Renaissance of Chaos

IX

Something wasn't right, he was more than sure of it. One moment everything was alright, then there was a certain feeling floating in the air, seeping through his shell and taking shelter in his very bones.

The meeting fell into silence, all discussion dying the moment the Pale Kind let the quill slip from his grasp and shift his gaze to the window of the James' office, where the gathering was taking place. The skies were dark, covered in heavy grey clouds, foretelling another storm, worse than the ones which came before it. On the wall opposite the desk, there was an incredibly ugly clock, cat-shaped with eyes much too big whose slits move in synch with its tail from one side to the other, and a huge, unsettling grin. The Wyrm thus focused his attention on the dial replacing its tummy, unable to bear the horror of its visage. The hands pointing well beyond lunch by at least an hour.

"How odd. It's almost evening and yet, there's no sign of James. It's not like him to be late." the Higher Being thought, seemingly forgetting about the nobles, Dreamers and the meeting altogether, his mind taken over by the ill-fated feeling gnawing at him.

He looked once again at the sky outside, something from the view not sitting right with him. He could feel a certain... presence, neither human nor bug. It was strong, incredibly so, to the point where he could barely grasp it in its entirety, merely tug at slivers of its existence, thus identifying it was impossible. Was it a god? A Higher Being of the humans? But James said they rarely interacted with them anymore, apart from special cases when they focused on an individual only, rarely on large masses. The Pale King wanted to believe this was not one such scarce case, but the blackness of the clouds combined with the peculiar feeling present in the ether stated otherwise. After all, just because something had low chances of happening, that didn't make it impossible to transpire.

"My King, is everything alright?"

The Wyrm snapped from his thoughts and looked at Monomon, suddenly remembering where he was and what he had to do.

"Yes, Monomon. Everything is alright. My apologies for this interruption. Now, where were we?" he continued, and resumed the meeting, ignoring the odd looks he received from the Soul Master.

Everything went on as normal, the plans for a new stag station and those for the creation of another garden along with discussing some other problems going as smoothly as it could, or so it seemed. Beneath the mask of calmness, the Wyrm was panicking, worrying himself sick about James, going over all the possible reasons for his lateness. Could he have been hit by a car? Mugged? Fallen off a set of stairs and broken his neck? Or worse?! What if he fell from a window!? What if he was attacked by a vampire? Those monsters he told them about who feed on human blood and can blend into society with relative ease. Many scenarios passed through the King's head, each turning grimmer and grimmer with every idea popping in and out. Somehow still, he managed to make it through the meeting without arousing any suspicion of the restlessness taking over him. He kept a straight face and answered any question in a composed tone, much to his own surprise.

As soon as the gathering was done and the last person was far enough away, however, he let the mask shatter and he paced from one end of James' desk to the other, letting out every single frustration in the form of nonsensical jabbering. He felt the need to burrow, his many clawed feet unknowingly sinking deeper into the polished wood with each step, his wings pressing into his back as if in preparation for the act. He was too stressed, too concerned with the human's fate, and each attempt to calm down was shot down by another horrible scenario flashing before his eyes.

He was one step away from digging his front claws into the furniture, when the soft flapping of wings cut through the air, making him freeze in place.