"Are we absolutely certain they are the Champions?"

That question has been uttered for the fourth time, this time again a different person proposed it. Annoying as it is, most of the War council members are skeptical, to say the least.

"Both Officer Sol and I saw the Ancient One when they finished the Test," Zlatan says, his voice not loud enough to be considered yelling but it's a near thing. And it's the fifth time he said that sentence.

It is the most surprising thing; the golden-haired man took it upon himself to advocate them and has continued doing it throughout the whole discussion. Even when the earth clan's representative Anastazija accused him of blatant favoritism. Even when the finance town official Mariam spat barbed words of Zlatan's own failure as the Champion that had happened decades ago. Even throughout the angry remarks and distasteful opinions, Zlatan has remained vigilant in defending them, no matter how much all of it must have stung his pride.

Surprising as it is, there is another thing that has elicited somewhat of a shock. Throughout this discussion Yana has stayed completely silent, leaving Zlatan to deal with annoying questions even when he mentioned her secondary name.

"And where is this Ancient One now, huh? It must have been quite a dream to compel you to think you've seen it."

The taunting voice belonged to the representative of the smith foundation, Tihomir. Quite a sleazy man, as far as Plamen is concerned. Both his tilted eyes and gray skin pointed to affiliation to one of the clans out of Zmajeva Zvijezda, probably Zmijin Kamen or Drečina.

Zlatan doesn't rise to the bait, instead, he clicks his tongue loudly, scowling at the man. When he opens his mouth to answer he's beaten to it, for Yana stands up and, for the first time since addressing the Commander, speaks.

"There's an easy way to confirm it," she says, and a sharp smile on her face seems terribly dangerous as her small fangs glint under the harsh candlelight.

Zlatan jerks his head at her immediately, swiftly grasping her forearm and meets her eyes with a severe stare. "You don't mean that!"

"Well, we're getting nowhere with all this shitty roundabout discussion," she proclaims. "It's not like anything dreadful will happen."

Zlatan looks like he's a few seconds short of combusting, with an eye twitching violently and mouth pressed into a thin line. "Goddamnit, Yana!" he roars after a moment, shaking her arm. "It's a foolish idea."

Their staring contest is interrupted when the Commander asks, "What is this about?" He's piercing the two older Dragon Heirs with an expectant, unnerving stare. Plamen shivers involuntarily, even though it isn't aimed at him.

That man reeks of danger; it appears almost unintentionally simple as Plamen observes his profile where he sees one eyebrow arched expectantly over a hardened eye.

Zlatan huffs, letting go of Yana's arm, and raises his hands in the air. "Just so you know, I'm absolutely against this."

Yana turns a deaf ear to his complaints, shifting her eyes on Plamen.  "It's easy. Plamen, extend your dominant hand out, palm down."

The red mark of the Dragon King carved elegantly into his skin slithers and moves as he does so, almost as if it's alive, brimming with concealed magic, eager, narrowly contained into that small patch of skin.

"Now," Yana continues. "Vid, sweetie, do the same. But put your hand on Plamen's."

Vid is slow in his motions, looking rather pale as he executes what he's instructed to do, and Plamen sees that Vid's mark is a bit lighter with softer edges than his own.

Once their hands slot together, an electric tingle whips over his spine and he gets this notion like everything makes sense as if things are what they're supposed to be. An odd experience, but not unwanted; it makes him curious.

"Zima you too. Place your palm over theirs."

The world shifts in that innocuous moment when Zima puts her hand over theirs, colors blooming and dancing in the air as magic seeps through the imaginary cracks in space, turning once half-darkened room into a place of blazing light, so much it prickles his eyes, making him tear up.

An unnatural wind picks up and Plamen can barely hold his hand in place as it lashes at his body with unimaginable strength.

With feet slipping on the marble floor, Vid is barely holding on, his hand almost sliding out from the pile. Plamen doesn't know if he can seize him before the other is blown away.

Locking his eyes with Zima, they come to a silent understanding and grasp Vid with their unoccupied hands.

Once the circle between three of them is completed, the storm of magic subsides into a cold trickle of power, sharp and twisted, it fills the air with harsh unyielding density, making it just as hard to breathe as it was a moment before.

"Ah, and here I thought it would take you much, much longer to summon me. What a surprise." The mocking voice is no longer absolutely terrifying as was the first time, probably because he's already spoken with the Eye. On top of that, it is familiar in its bursting rasp.

It materialized just above their heads. It being a naked eyeball. A white eyeball. With a reddish capillaries network and gleaming surface.

Its blood-red iris is oriented toward the Council members who looked to be in different stages of fright which only breaks the deafening silence with their uncontrolled gasps and trebles. Plamen is quite sure he can smell the pungent odor of urine in the air. Spectacular! They call themselves members of the War Council, yet three 'children' are braver than them. Granted, though, most of them don't have the military training, and even if they have, it's just the same one Plamen got as a preparation for The Grand Test.

"Does this assuage your worries about the legitimacy of their Championship?" The Commander asks the assembled bunch with a pointed look.

The Eye guffaws with laughter, and then says, "Oh, it's you!" making Plamen jerk his head up though it's hard to see from this position who it is addressing with that. He tries to move but, as if he's glued to Zima and Vid where they're touching, nothing happens.

He tries again. Nada. Their hands are not budging, and as he eyes their touching palms he realizes there's a distinguishing red magical circle flickering in and out--

"Oy! Stop squirming! You're making me itch in unsavory places."

What the heck? Plamen glances up and recoils as if he was slapped. The Eye rolled downward while he wasn't looking, so now, the ugly blood-colored iris is centered on him. What's worse is that pupil, in all its vertical glory, spreads, then reduces back to the original width, and it feels much more real. Much too real, in fact, and Plamen shifts on his feet like he would bolt any time now. If his hands weren't stuck, that is.

"Hmm, I like you! You've got guts."

"Wh-what?" Plamen asks, choppy and breathily because what?!

"You keep squirming and moving even when I told you not to," The Eye explains. It horrifies Plamen from the top of his head to tips of his fingers and toes and breath stutters in his lungs. "You gotta have guts to keep doing it."

The Eye rolls back to watching the Council members and Plamen can finally breathe.

"I don't think we can separate until it's gone," Vid whispers in his ear, quivering.

"I can see that," Plamen bits out.

"Just stop making it turn our way," Zima hisses in from the side, making Plamen stiffen with indignation.

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose!" he whisper-yells back, but the sole evidence she heard him is her annoyed huff.

"Let's get onto the business." The Eye pauses when the War council erupts with noise, rolling from side to side like some eerie looking ball. That makes more of the members to shut up. "You have three things to do," the Eye continues, sounding not far from amused. "And you will do them perfectly, because, I swear by all the ancient ones, you will have to deal with me otherwise."

The Council is hanging onto its every word, and the scene reminds Plamen so strongly of the past times when the old fisherman Andrej used to narrate scary stories to the children playing on the streets. Already being isolated at that time, Plamen would hide in the nearby bushes, peering with wide eyes, and listen along with the assembled kids.

Unlike the others of his age, he perceived the stories as more interesting than scary, and consequently, he found their terror-stricken reactions stupid at the time. However, he would always come back because, honestly, those tales weren't that bad, and maybe, just maybe, he would do it because the old man Andrej sometimes called out to him when returning from the riverside and gave him some good fish.

He never found out how the old man died - has never tried. It was enough to know that not everyone had been scorning him, so he's been visiting the fisherman's resting place four times a year, for each season and each time with a new story. Sometimes, he would feel like having a friend. Sometimes, he would lament his ugly luck. And, sometimes, he would be grateful.

Now, being hit with virtually the same scene, but with the Eye playing the role of the old fisherman and the War Council members as children, he finds it hysterically hilarious. It's like history is repeating itself, mocking him at the same time.

Discarding the useless thoughts, Plamen tries to focus on the present. The present where the tensions are running high and it feels like it would take one trivial gust of wind to topple the whole thing to hell.

"...and the most important part is to remember the Prophecy of the old."

The Eye has kept talking throughout Plamen's mental crisis, and now, he has no idea what's been said. He can find out later, for now, he needs to concentrate because most of the Council members look like they've accidentally sucked on a lemon. They're hiding something and that worries him.

While it is not unheard of prophecies that predict possible negative outcomes being kept from the mass public, this one spoke of triumph. So, why are they keeping tight-lipped about it? Even Yana seems guarded at the moment. Another mystery he isn't sure he wants an answer to.

"When Flame of Conquest, Ice of the Coldest Winter and Brightest Sight conjoin then guided by the Sunburst Yellow and comforted by the Electric Blue, the Garnet Red shall emerge victorious."

Unexpectedly, it's the Commander who voiced it with his face unreadable at the first look, yet there was something in that expression, something bursting through... but Plamen can't grasp what it is.

"Worry naught for the darkened sky; Saviour comes riding the cyan tears, walking on the flower carpet's guiding light..."

What the...?

Plamen has never heard that part. Is it part of the Prophecy? What is it?

"Exactly."

Plamen looks up again. The Eye is calmly watching the Council, and it almost seems sad, more like tired, but that makes no sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Suddenly, he feels nauseated, almost falls to his knees. Strong pressure forms, pushing him from all sides, threatening to destroy him, he feels like he's head will explode, his vision going black at the edges.

A jolt from his side gets his attention, and some of the gray areas subside. Vid is falling, he looks pale, eyes rolling into his head, and that gets Plamen to react. Shit, he thinks as he somehow keeps Vid upright with a hand that has already been on the other Dragon heir's arm.

His attention turns to Zima when he hears a painful yelp from her. She's not doing any better than him, almost as if her strength is getting sucked out too.

"This is my cue to leave," the Eye admits, now rolled downward to watch three of them shaking. "You know what to do, Zmajevi. I'll leave them in your care."

And the brilliant light encompasses the space. Red, yellow and blue, in all shades, prickle his eyes with the intensity of the sun. He feels like going blind. Next, there's pain, like a sharp whip cracking at his body, everywhere at once, but then it centers on his hand, the one being covered with Vid and Zima's palms.

His last conscious thought floats somewhere in his weary mind, I wonder if we're going to die, and then, he surrenders to the gentle kiss of darkness.