Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
The skies over Asgar had not cleared. Clouds hung low like a burdened veil, silver-edged and unmoving.
The Scorchfield stretched vast beneath them, ringed by jagged watchtowers and ancient dragon perches blackened by time.
The training ground churned with motion, boots crunching on frost-bitten gravel and voices taut with tension.
The wind did not howl, yet it moved with intent, weaving through cloaks and helms, carrying secrets no one wished to hear.
Commander Dareth stood alone at the edge of the high field, his silhouette carved in stone against the grey.
The black leather of his battle uniform caught the breeze like the wing of something vast and silent.
He didn’t speak until every cadet stood still, from the raw-faced first years to the blood-tested seconds.
“All squads. Assemble.”
“We’ve returned from the capital. You’ve heard whispers, some true, some not.
Here is what matters. Our skies are no longer safe.
The King has confirmed uprisings in the southern, eastern, and western provinces, dark magic forces gathering in Draekmire, and there has been movement near the Rift Lands. ”
A few cadets murmured. The Commander cut them off with a glance.
“In one day, those of you with dragons will be sent out on missions. Those without will prepare. The skies are no longer ours. But they will be. That’s why the King has moved the Kaelthir forward.”
The sky above the Asgar Training Academy pulsed with wind and sunfire, banners snapping along the stone towers like living tongues of flame.
The wide dragon field had been cleared and sanctified for the Kaelthir; rows of white banners edged in crimson rippled along the outer edge, where faculty and upperclassmen stood in formal flight leathers.
The first-year cadets stood in tight formations, grouped by squad, breath shallow in their chests.
The Kaelthir Reckoning had always been at the end of a first year’s training.
The cadets were nervous and concerned that they had not had enough time to prepare.
There were whispers of concern with the King’s timing since it was up to the dragons as to when they were ready to bond and if they deemed the rider was ready.
War pressed closer. The air crackled with more than excitement. There was tension. A storm yet to break.
Thaelyn stood with her squad, Feyra, Iri, Rhys, Orion, and Vaeryn, shoulders squared, boots planted on the warm stone. Across the field, a dozen unbonded dragons circled in the sky, their massive wings cutting dark curves through the late-morning light.
Then the bell tolled. Once. Twice. Three times. The Kaelthir had begun.
From the clouds, a blaze of red light descended, sweeping low and slow.
The first dragon, Kaeryx, a male with flame-scaled wings, came with a shriek of sound that cracked like fire in a storm.
His body shimmered with molten hues, crimson, gold, and ember-black, and his horns curled back like bladed tusks.
He spiraled once before diving toward the cadets.
Thaelyn’s heart leapt as Kaeryx slammed into the earth just feet before Squad Four.
His molten eyes blinked once. Then he stepped forward, exhaling a curl of smoke as he turned his head and pressed his snout to Renan’s chest. The boy nearly collapsed with the force of it.
Light shimmered along his arms as Kaeryx claimed him. The crowd erupted in a roar.
Next came Vaelyth, an orange female with copper-tipped wings and stripes like lightning scars across her hide.
It looked like she dove to land before Larka Dune, but a sudden gust hit her mid-descent.
A streak of orange flame burst from her mouth.
Too fast. Too low. Larka screamed and fell back, her arm burning as professors surged forward to douse the flame.
Vaelyth veered away midair and landed instead before Kelren of Squad Three.
She bowed her head in apology to the injured cadet, and Kelren, eyes wide, reached out to touch her forehead. Bonded.
Next came Tarnak, a green-scaled giant with talon-length claws and sea-glass eyes.
He descended on silent wings, mist trailing from his snout.
His wings spread wide as he landed, and then folded tightly as he marched toward Rhys in Squad Two.
The boy met the dragon’s gaze without flinching. Tarnak lowered his head. Touch. Bonded.
One by one, dragons descended, fire-winged, wind-scaled, scarred from battles past. The sky became a theater of wings and roars, while the stone beneath them grew warm with the fire of their legacy.
Another dragon came screaming down from the sun. Razarok, a male red with serrated horns and a ridge of flame down his back. He landed with enough force to shake the tiles and walked to Feyra like he’d known her forever. She wept openly as he touched her forehead and breathed heat into her soul.
Vorran was a light orange beast with sharp ridges along his tail and gold-streaked wings. He danced through the air like a knife in flight, landing with uncanny precision. Orion raised both hands, laughing like a storm, and Vorran roared as their bond snapped into place.
The red male dragon, Skael, circled three times before folding his wings and plunging like a comet.
He landed with fire at his feet, nostrils flaring.
He prowled toward Squad Two, slower than the others, almost reverent.
When he reached them, he stopped inches away from Iri, lowered his gaze, and pressed his snout to her open palm.
The air shimmered with blue light. Their bond was sealed in an instant.
Cheers broke out from every tier of the arena.
Squad Two was nearly complete. Except one.
Vaeryn. She stood silent beside Thaelyn, face unreadable.
No dragon had come. One by one, the unbonded finished their descent.
Some picked cadets from other squads, Korrin and Arc, both bonded green males from Squad One.
Two more from Squad Three found matches.
Even now, Mirra, Sorren’s silver-blue dragon, circled lazily in the high thermals above, though she was already bonded.
Thaelyn swallowed, adrenaline beginning to wane. Then something strange happened. The sky stilled. A hush fell over the field as Mirra, without command, began to descend. She flew lower. Lower. Straight toward Vaeryn.
Gasps rippled across the gathering. Mirra was already bonded. Her rider, Sorren, stood still on the far edge, his shadowy cloak billowing at his back. He did not move. His eyes narrowed, but he did not stop her.
Mirra folded her wings in close and landed with elegance and grace just before Vaeryn. Her silver-blue scales gleamed like a moonlit lake, and her crest rose slowly. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Thaelyn took a step forward, afraid for her friend. She slowly stretched her hand forward. Careful not to make any sudden movements. “Vaeryn, come here.” What was Mirra doing? she thought to herself. Was she going to burn her?
But Mirra dipped her head, lowered it to Vaeryn’s forehead, and exhaled gently. A soft breeze brushed over them, tinged with stardust and secrets. Light arced between them. Then it was done. The choice had already been made. The Thir was given.
Across the field, Sorren stepped down from the far edge of the wall.
His face was unreadable, but there was something hollow in his eyes.
Something that flickered deep. Crushed. Did she just choose another rider instead of him?
He approached slowly, boots striking the stone, the wind tugging at the edges of his cloak.
Mirra turned her long neck toward him, gaze steady.
In the silence between them, only one voice passed, quiet, mental, and deeply firm. “I am not abandoning our bond,” Mirra told him through the link. “I am choosing a second rider to ride tandem with you. She is very gifted. She will work well beside you.”
Sorren exhaled. The tightness in his jaw faded, not wholly, but enough. He lowered his head in understanding.
Mirra let out a low warble and coiled her tail gently around Vaeryn, pulling her closer. Mirra then let out a guttural cry. Not of pain. Of warning. Then she turned to face the far edge of the sky.
And for a moment, Thaelyn swore the horizon bent.
Then something shimmered into view, a shadow above the clouds.
Large blue iridescent scales and great wings tipped with violet.
A streak of gold trailing her fire in its wake.
Nyxariel. Not here for a bond, but for approval of the double bond.
Nyxariel gave a roar in approval, a sentinel.
Commander Dareth stepped forward, his voice grim and proud as he called out above the wind. “First-years! Welcome to the ranks of the bonded– The Dragon Riders! Rest up. We will start flight lessons tomorrow.” The bell tolled once more. The Kaelthir Reckoning was done.
The sky outside the Asgar Training Academy dormitories was streaked in the copper glow of late afternoon, clouds trailing ribbons of lavender as the sun slanted behind the towers.
The wind carried the scent of scorched stone and dragonfire, along with laughter that rang across the far fields.
Somewhere in the distance, drums had begun; cadets were already gathering at the celebration bonfire in the bonding field.
But inside the dormitory of Squad Two, the air was thick with voices, energy, and a kind of wonder Thaelyn couldn’t quite share.
“She purred, I swear by the flame,” Iri said, breathless as she tugged off her uniform boots and threw herself onto her cot, her curls damp with sweat and exhilaration. “When Skael touched me, it was like– I don’t know. I felt everything. Like my blood burned, but in a good way.”
“You looked like you were about to faint,” Feyra teased, flopping onto her bunk, half out of her leathers. “I thought I’d have to carry you off the field.”
“You screamed when Razarok picked you,” Iri shot back. “Like a starborn banshee.”
“I yelled,” Feyra said with mock offense, tossing a pillow at her. “He’s a walking inferno. What was I supposed to do? Pretend like my soul wasn’t just claimed by the most gorgeous beast in the sky?”
“You called him a ‘flame-dripping menace’ five minutes before he landed,” Rhys said from across the room, where he was already packing extra gear into his shoulder satchel that he had brought over earlier before the ceremony.
His grin was wide, his usually calm expression crackling with pride. “Now he’s the love of your life?”
“He’s my menace now,” Feyra said without shame.
“I still can’t believe Mirra chose Vaeryn,” Orion said, seated near the window, staring out into the sky. His voice was quieter, more thoughtful than usual. “Never heard of a dragon claiming a second rider. That’s not supposed to happen, right?”
“It’s Mirra,” Feyra murmured. “Of course, she would break the rules.”
They all glanced toward Vaeryn’s bed, empty.
She’d gone with Sorren after the ceremony, silent as ever.
There was no telling what her thoughts were after such a thing.
None of them envied her position, exactly.
Mirra’s bond to Sorren had been deep, unshakable, or so everyone had thought.
And yet, why a second rider? Well, now they can make out on the back of the dragon together.
I have seen them getting closer lately, before this happened.
“Where’s Thaelyn?” Iri asked suddenly, glancing around. They all paused.
Thaelyn had entered quietly, not long after they returned. She’d spoken no more than a few words and had gone to the far side of the room, peeling off her gloves and setting her satchel down like it weighed a thousand stones.
“She said she was going to bed,” Rhys answered, lowering his voice instinctively.
They turned, their gaze drawn to the back corner where Thaelyn’s bed sat beneath the high window. Light filtered through in a haze of gold and rose, tracing the edges of the scars on her arms. Her back was to them, shoulders tense even in rest, her body curled tight beneath the blanket.
No one said anything for a moment.
“She needs the rest,” Iri whispered. “You all saw how pale she was. She didn’t even flinch when Nyxariel passed overhead.”
“She hasn’t slept well since bonding Nyxariel,” Orion added. “And today–”
“Her moment was stolen. She didn't get to be part of the ceremony today.” Feyra’s voice was flat.
“No,” Rhys said quietly. “Her moment already happened, and it ended with a bang, or her blowing out the dome.”
They all laughed silently. A thoughtful silence passed through them, like a ripple of unspoken truth. Feyra nodded slowly.
“She didn’t need to be chosen again,” Iri murmured. “She’s already something else. Something bigger than the rest of us.”
The dorm door creaked as someone opened it from the hall, a second-year cadet, flushed and grinning. “You losers coming to the party? The fires are already roaring, and the dragons are out there, too. First-years get the first drinks.”
Feyra glanced at the others. “Well. I am bonded to a fire-breathing God now. I think a drink is owed.”
“I’m bringing mine meat,” Rhys said with a grin. “Tarnak eats roasted lamb like a prince.”
They all laughed again and began to gather their things, belts, cloaks, and extra boots. Laughter returned, tempered now with the ache of something more. Orion lingered by the window, one last look out into the sky before joining them.
None of them asked Thaelyn to come. No teasing.
No pleading. Not because they didn’t want her there, but because they understood.
The ceremony had taken something from her.
Not her pride, no, that remained intact, stitched into the steel of her spine, but something quieter.
A piece of breath she hadn’t yet gotten back.
Her journey had always been different. Her fire didn’t burn like theirs. It stormed.
As the door shut behind her squad, Thaelyn’s eyes flickered open beneath the covers. She stared at the stone wall before her, breath slow and shallow. Nyxariel’s presence stirred faintly in her thoughts, warm and steady, like the thrum of distant thunder.
Rest, the dragon whispered through the bond. The wind is not yet calm.
And Thaelyn, for the first time in days, allowed herself to believe it was safe to sleep.