A.N: I deeply apologize for the wait. This writer block was torture and I was kept busy with work and a Portfolio I have to work on for Uni... which means this chapter is shorter than it was intended. Again, I will carry this story to its end, I have too much written for it to stop here.

For more info on what I'm doing, ie, if I'm on hiatus or something, head here: ijouno. tumblr. com

Unbeta-ed

EDIT: I finally noticed that FFN screwed up the formatting and erased the 'breaks' I made. It's should be easier to read now. Sorry about that.

"Regardless of your struggles, Chaos shall embrace thee, and corrupt thy naive heart."

Robin groaned, rubbing the heels of his palms against his tired eyes. He thought he was finally done with his side-work, he could go back to concentrating on writing his book now.

He gave the text before him another once-over, the words blurring in his vision, he groaned again.

If only his father was there to correct and critic his work like he used to, but he had been busy with the War preparations with Gangrel and other high standing officials.

He guessed he had to take responsibility for his writing then. Robin hoped it would live up to his father's expectations, he did not wish to sully Grima's name with petty words. It would terrible if this parchment, Grima's Word, -a message recited each year during the Grand Mass at the Dragon Table by a represent of the Fell Dragon's bloodline- turned out to be a catastrophe. Other copies of the speech would be sent to Hierophants to be shared in the most important temples for those who could not afford the trip. After the Mass, Plegia would sway to the beat of festivals and banquets for two weeks. Meanwhile, the Great Hierophant would stay confined in his quarter for security because of the incoming war.

What a terrible time for celebrations.

Robin blew out the lone candle on his desk and the room was pitch black. Stretching his sore back and his mind numbed by fatigue, he trudged his way to bed, picking the dragonstone left on his night stand along the way.

Sighing, eyes on the ceiling, he rolled the stone between his fingers as he listened to the distant murmurs of a party held below in an adjacent wing. It was to celebrate the promotion of the brand new general that would lead Plegia to War. The music and laughter was distant and Robin wished he could make the words to fill the silence he had been in the entire day. What were they talking about? The War? The Grand Mass? Gossip, ladies or other raunchy subjects? Would he ever know?

The loneliness and monotony would end him one day.

Aversa was probably present at the party. Perhaps he could bypass his father's interdictions to see her and ask how it was and how she has been. He hoped she wouldn't try to avoid him out of fear of being punished.

His father should also be there too, not being restrained by the title of being Grim. Robin envied him sometimes, being free...

They still had to explore the possibilities the of dragonstone, together. Robin wondered what would happen. It wouldn't trigger a transformation, that much he was sure -the prospect of it was scary too-, but it would do something for sure. Robin remembered well the first time he was introduced to the art of sword fighting and cut himself on a wyrmslayer; staves couldn't seal the cut shut and the tears of pain had been hard to hide.

Perhaps the stone would help his spell cast-

That's when he felt it. A lurch in his stomach that froze his breath in his throat. His heart was drumming against his ribcage and the dragonstone was hot beneath his fingers and the pulsing energy inside it that made his skin buzz faded quickly, like a flame being snuffed out by the breeze. The stone had reacted to him somehow.

"How... did I..."

How did he trigger it again? The thrill of the unknown was exciting and so was defying Validar's request to wait for him. But he couldn't resist the offer of breaking away from the monotonous routine.

He bit his lips and scrunched his eyes shut in concentration.

This time he tried channeling energy through it like he would a spell through a tome and he felt the lurch again. But this time the buzz rushing throughout his body stayed, crackling like static under his skin.

He noticed a strange shift into his perceptions...

He no longer was trapped between the suffocating walls of his quarters, they had crumbled around him and the sounds of the celebrations reached his ears with a frightening clarity. He heard their joy and gluttony. His own presence felt different. He used to feel small, full of power and potential, but crushed under the weight of traditions and paranoia for his safety. He felt... immense... like his breath could bellow a hurricane and his arms blanket the whole world. A taste of freedom he never felt before, the boundaries and chains of traditions unfettered.

He could soar free.

Air gusted into his lungs with each deep breath he took and he felt it. Felt his blood filled with oxygen. The thrum of blood in every inch of flesh. He could see dust lazy float in the air, grazing his face.

His senses buzzed and his worries, the pressure he had on his shoulders were eclipsed by this state of beatitude. Eyes closed, he sighed.

How could he not realize what being Grima meant. How could let himself be bound in chains of traditions and be afraid to break them? Him the Fell Dragon, a mighty being with the power to reshape the world to his whims, be held down by petty things. Just like those fair elephants restrained by a thin rope, ignoring their own strength. He had been scared of his father's ideals for him, that he never tried to truly live.

He deserved to live in this world, break free of those walls that hid him from this land that was his.

... This world was his.

The party was even more beautiful than he expected

Like colorful flower petals ruffled by the wind, the elegant dresses fluttered under every sway of the music. The melodies hummed deep into Robin's chest, his head spinning in bliss at this new dimension he just discovered. His feet carried him down the long flight of stairs, to the dance floor. He could feel every stare that landed on him: the mysterious lonely guest, adorned in luxurious robes, bearing a face only a select few knew. His aura spoke of his high status. It pushed the curious away.

Probing deeper into the dragonstone, his perception shifted again, now more precise and every presence were shining like beacons.

An aura, shimmering like the dark coils of viper, much similar to his own he presumed, hummed dangerously behind a thick curtain of people. Validar was participating to the festivities just as he guessed.

He couldn't detect Aversa's presence anywhere in the ballroom and felt disappointed, but the negative feeling was washed away by the wafting sinful joy that he swirled around him.

Further away, through the large double-doors leading onto the veranda, he felt a different atmosphere, colder and flowing slowly. His curiosity led him there, he remained away from the kissing couples and hid in a dark corner, letting himself bask in the fragrances of the city below carried away by the wind. Pastry baked in ovens, meat being cooked. It felt heavenly.

But underneath those scents laid a gaping wound. The ugly wound of the War. Sorrow, pain and frustration still clung to the city's walls even though the years had trudged by and craters left by canons were filled. The lingered despair Robin sensed excited a part of him he hadn't known before, one which begged to have its curiosity satiated.

Grima wanted to know more.