This chapter wasn't planned, but I realized there needed to be something between the last chapter and the next few, which is why this is so short.
"It's going to take how long?" Kerelion demanded.
The black wyrm was sitting behind his desk, paperwork scattered carelessly across the room. The focus of his ire was a young human cultist, who looked absolutely terrified. She was reading from an official-looking piece of paper, or perhaps just using it to cover her face. The black wyrm leaned closer, tapping his fingers impatiently.
"I said, how long?" he repeated. "That can't be right."
"T-two weeks for twenty drakes, Lord Kerelion, sir," the cultist repeated.
"They do realize that we switched our focus from the Blue Dragonflight to the Netherwing a week ago," Kerelion said, slowly. It seemed like maybe he'd leave the messenger alone after all. "And that the Embrace is in three days. Deathwing is coming two days after that. I am not going to let the Master arrive with absolutely nothing to show for our efforts. Make it very clear to your High Priestess that both of our lives hang in the balance. Deathwing is going to kill both of us when he realizes we've gone nowhere. Or he'll kill her, and reassign me to breeding duty."
"I am led to believe she's aware of that, Lord Kerelion," the cultist said. "She does have the ability to send one or possibly two Netherwing drakes ahead of the others, and that's what she's offering."
A pause. Kerelion paused to think for a moment. "It'll take about two months to transform a twilight drake into a dragon of Aspect-level power, and Deathwing knows this," he said. "If your High Priestess can send at least one Netherwing drake ahead, we'd at least be able to demonstrate that we've started. It just might work."
"I will bring her the news, Lord Kerelion, sir," the cultist said.
"I'll be moving our project to the block of the facility restricted from your kind," Kerelion said. "The cultists. I will not have you interfering with our project. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Lord Kerelion," the cultist replied. "Do you want me to tell your Ultraxion, or-"
"No," Kerelion snapped. "He doesn't need to be exposed to any more of your stupidity than he already has. I will move him myself, when we're ready."
"Understood, sir," the cultist muttered, turning towards the exit.