Julia grabs her bolt pistol and scans the room, a few meters from Nick. Angela and the others are quick to snap focus, and Drenar calmly takes a readied stance and Angela tosses him the dagger–he’s better with it, anyway. "Nick, where is he?"

"Optical camouflage. Look for a lensing effect, the cloaks aren't perfect," he relays to them. Angela grabs Drenar's broadsword off his back, and has it poised in front of her, waiting for a strike from any direction. She has her back to Drenar as they circle around.

"Okay, we can't see him. But we can hear him. Right?" Angela asks cautiously. Nick shakes his head.

"No. Sound muffling, too. I can hear footsteps, but it sounds like it's coming from multiple angles. It screws with echolocation." Angela has a different idea, and takes a sniff. She hasn’t really tested it, but–she can smell something that doesn’t match her friends nearby. She sees a flicker of movement. Something that triggers her danger sense, but it's gone.

"Nick. Do you add any scented dryer sheets to your laundry?"

"Uh…no. It's an attractor for dangerous monsters out in magical biozones." She has an idea, and she tries to map out the scent. She can tell the general heading…just off to her right, but it's faint enough to be several meters away. Like a slight burning mark she can sense, just like she can sense the pull of gravity. She swivels lightly.

She can pinpoint it now.

“Do you trust me?”

“Call it.” There’s zero hesitation in Nick's voice and he grips the weapon firmly. She feels the tension in Drenar’s back when he nods too. She’s got a fix on their elusive guest now.

"Ten meters, one o’clock!"

Nick and Julia don't hesitate, and unload several bolts in a tight cone. She sees a blur of movement and one bolt hits home–an arcane barrier flares with pale blue light. She closes the distance in about a second, swings the blade, and connects with a defensive block, and a resigned grunt.

She feels a sudden kick at her torso and she staggers backward, wincing at the blow. Drenar flings his dagger with his silvery-sheathed hand and the barrier flares again and shatters in a burst of gold sparks, but the dagger keeps sailing. He jerks his hand backward, and the dagger swerves in mid-air to come back to his outstretched hand where he closes to engage, swinging and clanging against a barely visible rod or staff. He manages to grab the hostile and flings them onto a table, a burst of papers fluttering upwards and away, sliding off the hidden figure as they land.

Drenar dodges just as a fiery ray pierces past where his head would have been, igniting papers floating through the air in eerie little trailing embers. He’s tensed and sends out a broad kinetic blast with a shout of fury. There’s a grunt of pain and the table slides from the force, along with the person that slammed into it. Angela moves in, blade singing through the air, and sees the outline of a blade, a rapier. She forces the weapon wide and slams into the outline with her shoulder, sending them tumbling–the cloak is flickering now. The person is slow to rise, and there's a sound of feet skidding back. She grabs the weapon that fell to the floor and slides it to Julia, who grabs it for safekeeping.

Nick in the meantime has advanced with the autobow cocked in a close brace and canted for close-quarters. "Don't move. I've got you sighted now, camo cloak or not," Nick warns the interloper. “Disengage the cloak. Now.”

"I take it that means you wish for me to surrender?" Angela hears a man's voice call out, a calm voice that's as smooth as satin cloth. Middle-aged, maybe? His voice is still distorted, a reverberation that is coming from all around her. It's mildly disorienting.

"We're more of the 'take them in alive' crowd," Drenar quips while advancing with his weapon drawn. "Julia, keep bagging stuff. This guy is likely not alone. I think we now know why the radio cut out. Didn’t want anyone listening in, did you, King?”

"Indeed. I thought I'd stop in for a chat first, and get to know you. You are all, of course, the reason I'm here." Angela sees a slow motion as someone taps something at around chest height, and the illusion dispels instantly, two meters from her.

She's not surprised when she sees the tight-pressed charcoal color vest over a button-down shirt and dark slacks out of something from a steampunk fantasy novel. A pocket watch is tucked into a waist pocket, gleaming silver and pristine glass. She's even less surprised by the medium length brown-haired, caramel eyes of a man with the calm demeanor of someone utterly in control of their emotions. He even adjusts his collar and brushes off an invisible hair from his sleeve, unbothered by the heavily armed team surrounding him.

"We’re the reason you’re here," Drenar growls beside her. "You have some nerves. Your little shop of horrors is sitting smack dab under our school. Why are you here alone?"

"Checking in on my investment?" he poses while lightly gesturing to the laboratory. "Well, minus your theft. What do you think you'll accomplish with all those drives? The encryption will take you longer than the heat death of the universe to crack. They're at best, the equivalent of paperweights to you."

"Every encryption has a weak point. Who knows? I might find a sticky note with a password," Drenar proposes boldly. "Or, you and I come to an understanding."

"I don't think so. You're not the sort to threaten violence. You'll inflict it, but only when pressed against a wall and having exhausted every path to peace." Angela can't help but feel King has a very good read on Drenar, which indicates he's been observing all of them for a while. A very unsettling implication. "Perhaps I could just tell you what's on there."

"About a few petabytes of data from your tests with that device on the mountain. A device you've used to forcibly awaken dozens of half-dragons and drakensouls," Drenar responds calmly.

"That, and more." Nick never takes his eye off of King, and neither does Angela. He's got his arms half raised, but she's aware enough mages have plenty of surprises. Vocal invocations, while simple, could be used to deadly effect under the right circumstances. "Hmm. DeShandrea. Leading the charge on this one? And I see you've recruited teenagers with attitude. How original," he adds with a dramatic flourish.

"I usually work alone," Nick responds calmly. "But since these kids all got the short end of the stick from your machinations and they have some uncanny competence, I owed it to them. Angela, cuffs in my coat, right pocket." She grabs them immediately and King puts his hands behind his back while she restrains him. He doesn't offer up resistance, and she checks his pockets for equipment. Not even an identification or a wallet. She sits him down roughly on one of the spartan lab chairs, takes two steps back, and crosses her arms.

"Start talking, King. And maybe start with why you think it's such a great idea to bring back two million dragons through the bodies of the unwilling or unaware," she states with a vein of anger. He glances at her questioningly.

Angela, danger. Hidden. Beware words. Samarina has picked the worst time to speak up, but there’s something very strange about her speech lately. It’s like she keeps giving sharply cognizant advice, too good for Angela’s own observations to account for alone. Is this another power? A supernatural intuition?

"You're working from incomplete information. I am quite aware of most of your knowledge base. Perhaps you’d like to be educated?” Even when he’s in cuffs, King has that absolute level of calm that is uncanny. She imagines he only needs one distraction or opportunity to break out of an unfortunate situation.

“Oh we absolutely would, King. I’d advise you to tell the truth if you know what’s best for you. We have our own information that we’ve compiled.” Angela stands in front of him, arms folded and stance tensed. Drenar and Nick flank her. “Tell us why.”

“That’s a broad question. Care to narrow it down?” he asks politely–again, quite out of place for someone who’s now restrained and not going anywhere.

“Let's start with how you seemingly knew we were watching you earlier, at the ranger retreat.” Drenar flings the suggestion out there, trying to bait out a response.

“Ah, you think you’re skulking around all stealthily?” King looks amused at this game, because it’s one he likes to play. “I’ll give you credit, you stayed low pretty well. I think you had an inkling or an instinct early on to keep ‘off the radar,’ as they say. That intuition may have saved you from a premature death more than once. If Val is any indicator.”

“You mean that great big bitch of a dragon?” Drenar growls. “You shielded us from her at the cabin. Why?”

“Because you still have a role to play.” King doesn’t even try to hide it, which makes Angela immediately worried by instinct. “Your role in this is not finished. It’s just getting started, were you not paying any attention to Crosomer on the mountaintop?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“We were having words. And then a big duke-out fight where he put a big bloody bite into my arm, thanks. Sure felt like my ‘role’ was coming to an end if I didn’t step up my game and give him a big bleeding rebuke.”

Drenar twirls a few oversized teeth on a string necklace he’d garishly put together, and Angela sighs inwardly.

Say what you will about Drenar, but he keeps to his word.

Honorbound. Samarina chooses yet another strange descriptor, but she ignores it for the time being. King peers at Angela, with a raised eyebrow. “I’m still interested in your role in this. You weren’t on the candidates list. Neither is your brother, yet here you are, and you’re a Maridian silver with some…interesting deviations.”

“Yeah, it feels really nice to be used as a test subject in your little science experiment, King,” Angela says menacingly. Drenar might have an issue with beating this man bloody, but she doesn’t have the same level of restraint. “You're going to force massive psychological trauma on two million people who are going to have a dragon talking inside their head, if you pull this off. You are ethically and morally bankrupt, and the word ‘evil’ wouldn’t be much of a stretch, either. What do you mean by ‘deviations’ exactly?”

“Oh, I think you know already.” His eyes flicker to Nick for a second when he says that, then back to her.

“Well, I can’t spoil all the fun. Much as this is a bit of a palette cleanser from working with…my other partners in this enterprise, I’ve got tasks to complete. For instance, the collection of certain documents you have in your possession, and are still bagging up haphazardly,” he adds with annoyance when Julia stuffs another hard drive in a bag.

"Yeah buddy, we got dibs! This is our data now! Seeing as it's about us, we're taking it back!" Julia retorts with a grin.

“You know what’s haphazard, much to Angela’s point?” Drenar leans in, eyes boring into King. “The fact that you think you’re somehow in the right on this one. You’re not rebels, and you’re not fighting the good fight. What are two million people supposed to do when they get infused with a dragon soul that they’ll be stuck with unwillingly for thousands of years? What kind of trauma is that going to inflict? What about the impact on the magical community?”

“Life is filled with surprises. And then, life continues," King responds.

“You think that won’t have dire consequences beyond building an army? The rest of the world will take notice, there’s no way they won’t. And the damage you'll inflict by doing this can't possibly be justified by whatever it might fix."

“Oh? Do you claim to know what it’s like, being a drakensoul?” King asks slyly.

Does he know? Angela thinks for a second. If he does, then how does he know?

“Their displacement put a massive hole in the mage world. Bringing them back will be sufficient to restore the balance. It may discomfort you to know this, but good change is often difficult–even impossible, to attain at times. It requires sacrifices and great pain in the process. Put another way…if you plan on stopping us, what are you prepared to sacrifice?” King never breaks composure in his words.

Drenar stands there, looking stoic, his words steel-clad. “My hard-earned ire, and a lot of blood and sweat to put people like Val in prison, or in the grave,” Drenar growls. “Same with Crosomer. And you, if you think you can convince me that you are not the bad guys here.”

“Admirable. But are you willing to put your friends’ lives on the line? I know you’ll put your own on the line without hesitation. Could you make the call that costs you someone you love and care about?”

King’s gaze flickers over to Julia, who is still glaring at King with deadly intent. Angela shakes her head when her hand drifts to the bolt pistol sitting on the lab table. Julia looks like molten fury, but goes back to securing evidence. Drenar doesn’t break eye contact when he offers his rebuke.

“I’ll put myself where I need to be. Between Val, and those she tries to hurt on a routine basis." Angela knows he truly means that, given what they've pulled off so far. "How many has she killed so far, King? Dozens? Hundreds, even? Or is it so high, that you don’t want to keep tally anymore?” King looks back unflinchingly, his expression a flat slate of stone. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“And you presume the Conclave is any better? Did Crosomer not warn you of who leads them? Corrupt bureaucrats? Or, perhaps…a few select individuals who gave the green light for the dragons to build the pyre of their own destruction,” King suggests. “It’s very telling when everyone blames Volkir. They handwave away the dragons leaving as a misguided attempt to shirk responsibility over the mage world. But…dig deeper…and you’ll realize that this effort was beyond even him.” There’s something very wrong with the confidence he has in his words. He’s speaking like he knows a vast secret. “Who stood to benefit with the dragons gone? There are true monsters still lurking in plain sight, and offering honeyed words. The biggest monsters are sometimes–ironically–those you think you should trust the most.”

“Okay there, big speech guy. I think we’re done. Nick, let’s cart this jackass off to prison,” Julia interjects. King smiles when he gazes at her. “Oh, before we do that, I need to test some plasmakinesis. You're gonna volunteer to make my day a little sunnier, King! I promise to be mostly gentle.”

King simply sits back and offers a smirk, oozing confidence. “Let me go, and I'll tell you a secret. A secret no one else knows. A secret that will cut to the core of your very being.” Angela is very apprehensive about this–he definitely has a plan.

“Forget it, let’s just cart his ass to prison. He’s someone else’s problem once we get him to SAF, end of story, Julia,” Angela interjects. King looks back to Drenar and smiles faintly.

“Well, it’s not the only secret I know. But I do have a few very big ones. Things even Valosterla and Crosomer don’t know.” Drenar leans in, eyes narrowed.

“What do you think you know that is so damn important that we’d just ‘let you go’ to cause more chaos and strife? Nah, get stuffed, King. Nick, let’s carpet roll this creep and mosey on out of here.”

Drenar turns to Nick, who has extra cuffs ready to bind his hands and feet. As he does, King utters the words that brings the world to a catastrophic halt.

“I can tell you who ordered your mother’s death.”

Everyone gasps in surprise, and Drenar's instantly terror-struck the second he turns to face King.

It’s the same look of utter devastation he wore that entire day at the funeral. As if someone came and gutted his entire life, just for fun. King exudes that tranquil calm while chaos swirls around him. Angela doesn't see the brave young man who has put his life on the line for others repeatedly.

She sees a lost, eleven year old boy, who saw his world split in half in an instant.

“I can tell you exactly what happened. November 11th, six years ago, at three-thirty in the afternoon. A fateful rainy day that destroyed your life as you knew it.” That unerring, eerie calm in King's voice only adds weight to the devastation he is unleashing.

“Bullshit! It was a car wreck, plain and simple!” Julia roars, a plasma spark arcing in her hand. “Do not listen to him Drenar, he’s lying, he’s trying to get under your skin! This is what he does! He steals secrets, and tells convenient lies!”

“Kind of curious, isn’t it?” King asks innocently, and Angela feels her claws emerging on her hands out of instinctive rage. “How does a Maridian and Azure dragon die in something as mundane and suburban as a car veering off the road, and impacting into a gully?"

He knows too much for this to not be preplanned.

"I wonder, you’ve seen your own healing abilities. And likely, some choice periodicals telling of the strength of your lineage. Did you ponder its potential, even at death’s door? There’s a doubt deep inside your mind that something was withheld. A convenient lie was told to keep you complacent, keep you in the dark.”

Drenar still can't talk, he's still reeling from this. King keeps that contented expression of absolute calm, even as Nick and Julia shout in outrage. He dares to lean forward, a light smile on his face that she wants to smash into the concrete floor. “Would you like to know who the monsters are? Champion?”

“Drenar, don’t. Don’t you do it,” Julia warns him, but Angela can see that apprehension in his face. Drenar is scared that King is right. There is a secret here that he desperately wants to know, even if the price might be more than they can bear.

Child of Champion?! When?!

Samarina screams out something that sounds like a revelation she shouldn’t know. It falls to the wayside as the situation instantly boils over.

Drenar draws his dagger, and his expression has gone as cold as ice. “Oh King, you have truly screwed up this time.”

There are only two things that can drive Drenar to kill, Angela realizes in a moment of instant horror when he pulls his arm back.

The first, a threat to his friends or loved ones, if there was no other way.

The second, desecrating the memory of one of the few good things he has left in his life.

King is a dead man. She has to act. Now.