"Fuck."

Mythara remained frozen on the festival grounds, eyes locked on the strip of sky where Cefketa and his group had vanished moments before. The air still carried traces of incense and roasted meat, but the scents were hollow now, remnants of a celebration gutted mid-breath.

The festival's noise had drained away too quickly—laughter, music, chatter collapsing into an oppressive silence broken only by the faint hiss of wind through the half-collapsed stage decorations. Any joy or anticipation that had accompanied the Tiny Tots' declaration and the birth of the true Persequions now lay underfoot, crushed beneath the weight of Cefketa's precision strike.

That had been the point, hadn't it? To bleed them before the first wound.

Mythara's gaze slid to the cluster of Amaterasu, The Conductor, and Shango, flanked by Tiny Tots and Elders. They stood close, heads inclined in sharp angles, the cadence of their voices urgent yet contained. The space they occupied was deliberate—shoulders tilted away from him, the circle closed just enough to suggest accidental exclusion while leaving no doubt it was intentional.

"What's on everyone's mind?" Mythara cut into their murmurs, the sound of his voice harsher than intended.

The group turned toward him as one. In that instant, the air seemed to still. Every face—save Amaterasu's—carried a flicker of wariness. Not the tense anticipation of allies plotting a defense, but the watchfulness of prey assessing a predator's distance. Their expressions softened after a heartbeat, masks sliding back into place, but Mythara had already seen what lived beneath.

His eyes narrowed.

"We were discussing our next moves," Seren said, her voice too measured. "This was a calculated show of force. The timing was… peculiar."

Peculiar. That was one word for it. Cefketa's arrival during the Fury of Dreams wasn't unprecedented, but appearing at the exact moment of the Tiny Tots' declaration? That reeked of inside knowledge. A few in the group exchanged sidelong glances, each one grazing Mythara before darting away.

His jaw flexed. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

One of the younger Tiny Tots shifted her weight. "After our transformation, there's this… connection. An instinct. From what we understand, dragons are intensely family-oriented and must be driven by instinct, just like us. Cefketa is your biological dragon father, so—"

The rest didn't need to be spoken.

"So you think I'm feeding him intelligence?" Mythara's voice dipped, the quiet edge more dangerous than a shout.

"It's a possibility." Her throat worked as she swallowed, and her eyes darted toward Amaterasu before coming back to him.

She shifted her weight, boot scuffing against the packed earth. "One of the few that makes sense—"

"Of course it's the only thing that makes sense to you." His retort struck like a whip. "You're only human."

The temperature in the space shifted. Shoulders squared. Eyes hardened.

Mythara dragged a hand through his hair, forcing breath into his lungs. "Listen. Cefketa doesn't need spies. He can just… look. Observe. I can barely manage it myself, and I haven't even gone through my shedding yet. For him? It's probably as easy as breathing."

"We need to keep this rational," Amaterasu said, stepping in before the air could sour further. Her voice carried the same quiet authority that had lifted her above her peers long before their transformations. "Since we're all here, we should talk about strategy." She gestured toward the table of honor, the crowd having thinned into drifting clumps of whispering onlookers.

They moved together—Mythara, Amaterasu, The Conductor, and Shango —took their seats, while the others remained standing. It was unintentional, perhaps, but it was all the same.

"So you're saying Sensei can see everything?" The Conductor's tone was even, but his fingers tapped the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"Not everything at once," Mythara said. "But…" He told them about the Nebula, about the way his senses had unfolded there under the Wanderer's hand, about Nina's near-constant awareness of the world's pulse.

"Jesus Christ," Shango muttered, rubbing at his temples. "Best case, he can pick and choose where to look. Worst case, he's omniscient. Bloody Hell."

"So we lose our tech advantage, we're already weaker militarily, and now we're blind in the information war," Seren said, her voice stripped of hope.

An Elder let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Ridiculous creatures."

"Our only advantage is numbers," The Conductor said flatly.

This, of course, referred to the total human population. Between Heka and Firmatha Sanguar, the monsters would still hold the advantage in terms of able-bodied bodies ready for war.

"Which brings us to the UN negotiations," Amaterasu began.

"No." Selistar's voice was quiet but hard enough to cut. "Something's shifted. You don't know Zac—Cefketa—like I do. This wasn't reconnaissance or intimidation. This was a declaration."

Shango leaned forward, forearms on the table. "You're saying even if we reach a settlement, he'll still push for war?"

"He'll sign any treaty, smile for the cameras," Selistar said. "But he'll shape events so war becomes inevitable—and make sure humanity looks like the aggressor." His hands curled into fists. "Hell, some of our own might back him."

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"You make him sound like a super villain out of a comic," Amaterasu said.

Selistar's smile didn't touch his eyes. "In many ways, that's exactly what he is. What he's always been. The only difference is, he used to be ours."

Leonie's voice was cool. "Even before the dragon revelation, he was a master manipulator. Remember the 3-month Adders-Oleanders fallout? That whole mini war was just to hide his and Devin's movements."

Siren frowned. "But why the games? If only Mythara could stop him, why not just—"

"Because brute force doesn't change societies," Mythara said. "First, you make them want what you're offering."

The truth settled over them, heavy as stone.

"I'd bet Firmatha Sanguar's peace terms will sound almost reasonable," Mythara went on. "It's what follows that will lead us to war."

"I say we stop being so passive, mates," Shango said, heat behind his words. "We need to figure out what they are capable of. Sage knows everything about us. You think that won't come back to bite us later?"

"I agree," The Conductor said. "We need eyes on them."

Seren lifted a hand. "That may not be necessary." She brushed her wrist with two fingers, and a holographic curtain of raw data bloomed over the table. "I thought he might show today. The army was a surprise, but it worked for us."

The Conductor's brows rose. "You scanned their nanite signatures?"

"Every True Persequion carries them," Seren said. It'll take time to process, but we can estimate their strengths."

"How long?"

"If Dr. Hamilton cooperates, two weeks."

"I'll speak with her," Amaterasu said.

The nod that followed was too uniform, too quick. Mythara felt uneasy about everything happening here. That reflexive deference… it wasn't there before.

"Before we split," he said, "there's another issue. Our command structure is a mess."

The Conductor's gaze sharpened. "Or maybe you just miss having absolute control."

"Are you even listening to yourselves?" Mythara's voice climbed. "Haven't you noticed your behavior changing?"

"It's natural," Amaterasu said, calm but edged. "Species gravitate to their leaders. Firmatha Sanguar likely does the same."

"No," Mythara said. "They have no 'First.' They've had millennia to learn their roles. They've had even more time to adjust to the natural order."

Amaterasu's eyes narrowed. "They also bow to Dragons. Maybe you're upset that we don't."

"I don't know! That's my point!" Mythara's voice cracked through the air. "None of us understand what's happening, but you act like it's all normal!"

That broke the rhythm. Some of them looked uneasy, the first real crack in their composure.

"Maybe we should give them space," Shango said.

"We'll revisit the command structure at the next meeting," Selistar added.

When the others drifted off, the festival grounds felt too big, the shadows too long. Amaterasu approached, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What's really going on, Ken?"

Mythara's shoulders sagged. "Things were complicated enough without this new instinctual loyalty dynamic. A year isn't enough time to figure this out, too."

"Maybe not alone," Amaterasu replied softly. "But you're not alone. We're strong enough to help you now."

"Strength means nothing without control. If they won't follow my leadership, what's the point of any of this?"

"Do they need to follow you specifically?" The question came out quieter than she'd intended, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Yes! I'm Aurathanos Threnos—I'm supposed to lead us through the coming storm."

Amaterasu was quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. When she looked back up, something had shifted in her expression—a weight of acknowledgment she'd been carrying alone.

"You're right," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Things are spiraling out of control. I wanted to deny it before, to pretend everything was normal, but..." She took a shaky breath. "I can feel it too, Ken. The way they look at me, the way their voices change when they speak to me. It's not natural."

He studied her face, seeing the conflict there—the burden she'd been trying to hide.

"While I don't feel that same pull toward them," she continued, "there's something else. This overwhelming need to protect them, to shield them from harm. It's so intense it almost hurts." Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke. "What's happening to us?"

The vulnerability in her admission hit him harder than any argument could have. She stepped closer, hesitating for just a moment before resting her forehead against his chest.

"If they won't follow your lead, they'll follow mine. And I'll follow yours." The words came out muffled against his shirt, but the resolve in them was unmistakable.

"You're really okay with that?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

"What about The Conductor and Shango? They're also part of your Trinity."

"Shango will agree if it serves our people—I can sense his priorities, his core values. They haven't changed." She paused, her voice growing more certain. "Give The Conductor meaningful military authority, let him be the general he was always meant to be, and he'll back us completely."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can feel it," she said, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her features. "Their emotions, their deeper motivations—it's like hearing whispers just beneath their words. I don't know if that should terrify me or if I should be grateful for it."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "We can make this work, Ken. We have to."

The tension in his shoulders began to ease. "Alright. Let's try your approach."

He leaned down toward her, their faces drawing closer—

The temperature dropped. Not gradually, but all at once, as if winter had claimed the festival grounds in a single breath.

Mythara's pupils narrowed to slits. Amaterasu's fingers twitched toward her weapon that wasn't there, before she realized there was nothing to face yet. Shadows that shouldn't exist in this dark night sky stretched toward them like grasping fingers. The very air seemed to thicken, carrying with it the scent of something ancient and predatory.

The Wanderer didn't step into view—he simply was, materializing from the darkness. His smile held the promise of violence, sharp and hungry.

"That arrangement might suffice temporarily," he said, his voice carrying an undertone that made Mythara recoil. "But creation abhors uncertainties, and apex predators cannot share territory indefinitely. Eventually, one of you will have to establish true dominance."

Amaterasu stiffened, her enhanced senses picking up the wrongness that radiated from the Wanderer like heat from a forge. Her fingers unconsciously curled, as if preparing for a fight she couldn't see coming.

The Wanderer leaned closer, inhaling deeply as if savoring the tension crackling between them. "The question that fascinates me is which of you will draw first blood when that moment comes."

Behind him, the sky seemed to darken despite already being night, shadows pooling at his feet like spilled ink.

"But that's a lesson for another day," he continued, straightening with fluid grace. "Right now, we have more immediate matters to attend to."

His grin widened, showing too many teeth.

"Training time."

He dissolved back into the shadows, his body pixelated as he vanished. The oppressive presence lingered—the sensation of being watched by something that viewed them not as students, but as particularly interesting specimens.

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