The great cavern of Kaelthar's lair was an echoing void of molten rivers and jagged blackstone, normally alive with the presence of their master. But now, the chamber was silent. The dragon was gone, and his absence had not gone unnoticed.

Thistle flitted above the others, her gossamer wings buzzing with barely restrained energy. She perched atop a stalactite, her wild mane of moss-green hair trailing behind her like an unruly bramble. "This isn't like him," she declared, her voice high and sharp, like the wind through autumn leaves. "Kaelthar doesn't just vanish."

Grum, a hulking troll with stone-like skin, rumbled thoughtfully. He sat cross-legged by the fire pit, tracing circles in the ash with one enormous finger. "Maybe… maybe he's just out hunting," he suggested, though there was doubt in his tone. "Dragons do that. Maybe he'll be back soon."

Ignis snorted, small flames flickering at the corners of his mouth. The salamander sat coiled near the edge of a lava flow, his ember-bright eyes narrowing. "You think he'd leave us waiting like this? Without word? Without command? No, something's wrong." His clawed fingers curled into a fist, his tail lashing in agitation. "If he's in trouble, we need to act—now."

Sable, standing in the shadows near one of the great pillars, regarded them with calculating silver eyes. The dark elf was as still as the cavern walls, her long black cloak barely stirring as she folded her arms. "Rushing in blindly would be foolish," she said smoothly, her voice like silk over steel. "We don't know what happened. But we must find out."

Thistle zipped lower, wings buzzing with impatience. "Then what do you suggest, shadow-stalker?"

Sable smirked. "A search. A proper one. If Kaelthar has been taken, we need to know by whom and why. I'll lead a team—find tracks, ask questions, follow rumors. If we act now, we may still be able to recover him before the scent grows cold."

Ignis grinned, his fiery temper finding satisfaction in the thought of action. "Finally, some sense! I'm with you."

Grum exhaled, his heavy brow furrowed. "I don't like this. What if it's a trap? What if we all get taken, too?"

Thistle swooped down to land lightly on his shoulder, patting his massive cheek. "That's why we have Sable, dear Grum. She's good at not being caught."

The dark elf inclined her head slightly, the closest she would come to acknowledging the compliment. "We leave at dusk," she said. "Gather supplies and spread word discreetly. I don't want everyone knowing our lord is missing—panic will serve no one."

The others murmured agreement and began making their preparations. But beyond the flickering firelight, deep in the hidden recesses of the cavern, another figure listened.

A wyrm, long and sinuous, coiled within the shadows, her black scales blending seamlessly into the darkness. Her golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable—amusement, perhaps, or ambition.

So Kaelthar is gone, she mused. And his underlings scramble like lost hatchlings. How… interesting.

Her forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. A dragon as mighty as Kaelthar did not simply disappear—something had removed him. And if he did not return… well, power abhorred a vacuum.

Perhaps it was time for new leadership.

And perhaps, just perhaps… Kaelthar should stay lost.

*To clarify, In this context a wyrm is simply an immature dragon. They have no wings and a more sinuous body*