Drenar is hiding in an alcove just by the double door, with Julia on the other side and barely fitting in, considering she’s halfway to a dragon. He can hear the heavy boots clack against the tile floor, no more than ten meters away. He quickly signs to Julia, and motions to wait.

"Jonaleth, you giant pain in my ass, when we are done here, I never want to see you again," someone snarls at their probable ringleader. They're very close.

"Then you should have read the fine print. You’re in this mess because you were right next to Violet, and she was live-streaming stuff to a bunch of people outside the Veil. This means Val is furious, SAF likely got a bead on it, and we’re going to face trouble on both ends unless you man up. And if you don’t, being a corpse will be the least of your problems." The boot steps stop.

"No, hold up, you Gestapo wannabes. You say that again, Jonaleth. I dare you."

"You think Val will forgive failure? I have no one waiting for me at home–and my foster father is quite useful to her. Me? If we don’t deliver, I won’t live past the week, and I certainly aim to keep breathing. Which means you need to shut your mouth, and do as I say. Or Val will likely send her men after your house to tie up loose ends–do you want that? Nah, don't think you do." Drenar narrows his eyes, and he suddenly feels this is now a judicial application of force that he can be quite comfortable dishing out.

"You're dead, Jonaleth. You threaten me to help you burn down this school to cover your own stupid mistake, and then you say that?!" There's a clang of a metal tank and the slosh of fluid inside.

These guys picked the worst time to start arguing, Drenar thinks angrily. Julia's unbridled fury indicates she's got even less restraint.

"Sort it out later, you two. We have files to recover and evidence to demolish," someone says with an echo to their voice. Maybe one of the helmeted soldiers? "I owe Nigel fifty bucks, if he's here, I have to pay off the guy tonight. The guy is a genius at poker."

"The only thing he's collecting is a bolt through the skull," Jonaleth snarls.

"That wasn't the orders–"

"Valosterla is in command. Not King," Jonaleth hisses, and Drenar feels like this bully deserves to be knocked down more than just a peg or two. “Forget whatever Nigel owes you. Anyone in the lab is considered an acceptable loss. Double standard payment. Val wants this done tonight, before SAF gets here.”

“That is the coldest damn thing I’ve ever heard. We are not shooting our own guys, Jonaleth. I don’t care if Daddy dearest got you to this position, I’ll go risk talking to the murder-happy dragoness myself. She can be reasoned with. Now let’s get this job finished.”

“Nigel’s not at the lab. He was licking some wounds, back at base,” one of the others said, likely the other soldier. “Boy, those guys at the mine sure got lucky to avoid this torch and burn. Crosomer doesn’t like losing his men for any reason. That includes suicide by stupidity at the hands of the murder lizard.”

Remind me, we need to offer a job to Nigel for the Delvers, Drenar thinks to Alex. Couldn't hurt to steal one of Crosomer's top researchers, and he does seem pretty affable, compared to his peers.

That poor sap needs a break and a career change. Seriously. Jonaleth breaks up the moment with a snarl.

“Focus! Let’s grab the data, and as soon as this place is on fire and a distant memory, we portal out,” Jonaleth snarls.

The footsteps continue along with the others. It’s now or never. Drenar holds the plasma energy within his armor scales, hoping they don’t notice the faint glow coming from his hiding spot. He counts off with Julia.

Three...two...one...

He hears the sound of a lightning bolt, a scream, and shouts. That’s the distraction Joey had promised. “What the hell hit him, what is that thing?!”

The guard pokes into view just when his ally gets zapped, and Drenar grabs him, shocks him, and lands repeated hammer blows–and smashes his forehead into the wall. He's out like a light. Julia surges from cover and flings the first hooded person into two others, and they all bowl over. Her plasma spark washes over them and they spasm, and are out of the fight. Drenar has just finished putting his target out of commission when he turns to the remaining individual still on his feet. He recognizes those ice-cold blue eyes.

“Orphan kid. Asian bitch. When the hell did you two Awaken?!” he snarls, but takes a cautious step backward. He doesn’t like his odds, now that all his allies are down for the count.

"Still in progress on that one, mister arsonist. See? I can name call, too!" Julia grins with a maw of pointy teeth.

“Yeah, don't piss her off more than you already have buddy, because I see you've updated your resume to include arson, and conspiracy to commit murder," Drenar chimes in. He's wary that Jonaleth is still holding that gas tank, and what he presumes is a fire orb in his other hand. "Put that stuff down. Really nice like."

"Yeah. Before we have to do this the way that will end badly for you," Julia quips with a coiled stance. Elemental plasma still sparks from her arms, and she's started transforming into her full draconic form. She's still managing to power through the pain. Jonaleth sneers at them.

"You guys really screwed with the wrong people this time. I suppose your little snitch of a brother told you stuff you weren't supposed to hear, huh?"

"You threatened to burn my house down, and kill me and my foster parents. A threat that I'm reasonably sure you could carry through." Jonaleth smiles bitterly, even though this situation is as tense as a piano wire pulled to its snapping point.

"I had to get him on board. Spur him along. You know the art about making threats? You use the things people hold close against them, and we did try the nice way, but persuasion failed right off the bat." It sounds truthful, if woefully belated to say now. "The thing is, actually going through with that one would have caused problems, in its own way. Violence rarely keeps people in line. But he had to make it difficult for us by being a goody two-shoes, like you."

"It's a Rashalda family tradition," Drenar remarks with smugness. It might be possible to talk Jonaleth down. Two on one odds with dragons, and him and Julia's martial training? He'd be hard pressed to win. Jonaleth leers at him menacingly.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Yeah? How's that tradition treating your dead mom? Now that you've completely humiliated me in front of the most murderous dragon on the planet, burning down houses is back on the menu, along with torching evidence."

He won't rise to Jonaleth's taunt. "Don’t do this. I get the rage you feel. You and I could have easily swapped roles, Jonaleth. The only difference between you and me is one single thing.” He holds the gas tank firm, but hesitates.

“And what’s that?”

“I had parents that cared. They weren’t perfect together, but they cared. You say you saw your mom die? I can relate.”

“Bullshit. You were spying on us the whole time, Rashalda? That wasn’t your story to hear!” he rages. “How can you possibly sympathize with me?”

“Because by the time I got to the hospital after my parents' car accident, they were rushing my mom to surgery. She said a few words to me and my brother. She looked right at me, and told me that she’d see me on the other side of the surgery room...in her own way.”

Drenar’s posture is tense. This memory has been a weight on his soul for too long, a memory he hadn’t even told Julia. “The doctors told me she should have died at the scene. She was broken to pieces internally. They told me she shouldn’t have even survived the trip to the hospital. But she did. She held on through sheer willpower alone to tell her kids that she was going to make it. That she’d be there for us.

"But sheer willpower can't win every battle. Not like that. That day has haunted me almost every day for six years.”

He lowers the gas tank a little. “Someone did care for you. Someone took you away from a horrible place, and from people who had no business raising a son, with the way you described it. I know when I see pain, Jonaleth. Someone tried to help, which is far more than most people will do.”

“She killed my mom. Then tried to make up for it, out of guilt?!” he snarls. “I got dealt a shit hand from birth, Rashalda! You don't know what that's like! You never had a clue about the Veil until the last couple weeks, if I had to guess. Imagine you can't tell everyone that the Conclave is a bunch of racist bigots working their way to an oppression state, and the Valkyries are automated murder machines!”

“And you think this is the solution to that?” Drenar points to the unconscious Talons soldiers. “Are you ready to murder people for a false promise? Val's in this for power. She always has been. I've heard enough about her to know that she'll replace the Conclave with something far worse. That's without me knowing the full history."

“They cared about me!”

“No. They saw you as an implement. A weapon, a shiny tool, Jonaleth.” He's resigned himself to the fact that this is going to come to blows. But does he make the first move? Or let Jonaleth push himself to the point of no return? “Victor One. She cared about you. Even as messed up as that situation was, she cared. She could have just walked away, and she didn't.”

“Screw you, Rashalda.” Jonaleth’s free hand is shaking in rage. “You really do look like her, which is just icing on the goddamn cake. It's like the whole universe is lining up pretty faces and sad stories for me, like it's some sick cosmic joke. She even visited me a few times, to see how I was doing, and I was just…numb on the inside. I still can't hate her with all my heart. I want to, but I can't!”

“Then don't.” Drenar motions to Julia, whose stance is still coiled and tense, her face now covered in shining gold scales and a few silver flecks in a mottled pattern. “You're hurt, Jonaleth. But hurting others isn't going to fix that. You know, I spent two years where every single day, I was just…not okay. I was empty. Lost. One of the hardest things I had to learn is that people will help you. Family. Friends. Old souls unaffected by age, and filled with wisdom and caring."

That last one was for Laresten. Someone else he missed dearly.

"Jonaleth, the hardest step of all is wanting to get better, and taking that first step. It's the smallest step, and the most difficult one of all. Just put the gas tank down. Please. You don't want this.”

“He's…right. Even as despicable as some of your actions have been…we didn't have the full story till tonight.” Julia's eyes soften at the edges, all shining blue and filled with sadness. “You still can fix this. You don't want to become a monster like these people.”

“And what's my alternative? Take my medicine from the Conclave?” He lets out a mocking laugh, even while he's on the verge of tears. “Fates, you two are so broken, it's almost sad. Nah, because of your stunt, and Violet being a dumb bitch, Val's on a warpath now. This is my last shot, before I end up as a carcass in a ditch, or the bottom of a dragon's gullet."

“You think I'm scared of her?” Drenar says stoically. “I already did a dance with her business partner Crosomer, and walked away from it alive. Consider that while you think about your next choice, Jonaleth. I'm not asking you to support the Conclave. But maybe, you can stand behind the preservation of good. I don't want to undo the goodwill that Valkyrie showed you.

"Just walk away. That’s all you have to do.”

For a few precious seconds, Jonaleth goes silent, likely thinking of all the bad choices that led up to the moment. He peers down at the arsonist's weapon of choice in his hand, knuckles bone white from clenching so tightly around the handle. The quivering lips tells Drenar all he needs to know: he's afraid for his life. And there is a tiny voice of reason left in him.

But it doesn't win out. He can see it when his eyes narrow.

Lad. You know how this is going to end. I know you'll try, but he's not going to listen to reason now if he wasn't listening to reason before. He knows Alex is right even before Jonaleth’s fist starts shaking, and those burnt orange scales itch and crack their way into reality over his hands and face.

“No, Drenar. We’re past that point. I have to clean up this mess, burn this school to the ground, and kill you two, and the rest of your misfit friends. And there’s nothing you’re going to say that’s going to change my mind.”

“Can we beat some sense into him now?” Julia growls.

Jonaleth flings the gas tank at him, but he anticipates the move. He deftly swerves to avoid getting hit in the head, and the gas tank bounces into a row of lockers while Jonaleth charges with a quick grab of a dagger off his belt, and continues to transform into his draconic body. Drenar can feel the heat radiating off his body when he grapples with him, keeping the knife pointed in the wrong direction. He slams him into the wall, but it does nothing to phase him, and Julia's quick shock across his scales barely does anything to slow him down. He manages to shove Drenar away to slam Julia in the torso, and swings mightily with the dagger. She barely blocks it, and there's a narrow scratch across her scales–superficial damage at best. Drenar rushes in and lands a telekinetic blast on him point-blank.

Jonaleth goes flying backward, and skids past his unconscious comrades before hitting the doorway, cracking the wood. He's back up in no time, and pulls a fire orb off a bandolier and flings it at Julia. She catches it out of reflex and throws it out the window before it detonates in a small fireball, and the worst of the damage is the scorched grass outside, with a few lingering embers.

"Julia, this place is soaked in gas!" Drenar warns her. He's already dashing after Jonaleth, aiming to keep him from igniting the whole south wing, and everyone inside it. "We gotta move this fight out of here right now!"

Jonaleth flings another orb that's primed before Drenar can get to him, and he watches in horror as it lands by the gas tank. There's no way to grab it in time.

"Shields!" he shouts out at Julia before covering the prone lackeys with as wide a barrier as he can.

All their plans for keeping the damage to a minimum are about to go up in smoke again.

At least this one isn’t your error this time, Drenar. Alex’s comment is little consolation before he braces against the blast.