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The inner workings of the dragon council are not meant to be divulged to the masses. So long ago was the organization established that there are none alive who can recall its formation.

So, what, pray tell, is the purpose of their existence? How, exactly, do all of the great wyrms interact with one another?

These were questions I had when I first made my way to the volcanic island paradise that held the latest meeting of these wise, most respected, and feared minds in the world.

For this meeting, the members were listed as follows:

Treandalode the White - Hermit of the frozen expanse.

Katadanyatarinya the Brilliant - Preserver of order

Queleticanda of the Sky Palace

And our host Chonthrofrax, the Affable

Carved out from the volcanic rock at the mountain's base, the meeting place was a sign of artistry and splendor. Having been constructed with meticulous craftwork, it showed the dedication and intricacies that can be gained only through the epoch-spanning lives of such grand wyrms. Even if Chonthrofrax is the youngest dragon among the council, their work is beyond what any mortal can hope to muster.

The four spots for the four dragons were prepared countless years ago and worked into the meeting room just for this day. Smaller spaces were given for servants and representatives of lands and initiates that our dragon overseers sought fit to bring. Among them was me to serve as a chronicler.

Mx Chonthrofrax greeted the others with a puffed-out chest and spoke in that magnificent language of the dragons. Such a tongue is old and speaks of forgotten concepts and places, but I shall do my best to write the words here as you might understand them.

Chonthrofrax began by saying, "So great of you all to join us at this wonderful resort. I trust the amenities are to your satisfaction?"

Queleticanda curls up upon her seat, coiling as she looks from one companion to the other. "Of land-based diversions, it has its fun, I suppose."

Katadanyatarinya snorts and claws the ground. "Is this really a time to be speaking of diversions, though? This is a time of great and pressing need, and we meet in our little subcommittees as if nothing has happened?"

Treandalode shook his head. "Our meeting here was preordained, and we must adhere to the tradition set forth by the council's original constitution. The younger generations don't respect the order of things, it seems."

"Yeah, yeah," Chonthrofrax says, waving off the notion. "It doesn't matter what the little races do with their time, so we can just relax and let the rules play out, ya know? So what if someone decided to let a Lust Demon into the world and pen a book that could fundamentally alter the timeline we set forth? Nature is as nature does, you know? You need to ride historical events like the waves."

"Or soar like the currents," Quel added.

"Or tame them for your benefit," Treandelode growled.

"The younger races are much too young to be given such magical power. I would have the dragon responsible for this indiscretion punished and brought before the full might of the entire council!"

"Perhaps we should talk about the cult that has been growing in power and believes they dare to steal our own young from us?" Treandalode said, tapping his claws together. "And what the official stance is among our kind?"

"It is an abomination to steal wyrmlings, and they must be crushed!" Kat said, slamming her fist upon the ground before her. Her knights rattled in their armor at the impact.

"But, it could be an interesting opportunity," Queleticanda says, "to see how the young races fare with the power that dragons only should wield."

"The secrets of Eroarcana are but one thing that the young races can have that can be too dangerous for them," Treandelode said. "They are tenacious beings, I'll give you that, but to add power to their pleasure," he shuddered. "I can only imagine the upheaval that might cause."

"Which is why we must be there to give them a guiding hand and to punish any evildoers who might do something terrible with the knowledge," Kat responds.

Quel yawns. "I don't think it's necessary just yet. We can wait and see what the winds dictate. Dragons are hearty, and they can survive any problem."

Scratching their nose, Chon speaks up. "Yes, but what about the kobolds? Didn't that deserter find her way beneath one of their holes?"

Treandalode snorted. "Kobolds are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things and would not shake the foundations of history. Really, the worst would cause a minor hiccup in the great order of things."

Chon nodded. "So, then, shall we get back to the original matter at hand?"

Treandalode narrowed his eyes, and their speech became far more arcane, talking of poetic concepts, such as eternal night and the space between the stars. Such things are beyond my simple comprehension. The dialect they shifted toward is far older and far more ominous in timbre than anything I had ever heard listening in to such meetings before.

And I can only wonder what secrets are yet to be revealed of our world as pages of history continue to be penned.