Chapter five - The price of a dragon
The Council chamber doors slammed shut behind Liora, and the echo chased her down the corridor like a threat that refused to die.
Her legs felt unsteady, her breath thin, her heart still hammering from the confrontation.
Ashwing pressed close to her side, his massive body brushing the stone walls with every step.
His wings were tucked tight, but even folded they scraped the ceiling.
He didn't belong in these narrow halls. He didn't belong in cages of stone.
He belonged to the sky. And yet he stayed glued to her, every muscle taut, every breath sharp with protectiveness.
The handlers escorting them kept glancing back, their expressions tight—not fearful, since dragons were normal here, but wary.
Ashwing wasn't trained. He wasn't claimed.
He wasn't predictable. He was wild. And he was hers.
They descended a long, sloping passage carved deep into the mountain.
The air grew warmer with every step, thick with the scent of smoke, stone, and dragon musk.
The faint rumble of distant growls vibrated through the floor, quickening Liora's pulse.
She had never seen more than one dragon at a time, never imagined what a mountain full of them would feel like.
Then the passage opened, and the world expanded.
The dragon roosts stretched across the mountainside like a kingdom carved from fire and wind.
Half of it was open to the sky—wide stone platforms bathed in moonlight, ledges overlooking the valley, perches where dragons lounged like living statues.
The other half tunneled deep into the mountain—glowing caverns lit by crystals, warm alcoves carved into the rock, shadows shifting with the movement of wings.
Dragons of every color and size filled the space: bronze, gold, obsidian black, deep red, shimmering blue.
Some slept curled in their nests. Others stretched their wings lazily.
A few perched on high ledges, watching everything with predatory stillness.
Ashwing inhaled deeply, chest expanding, wings twitching.
This was his world. But the dragons noticed him instantly.
A massive bronze lifted its head, nostrils flaring.
A sleek black narrowed its emerald eyes.
A pale gold dragon tilted its head with cold curiosity.
A red?scaled brute snorted, smoke curling from its nostrils.
Their gazes slid past Ashwing and landed on Liora—confusion, annoyance, territorial irritation.
Humans didn't sleep here. Humans didn't belong here.
Ashwing growled and stepped closer, forming a barrier with his body.
Liora placed a hand on his warm scales.
"It's okay," she whispered. "We'll find a place."
Ashwing's tail flicked sharply, but he led her deeper into the roosts, toward the caverns where the air was warmer and the shadows softer.
The stone underfoot radiated heat from deep within the mountain, comforting after the cold halls above.
He chose an alcove near the back—a wide hollow warmed by a natural vent, the stone glowing faintly with embedded crystals.
He curled inside, wings folding neatly around him, then looked at her expectantly.
Liora climbed in without hesitation. The moment she touched him, her body sagged with exhaustion.
The adrenaline that had kept her upright since the Council chamber drained out of her all at once.
Her hands trembled. Her breath hitched. Ashwing pressed his snout against her chest, rumbling softly. She buried her fingers in his scales.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not leaving."
A handler cleared his throat behind her. "You need to see your room," he said. "The Council assigned it."
Liora stiffened. "I'm not sleeping there."
"You still need to see it. Come."
Ashwing growled, displeased, but nudged her gently toward the exit. Liora touched his snout.
"I'll come back," she promised.
He didn't like it, but he let her go.
The handler led her through the winding corridors again, away from the warmth of the roosts and back into the cold, polished halls of the Academy. The contrast made her skin prickle. Students passed them in clusters, their voices low but not low enough.
"She's the girl with the wild dragon."
"Look at her clothes."
"She's not noble."
"She won't last the trial."
"Three days? Impossible."
"Why would a dragon choose her?"
Liora kept her gaze down. She had survived fire, loss, and six months in the wild, but this—whispers, judgment, polished cruelty—felt like a different kind of danger. One she didn't know how to fight.
The handler stopped at a wooden door and pushed it open. "This is your room."
Liora stepped inside. It was small but clean—a narrow bed, a wooden chest, a small window overlooking the courtyard. A folded blanket lay at the foot of the bed. A pitcher of water sat on the table. It was more than she'd had in months. But it wasn't home.
"I'm not sleeping here," she said quietly.
The handler sighed. "At least wash. You... look like you've been living in the wild."
"I have," Liora said simply.
He pointed to a side door. "The bathing room is through there." Then he left.
The bathing room was warm and bright, steam curling from a stone basin.
A metal pipe jutted from the wall above it, ending in a strange flower?shaped fixture.
Liora frowned and turned a knob. Nothing.
She turned it the other way—and a blast of cold water shot from the fixture, hitting her square in the chest. She yelped and stumbled back, slipping on the wet stone.
The water kept pouring until she twisted the knob wildly.
She stood dripping and shivering, staring at the fixture like it had personally insulted her.
"Stupid," she muttered. "Why would anyone want water falling from the ceiling?"
She tried again, slowly this time. A gentle stream of warm water flowed out.
She stepped beneath it cautiously. The warmth hit her skin like a shock, then like a blessing.
Dirt washed away in dark streaks. Her hair loosened.
Her muscles unclenched. Her breath hitched.
She hadn't felt warm water in months. She hadn't felt clean since the fire.
Tears mixed with the water on her cheeks.
When she finished, she dried herself with a soft cloth and put on the simple clothes left for her—plain, but clean. She looked at the bed. She looked at the door. And she walked out without hesitation.
The night air hit her like a slap as she stepped out of the residential wing. Her hair was still damp, the clean clothes strange against her skin. She didn't slow down. She didn't look back. Her feet carried her toward the roosts with a single burning thought: Ashwing. Ashwing. Ashwing.
But as she crossed the courtyard, she froze.
A cluster of Riders stood gathered near the training grounds—five of them, all in dark blue uniforms with silver clasps, their dragons perched on the stone ledges behind them.
The dragons were smaller than the elders in the caverns but still massive, sleek, and disciplined.
Their scales gleamed under the moonlight.
The Riders were talking in low, intense voices.
"...the Trial of Claim is brutal."
"Three days? They're setting her up to fail."
"She's a commoner. They don't care if she dies."
"Or if the dragon does."
"Kael shouldn't have interfered."
Liora's breath caught. They were talking about her. She hesitated—then forced herself forward. Her boots scraped the stone, and the Riders turned sharply. Their eyes swept over her—her damp hair, her too?clean clothes, her exhaustion, her stubbornness.
One of them, a woman with dark hair braided tightly down her back, raised a brow. "You're the girl with the silver wildling."
Liora nodded. "I... I need to ask you something."
The Riders exchanged glances—curious, appraising, a little pitying.
"What is it?" the braided?hair woman asked.
Liora swallowed hard. "The Trial. I don't know what it is. I don't know anything about it. Please... tell me."
"You don't know?" the youngest Rider asked, incredulous.
Liora shook her head. "I've never been here. I've never trained. I don't know anything."
The braided?hair woman exhaled slowly. "Sit."
Liora sat on the cold stone, her heart pounding. The Riders formed a loose circle around her, their dragons watching from behind them with glowing eyes.
"The Trial of Claim is how the Academy decides whether a dragon truly belongs to a rider," the woman said. "It's ancient. Older than the Academy itself."
Liora's fingers tightened in her lap. "What do I have to do?"
"There are four parts," the woman said, holding up four fingers. "Each one tests something different."
She lowered the first finger. "One: Bond. You must call him. He must come. Not because he's forced—because he chooses you."
Liora nodded slowly.
The woman lowered the second finger. "Two: Control. You must guide him through a series of commands. Turns, lifts, landings. Not with reins—with your voice, your body, your connection."
Liora's stomach tightened.
The woman lowered the third finger. "Three: Trust. The Leap."
Liora frowned. "What's the Leap?"
"You jump from the high ledge," the broad?shouldered man said. "He must catch you."
"If he hesitates," another added, "you fall."
"If he misjudges," the youngest said, "you fall."
"If he doesn't trust you enough to leap after you—"
"You die," the braided?hair woman finished softly.
Liora's knees weakened.
"And the fourth?" she whispered.
"Four: Flight," the woman said. "You must ride him. Through the course. Through the wind. Through the fear. Together."
Liora stared at her. "I've never ridden a dragon," she whispered. "Not once."
The youngest Rider winced. "Then you're in trouble."
The braided?hair woman shot him a look, then turned back to Liora. "You have three days. Three days to learn what most riders train for years."
Liora's throat tightened. "How?"
"Balance. Grip. Breath."
"Breath?" Liora echoed.
"When you panic, you tense," the woman said. "When you tense, you fall. Dragons feel everything through your body—your fear, your stiffness, your hesitation. If you freeze, he'll freeze. If you breathe, he'll breathe."
Liora nodded slowly.
"And don't pull on his neck spines," the broad?shouldered man added. "You'll piss him off."
"Or he'll throw you off on purpose," the youngest said.
Liora's stomach twisted.
"Go," the braided?hair woman said. "Rest. You'll need your strength."
"Thank you," Liora whispered.
As she turned to leave, the youngest Rider called after her. "Three days is impossible. But dragons don't care about impossible."
Liora swallowed hard. "Neither do I."
The path back to the roosts stretched before her like a dark river of stone.
The moon hung low over the mountains, silvering the edges of the world.
Her clean clothes clung to her still?damp skin, and the cold bit at her cheeks, but she barely felt it.
Her mind was a storm. Bond. Control. Trust. Flight.
Three days. Jump from a ledge. Ride him.
Her stomach twisted so hard she had to stop and steady herself against the wall.
She had never ridden a dragon. Not once. Not even for a heartbeat. She didn't even know how to climb onto him properly. Her breath came shallow and fast. Three days.
She pushed forward.
The entrance to the roosts loomed ahead—a massive archway carved into the mountain, warm air spilling out like breath from a sleeping beast. The scent of dragons hit her instantly: smoke, heat, musk, and something ancient. She stepped inside.
The cavern glowed with soft crystal light, shadows dancing across the stone walls.
Dragons shifted in their alcoves, their scales catching the light like shards of metal.
Some slept curled in tight circles. Others sprawled across their nests, wings half?open, tails twitching.
But as soon as Liora entered, the atmosphere changed.
Dozens of eyes opened. Dozens of heads lifted. Dozens of dragons turned toward her. A human. Alone. Walking into their domain. A low ripple of sound moved through the cavern—not growls, not roars, but something between curiosity and warning. A deep, resonant hum of territorial awareness.
Liora froze.
A massive bronze dragon uncurled from its nest, its eyes glowing like molten gold. A sleek black dragon tilted its head, pupils narrowing to slits. A pale gold dragon lifted its wings slightly, shimmering in the crystal light. None of them moved toward her. But none of them looked away.
"I'm just... going to my dragon," she whispered.
She walked deeper into the cavern. The dragons watched her—some with curiosity, some with irritation, some with the cold, assessing gaze of predators deciding whether she was a threat or simply beneath their notice. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure they could hear it.
Then she saw him.
Ashwing.
Curled in his alcove, silver scales glowing softly in the crystal light. His wings were folded neatly, his tail wrapped around his body like a protective coil. His head rested on his forearms, eyes half?closed. But the moment he sensed her, his eyes snapped open—golden, bright, alive.
He rose instantly, wings flaring just enough to brush the edges of the alcove.
His tail lashed once, sharp and protective.
A low growl rumbled through his chest—not at her, but at the dragons watching her.
He stepped out of the alcove and came to her, lowering his head until his snout pressed against her chest.
Liora exhaled shakily and buried her fingers in his warm scales.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I told you I'd come back."
Ashwing rumbled, the sound vibrating through her bones.
Behind them, several dragons snorted—irritated, confused, or simply intrigued by the sight of a human being greeted like a clutchmate.
One dragon, a massive red with jagged horns, let out a sharp questioning chirp.
Another, a sleek blue, tilted its head and huffed warm air toward Liora.
Ashwing growled softly in warning. The dragons backed off—not far, not submissively, but enough to acknowledge his claim.
Liora pressed her forehead to Ashwing's snout.
"I talked to the Riders," she whispered. "I know what the Trial is now."
Ashwing's pupils narrowed, and he nudged her gently, urging her toward the alcove.
She followed him inside. The stone was warm beneath her, heated by vents deep within the mountain.
Ashwing curled around her, wings folding like a sheltering canopy.
His tail wrapped around her legs, pulling her closer.
Liora leaned against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat.
"I have to jump," she whispered. "From a ledge. And you have to catch me."
Ashwing's breath hitched—a soft, startled sound.
"I know," she murmured. "It's insane. But that's what they want."
He nudged her shoulder, almost anxiously.
"And then..." Her voice trembled. "I have to ride you."
Ashwing froze. Completely. His wings stiffened. His tail tightened. His breath stopped for a heartbeat.
"I've never done it," she whispered. "I don't know how. I don't know anything."
Ashwing lowered his head until his forehead pressed against hers—warm, steady, reassuring.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm so scared."
Ashwing's rumble deepened, vibrating through her entire body.
He shifted closer, curling around her until she was completely enveloped in silver warmth.
The dragons in the cavern watched them—some with confusion, some with interest, some with a flicker of something like respect.
A human sleeping in a dragon's nest was unheard of. Unthinkable. But Ashwing didn't care.
He wrapped his wings around her like a cocoon. Liora curled into him, her fingers tangled in his scales, her cheek pressed to the warm rise and fall of his chest.
"I'll learn," she whispered. "I'll try. I'll do everything I can."
Ashwing's tail tightened around her. His breath warmed her hair. His heartbeat steadied hers. And slowly, finally, exhaustion pulled her under.
Liora fell asleep wrapped in wings and warmth, surrounded by dragons who watched her with glowing eyes—curious, irritated, confused, but undeniably aware that something unusual was happening. Something rare. Something dangerous. Something powerful.
Ashwing lowered his head beside hers, his golden eyes half?closing as he kept watch. And in the quiet, humming heart of the mountain, dragon and girl slept—together, defiant, and unbroken.