Chapter 4 #2
Luther’s face twisted in disbelief. “That can’t be. All the males in my family are riders,” he protested, his voice edged with barely concealed desperation. His hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders rigid with the kind of anger that had nowhere to go.
Kaler didn’t blink. “You are compatible, but your dragon no longer exists or is too young to bond. You are allowed to return for five years. In the meantime, you will serve your king as a member of First Guild.”
Luther’s lips pressed into a tight line, his nostrils flaring. His nod was sharp, clipped, but the barely restrained fury burning in his gaze told me he wanted to murder the major on the spot. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked away toward the rope that led to the tunnel.
“Unlucky bastard,” Jax muttered under his breath.
“Or maybe lucky,” Riven whispered. “Better to be in First Guild than dead because you bonded with a dragon that didn’t want you.”
Major Kaler paid the exchange no mind, already moving down the list. “Cordelle, you are next.”
Our poet walked toward the table with an easy smile, his usual quiet reserve tinged with excitement. He placed his hand over the bowl, closing his eyes for a brief moment, as if feeling for something unseen. Then he reached in and withdrew a pendant.
The reaction was instant.
A roar, lighter and less furious than the ones before, echoed from the dragon isle. Moments later, a sleek form launched into the sky, gliding effortlessly toward the beach.
Unlike the massive, rage-filled beasts that had come before, this dragon was smaller, its scales a rich, earthen-brown.
It didn’t streak toward the shore in fury or resistance—it drifted, its wings cutting through the air with an effortless grace.
When it landed, it settled onto the sand without the usual thrashing or defiance, its golden eyes scanning the group before landing on Cordelle with a patient, almost expectant expression.
It was waiting for him.
Cordelle’s smile widened. He walked toward the dragon with a careful but eager stride, struggling slightly as he fumbled with the rope.
The brown dragon let out a soft, chuffing sound, tilting its head in what looked like amusement.
It did not snap or jerk away, simply waited as Cordelle took his time securing the rope around its thick neck.
Once he was finally mounted, he gripped the rope tightly and leaned forward, bracing himself.
“Here we go,” he murmured, before the dragon launched into the sky.
Unlike the earlier prospects, who had been forced to wrestle their beasts into submission, Cordelle’s flight was effortless. The brown Swift carried him upward in a fluid, smooth motion, its wings barely needing to adjust.
Then Cordelle laughed—a genuine, elated sound that rang through the air.
“Wheee!” he hollered as the dragon carried him in a wide arc over the ocean, his laughter carrying back to us.
Riven snorted. “Did he just say ‘whee’?”
“I think he did,” I muttered, watching him as he soared above the water like a child taking their first ride on a festival swing.
The flight lasted over ten minutes, far longer than any before him.
Cordelle and his dragon moved as one, as if they had been waiting years to be reunited rather than moments to be introduced.
It was only when Major Kaler barked at him to return that Cordelle finally circled back, his mount gliding down with pinpoint accuracy.
When his feet hit the sand, he gave the dragon a fond pat along its neck before sliding down, unfastening the rope as if he had done it a hundred times before.
He turned toward us, his face practically glowing with excitement.
Then I noticed the pendant on his chest. The once featureless golden charm now bore a single brown scale, fully embedded into the metal. The symbol of an immediate bond.
The major stared at the pendant, his brow raising slightly. “Your dragon has bonded to you,” he observed, his tone less rigid than before.
Cordelle beamed. “His name is Kasstovian, but he said I can call him Kass. He’s a Swift, and he assures me he is the fastest of his breed.”
Major Kaler nodded. “He is a brown Swift. They are the most common dragon.”
Cordelle shrugged. “He’s special to me.”
“Pretty sure Snowtop will end up with a Swift too,” a voice sneered from the back of the group.
I rolled my eyes before even looking.
Perin. Of course. The smug noble stood among the Iron Fang recruits, watching me like a vulture waiting for a carcass.
“Let’s find out,” Major Kaler announced, his attention shifting back to me. “Ashlyn, you are up.”
I took a breath and swallowed hard.
Time to see what fate had in store for me.
I stepped toward the table, my palm hovering over the bowl.
A pulse of power, almost electric, sparked against my skin, sending a strange warmth through my veins.
I hesitated before plunging my hand into the pile of gleaming pendants.
My fingers brushed several before one seemed to pull toward me, like an unseen force guiding me to it.
As soon as I grasped the pendant, a roar split the sky.
Not like the others.
This was different.
This was furious.
My blood ran cold as I turned toward the island, my stomach dropping.
“No,” I whispered.
The dragon that rose from the green oasis was no ordinary beast. It was massive, a storm given form, its deep-purple scales glinting like polished amethyst in the morning sun.
The sheer size of it dwarfed every other dragon that had flown before it, its powerful wings carving through the air like the slicing edge of a blade.
It didn’t glide toward the beach with the calculated control of the others—it tore through the sky, a force of nature that couldn’t be tamed.
Its tail whipped behind it, long and sinewy, lined with jagged ridges that caught the sunlight like shards of obsidian.
The end curled slightly, controlled and poised, as if it were ready to strike at anything that dared get too close.
The air around it crackled, charged with something unnatural, something ancient.
The Sentinel.
A roar tore from its throat, not just a sound but a warning, a challenge that rattled through my bones.
The ground trembled beneath my feet as it descended in a blur of furious movement.
When it landed, the sheer force of impact sent a shockwave rolling across the beach, a gust of wind so strong that sand whipped into my skin like tiny knives.
Then came the fire.
It wasn’t a mere exhale of heat, it was a violent burst of raw energy, flames licking at the air as the dragon’s massive chest expanded with its deep, rumbling breaths. The golden eyes locked onto me, pinning me to the spot like a predator sizing up its prey.
Everyone stepped back, except Zander.
His expression remained unreadable, but I could feel the tension in him, the way his stance remained unflinching while everyone else gave the beast a wide berth.
The Sentinel’s rage was unlike anything I had seen. Its claws dug into the sand, carving deep trenches with every flex of its massive talons. Its nostrils flared, and it let out another guttural snarl, its wings snapping open as if daring someone—anyone—to get closer.
Then, it did something the others hadn’t.
It paced.
Its massive form prowled forward, muscles rippling beneath its iridescent hide.
Its tail swished from side to side, slow and calculated, the movement almost hypnotic.
But its agitation only grew. The beast tossed its head back, teeth bared, exhaling another wave of heat that shimmered in the cool morning air.
A deep, throaty growl rumbled from within its chest, a sound that sent a primal shiver down my spine. This wasn’t just resistance or anger. This was unrestrained fury.
Major Kaler hesitated, his lips parting as if he were reconsidering whether I should even attempt this. But I felt the pull, the compulsion deep inside me, stronger than the fear pressing against my ribs.
I had to do this.
Without waiting for permission, I snatched the coiled leather rope and jogged toward the enraged dragon.
“Okay, I’m new at this, so cut me some slack,” I muttered, voice low but steady.
The Sentinel’s golden eyes narrowed.
A sharp, rattling breath escaped it, and I could feel its focus homing in on me completely. The energy between us crackled, dangerous and uncertain. My pulse pounded, and every instinct screamed at me to stop, to reconsider—but I didn’t.
I swung the rope.
The Sentinel moved so fast that it was too late for me to react.
A quick, almost effortless jerk of its head, and the rope missed its mark.
I gritted my teeth and swung again.
It dodged to the side.
The dragon let out a sharp huff, almost like a scoff, its massive wings shifting as if preparing to take flight again. It wasn’t just resisting the link—it was actively challenging me.
Fine.
I adjusted my grip, locking eyes with the beast, determination flaring in my chest.
I wasn’t done yet.
When I swung the rope over her neck, she dodged.
Again.
And again.
“Your dragon is resisting the link, Ashlyn,” Major Kaler called. “Let her go. We will encourage her?—”
I wasn’t listening. I flicked the rope around her neck at an unexpected angle, and before she could react, I secured the loop and scrambled up.
She launched into the air before I was secured on her back, but I scrambled into place.
Unlike the others, she didn’t fly smoothly, she bucked and twisted, trying to throw me off. Just when I was sure I had her rhythm, my grip slipped.
She banked left, and my hand ripped free from the rope.
I tumbled through the sky.