The next day…
Darin woke up to the sound of something loud and ceremonial, drums? Chanting?
Nope.
It was the Elder Gallikarn's voice, booming across the camp like a war horn from the heavens.
"OH GREAT OVERLORD, MASTER OF NIGHT AND DOOM—"
Darin groaned and sat up, disoriented. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, rolled over—
—and fell directly onto Steve's tail.
The dragon grumbled.
"Sorry, sorry," Darin muttered. "I was hoping this was a dream but… nope."
He staggered upright, grabbed a coat, and stepped outside into a strangely bustling morning. The sky was pale gold. Birds chirped. The scent of cooking meat drifted across camp. All in all, it might've felt peaceful…
…if not for the fact that over fifty Gallikarn females were kneeling in the middle of the camp in ceremonial garb, their heads bowed reverently.
At the center stood the elder from the day before, his forehead bruised and scabbed from yesterday's groveling.
"Oh, for the love of—"
