“When a dragon chooses you,” he says softly, “and you’re bonded—yes. You’ll channel. But not just with power. With purpose.”
Revan’s mouth drops open in wonder.
“Real magics?” he breathes.
“Real magics,” Father confirms, his lips curling into the barest smile. “Stronger than anything we do with our everyday spells.”
Revan slaps his hands on the table, triumphant. “Iknewit!”
Galen chuckles under his breath. “You’ll still need training, little warrior. Bond or no bond, magics are not a plaything.”
Tamsen leans in, her voice teasing. “Especially not near my kitchen.”
Revan looks momentarily chastened, but then his grin returns—wide and uncontainable.
“So that means I can do bigger Earth magics?!” he bursts out, nearly toppling his cup. “I can make my body into stone? My friend Edran said that’s a real earth power!”
He doesn’t wait for confirmation before charging ahead.
“And I can make the ground move? And summon trees? Maybe I can build a giant statue. Or a castle. If I’m a rider, I can doanything!”
Lyra is laughing into her sleeve by now. Even Galen can’t hide his smile.
My father raises a brow, but amusement flickers in his eyes. “Some Earth dragon riders can harden their skin like stone, yes. But that takes time and control.”
“Training,” Mira adds, smiling as she wipes her hands on herapron. “And patience. Earth listens best to those who know how to wait.”
Revan tilts his head, considering this. “I’mkindapatient.”
Lyra snorts. “You lasted two minutes before climbing the fence into our garden yesterday.”
“But I was sobored!” he protests.
Tamsen waves her spoon like a gavel. “No building or destroying castles until you can sit through dinner without flipping your plate upside down.”
Revan grins sheepishly—I can’t help smiling. This sweet boy, overflowing with wonder, so sure the world will rise to meet him. I remember what that felt like—before I understood the difference between stories and truth.
All Earth Clan are born with lesser magics to some degree. Everyone in the realm is. It’s in our blood, in the bones of the land itself. But it’s the riders who go beyond—whochannelthrough their bond with dragons and wield something greater.
I’ve only read about that kind of magics in old books where the ink has nearly faded—but even the words are enough to stir something in me. In this quiet village, we don’t need to learn or practice those kinds of magics. As farmers, shopkeepers, and craftsmen, lesser magics are more than enough to live good, purposeful lives.
Mountain’s Might: not just armor-thick skin, but a body turned to solid stone—immovable, unbreakable.
Seismic Pulse: a single blow that ripples through the ground, toppling enemies like leaves in wind.
Root Command: drawing trees and roots from the earth, building walls, or spearing through armored ranks like they were made of silk.
And then there’s Geomancy—the rarest. The power to reshape the land itself. To move mountains, carve ravines, and raise stone walls with nothing but will.
That’s why most riders begin as warriors. They’re not just chosen for strength—they’re trained for it. Some rise to serve the high courts after serving in the army. Others choose higher positions as captains or generals. But their roots are always the same: discipline, sacrifice, skill.
Most of us are not warriors.
We don’t command, but ask or coax. And sometimes—when we’re patient—when we’re steady enough—the land answers.
I glance at Revan again, his cheeks flushed, eyes glowing. Already dreaming of the sky. And for a moment, I feel it too—an ache. A spark.
“Wait—wait!” Revan suddenly exclaims, his voice breathless and urgent. “Will I be able to wield water?! Or air? Or—fire?!”
