Chapter 3 #2
The next morning, Sully doesn’t fail to notice the fading bruise around my neck, fading fingers outlining the haunting shackle I’m finally free of.
I catch his eyes lingering on it. Jaw clenching.
Rage fires in his eyes, and it’s not just the reflection of the furnace.
He turns away when he realizes my attention.
We are both silent for the rest of the day. He never asks when word spreads around town that the monster who fostered me hasn’t been seen in over a week.
I’m sharpening a newly finished greatsword for a customer on the grinding stone when Sully walks out of the side of the blacksmith shop into our outdoor workspace. In rough hands are several items wrapped with fraying cloth. I pause, setting my work down as he makes his way to my side.
My eyes drift up to find a giant, ridiculous grin on his face.
“Set the blade down, little dragon. It’s time we celebrate your seventeenth birthday.”
I stand up, taking a step back from him, shaking my head no. We live a simple life. Much of the coin we earn goes into running the business. “Sully, one gift a year is already a stretch, especially as the queen continues to raise the taxes for the war effort this season.”
He chuckles like I am not absolutely correct. His only response: offering the gifts to me once more. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind, or did I just hit you too hard in the head the other day during combat training—?”
He cuts me off. “This old bear still has a few tricks up his sleeves,” he says with a grin peeking through his beard. That damn smile will always warm my soul, just like the bear hugs he gives me when I master a new skill. He insistently places the first gift in my hands.
I unfold the cloth to reveal translucent cuirass armor.
It glimmers in the light, picking up the colors surrounding it, almost camouflaging it.
But it doesn’t move like armor; it moves like scales made of silk, responding to my every movement.
My jaw drops, an abnormal break from my typical steely expression.
Sully laughs at my unusual display of emotion.
I shoot him a glare as sharp as daggers, to which his laugh trails off quietly. “First, what the heck is this made of? Second, this can’t possibly be for me?” I demand, unable to process the special gift.
“Basilisk scales… And trust me, you don’t even want to know what kind of favor I had to do for them to amass such a quantity of scales.
” He raises one eyebrow, tilting his chin.
The look convinces me that I really don’t want to know.
Some magical creatures have extremely peculiar taste when it comes to consenting to the use of their naturally powerful parts.
Even if these scales were naturally shed and no longer of use to them, one still needs permission, freely given.
The balance of powerful magic sometimes likes to snicker in your face.
I remember one time, Sully told me how he had to clean the gills of mimic fish for nine weeks to finally get a pearl that grows in their deeper gills.
All to forge a rare blade he was crafting.
The magic from the pearl of the mimic fish gives the blade the ability to change shape based on the wielder’s desire.
He sold it for a pretty copper to an Admiral of the Ellian Knights.
But the fish made him agree to four additional weeks of gill cleaning, even after he retrieved the pearl.
There must be balance, for such a powerful item.
A grimace creeps at the corner of my mouth while vividly remembering the details he shared as he described the tedious job of cleaning those slimy gills. Yuck.
I examine the magical armor. The movement and the strength. Then, I notice the fine details of how the scales extend up the back of the neck, just far enough over the shoulders… My eyes widen. A glimmering hint of a tear twinkles in them but dares not leave my eyes as I look up at Sully.
He sighs deeply. “I know you prefer to keep your unique markings hidden. I may not understand why you choose to hide what makes you, you. But I figured the extra scales in those areas will make you feel more comfortable. And I know it will keep you safe. A blade cannot penetrate the scales, nor can fire or magic. When you wear it, the scales will mirror the dominant color of your skin in the light and your surroundings in the dark.” He pauses for a thoughtful minute before remarking with a soft pride, “Now you have scales, almost like a real dragon.” He laughs, honey eyes alight, reminiscing on the night I made my dragon-fang dagger.
“Is my subsequent gift dragon fire? So I can light up your stubborn ass the next time you get me into a headlock? Because then you’ll never be able to beat me in sparring,” I tease. Dragon fire is extremely powerful, impossible to put out by the elemental magic innate to all Elarians.
“My, what a cocky dragon you have grown up to be!” He chuckles deeply, putting his hand on my head and roughing up my hair to annoy me.
I huff, blowing the hair out of my face as I cross my arms in annoyance. Yet, a small smile slips onto my lips listening to Sully’s rumbling laugh hug the air. He’s always had a way about him, luring out a bright hopefulness in me.
He hands me the second gift. My eyes widen as fraying cloth falls open to reveal a cloak. It glimmers in a vast array of pigments, made of small feathers delicately spun together.
My heart sinks. The feathers of a great winged badger.
“No. I couldn’t possibly take this.”
Sully insists, pushing it back into my hands.
His eyes swell with reverence, thumbing the feathers one last time before letting it go.
“These were the molted feathers of Xeno. He had me collect them for many years before he brought me to a peculiar crone’s house in the woods.
She wove them into this cloak. It’s a secret—no one can know.
When woven together with lavender spider silk, this cloak will render you almost invisible.
If you wear it with the feathers out, that is.
With the feathers on the inside, it appears as a normal cloak. ”
He smiles, reminiscing softly. “Xeno always wanted me to be safe. He realized in his long life that sometimes staying hidden is not only a strategic advantage in battle, but also for survival. Now, I pass his secret gift to me on to you. So I always know my little dragon will be safe. Even when I am no longer with you.”
My heart lurches. Sully is the rock that grounds me on the few occasions I’ve let my temper flare, when I push the limits of my physical and mental boundaries.
The only person I have ever allowed to see me vulnerable.
He is more than my teacher… He has become my father.
I leap up, squeezing him as he gives me his big bear hug in return.
But there is a subtle sadness to it, like a goodbye unsaid. I shake the notion from my mind.
Lastly, he hands me a small, light gift.
“Your dragon-fang dagger, so you can always bite with a deadly might.” He snickers.
“I weaved several symbols into the center of either side of the dagger. Drawing one drop of blood will paralyze your opponent. So, please, don’t cut yourself. ” He tilts his head with a smile.
I look over the dagger in the light. Intricate small runes dance along it. It still has a glimmer of crimson. Yet, oddly, a new iridescent glow now settles into the metal.
“I also adjusted your blade design to give you a full set of six throwing daggers.” Sully pauses, pulling out several attached pieces of leather. “These straps attach to your armor, allowing the blades to be sheathed along your ribs.”
I peer down at the beautiful, powerful magic he has metal-worked into the blades I hold in my hands, in awe of his mastery. Perfectly balanced. A handle with a circle at the end allows me to palm the dagger, hold it traditionally, or throw it at my target.
I gaze up, staring into his comforting honey-brown eyes. “Thank you. Truly. I owe you more than my life.”
He gives me a genuine, heartfelt smile in return, reaching out his hand to my shoulder. “Today, we celebrate the Starborne little dragon. Tomorrow, we begin our preparation for the acceptance trials for Universitás.”
That night, we drink ourselves silly by the hearth. It’s always been easy to smile with him, his honey-warm aura softening my heart. With Sully, the world doesn’t feel so horrible. He brings light to my life where once there were only shadows and pain.
“Run it again,” Sully orders.
It’s the fifth time I’ve run the mock obstacle course. It’s set up like the second trial, mirroring the borderland of the Blackwood battleground obstacles I will need to overcome.
This tests my endurance, agility, strength, and physical willpower.
The point of the trial is to ensure ensigns won’t make it through all the coursework at Universitás just to end up immediately killed once they’re stationed for battle, given that our enemy can manipulate the Blackwood.
Our enemy exploits the natural landscape to their advantage, able to control the Blackwood and expand it at will.
We need to adapt as quickly as they manipulate the surroundings in the woods, where their wild black magic is the strongest. Their control of the Blackwood is why the Golden Legion can never find their stronghold; they’re able to literally move the entire structure through their manipulation of the forest.
I stand up and dust myself off, throwing a middle finger at Sully for knocking me down with a large rock to the gut.
“That type of attitude won’t be enough to get you through the course.
” He chuckles, flicking his wrist, liquifying the ground to quicksand beneath my feet.
I let out a string of curses while I lunge for a low-hanging branch, hoisting myself out and swinging to safety.
A whirling hiss cleaves the air. I duck and dodge through a storm of daggers whistling towards me.
“Sully! What the fuck!? There’re no flying daggers in the trial,” I screech.
He shrugs. “I’m not a naturalist. I can't control the course like they will, so I’m taking creative liberty.”
“Creative liberty, is it?” I smirk, slinging a dagger at him, slicing the sleeve of his shirt.
“This is my favorite flannel!” he grumbles as he hurls a ball of fire at me, then a gust of air, followed by cracking the earth beneath my feet as I stumble trying to dodge his last two magical attacks, ending his tirade by drenching me in water.
I growl at him, summoning fire magic. The flames lapping up my body, evaporating the water until I am dry once more.
I still haven’t come into my Celestial Gift, but thankfully, I’m strong in all my elemental magics.
Plus, my natural ability to shield my mind is invaluable.
The third trial will test my emotional control and strength against Persuasive mindwork.
We sit down, drinking from our canteens, a much-needed rest from physical training. However, Sully never lets a moment go to waste. Our breaks entail reviewing potions, topics of the natural world, and battle strategy.
“When you become an Ellian Knight, you’ll be part of a group of five called a Chivalry, a group of Knights. You will be the aerial unit for your Wing, the combination of both your Chivalry and your Ground Unit.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” I wave my hand dismissively. The Golden Legion is divided up into two sections: infantry, our first line of defense; and our aerial Knights, combined with their ground elite force, known as Wings.
“You need to listen to this. I know you like to do everything on your own, but you will be part of a team, trained together and stationed together for the rest of your career. You need to let them in. You need to learn how to use each other’s magical strengths to a team advantage.
If you try to fly into battle and handle everything yourself, you won’t survive long. ”
“But my lone-wolf vibe is so alluring.” I wink sarcastically, and before he can even think up a retort, I lunge.
Air magic whirls around me, increasing my speed.
I switch to earth magic, shoving the boulder he’s sitting on as I snatch his arm, taking advantage of his imbalance to pin him to the ground.
“I’ve trained you too well.” He chuckles as I release him, helping him up.
“Let's hope it’s enough to get me on the list for the first trial,” I murmur. Being an orphan with no family line to open the door for me will make it difficult to even be admitted to the first stage.
Over the years, fewer trials are held in the outlying areas of the continent of Cascara, since too many of the attendees die with no one to train them appropriately.
This sharpens the competition to secure a spot on the list in these areas.
You essentially must prove you’re at least a descendant of one of the many known, powerful, magic-wielding bloodlines or trained by someone with an important name.
Compared to the same trials in the cities, where hundreds can prove their worth, only twenty applicants will be accepted in each of the smaller towns.
If the infrastructure wasn’t already in place, I don’t think they would even bother holding the trials in the borderlands at all.
After a long day of training, my sore muscles moan as I roll into bed, slumber consuming me with ease. A serrated cough followed by several wheezing breaths slashes me from sleep’s sweet embrace.
I’ve never heard Sully cough like that. Another rib-rattling rasp crawls down my spine. The sensation claws its way through my sinew, settling deep in my bones. Like a winter chill that refuses to relent.