[Primus] Sitting in a large, plush chair on the other side of the room is a drake of incredible age. He’s in his bipedal form, his iridescent tail wrapping around him to rest in his lap, his fan-like ears fallen into wrinkled lobes, his golden eyes still sharp despite the visible ache in his bones and joints. Unlike the Crystalborn from the meeting hall, in bipedal form the archon has a shock of white hair that falls to his shoulders in tight curls, looser than Carnelia’s tighter coils. Unless there is another dragon as old in this place, this could only be the Archon. And sitting next to him, with head bowed, is a very young drakaina, one forced into a human form, her head bald and tattooed like a human slave. If it weren’t for the telltale collar around her neck, and the surreal golden glow of her eyes, she could have passed as a small human. She looked no more than 6 or 7 human years old. Practically a hatchling. She’s probably closer to 20–still far from the age of maturity a
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