“The empire has spent centuries breeding dragons for specific traits,” Selen explains, her voice taking on a lecturer's cadence. “The war breeds, albeit no longer used for war, have reinforced scales and limited fire capacity but greater endurance. Arena breeds sacrifice defensive capabilities for spectacle—larger flame production, more aggressive temperaments… The empire learned long ago that fear carries furthest when punishment masquerades as entertainment. And in a land still scarred and rebuilding from centuries of ruin, there can be no room for dissent. A pity that truth wasn’t clearer to you before you found yourselves here.”
Like I even had a choice.
I try to control my quickening breathing as I study the diagrams intently, noting how the throat structures differ between varieties. “The fire comes from separate chambers,” I observe quietly. “Not all dragons produce it the same way.”
Selen's eyes flick to me, that same unreadable assessment. “Correct. The glands here”—she points to a cross-section of a dragon's neck—“produce different chemical compounds depending on the breed. Some create combustible gas, others oil-based flame. The mountain dragons of the northern ranges produce a crystallizing agent that freezes rather than burns.”
“Weaknesses?” Vex asks, her assassin's mind immediately seeking vulnerabilities.
“All living things have weaknesses,” Selen replies. “Even dragons.” She indicates specific points on the diagram. “Joints where scales thin to allow movement. Eyes, of course. But the primary vulnerability is here.” Her finger taps a spot just behind the dragon's jaw. “The fire sac. Puncture it before it ignites through the mouth, and the dragon's own flame will consume it from within.”
Nyx leans forward, studying the diagram with narrowed eyes. “How do you get close enough to strike there without being burned first?”
“That,” Selen says with the ghost of a smile, “is what you're going to learn.”
She moves to a weapons rack I hadn't noticed before, partially concealed behind a screen. Unlike the crude training weapons we'd seen yesterday, these are finely crafted—specialized spears with barbed tips, curved blades on flexible handles, and what appear to be grappling hooks attached to coiled wire.
“Dragon killers,” Selen explains, lifting one of the spears. “Designed to penetrate scale and sever the tendons controlling wing movement.”
Lira reaches for one of the hooked weapons, but Selen stops her with a sharp look.
“Not yet. Before you touch a weapon, you need to understand your opponent.” She returns to the table, spreading out what appear to be hide samples. “Dragon scale varies in thickness and flexibility. The neck and underbelly are most vulnerable, but also most heavily guarded by the dragon's natural posture.”
For the next hour, she leads us through a dizzying array of information. Dragon anatomy, flight patterns, attack behaviors—the knowledge comes faster than I can fully absorb. I find myself leaning forward, memorizing details with an intensity that surprises me. Each vulnerability, each weakness feels like a potential key to survival.
“This is all academic,” Selen says finally, rolling up the diagrams. “Now for something practical.”
She moves to the small door behind the tapestry and unlocks it with a key from her belt. “Follow me. Speak to no one.”
We exchange wary glances but obey, filing through the doorway into a narrow, spiraling staircase that ascends through the mountain's heart. The steps are worn smooth from centuries of use, and the walls bear ancient carvings depicting dragons in flight, in battle, in death.
“These tunnels predate the empire,” Selen explains as we climb. “Built by the mountain fae who first learned to bond with dragons, before the imperial conquest.”
“I thought dragon-bonding was a myth,” Nessa says, her guard's training evident in her suspicious tone. “The only way to control them is through subjugation.”
“Of course, according to the imperial annals,” Selen replies neutrally. “I meant to say ‘supposedly’ learned to bond.”
I frown as I glance over at the handler, but her face remains a passive mask.
Barely a minute later, we emerge onto a narrow walkway overlooking a vast cavern unlike any I've seen before. The ceiling soars hundreds of feet above, opening to the sky through a jagged rentin the mountain's peak. Sunlight streams down, illuminating a lush interior—vegetation clings to the walls, fed by streams that cascade from unseen springs. The air is warmer here, humid but fresh.
And there, in a clearing below, are dragons.
They're smaller than I expected—none larger than a draft horse—but no less magnificent. Five of them prowl the enclosure, their scales shimmering in the sunlight. Unlike the chained beasts I'd glimpsed during transport, these move with fluid grace, their wings half-unfurled as they bask in the light.
“Juveniles,” Selen explains, leading us along the walkway to a viewing platform. “Not of combat training age, but past the hatchling stage.”
“They're not restrained.” The bald woman suddenly breaks her silence, her voice higher pitched than I had expected it to be—or just strangled with tension. She hangs back behind the rest of us and looks as though she is considering fleeing the spot.
“Not at the moment,” Selen replies calmly.
The handler’s voice gives me a thread of reassurance, and, despite my own nerves, I study the dragons carefully. Each is distinctly different—one bears scales of deep crimson that catch the light like rubies; another is sleek and black with silver markings along its spine; a third is mottled green and brown, its coloration perfect for forest camouflage.
“What do you see, Four-Three-Seven?” Selen asks suddenly, her voice quieter, her eyes fixed on me.
I hesitate, conscious that my answer matters. “They move differently,” I say finally. “The red one keeps to the higher rocks, watching. The black one patrols the boundary, constantly aware of its surroundings. The green one stays near the water. And the silver—” I pause, noticing the smallest dragon, almost hidden in the shadows. “The silver one is watching us.”
Selen nods, approval flickering briefly across her features. “Good. You're observing behavior patterns, not just physical characteristics. Dragons have distinct personalities and huntingstyles. In the arena, recognizing these patterns can mean survival.”
