Chapter 7 Esme #2
“We are dragons,” Commander Penn says, looking right at me. “We may live down here in human form, but we are compelled to take great care of our true form as well. We may not have the skies anymore, but we are still formidable killers. It’s a skill that requires practice. Violence. Fighting.”
“Dragons fighting dragons,” I reply.
“It keeps the blood flowing,” he shoots back with a smirk. “And it develops important reflexes for situations both on the ground and high in the air.”
High in the air? It’s not like you can go that high… I refrain from releasing that snark.
“We require sparring sessions to develop our short-range muscles,” Nyssa adds.
“Pouncing. Dodging. Sliding. Then there’s the short flight aspect.
Sprints. Taking off. Landing and immediately jumping into any sort of battle.
Defense. Offense. For all of this, we need space, and the training hall is limited, which can lead to unintended destruction. ”
“Very good, Tier 4. I’ll be sorry to see you leave us with the darkblood at the end of the day,” Penn says. “Now, I need twenty volunteers to power up the pillars.”
I study the pillars, wondering about their mechanics. “What kind of energy drain are we talking about here?”
Penn's lip curls slightly. “Nothing that would incapacitate a dragon. But it requires absolute concentration. One lapse in focus and the shield falters. If that happens during combat...”
My mind flashes to the ceiling collapsing, bodies crushed beneath stone. No dampening rune could save us from that kind of physics.
“So there's an element of danger to your training methods,” I say, aiming for casual despite the tension crackling between us.
Penn's eyes narrow. “Speaking of danger, congratulations, darkblood. You've just volunteered to be pillar one. Tier Four, you're two.” He raises his voice to the others. “I need eighteen more volunteers. Now!”
One by one, more recruits raise wary hands to join the exercise, while I measure my breaths and try to figure a way out of this. I thought he’d bench me. Draethys continues to surprise.
I follow Nyssa’s lead as we walk along the edge of the combat arena, where the pillars are mounted.
I take the first, and she takes the next, a few yards to my right.
The others assume their positions as well, snickering as they pass me by.
A young brunette with bronze eyes deliberately bumps into my shoulder, and I somehow swallow the curse rising in my throat.
Perhaps I'm learning patience after all.
“All twenty in position?” Penn calls out, taking his place on the north end of the combat arena, from where he’s got a view of all of us.
In the meantime, I take a moment to analyze the runes on my pillar.
On my side, there’s an opening carved into the stone, and I can see a smoky handprint inside.
“For those of you who don’t know the drill, you need to stick your hand in there. ”
“Why?” I ask.
“The pillars need physical contact to be activated. The runes take slivers of your essence which will replenish by morning, naturally. But your mental concentration is essential here. You will feel the slivers leaving your body, and you will let your train of thought follow. The spell itself will do the rest. Simply remain focused on what you feel leaving your body.”
“You mean besides my dignity for having to do this?” I murmur.
Penn gives me a hard look. “Did you say something, darkblood?”
“No.”
There’s dry laughter from the other dragons, but I feed on their disdain by thinking about how hard of a time they’d have flying in the world above with their atrophied little wings.
It doesn’t take a biologist to figure that out.
They’re limited by Draethys’s space. Isander would blow smoke in their faces with just two flaps of his wings.
Once he’s healed. Damn it.
“Everybody, deep breath, we’re about to begin. And when the shield is up, students Meraxis and Harding will begin a light sparring session,” Penn announces.
The dragons he called forth seem surprised, though.
“Rhode Meraxis, Commander Penn. Permission to speak?” one of them says.
He’s tall and lanky, his black leather tunic seemingly a tad oversized for his frame. He keeps his dark hair short and curly, brown-rimmed glasses on his nose. Everything about him screams “library” rather than “battlefield.” He almost reminds me of Brynn.
“Go on, Meraxis. I’m listening,” Penn replies, already bored. I’m guessing he’s heard it all before.
“I’m only enrolled in this class as a prerequisite for my examination credits, but I’m supposed to be in the strategic part of academia for the entire duration of—”
“For the entire duration of your studies, yes, yes, I know,” Penn cuts him off.
“Nevertheless, a brilliant military strategist requires a modicum of combat experience to understand what he’s sending his troops into.
Otherwise, you risk making not only deadly decisions for yourself and for your fighters, but also a fool of yourself. ”
Meraxis wants to offer a counterargument, but Penn waves his concerns away.
Harding, on the other hand, a mountain of a man with large orange eyes and a tuft of red hair atop his head, seems excited to get started. So excited, in fact, that he slaps Meraxis hard on the shoulder.
“Chin up, nerd. You’re about to learn a valuable life lesson.”
“By the gods, I’d love to take a run at Melkior Harding,” Nyssa says.
I notice the disgruntled look on her face, and it makes me smile. She’s rarely this transparent with her likes and dislikes of people.
“I take it you have a history?” I ask.
“He’s got a big mouth and not enough braincells to go with it,” she replies. “But his physical strength made him a prime candidate for the academy. I’m stronger, though.”
“You are?”
Nyssa raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t let my human form fool you.”
That intrigues me, but before I can think further about it, Penn shouts, “Hands in!”
I want to know if it’s going to hurt, but I might as well keep the concern to myself. The last thing I need is dragons calling me a pussy. I put my hand in the hole and take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst.
Penn claps his hands once, lips moving as the runes on each pillar light up in a golden shimmer. Warmth spreads through my body, starting from the core, then flows into my shoulders, then my arms.
It’s a peculiar sensation, but I understand it.
My blood simmers. There is resistance from my magical essence, but the dragon blood glows, making my veins visible along the forearms. I feel the slivers that Penn mentioned. Wisps, tiny little wisps that tickle my wrist before they seep through the palm of my hand and into the pillar.
I gasp as the energy flows, and the pillar’s stone becomes an incandescent white. The shield stretches outward and upward with faint shimmers, but I see it. My eyes feel oddly warm, but I see it. The shield casts itself over the arena as Meraxis and Harding step inside.
Penn keeps his position on the north end, hands behind his back as his eyes bounce across the entire arena.
Mindful of Penn’s directions, I keep my focus on the wisps humming in my wrist. My palm tickles.
Penn's voice cuts through the air. “Fighters, prepare!”
Meraxis and Harding shrug out of their uniforms, the fabric pooling at their feet. Their nakedness draws tittering from most of the female students positioned around the arena's edge. I force my eyes toward the ceiling, focusing on a crack in the stone rather than the display below.
“Nerds always hiding the good stuff,” I murmur under my breath, struggling to maintain my concentration on the energy flowing through the pillar.
“Shift!” Penn's command echoes against the walls.
I hear their growls as they rip wide open, bones crackling, skin stretching and muscle fibers lashing out until they’re fully transformed.
I can't breathe. Where two men stood moments ago, dragons now tower, their shadows falling across the arena floor.
Meraxis's scales catch the light, deep brown with purple undertones that shimmer when he moves.
Beside him, Harding's body gleams crimson, edged in gold like embers.
I remember Dayn's form—even larger, more terrible in its majesty—but both are still huge in my eyes.
Their gazes burn with ancient intelligence, fangs longer than my forearm curve from powerful jaws.
I grip the pillar harder. These creatures have been here all along, hidden beneath our feet.
What happens when they decide the underground isn't enough anymore?
What happens to humanity when dragons reclaim the sky?
“Volunteers, focus!” Penn’s voice booms across the arena. “Dragons! Fight! Go easy, you’re just getting used to this place. Practice your stances and springs first!”
I hold my focus, inwardly in awe at what I’m witnessing.
Meraxis is shy. He doesn’t attack first. Harding, on the other hand, is eager to prove himself—or put the nerd down. Either way, he’s got plenty of spunk. But he’s big and brawny, heavy and nowhere near as agile as Meraxis. The brown dragon dodges each of Harding’s sprints.
When Harding lands, Meraxis swerves to the side, claws scratching harshly across the thick, stone floor.
“Keep at it, Harding. You’ll get him!” Penn encourages the red dragon.
Meraxis huffs and gives the instructor a glare, golden fires burning in his eyes. I see a smile stretch across Penn’s face. He’s riling Meraxis up on purpose, and it works. Meraxis lunges first, this time, and I’m mesmerized by his grace and agility.
He pounces like a cat. A big, brown cat.
Harding greets him with his jaw wide open.
He bites into his throat.
“Harding, don’t!” Penn shouts, quick to realize that Harding had different plans. “Harding!”