Chapter 28: War Part 19 - The Human must die
The next morning crept in with a pale, grey sky and the scent of cold dew clinging to ash and blood.
Lucy awoke groggy but relatively intact—only woken twice during the night by Gindu's earth-shaking snores, which, at one point, had sounded suspiciously like a dying whale. Even that somehow felt like a luxury compared to the day before.
But any sense of peace was shattered when Darfin barged into the tent just as the sun peeked over the battlefield horizon.
The elf didn't speak—he didn't have to. His expression, carved in stone and annoyance, said everything.
Lucy grumbled half-asleep as Darfin grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him out of the tent.
"I'm walking, damn it," Lucy hissed. Not that it mattered. Darfin's grip was like iron wrapped in snobbery.
By the time they reached the meeting tent, Lucy's mood had soured completely. But that was nothing compared to the atmosphere inside.
As he stepped through the flap, he stopped cold.
The room was small, square, and strange. Three rectangular tables were lined up in neat rows, all facing a single desk at the front—like some war-camp parody of a classroom from Earth.
A memory flickered behind his eyes: chalkboards, fluorescent lights, the buzz of bored students. Except this wasn't school, and the people seated at those desks were monsters of myth.
At table one, Tara sat with perfect posture beside the crimson-scaled Dragonkin general, whose presence radiated silent fury and command.