Below, scattered across the cavern floor like offerings at an altar, lay eggs. Most were the size of cottages, their shells pale cream marbled with veins of metallic bronze. They rested in shallow depressions carved into the stone, each one positioned to catch the ambient electrical discharge without being struck directly. A dozen private hens; rocs half Spegier's size moved among the eggs. Their plumage ranged from slate gray to deep charcoal, and their wing-claws scraped stone as they rotated eggs, testing temperatures with sensitive beaks.

  One hen paused in her ministrations, her head swiveling toward the ceiling. There, clinging to the spires like living shadows, were the fledglings.

  The young rocs roosted in the storm itself, their developing bodies wrapped around the conducting spires while electricity coursed through them constantly. Their down still bore the fluffy texture of hatchlings, but already the bronze primaries were emerging. They learned here, in the current, their bodies were adapting to the element that would one day become their weapon. When predators came; great bats or wind drakes seeking easy prey. the fledglings would trigger coordinated strikes, turning their roost into a lightning cage.

  Movement at the cavern's edge drew Spegier's attention. The Voltpards emerged from their den; a crevasse where thermal vents met electrical runoff. Their bodies were amalgamations of living flesh, lightning and metallic sinew, fur replaced in patches by plates of conducting alloy that had grown into their hides over generations of feeding on failed eggs rich in elemental minerals. Their musculature rippled beneath this hybrid armor, powerful haunches driving them forward on paws that sparked against stone.

  The pride's matriarch approached first. She stood eight meters at the shoulder, her coat a storm-pattern of silver-blue fur interwoven with veins of copper and platinum. Lightning danced between the metallic plates on her spine, creating a crackling mane that shifted and moved independently. Her eyes were molten gold; its pupils contracted to slits as she surveyed the roost.

  Three sub-adults followed, smaller but no less impressive.

  The matriarch approached Spegier without fear. She rose onto her hind legs, her front paws pressing against the roc's breast as her rough tongue began its work. The Voltpard groomed Spegier's chest feathers, removing parasites and debris while simultaneously conducting away excess static that had built up during his flight. The act was part massage, part maintenance; the slight sting of electricity being drawn off through the cat's metallic plates, redistributed into the stone beneath her paws.

  One of the sub-adult Voltpards investigated a clutch of eggs near the southern wall. Its nose pressed against shells, testing. When it identified three eggs whose embryos had failed so it bit down carefully. The shell cracked with a sound like breaking porcelain, and yolk the color of liquid brass spilled across stone.

  The pride descended on the feast. Other Voltpards emerged from the shadows. juveniles barely larger than normal lions, their metal grafting still incomplete. They fought over scraps, snarling and batting at each other with electrified paws while their elders fed on the richer organs within.

  The matriarch returned to Spegier's side once the broken eggs were stripped clean. Her sides bulged slightly with her meal. She settled against the roc's massive talons, her body heat and electrical field providing a comfortable warmth. Two other adult Voltpards joined her, forming a ring of guardians around their benefactor.

  From a northern tunnel; a crack in the mountain's wall that wept mineral-rich water, came a sound like nails on slate. The Stormstone Goblin crawled into view. It had no name because it had never lived long enough to earn one. Born from raw lightning striking a pocket of mineral slurry and organic detritus, these creatures emerged naked and half-formed. This one was the size of a young child, its skin mottled blue-gray and crackled with residual charge. Its eyes were too large for its head, and its limbs were disproportionate.

  Its arms were too long, legs too short, its fingers ended in claws designed for climbing stone.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  It moved frantically, driven by instinct and hunger. The Stormstone saw the fledglings above and recognized opportunity. Young meat. Defenseless. Its mind, such as it was, calculated the angles. If it could reach one of the lower roosting spots during a lull in the lightning...

  The creature began to climb, Up past the first ring of perches where hens dozed. Up past discarded eggshells and old nests. Toward where the youngest fledglings clung to their training perches.

  The matriarch Voltpard's head whipped up. Her eyes tracked the Stormstone's ascent for three seconds before she moved. The leap carried her thirty meters vertically, her metallic augments catching ambient lightning and channeling it through her body. She struck the stone wall just below the climbing creature, her electrified bulk created a circuit that surged upward through the conducting spire.

  The goblin shrieked as current tore through its fragile body. It lost its grip, tumbling through the air before it hit the cavern floor with a wet crunch. It only twitched twice. The juveniles were on it before the third.

  Spegier watched this play out as his head turned, scanning the mountainside visible through the cavern's eastern aperture. a massive opening that framed sky and distant peaks.

  Perched along the slope, arrayed on natural ledges and artificial roosts carved from stone, were his warriors. Two dozen elite rocs, each one a veteran of raids and territorial wars. Their plumage bore scars from dragon fire and tengu wind-blades. They waited in rigid attention, their heads angled toward their lord.

  Spegier's beak opened. His voice was thunder given language, a sound that made stone vibrate and caused several hens to tuck their heads protectively.

  "Brothers of the storm! Sisters of the high wind! Hear your king!"

  The warriors mantled their wings in acknowledgment, a wave of motion that rippled across the mountainside. "The eastern lands grow fat with lizard-kin! The dragonets multiply in their volcanic wombs, thinking themselves safe beneath scales and fire. They have forgotten that the sky is OURS! That we who ride the lightning are their eldest predators!"

  A chorus of screeches answered him, the sound echoing across Draco Isles.

  "We strike at the clutches before the migration completes! While Xerxes and his ilk fly north, we feast on those left behind. The young, the weak, the FOOLISH!" His wings spread, catching lightning that arced between the spires behind him. For a moment, he was a silhouette of pure power.

  "But the tengu in the west; those crow-faced sorcerers. they wait! They watch! We do NOT divide our strength against two fronts. The west is patient. Let them wait longer while we gorge on dragon eggs and wyvern hatchlings!"

  One of the warrior rocs; an old female with half her beak missing called out: "And the southern reaches, my lord? The territories beyond the Boneyard Peaks?"

  Spegier's eyes narrowed. "The north is FORBIDDEN! You will not fly there. You will not hunt there. You will not even LOOK at those lands with longing!" His voice dropped to something more dangerous than his earlier thunder. "Xerxes has broken Isha's prison. The elder wyrms stir in their graves. They will keep the northern territories busy with their reawakening, and we will NOT draw their attention southward while we feast in the east!"

  The warrior rocs shifted uneasily.

  The destruction of Isha's prison was news that had rippled across the isles like shockwaves.

  "Our time is NOW!" Spegier's voice rose again to that commanding roar. "While dragons nurse their young and wyrms contain elder threats, we expand! We CONQUER!" He descended from his throne in a sudden drop, his wings snapping open at the last moment to arrest his fall. He crashed into the nearest warrior. a massive male with storm-gray plummage and their beaks clashed in combat. The impact sent both creatures stumbling, talons scrabbling for stability.

  Spegier broke off first, circling the warrior with critical eyes. He examined wing joints, checked for parasites, tested the strength of tail feathers with carefully applied pressure from his beak. The warrior held still.

  Satisfied, Spegier moved to the next warrior. He headbutted a younger roc whose stance was too casual, the impact hard enough to draw blood. The chastised bird squawked and adjusted its posture immediately.

  A third warrior received a gentler inspection. Spegier's beak carefully probed the healing wounds, ensuring no infection had set in. He clicked his approval before moving on.

  The inspection continued until every warrior had been checked, corrected, or approved. Only then did Spegier return to his throne.

  The Voltpard matriarch awaited him, her pride arranged in a protective semicircle. Spegier settled onto the stone with a satisfied rumble, his wings folding against his body as the storm above intensified in response to his presence. Lightning struck the spires, and the fledglings above chirped excitedly as they rode the surge.

  The hens returned to their eggs.

  The roc materialized from the storm-dark clouds above, responding to Spegier's guttural summons. its beak curved like a scythe and its talons capable of crushing boulders to dust. Clutched in those massive claws was its most precious cargo: a clutch of seven eggs, each one the size of a wagon wheel.

  "Into the current, young one," Spegier commanded, his voice crackling with malevolent energy. "Let the earth's breath carry you to the serpent king below." The roc spread its massive wings and dove toward the nearest reverse geyser. The descending air current caught it immediately, drawing the great bird downward with force. Its eggs clinked together like massive wind chimes as it rode the mineral-laden winds deeper into the earth's bowels. The creature's keen eyes adjusted to the growing darkness as volcanic vents provided the only source of light.