Chapter Three - The Sky Finds Them
Ashwing was already in the air when the world changed.
Liora stood in the clearing, her hands still damp from washing in the stream, watching him carve silver arcs across the morning sky.
He moved with a confidence that still startled her—no longer the clumsy hatchling who tripped over roots, but a creature born for the heavens.
His wings caught the early light, scattering it like shards of moonlit glass, and every beat sent ripples through the air, bending branches and stirring leaves.
She smiled up at him, warmth blooming in her chest.
Then Ashwing stopped. Not slowed—stopped. His wings locked mid?stroke, his body going rigid as if the sky itself had frozen around him. A low, guttural growl rolled from his throat, vibrating through the clearing like distant thunder.
"Ashwing?" Liora called, her voice tightening. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The forest fell silent—not quiet, but silent, a suffocating, unnatural stillness that pressed against her skin. Then she felt it: a tremor in the air, a pressure that made her bones vibrate, a rhythm too heavy, too deep, too powerful to belong to any bird.
Wings. Not Ashwing's. Many.
Liora's breath caught. "No... no, not now."
Ashwing roared, a sound that shook leaves from the trees.
And then the shadows came. Massive shapes swept across the sky, blotting out the rising sun.
Dragons—trained dragons—descended in a tight formation, their wings beating the air with thunderous force.
Their scales shimmered in muted colors: iron?gray, storm?blue, deep forest green, and a dark bronze that gleamed like old metal.
Ashwing dove toward her, landing so hard the earth trembled.
He lowered his head, wings flaring wide, fire curling at the back of his throat.
Liora pressed her hands to his warm scales, whispering, "Easy.
Easy, Ashwing." But he was trembling—fury, fear, and instinct tangled together in every taut muscle.
The Riders landed in a semicircle, their dragons lowering their heads in a disciplined, practiced motion.
Armor glinted in the morning light—dark leather reinforced with steel, each breastplate marked with the crest of the Dragon Crown.
The lead Rider dismounted first. His dragon, an enormous iron?gray beast with ember?red eyes, watched Ashwing with wary intelligence.
"We saw him from leagues away," the Rider said, his voice steady but edged with disbelief. "A silver dragon, unmarked, flying alone. That should be impossible."
Liora swallowed hard. "He's mine."
The Rider turned to her—and froze. "You?" he said quietly. "A forest girl?"
Ashwing growled and stepped protectively in front of her. The Rider raised both hands. "Peace. I meant no insult." He circled Ashwing slowly, keeping a respectful distance as he studied him. "How long has he been wild?"
"Six months," Liora said.
The Rider's eyes narrowed. "That cannot be. A dragon of this size is at least a year old."
"He's six months," she repeated.
The Rider exhaled sharply. "Then he is growing at a rate we have never recorded." Ashwing hissed, wings flaring, but the Rider didn't flinch. "A wild dragon has not existed in over two centuries. All dragons belong to the noble houses. All dragons are accounted for."
"Except him," Liora said.
"Except him," the Rider agreed grimly. He looked at her—really looked—and something like pity flickered in his eyes. "You understand what this means. The Crown cannot ignore a wild dragon. You must come with us. Both of you."
Ashwing roared, fire flickering between his teeth. Liora stepped in front of him. "Don't. Please." The Rider watched the way Ashwing responded to her voice—the way he lowered his head, trembling but obedient.
"He listens to you," the Rider murmured. "That alone is extraordinary."
"He trusts me," Liora said. "That's all."
The Rider nodded. "And that is why we will not attempt to restrain him. A wild dragon would tear through any harness we put on him." Ashwing snorted, as if agreeing. "You will ride with me," the Rider continued. "And he will follow you."
Liora stiffened. "I can't ride him. I've never been trained."
"Of course you haven't," the Rider said. "Only nobles are taught to mount dragons. A commoner wouldn't know how."
Ashwing pressed his forehead to Liora's chest, trembling. She stroked his jaw. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving you."
The Rider mounted his dragon and extended a hand. "Come. The Academy will decide your fate."
Liora hesitated only a moment before taking it. He pulled her up behind him, and she clung to the saddle with white knuckles. Ashwing roared in protest, wings flaring, but Liora leaned forward.
"I'm right here!" she shouted. "I'm not leaving you!"
Ashwing's roar softened into a low, anxious rumble. The Riders took formation. Their dragons spread their wings. The lead Rider called, "Take flight!"
Ashwing leapt first, soaring upward in a burst of silver light.
The Rider's dragon followed, lifting Liora into the sky.
The forest shrank beneath them, the wind roared past, and the world opened wide.
Ashwing flew beside her—close enough that she could see every ripple of muscle beneath his scales, every flicker of fear and determination in his eyes.
He wasn't restrained. He wasn't controlled. He wasn't owned. He was wild. And the Riders were terrified.
Liora reached out a hand toward him, fingers brushing the air between them. "We're going together," she whispered.
Ashwing roared—fierce, defiant, alive. And the sky swallowed them whole.