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Obsiddias sat coiled in his dragon form atop the Lamplighters tower. Above him, the magical domed shield was in place, and that was where his focus should have been.
The city was quiet now. The streets were empty, the citizens gathered in fortifications and the soldiers left to defend ready in their positions. Obsiddias was determined to focus on his task. Protect Ashen Rest. Maintain the shield. But his thoughts wandered. They wandered away in the direction of the Crownfall—the direction the heroes had gone...and one particular dragonborn. Xantheus had the infuriating ability to enter his thoughts when he was least paying attention. The memories of the war council and their interaction in the hallway teased at his mind like a determined fly.
Obsiddias had watched Xantheus grow paler as the meeting went on, and concern had replaced the anger that still simmered from the argument with his father. Had he seen guilt on the dragonborn's face? Shame? Their eyes met for just a moment, and then Xantheus was standing and leaving the room. Obsiddias was no longer aware of what the others in the room were saying or doing. He didn't even consider how it might look when he automatically stood to follow him into the hallway.
Things had cooled between them, he'd thought. Improved. He hardly wanted to admit to himself how it stung when Xantheus pushed Obsiddias' hand from his shoulder. When he demanded he leave. Like going to open a door he had been given the key to, only to find out the locks had been changed. How had it gotten this way? How had an Ilkir gained such power over his thoughts and his emotions? Xantheus had blamed himself for the Crownfall, that much was obvious. That shame in his eyes. Obsiddias knew something of the shame of Crownsteel. He wanted to take it all from Xantheus, somehow. That was the goal, to block the connection between Xantheus and Sovereign, only it wasn't supposed to be personal—it wasn't supposed to be something done out of care.
Now, Xantheus was off towards a piece of Crownsteel and Obsiddias was unable to ignore the worry that gnawed at him. What if he succumbed to its influence? What if he became exposed to those holy knights? Obsiddias was angry still and, if he dared to admit it—hurt. But none of that changed how much he wanted to see Xantheus safe. Free from the corruption of Crownsteel and Sovereign's influence. Yet, it only ever seemed to get worse. Was there even a point in putting so much hope in the planar essences?
From his perch overlooking the city, Obsiddias ground his teeth together. It didn't matter how much Xantheus pushed him away, nor how infuriating he was. Obsiddias would not let Crownsteel take another from him.