Chapter 46 – The Burdens of Command

Elara stirred groggily under her covers, the silky sheets tangled around her legs. The golden morning light filtered through the dormitory curtains—but that wasn't what had woken her. No, it was the argument. Loud voices echoed in the room, sharp and persistent.

She groaned and buried her head under the pillow, but the words still carried through.

"I have to wake her!" Kaelira's voice snapped with urgency. "Her bath is ready, and her hairbrushes are arranged by length and density. Her robe is steamed. She must begin her day!"

"You can't just go around storming in like that!" Sylv hissed back. "She sleeps in. That's her routine! Elara gets up when she wants to. Right now, she has at least thirty more minutes."

"But she's the Pack Leader!" Kaelira argued, indignant. "The Pack Leader must start each day with precision and structure. There's no time to waste. She has duties to her subordinates, to the den, to the lineage!"

Elara shot upright, hair tousled and eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "What in the nine flaming runes is going on?" she snapped, her voice hoarse.

Kaelira instantly dropped to one knee beside her bed, head bowed low. "Forgive me, Mistress Wyrmshade. I acted in urgency. I only wished to uphold my duties."

Sylv crossed her arms, unfazed. "I was trying to explain that Elara isn't a warlord, Kael. She usually spends her mornings getting her hair done—by me or Lyria—and then has breakfast in her robe. It's chill."

"That," Kaelira growled, standing again but still glaring at the floor, "is not the way of a Pack Leader."

Elara blinked. "I'm sorry... what?"

Kaelira stepped forward, her voice solemn. "The Pack Leader must rise early and without fail. She must oversee the needs of the pack and ensure its survival. That includes preparation for battle, for negotiation, for expansion, and for... progeny."

"Wait—what?"

Kaelira continued, unflinching. "The Pack Leader has first rights to all reproductive opportunities within the pack. She provides direction, defends our honor, and handles challenges. Most importantly, all possessions and territories owned or governed by a pack member... now belong to you, Mistress Wyrmshade. They are your assets to distribute as you see fit."

Elara's mind stalled like a badly calibrated mana engine.

"...Run that last part by me again?"

Kaelira nodded. "Everything I governed under my previous leadership—including several elven trade settlements and an entire mountain range spanning over 210,000 square kilometers on the northern continent—now belongs to you. Officially. Publicly. Culturally. Irrevocably."

The silence that followed was nearly spiritual in its stillness.

Even Sylv looked gobsmacked. "Wait, what mountain range?"

Kaelira nodded solemnly. "The Stormfang Reaches. They include seven independent mining colonies, a druidic hot spring preserve, and a dormant volcano that was once contested by three nations. It is now all Mistress Wyrmshade's domain."

Sylv's jaw dropped. "That's the four hundred times the land our kingdom governs!"

Elara slowly swung her legs over the bed and stood. She stared blankly at the wall, eyes distant. "Sylv," she muttered. "Can you get someone to inform the Headmaster I'll be... taking the day off?"

"Absolutely."

"I need to go see Tolan."

The walk to the R&D lab was strange, like being followed by an armored cat. Kaelira didn't walk beside her—she trailed exactly four steps behind, completely silent unless addressed. And when Elara slowed or stopped, so did Kaelira, matching her movements like a bodyguard.

People stared.

It wasn't every day you saw a Dragonkin trailing behind a teenage girl like a loyal soldier, head slightly bowed, but eyes always scanning.

The guards let them into the private wing of the lab without question. Inside, the familiar smell of heated crystal, ink, and mineral oil wrapped around Elara like a blanket. The hammering of tools, the scribble of quills, and the faint hum of energized mana circuits greeted her like old friends.

Tolan looked up from a set of runes he was etching into a polished mithril plate. "Elara," he smiled. "You're—"

"Not okay," she interrupted flatly. "I need help."

"...Alright then."

Behind her, Kaelira entered. Tolan froze.

"Dragonkin," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing.

From the corner of the room, Darnak Ironflame, the visiting dwarf, turned at the sound—and immediately dropped his tools with a clang.

"By the forges of Morgrun—" he whispered, dropping into a deep bow. "Honored one. I did not expect—"

"She's with me," Elara said tiredly.

Darnak hesitated. "You sure about that, lass?"

"She follows me because I kicked her ass yesterday."

Tolan coughed loudly to cover a laugh. Kaelira said nothing, simply kept her head bowed respectfully toward the dwarf.

"Right," Elara said, clapping her hands together. "Time to deal with property transfer, international land claims, and the logistical nightmare that is dragon culture."

It took hours.

They drafted letters for the elven settlements, carefully worded declarations of new ownership and continuity of governance. They marked each with Kaelira's draconic sigil and Elara's now-official command glyph. Messages were inscribed onto enchanted parchment, folded into crystal message shells, and handed off to elite runners.

Tolan sighed as he sealed the last scroll. "These will take months to reach the outposts. And even longer to get responses."

"I figured," Elara said, eyes distant. "I just... needed to start."

Kaelira stood behind her, expression stoic.

For the rest of the day, she didn't leave Elara's side. Not during meals, not during document signing, not even when Elara was tweaking a failed prototype in the workshop.

She acted like a loyal knight—but one raised by wolves.

Proud, fierce, unyielding—and entirely devoted.

That evening, as they returned to the dorms, Elara finally turned and faced Kaelira fully.

"Alright," she said, voice steady but firm. "If this whole Pack Leader thing is going to work, I need to set a few ground rules."

Kaelira stood straight, hands behind her back. "Of course, Mistress. Name them."

"First," Elara said, ticking on her fingers, "you stop waking me up before I'm ready. If I want to sleep in, I sleep in."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Second, I don't need baths prepared unless I ask for them. Same for brushing my hair, dressing assistance, or... grooming rituals."

"As you command."

"Third, don't fight my friends over me. If Sylv or Lyria want to do my hair or sit next to me, that's not a threat to your status."

"I understand."

"Fourth," she added, giving Kaelira a hard look, "if anyone challenges me for the position of 'Pack Leader,' you do not interfere. I handle my own battles."

Kaelira hesitated, then bowed. "It will be difficult, Mistress. But I will obey."

"And last," Elara said, crossing her arms, "my life is not about control. I'm not a queen, and I don't want servants. If you're going to follow me, I need you to be a partner. Not a shadow. You can be proud. You can be fierce. Just don't lose who you are."

Kaelira's eyes widened. Slowly, she bowed her head again—but this time, there was no stiffness in it. No ritual.

Only respect.

"I will follow you, Mistress Wyrmshade. Not because I must—but because I choose to."