, but he's…not right. And I'm not going to air this history over the line if the reports I've read are accurate. You learn to gauge threats based on the potential to follow through.”

“He's still a creep,” Julia says with a tinge of anger. “A bolt to the ass might change his life outlook.”

“Don't even joke like that. We got lucky in the mine that no one died, but if we killed someone for real? With our powers?” Drenar leaves the question hanging. “You think you could live with that?”

“Depends. If they're about to seriously hurt or kill someone, it's open season, and my dearly departed dad would likely agree,” she says with an ice-cold voice.

“Recon, only. Leave the radio for critical chatter,” Drenar states with renewed focus. He observes the wayside and scopes in again. He sees Jonaleth leading the teens to the entryway. They have a good vantage point, and Kelly looks nonplussed. Tristan is there too and nervous looking, and Violet looks anxious and is wrapped around his arm. She’s scared. Really scared. Drenar opens the radio.

“Nick, is Violet on the registered mages list?”

“Tristian and Violet, registered mage families…yeah. Same with Kelly. Azure, right?”

“Yeah. The burn hole in my shirt can attest to that,” Drenar radios back, and tries to stay as still as possible. “Are you serious about that contingency?”

“If they get into trouble, we’re their only lifeline,” Angela affirms gently. “James, keep the film rolling. Document everything. We need evidence and we need faces to find out who is supporting this operation.”

“If it’s local handlers, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. We may have more homework to do later.” Nick barely even moves to shift the weapon to look at the building, which is shimmering like a desert mirage. “Levine, can confirm static glamor. The building is not derelict, it’s…”

He trails off. The building looks like a formidable two-story building now, with lights inside and well furnished–a home in the cabins, in essence. Jonaleth bows mockingly to Kelly, who slaps at his outstretched hand before marching inside, along with the others. Jonaleth peers around suspiciously before he closes the door behind them.

“Think he knows something?” Angela whispers.

“Nah. He’s a skeevy creep, but he knows to watch his back when he’s up to creeping, so no one can witness it,” Drenar says icily. The long game is just not his style. But it’s necessary.

“Drenar, clip that directional mic to the accessory rail. Let’s listen in.” He installs the small cylindrical device with a small parabolic dish to listen to with barely a motion, and he takes the weapon in hand and points it at the exposed windows. He’s got a clear line of sight to the inside, and rocks and bushes obstruct most of his body.

“New targets. They just came up from the basement, that power source is down now, but there’s a residual…echo,” Julia relays.

“Teleportals eat up a lot of energy. The leylines sometimes leave an afterimage for those looking at it with extra-sensory equipment,” Levine answers. “Keep the chatter down. Remember, only relay critical information. Don’t want to miss something while observing.”

“Aye.” It’s pure tactical mode now, Drenar thinks grimly. Four new people are on the first floor and greeting Jonaleth, his lackeys, and the semi-unwilling participants of tonight's stake-out. Drenar looks at each of them in turn. Two mercenaries armed with shouldered pistols stand stiffly at attention but have no insignia and no body armor. They’re otherwise unremarkable.

The man on their right though…He’s interesting because he’s deceptively ordinary. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, a trace of silver in his hair, clean-shaven and well-groomed. He wears a button collar shirt, vest, and tie, and an old pocket watch is clipped to the vest. It’s a touch…preppie if he has to put a word to it. But the garb is likely itself a deception, because he also sees a sidearm holster on his thigh, a small pistol tucked away. He’s got a ring on his right hand, and nothing else remarkable about him other than his average height, and a face that reads like a stone slab. Either his resting face or someone deeply in control of his emotions. The audio crackles when the device activates. It’s nearly perfect audio, like they’re inside the room.

“Jonaleth, glad you could come.”

“Ki–”

“Roland,” the man corrects as if the name is verboten. “Roland Kingsley.”

“Right, Right. Mr. Kingsley,” Jonaleth says with a wicked smile that no one else in the room sees. “I thought Simmons was supposed to be here, it's an honor.” Jonaleth snaps to attention and his tone goes cordial. “Forgive me, we didn’t expect such high-profile attention.”

“At ease, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t,” the man says with a slight smile. It’s barely a twist of the lip. Nick lets a telling exhale.

“Levine, we’ve got two big goddamn problems.” He relays this while they make introductions inside–it’s calm, so far, but out here, he and the others know it isn’t. “The first problem is that King is here himself.”

“King is there?” Levine sounds alarmed by this as well. “Lay low like a corpse in a grave, Nick. Something’s not right.”

“You haven’t heard the bigger problem. There’s a woman inside, 190 centimeters and built like a coliseum champion, with wavy red hair, ruby-colored eyes, wearing a business suit that costs more to manufacture and enchant than I make in a decade. That suit is only manufactured by one company. Magitech Industries. And their senior VP of military development is inside that room, wearing that suit.”

“Ah, bleeding hell, red hair? I know her,” Levine growls. Drenar barely hears them because he’s scoped in the woman too, and he feels an unnatural tremor crawl up his body. He doesn’t know why, but this woman fills him with unfathomable dread, like spiders crawling over his soul.

Drenar…I’ve seen someone like that before…

Alex is apprehensive now. Even fearful. It’s the first time he’s felt anything like this. A nerve pulsing dread. This is a monster that should have died a long time ago, and I don’t know why I can’t remember the memory of her. I just feel it in my soul.

“Drenar?” Angela nudges his shoulder, breaking his trance. He turns to her and nods almost imperceptibly.

“I’m fine.” He focuses back down the sight. “Nick, who is that?”

“Valosterla Roshanikov. One of the senior VPs of Magitech Industries. The odds of this meeting being a coincidence are zero now.” It’s the first time Nick sounds tense, too. “Levine, what have you got on her? I keep rap sheets on all the higher-ups, but hers is unnaturally clean, plus her…image as a porcelain doll that can rip your bloody arms off and beat you to death with them.”

“Ah yes. She’s a Senior VP who’s been climbing the ranks for several years. Know how I know about her?” Levine asks. “All her rivals started becoming corpses or disappearing. Or suicide cases. A lot of suicides, actually. I know Magitech Industries is…competitive, but I was called to investigate as a favor to an old friend of mine. Keep the tape rolling.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Drenar hears her voice, and it sounds like poisoned honey. Sickly, deadly sweet when she speaks to Kelly and the others. The same voice he’d heard on the radio inside Mount Syren. Kelly has no idea the danger she’s in–if a senior executive is on the rolls of the Talons, or worse, leading them, this is bad news for everyone involved.

“Thank you for coming, I did have prior arrangements here tonight, but I do like to meet the new recruits. It’s a bit of a tradition of mine, getting to know the upstart youth looking to make our world a better place,” she says with a sweetened smile. Drenar feels like it’s fake. Forced, even. There’s something about her gaze on Kelly that just seems wrong.

Focus. Get the details. Insignias, equipment, the way they interact. Alex is a saving grace of clarity, and Drenar is suddenly aware of the unique advantages of being a drakensoul. He isn’t alone in this fight–he might lack a little privacy for some things, but this battle isn’t his to bear alone, or to shoulder the fear or dread of who they are up against.

For a few minutes, they chatter idly and take seats at a small conference table, and Valosterla talks about her role. She introduces herself as ‘Val’ and Tristian makes the candid remark if that was short for Valerie. She nods politely. They talk about the history of the Talons, and how history has smudged their image as terrorists when they are instead trying to unshackle people from the invisible chains of the Conclave. She tells them the Conclave uses their web of controls that forces people to put the shackles on themselves.

“Can I shoot her?” Julia growls over the radio. “I only need one autobow bolt.”

“That suit can eat a tank round, Julia. Don’t even try. The glass of the windows is reinforced with mana filaments, it would be like trying to shoot at a reinforced concrete wall,” Nick warns her. “This is well thought out. This is a small logistics hub. With this level of effort, they must have something bigger. Way bigger.”

“So, those two in the room together are bad, right?” James whispers.

“Unfathomably bad. Val is one, maybe two steps away from the CEO position, and if Bennet Magia kicks the bucket, guess what happens?”

“She…gets rich?”

“The Talons have a CEO of a hundred billion dollar magical equipment and arms manufacturer company, that’s what. And King is the man who can make that equipment…disappear into the wrong hands,” Nick answers in a dreaded manner.

“So we’re in deep shit, like always,” Drenar says under his breath. “Fantastic.”

“Having any regrets yet about your amateur hero moves?” Nick asks with just a bit of a sass.

“Too late to worry about that now. Guess telling the folks is going to have to come as soon as they all get home. Where the hell are your parents now, Angela?” Drenar asks.

“Yeah, that’s a problem I didn’t convey earlier. I–” Angela clicks the radio next to Drenar impatiently.

“Don’t know, don’t care. James and I have spent more time with them out of the house than in during the past two years. Doing Fates knows what.” Drenar’s kept the audio piece in, and nothing’s really stood out, except that Valosterla has meandered to a small office away from the conference table, and latched the door. King is standing there, by the wide windows that grace the room and is looking composed and calm.

“What was the show for, Val? You know that there’s a risk someone can identify you,” King says stiffly. His hands are folded behind his back, a ready pose that looks almost military.

“Because it’s fun,” she smiles. “You don’t win a world revolution by being a cold caricature of a poster on some war-torn street. You show the people who their savior is, and you get down with the masses, and you show them how bloody you can get in the name of victory.”

“Yes, Val, that’s what we’re trying to avoid. The whole point of a bloodless revolution is to skip that point of futility altogether. I know your…proficiencies are different from mine, and I know you got to where you are with a little bit of a devious character and the will to seize opportunity at every turn. But my skills require patience of a different sort.” King turns to face her, and even seated, she seems to be a towering presence in the room.

“King, you hid something from me. You didn’t tell me you got a way into Asqualia already.”

Drenar sees that slight flinch from King, composed as he is. “I know nothing of what you–”

“Are you…trying to lie to me, King? That’s something. It’s adorable. And the best part is, it actually took quite a bit of effort to sniff it out.”

“Someone talked. Who?”

“A little dragon told me.” King narrows his eyes at her.

“I run a tight ship. No ‘little dragon’ told you anything." She practically purrs while folding her delicately manicured hands on the desk, and taps ruby-painted fingernails together. “We are on the same team, Valosterla. I keep operational security specifically because others could tip off SAF. You know who I’m talking about. A certain boastful killer dressed in a walking tank of armor that you keep on a leash.”

“You’re right, I had to hurt a couple of people. You were being too forward about our efforts. I figured you already had a plan, and were going to do it on your own. Spoil the fun for me,” she says with a grin. “I don’t like it when people ruin my fun.” It’s unusual because she grins like the human mouth can’t hold that many sharp teeth–part of her dragon form is bleeding through, and it’s disturbing.

“My work isn’t boring, Val, but I can assure you, this was no ‘fun’ task. I was laying the preparation work for this for six months. I have men inside Asqualia that can get us the missing components. Individuals in SAF are positioned to silence any alarm that goes off. We only need Volkir’s journals, and Crosomer’s. Barring that, the locations of the dragon arcanist towers where we can get the full translation set.

"We need the translation set fully decrypted, if we want to get to the intended end result and bring all the dragons back, and accelerate mana growth on this world back to, or above baseline.”

Drenar has an inkling this is more bad news. Nick had previously mentioned Asqualia as some kind of research institute. We can kiss college goodbye, Alex. And I don’t ‘do’ good-byes.

Why’s that?

There’s a certain degree of…finality in good-byes. His gaze drifts down to his wristwatch, only for a second, before he sights back in. Valosterla is still sitting at the desk, talking to King.

“So, we can just walk in, no issues?”

“I’m certain. But let my man work this. I have a precision team selected.”

“And I have a demolition team that’s now heavily armed and armored, King. Either one works, and it’s best to have both in your pocket when you want to choose the quiet approach. When will you be ready?” King looks tense now. Like he was hoping to do this on his own without any interference. Valosterla acts like she wants to bulldoze this place into the ground.

“Friday. Maybe Saturday. I want to wait till the weekend when more personnel are off-site. The keycard access problem for the lower vaults is an issue. I have a solution working right now for that effort. The journals are listed as being in the deeper archives. Keycards may only get us so far, but I trust my men to do a job without a single issue. We even have an extraction plan. No one will ever know we were there.”

“I love it when you make plans, King. It’s so…delightful.” She rises from the cushy-looking chair that Drenar secretly wishes he had too in his room. “But, you know that this effort isn’t why I’m here tonight.”

“Then why?”

“The debacle at the mine. I want these kids’ heads on a platter on dry ice, and delivered to me,” she says with a vein of anger. “How were none of my men using their operational recording cams, and the ones that were, had utterly useless footage? You also rolled those men into Crosomer’s team and now I can’t find them.”

“They’re being handled, Val. Some local kids stumbled in. We’re bringing them into the fold after we…cleared the air.” Hearing this surprises Drenar mildly. He swears King looks right at them through the window for a split second. “Rest assured, this has been taken care of.”

“It’s taken care of when I see corpses in my corporate office, King,” she snarls and Drenar hears the shift of the mood in the room. There’s a menace to her that was not present before–almost like when he’d first seen her earlier in the evening. “Crosomer is too soft about threats to our operation. I want the research logs and all the candidates we’ve screened from the Bravo site.”

“You want to…what? Go to the site, and get records now? No, Valosterla, it’s out of the question. You know where it’s located. We can’t just waltz in, we keep the smaller team there to post-process data. There are petabytes of data that we can’t just send over the arcanet,” he says in a vein of protest. “Do you know why we don’t duplicate the data? Operational security. Single source control ensures that SAF doesn’t learn our long-term game. The more copies floating around, uncontrolled, the bigger the risk. Now why do you want these individuals dead? They’re hardly worth the trouble."

“All three of them were using draconic powers. Which means it’s likely they all show up in the records. I want names, and then I want bodies after that,” she says with all the charm of a slasher killer, and she grins maliciously. “I don’t like it when people ruin my fun, you know. I tend to be quite disappointed by it.”

“Just like your scuttling of the mine? I could have had that handled, but then Jimmy Cabresa choked on a shiv stuffed down his throat in SAF custody. Making more bodies has been counterproductive, Val,” he says sternly. She simply swirls her hair around her finger and smiles.

“Problems were solved.”

“And more problems were created. This is why you brought me into the fold, Val. To manage issues that violence and brute force can’t solve and require gentle hands. If the school facility is compromised, SAF gets word that we are about to tip over the proverbial gameboard of both the magical world and the geopolitical landscape. They will come after us with everything they have. Usurpers crush threats that they are fully aware of. Currently…we’re more of a ‘next month’ sort of problem for them. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Drenar’s eyes widen. “They built a lab inside our school?”

Oh, these chumps have crossed a line THIS TIME. The validation from his wayward dragon soul only adds to his low-burning fury.