By the time he got back, I was feeling a little more at ease about it. Mostly. And Thane—gods bless him—was gracious enough not to mention it. Every morning, he showed up to training, impossibly composed. Like nothing had happened at all.
I was happy to pretend that it didn’t.
The wind shifts—sharper this time, edged with pressure. A low rumble rolls across the field, like distant thunder shaking the bones of the earth.
We all look up.
Xaroth appears first, black wings cutting through the sky like a blade. His descent is smooth, powerful—each beat of his wings kicking up swirls of dust across the clearing. The sun glints off his obsidian scales, as if his entire body was forged from shadow and flame.
He is massive—easily the largest dragon at the outpost. When he lands, the groundtrembles. Not violently—just enough to remind you what he is. Power. Dominance.
Thane steps forward as Xaroth folds his wings, his head lowering slightly as their eyes meet. No words pass between them, but meaning does—something ancient, unspoken.
Then more dragons follow—wings beating against the sky, cries echoing over the ridge. One by one, they land around their riders—less thunderous than Xaroth, but no less striking.
A copper-scaled dragon for Garrick, with streaks of gold along his wings. A lean, red-winged beast for Jarek, every movement precise and calculated. And for Rian, a pale blue dragon with eyes like mirrored ice, his body moving like watergiven form.
The field stirs with life and heat and wind as dragons settle and riders move to meet them.
And across it all, Thane’s eyes find mine one more time.
We watch as they move with practiced ease—each of them stepping into motion like a dance they’ve done a thousand times before.
Thane runs a hand along Xaroth’s neck as the dragon lowers his head, then swings up into the saddle in one fluid motion. Garrick mounts next, grinning like the skies belong to him. Jarek follows. Rian is last—quiet, controlled, a flick of his wrist steadying the stirrups as his dragon shifts beneath him.
Even from this distance, I can see how naturally they move; rider and dragon are one creature, one force.
Thane lifts his hand and gestures. A simple signal. And like an answer to a silent command, every dragon spreads its wings at once. The rush of air is immediate—powerful.
Even from here, beneath the oak, we feel it. The wind hits us in a wave, warm and fierce, ruffling our hair, stirring the grass around us, lifting petals and dust. The sound follows a heartbeat later: a roar of wings carving through the sky, beating against the earth like thunder with rhythm.
All four dragons lift into the air in perfect sync, massive wings cleaving through the sky. The field empties in a breath, leaving only swirls of wind in their wake.
We all sit in silence, watching until they disappear beyond the ridgeline. I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until Lyra exhales beside me.
“Still makes the back of my neck tingle,” Taila murmurs.
“Every time,” Darius agrees.
I just stare at the empty sky and feel the thrum of something deeper. Not fear. Not even awe. Something else. Something that feels a little too much like longing.
“It never gets old, does it,” Taila murmurs, still staring at the sky. “I could watch dragons all day long.” There’s something soft in her voice—almost reverent.
Darius hums in agreement. “I still remember the first time I saw one. Thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.”
“Minedid,” Fenric mutters. “Or stopped. One of the two.”
Lyra leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. “It’s not just the dragons. It’s the way they movewiththeir riders. Like they’re reading each other’s thoughts.”
I nod slowly, eyes still on the horizon. “They don’t justfly. Theybelongup there.”
“I hope a dragon calls me,” Taila says quietly, almost like she’s afraid the wind might carry the words away. Her gaze is still fixed on the sky, on the place where the dragons vanished beyond the clouds.
“Me too,” Darius murmurs.
“Same,” Fenric says.
“Gods, yes,” Lyra adds.
