As the procession settled, the great hall returned to order. The council members ascended the steps to their towering stone chairs, each seat carved with the ancient crests of their houses.
Spike remained in the center of the cathedral, standing beneath the immense shadow of Tiamat's statue. The eleven headed dragon loomed above him like a silent judge.
High above them all, Drakovitch took his place upon his own high chair. From there, he looked down at his son. His silver eyes carefully studied Spike's new form.
"Look at him… Just last night he looked like a broken little boy… and now…"
He leaned forward slightly, fascinated.
"…now everything about him has changed."
This was the first time Drakovitch had truly witnessed it with his own eyes. The ancient truth of the Dragonrite.
