Pain shot through his Jinnaari’s body, making the muscles contract. He struggled to catch his breath as the brief respite washed over him. Beads of sweat dripped from his scales.
He wasn’t sick. He knew that much. This felt natural, organic. It was as if his body was waking up to a new reality.
Only he didn’t have any warning. Just agonizing spasms that jerked him from his bed. The impact with the floor woke him. He hadn’t been able to get off of it since then.
The door to his room opened, and he heard Drakkus’ familiar step. “I can’t…” Jinnaari gasped. “Not right now. Something’s wrong with me.” A fresh wave of pain, accompanied by nausea, wracked his body.
“Bahamut agrees. He’s had news.”
“Adam? Thia? Helix?”
Drakkus moved around to him, settling on the bed. “No. From Bozaks.”
“The clan?” Taking a deep breath, Jinnaari forced himself to sit upright and look at his Commander. He’d not been at his clan’s home since he came here and joined the order. But it was never far from his thoughts.
“Seems the elder died. Given the death curse, they burned the body over risk him becoming undead. He didn’t have an heir.”
The burning began to concentrate on Jinnaari’s back, and he was desperate to scratch it against something.
“Althir, you mother was selected to lead them. You’ve been named her heir. Bahamut himself went to do the ceremony.”
Drakkus’ words penetrated the fog of pain, barely registering in Jinnaari’s brain. A primal scream erupted from his chest as the newly formed wings forced their way out of his skin.
“All hail Jinnaari Althir, Prince of the Dragonborn of Clan Bozaks.”