The door opened. Aeron Lancaster entered the chambers carrying Onyx.
Onyx was wearing his tuxedo. The midnight black satin with gold accents, the fitted waistcoat, the polished gold collar. The tuxedo was immaculate, every seam intact, every detail pristine, the work of a tailor whose craftsmanship was being displayed on a baby dragon who was being carried into a room by a Master Mage whose resigned expression communicated that he had accepted this as part of his mage duties a long time ago.
Fin looked at the dragon in his Master Mage's arms. He looked at the tuxedo. He looked at the gold collar. He looked at Aeron.
"What the hell is that?"
"I picked him up from dragon school today and he was wearing it," Aeron replied, voice flat.
"The Draken Forces put him in a tuxedo," Fin repeated.
