------
"I understand your hesitation," Cloud Solslade said softly, his blue-scaled hands still locked behind his back as he turned to face Noir. The lighting in the chamber was cold, clinical, yet the tension in the room was thick with heat. "But you need to say yes, Noir. For the sake of this world... and for your own."
Noir didn't speak immediately. The silence between them was not void—rather, it pulsed with possibility. His black eyes reflected the pale glow of the command room's displays. He was thinking of Earth, of Aria and Kain and his father. Of Dvyne's smirk. Of exile. And now of a blue-scaled dragon-kin, standing in front of him, confessing that his madness was method. That he had crafted chaos not for power—but for peace.
Noir finally sighed, head tilted downward.
"I'll help you," he said, voice low. "But only until I can go back to Earth."
A crooked grin spread across Cloud's sharp features. "Good. That's all I need. A start."
Cloud turned and walked to a table at the edge of the room, grabbing a scroll of digitalized parchment. His tail flicked once behind him.
"Tomorrow," he said without looking back, "I'm going to make myself look worse. Much worse. I want every enemy to believe I'm their true evil. I want their hatred. I want their fear. I want them to unite. Not against their differences—but against me."
Noir frowned. "And then what? They kill you?"
"Exactly," Cloud replied, finally turning with that same mad glint in his eye. "I'll fake my death. Let them cheer over my ashes. Then... perhaps then, the world will come together. They will believe they won peace. All I need is to be their enemy long enough to make them allies."
Noir's eyes narrowed. "You're insane."
"Maybe," Cloud said, shrugging, "But peace has never been born from logic. Only desperation."
---
Far from the chilling plans being laid within Cloud Solslade's stronghold, within the confines of a sleek black tower carved into the mountains outside the industrial capital, two other figures convened.
Tallo leaned back on a crystalline chair, one bronze-skinned arm resting against the back support and his other destroyed but covered in bandages while a small energy flame hovered over his palm. His horns shimmered faintly beneath the chandelier light, and his smile was sharper than usual.
"Irva," he said in a low, calculated tone, "Everything is going according to plan."
Irva, the older komodo woman with violet scales and eyes sharp enough to slice steel, crossed her arms as she leaned beside the massive glass window. The city buzzed beneath them—skycars in rows, factory towers spewing light, neon ads flashing promises of unity and control.
"So you think this is going to work?" she asked. "Convincing the rest of the resistance to ally with those from the surface?"
"Oh, it's not just going to work," Tallo said, spinning the flame between his fingers. "It's going to be glorious. Once the surface races believe Cloud is their enemy... the scrapyard will be open. We'll flood in. And once we're inside—"
He clapped his hands.
"—We strike."
"And when we do?" Irva asked. Her tone was less enthusiastic.
"We end the dragon-kin once and for all," Tallo declared.
Irva sighed, tail flicking. "Even Cloud?"
"Especially Cloud."
The two stood in silence for a moment, looking down over the industrial chaos below.
"It's a shame," Irva murmured, breaking the stillness.
"Hm?"
"Noir. We had plans for him. I thought he would join us."
Tallo's grin flickered for a moment. "Yes... the Earthling exile. He would have been a powerful symbol. The oppressed joining the oppressed."
"Instead," Irva said, tone bitter, "He's been taken. By Cloud."
"No doubt brainwashed," Tallo added, standing. His expression turned dark. "But that's alright. It's not over. The rebellion doesn't hinge on one pawn."
Irva didn't reply. She stared out over the cityscape, her heart uneasy.
Somewhere out there, the war was already beginning. And the first spark had just been struck.
---
Back in the fortress, Noir lay awake in a borrowed cot. The room was minimal—a stark contrast to the grandeur of Cloud's war room—but it was quiet.
He stared at the ceiling.
Was he really going to work with the man who had blown a hole through the chest of a king?
A madman, a murderer... with a dream?
And more terrifying than that... was he beginning to believe him?
Sleep never came that night. Just the constant, creeping fire of doubt.
Tomorrow, everything would change.