Shifts

Persephus reluctantly wandered into the Vault. At the moment, the young Wildclaw would have much rathered to be outside, but strange things have been happening. First and foremost, it was becoming almost unbearably stormy. Lightning struck fast and often, and the older dragons deemed it too dangerous for him to be spending any extended amount of time in the open air. He was a young boy! He had energy to burn!

It also didn’t help when news came from other Flights about odd events (Not including the Gaolers… But he was just keeping that between himself, Hylla, and the figures). Like in Arcane, where the Lightning magic lines apparently shortwired their observation tools. Or when his father rushed off early one morning to tend to something in Fire-- he still hadn’t returned, now that Persephus thought about it. But things really started getting weird when Eulalia and Stratos trotted back from the Wind lands telling how the Twisting Crescendo had died for a month, but came back spinning the other way!

He now stood in front of the statue of Kaliga, the dark Raptorik looming imposing as ever. Persephus frowned up at the figure. An excited energy buzzed through the air, and quick, incomprehensible chatter fluttered back and forth.

“Wh-what is going on?” Persephus asked, more to himself than to anyone-- or anything, to be particular.

Heed me, Boy, the deep voice of Kaliga answered anyways. The great Raptorik’s voice almost seemed jovial. Things are stirring deep beneath the Earth. They seem to be taking revenge. Perhaps… perhaps I was wrong, in the best way.

The dragon didn’t quite comprehend. “So this is a-a-a good thing?”

Yes, Young One, it is.

For us.