*Content Warning: panic attack - not too graphic but I wanted to tag it

The first attack comes under the cover of darkness.

It is a murky night. The sky is leaden with ashen clouds, there are no stars, no moon, no light. Just like it has been when Plamen went to sleep that evening. It should have been apparent. But he didn't notice it.

He didn't notice the tension in the air, nor the vile, acrid aroma that had spread in the meantime. He didn't notice that lack of light brought more than just nightmares. Nor that the streets were much quieter than usual.

So, when in panic Vid barges into his room to wake him up, Plamen almost knocks him out with one of the defensive moves Yana has made him learn. He wrangles Vid face-first down on the bed, securing a hold on his right wrist, yanks his arm up and plasters himself over the other's body as his other hand snaps to the shoulder under him.

"What the hell, Vid?" That indignant question escapes his mouth like a broken screech.

He pants into Vid's nape, gradually softening the hold he maintains on the other's wrist and shoulder. He is still reeling from being woken up in the middle of a nightmare, trying to stop the nerve-wracking scenes overlapping with the present, trying to get the semblance of control.

Yellow iris glints under the flame of the only lightened up candle in the room, Vid's face plastered into the still warm bedding as he pleads with a soft, anguished gaze looking up at Plamen over his shoulder.

"Zmajeva Zvijezda is being attacked!" Vid doesn't fight against the hold on him and his words are somewhat muffled from half of his head sinking into the mattress.

Plamen lets him go, moving aside toward the wall, and falls down the mattress beside Vid, exhaling a groan. Only at that point, he realizes his breath is quickened, ragged, and he can't seem to grab enough air.

"Sorry..." Vid moves and hoists his upper body, leaning on his right arm. He regards him with bright eyes, concern and dismay meshing on his face. "I shouldn't have..." he trails off for a moment, and Plamen's panting is too loud in a too quiet room.

"I should've been more thoughtful," Vid finishes softly.

"It's ok."

Plamen leaves it at that because it's not ok. Because he feels sick to his stomach. Because his voice shouldn't break that much. Because he shouldn't be trembling that much. Because he shouldn't be scared so fucking much! But he doesn't know how to stop it. He doesn't really recall what he'd dreamt about, yet it shook him enough that he still can't stop gulping for air.

There are warm hands on his shoulders, and he snaps his eyes open, eyes he didn't notice closing at all. Vid moves in slowly, sneaking one hand around his back, and carefully brings him closer and closer until the only thing he breathes in is a sweet smell, yet spicy enough to remind him of a daffodil. It's a smell he's learned to pair with Vid.

Soon, he realizes, as his limbs stop trembling, as he manages to fist the dark brown cloth on the back of Vid's shirt, that he's being held in an embrace. Vid holds onto him tight, Plamen's head tucked under his, and he feels safe, but at the same time raw with emotions he doesn't even know he could feel coursing through his body, ravaging and burning.

However, it's enough. His breathing slows down, and he feels drained, more tired than when he went to sleep, his limbs heavy with exhaustion.

"You ok now?" Vid murmurs into his hair, fingers tracing through his hair in slow motions.

He thinks he is. Maybe. "Yeah." He leans back and Vid lets him go, observing him with concern and something else weaving in those dual-colored eyes.

The moment of silence stretches, making blush rise on Plamen's cheeks. No one's ever seen him like that. No one's ever seen him vulnerable. He is strong. He should be strong!

He doesn't notice Vid standing up until the other is stepping toward a lone chair in the corner of the room.

"We need to go," Vid says, glancing over his shoulder. "We were summoned to the War Palace." Then he grabs a folded, green shirt which Plamen prepared a few hours ago — it must have been a few hours, it's still nighttime — to wear when he wakes up.

Plamen is still reeling from everything; he feels so...embarrassed? Maybe. Probably. He's just acted like an idiot-

A dark green cloth connects with his face, obscuring his vision.

"What the hell?" he roars at Vid because that moron has just thrown his own shirt at him.

"You were making a weird face," Vid explains and arches one dark eyebrow at him.

"I'm so going to wring your neck," Plamen grinds out but the words lack the bite.

Vid smirks. "Sure. When you actually manage to get out of the bed." And Plamen jumps out, taking off his sleepwear and angrily pulls the shirt Vid flung at him over his head.

Ignoring the other Dragon Heir, he stalks to a brown bag filled with his clothes and things, grabs a pair of dark grey fatigues, putting them on and closes their drawstring with more force than necessary.

"Where's Zima?" he asks once he secures a string over the lapels of his jacket.

"Waiting for us in the common room."

Plamen nods, placing a hold on a bronze-colored dagger and fastens it on the right side of his belt under the jacket.

"We should hurry," Vid says and when Plamen glances at him, he looks like he wants to say something more, but then he just sighs.

They don't talk as they walk. Plamen can't blame Vid for keeping silent after his display of skinship back in his room. They pass Zima's and then Vid's room, the cold gray stone of the building ever-present, no matter how long they walk.

The three rooms they were assigned to after passing the Test are one near another, connected by a hallway that leads to a room furnished as a resting place, one they call the common room. The most notable thing about the common room is three recliners in the middle of it, set around a low table, each sporting a mass of fluffy decorative pillows. Plamen doesn't really comprehend the need for so many pillows, but he doesn't comment on it.

When they enter, Zima is there, leaning on one of the recliners, the burgundy one, hugging the biggest pillow there is. She isn't reacting as two of them approach, keeps her stare locked on the beige wall across the room. The distraught expression on her face doesn't mesh well with her usual bubbling personality.

"Did something happen?" Plamen asks.

She flinches, then shakes her head as if trying to get rid of whatever's on her mind. "Just a bad dream," she replies shakily, standing up. "Nothing to be concerned about." She smiles at them, but her lilac eyes are too lifeless, turning almost to an indigo shade in the harsh candlelight.

Vid opens his mouth to say something, probably the same thing Plamen thought — It doesn't seem like nothing — but he is interrupted by the other entrance opening and a dark-haired Armsguard looking in.

"Good, all three of you are over here," he says. "Follow me."

It sounds like an order and they follow.

***

The War Palace isn't, in fact, a palace. It's a chamber on the south side of the castle. A long time ago it was a solitary building, built on the highest peak of the hill Lela and its grandeur space let it hold up to fifty dragons inside. Real dragons, with massive wings, pointed claws, and all that. Not dragons wearing these easily breakable bodies.

It is also said that around it, there had once been big track fields for dragons to land. After the curse, those fields weren't required anymore, and the War Palace got connected to other buildings, the stone pavement turned aisles, more buildings sprouting around, passageways made of brick and stone, and the Dragon castle Lela came to be.

There is only one function to this chamber, and that is to hold a War Council. Plamen has never heard of the War Council being held in all his years of age; there has never been a need for it. It appears he would have the honor now, and not just to hear about it, but also to partake in it. All three of them, in fact. We're so screwed, he thinks as he inspects the place.

The main podium is heightened. Thereon, there are seats stacked one beside another, forming a half-circle near the entrance they came from. And those seats are occupied with Dragons; Armsguard members, town officials, and, most importantly, in one of the seats Yana lounges, a leg flung over the other one, her armor shining among the browns, blacks, and grays. And something settles inside Plamen. He had been on edge until he caught a glimpse of her because now he's aware that he isn't alone in this. She is there to shield him if anything unpleasant occurs.

Zlatan is also there, sitting beside her, his right hand settled on the armrest and clenched into a fist. Their seats seem elevated from the rest, except for the main Armsguard Commander on the left side of the half-circle and the town leader on the other side.

When Plamen stops surveying the chamber, he realizes they haven't been noticed yet, but that soon changes, and after the first few people see them, there's an uproar. Words flow, arguments follow, some officials screech to be heard; it's a cacophony of chaos.

Zima and Vid shift closer to Plamen from the angry mass turning against them, because it's obvious most of them are blaming Champions for...he understands then: the Unnaturals have attacked, just like Zlatan and Yana had explained they would.

"Silence."

It's softly spoken, quiet, yet it holds more command than anything Plamen has ever heard before, and everyone quiets down. All eyes lock onto the Armsguard Commander, an unassuming man with gray eyes, tawny hair streaked with red, and skin so pale it almost looks pallid.

The Commander considers the Council participants with that piercing mercurial stare of his. "Finally," he says in that same mellow tone. "You act like a bunch of unruly children."

The accusation makes most of the seated dragons sulk like they indeed are 'unruly children' being scolded, but Plamen can't say he expected them to act like reasonable adults. They never have.

He doesn't know the man's name, though he's heard of him. Everyone had talked about the new, young Armsguard Commander when he rose to the position of the power five years ago. In those hushed whispers, Plamen has never once heard his name, always Commander this, Commander that. It's almost as if a person loses their identity once they get known by a title.

Hands clapping make him turn his gaze back at Yana. "Good work, Ognjen. You managed to corral the impish beasts," she mocks and once again there are angry shouts and derogatory remarks.

Someone clears their throat, and it makes most of them quiet down and everyone is again looking at the Commander. Ognjen, that must be his name.

He is silent for a long moment before he says, "We are gathered here for the War Chess negotiations. Without further ado, we will start with the current problem at hand: Unnaturals." His gaze then traces the three Champions, taking his time in observing them until it stops on Plamen and stays there.

That stare would usually be unnerving as hell, but considering that it reminds Plamen so much of something he can't elucidate, something he should remember but it immediately escapes his comprehension, that makes the Commander's stare much too uncanny, much too serious and much too unexpected. To Plamen, that stare should signify something, he merely doesn't comprehend what.

"Take a seat," Commander says and it's nothing less than an order.

The surprising part comes from the noise behind them, and when Plamen looks back, the pristine marble floor of the podium changes, coming alive under a pulse of magical power, forming three intricate seats.

If he weren't so out of it, he would marvel at the simplicity of that action as the power flows like a faint breath of air, nimbly molding after the caster's wish, forming pearly-white chairs that look soft as if they weren't made of stone.

Vid is the first one to sit down. As far as Plamen has noticed, Vid was the one who gaped the least at the happenings. Zima follows his example, scowling at Plamen's when he doesn't immediately take the hint.

One more look around the chamber and he folds his body into the chair, too.