The Omphalos Chamber was a strangely quiet place, the noises of the city below swallowed by the wind from which the small asura was mostly sheltered. Occasionally one of the hovering insects would buzz near enough to be heard, or a breath of air would find its way inside and stir the flowers, but mostly it was quiet.
It was a great place to rest, to recover. It was not so great a place to work. That he was permitted to scatter his tools in a corner spoke volumes about the great tree's concern for her child. Sylvari had always been immune to the touch of the Elder Dragons before, yet here one lie showing all the signs of a turn in progress. Likely, she wouldn't be the first. Scarlet too had gone through the device, and a Dragon's madness would explain a great many things about her short, villainous life.
"You won't come to that," he promised aloud. A small twitch of his ears was the only hint of the lie that lay beneath. He was Agghi, one of the Priory's foremost experts on manipulating dragon energy. If anyone could save her, it was him, and he was running out of options.
Scurrying, scrambling forms fled before her, but she was faster. Pushing through rock and soil as easily as a bird on the wing, she was drawn by Tyria itself along secret paths long known only to that eternal mother. She vaguely remembered having a different mother once, perhaps, but those wisps of fancy evaporated as she closed in on the vermin above.
She broke the surface, and her prey froze or scattered or stumbled. Her fingers found ankle and leg, wrist and neck. Soft flesh, so weak as it squirmed and writhed. She squeezed, an immense satisfaction filling her. They deserved it, though she couldn't quite remember why.
Slowly the struggling stopped. The erratic rhythm of terror faded from those tiny chests. She held the still forms for a moment, an hour, a breath.
Peaceful satisfaction, that blessed stillness, was interrupted by more forms approaching. Always they returned, never content to let her be. This time she was determined to ignore them, to glory in this timeless moment, but the flashing red of their trinkets and pride stirred something within.
Rage blossomed, and she returned to the hunt once more.
"Excuse me, but you'll need to vacate the area."
The warden meant no harm, but the asura nearly threw his spanner. Instead, he set it aside with a carefully contained sigh.
"She shouldn't be moved, not now, and I will not leave her unattended."
"The world leaders will b-"
"At any moment she could turn, one way or the other, and I intend not to let that happen. Any disrup-"
"All the more reason to be conerned!"
"It's alright, child." The gentle voice of the Pale Tree silenced dissent. "Your sister will either wake into the light or she will sleep in the shadows. Let her presence serve as a reminder of the darkness we all face."
The Warden nodded, some of the stiffness draining from his form as he returned his attention to the asura. "Please at least make yourself and your... research presentable. I'm sure the representatives of your Order will be able to provide some formal attire if need be."
Agghi nodded, ears flapping as he dismissed the warden with a wave of his hand. "Of course, of course."
She roared in triumph, a great rumbling of stone beneath Tyria. The sweet scent of prey laced these deep layers, and her brothers and sisters now joined the hunt. All raced on toward the same goal. The feast would be great.
Agghi looked up but once as the world leaders filed into the Omphalos Chamber. They gave him the same courtesy, eyes sliding uncomfortably over the pale form beside him. Any curiosity they might have harbored was soon lost amid the weight of duty and its ensuing squabbles. There was a threat at every door, and none could see past the robber in the dark to the army that was amassing just beyond.
There was a reason Agghi avoided politics. Such a waste of time.
A droning alarm suddenly flared to life from the tidy pile of devices he had tucked aside, drawing all eyes. Some were curious, some disgusted, some annoyed, but Agghi saw none of them. All he saw was the three-part repeating blink.
This prey was neither small nor weak. Were its scent any less appealing, she would have turned back for easier pickings, but there was magic here, sweet blood of Tyria.
Strong roots, and old, barred her path forward. They knew the ways of the earth as well as she, and had had time to prepare this place. All around her brothers and sisters grappled for a hold, making no more progress than she, but they were many and had no concept of time to deter their patience. A moment or a hundred thousand years, it made no matter. They would break through; they already had.
Their prey shuddered as they forced their way within, deeper, but the victory was tainted by a growing itch, a whisper, a sense of distance and sadness. Of loss.
She shook it off, pressed forward, violently prying open the cracks for her brothers and sisters to enter.
"I must show you something."
Forgotten things wormed their way to the surface, weeding through the rage that had filled her. An explosion burst across her mind, a vision of gold as she had once had a vision of red. A vision of purpose.
The dragon's claws were not the problem. He had fought enough dragons to know the way of darting between their lumbering strikes, of landing blows where the would be felt. No, the real problem was the vines. They came from everywhere, pulled at him, slowed him just enough. He was tiring, and the dragon was staying safely outside the cage that the grand chamber had now become.
"You will not have her!" He repeated the mantra, eyes involuntarily darting to the still form behind him, not so still now that wriggling vines had invaded every space. Or was that -?
He dodged a moment too late, the impact blast of the massive claw tumbling him aside. Head over heels he flipped, a puff of air not quite enough to right him this time, but as soon as his hand touched down, a vine wrapped his wrist.
It quickly wreathed up his arm, then went suddenly limp as a thrown axe thunked through the base.
"Not today, at any rate."
Her color had not returned, and she swayed on her feet, but Laurel stood. Her crimson bow was alive in her grasp, edges writhing like the vines that receded around her.
"You're late," the asura scolded.
"And left a mess, it would seem." She flashed the sideways grin he remembered so well. "Shall we clean up?"
Despite himself, Agghi smiled.
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