《The Crushing Light》


 Prelude

    A dragon washed ashore, unconscious. His body lay sprawled out upon a pebbly beach of a nameless isle, half-submerged as saltwater lapped gently against his cut back and slashed wings. Their almost tender touch fell in stark contrast to the storm raging farther over the sea.


    A stray wave lashed at him, submerging him whole¡ªas though the briny depths were trying to reclaim their little plaything¡ªbut it came back with no catch, receding alone into the watery unrest. The dragon¡¯s head shot up then, roused by the assault, and his body spasmed, and he retched what had to be a bucketful of seawater. He tried to stand, failed, and as his shaky paws gave way beneath him, he coughed up more brine and groggily blinked open salt-crusted eyes.


    All that greeted him was darkness. His mind reached for¡­ something¡ªsomething that wasn¡¯t there. He frowned, confused. What was he¡­?


    In the black of night he could see little, but as far behind lightning struck, for a heartbeat the image in front of him resolved itself into a beach of small flat-round stones, and a forest farther up. As his consciousness slowly slid back into place, with it came a stinging pain, and there was no part of him spared¡ªpaws and back and wings and belly, the whole of him felt like one giant wound, made worse by the briny water drenching him from head to claw. He looked himself over, and in the scant momentary light he was a bulky patterned form¡ªexact colours difficult to tell, smeared as they were with blood. His whole body was littered with cuts both big and small. The largest ones ran the length of his sides, four on each, evenly spaced. There were other wounds as well¡ªsmall ovals of scabs and missing scales. He counted eight of those, too.


    With some difficulty he lifted his head and looked back. A storm rumbled over the sea and obscured the horizon, great enough he could scarcely imagine himself flying through it, even in a better condition. Was that where he¡¯d come from? His throat felt parched, as though he had not drunk in days. He swallowed thickly, and it hurt.


    He forced his shaky paws to move, hefted his battered bulk onto all fours, swaying slightly. The wind tugged hard at his wings and he had to force them tight against his body, and hissed as wound touched wound.


    His eyes were getting used to the oppressive darkness. He tried to wipe at them with his paw and he nearly lost his balance, only barely managing to stay upright. It did little to improve his vision, so he tried to trudge to the forest to wait out the storm. His tail dragged limply across the beach.


    He wondered if he was supposed to be here.


    He did not know. In fact, he knew naught.


    Questions swam in his mind as he groped blindly for any sliver of memory, any remnant of his past. Where was he, who was he, how did he get here, what was this place?


    It would come back, he told himself. He was in shock. (How did he know?) The storm on the sea would pass, and the haze in his mind would too, he only had to wait it out.


    He did not trust himself to rest. Having crawled back into consciousness, he found it a fleeting thing. Every step was wobbly, every thought was groggy. He feared that, should he allow himself to sleep through the storm, he might not wake again.


    He went inland.


    The forest was a tricky thing¡ªhere and again his paw would snag on a creeping vine or a twisted root, there and now he would hear a hiss or chirp or growl, and he would wonder whether it were the land¡¯s inhabitants, or his tired mind playing tricks upon him. He saw no one else¡ªanimal or dragon¡ªbut the woods were dense and the sky was dark, and his sight allowed him little more than the extent of his outstretched paws.


    He made his way slowly, carefully, through the undergrowth, and after what had to be an hour (or a half? or a quarter? he could not tell) the darkness was broken by a shard of light a bit to the left. He gasped, awakening fresh pain in his parched throat, and veered in that direction. In a few moments he found himself at the edge of a clearing so luminous he had to squint against the light, and even then it stung his eyes. When his vision readjusted he looked up and stared.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Before him was a squat building of stone so white it seemed to give off its own glow. The source of light wasn¡¯t the thing itself¡ªthe stones were set aglow by something deeper in. A wide staircase led to a low-set platform and two rows of columns supported a triangular roof. The base of the platform was adorned in elaborate carvings he could not quite discern from this distance, and the roof appeared to mirror them exactly.


    He hesitated at the edge of the clearing. He knew nothing of this building, but on some deeper level, with a sense he could not quite place, he felt something inside¡ªthe source of light, perhaps¡ªpulsing and radiating with power.


    He took a step back into the forest and it felt wrong.


    The thing inside was calling him. He was struck with sudden fear, but found himself, despite his mind¡¯s incessant roars of protest, walking back to the clearing¡¯s edge and then onward still.


    He stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up. It was hardly a big climb, but tired and beaten and cut as he was, he wondered if he could make it. The beckoning he felt from the thing inside gave him little choice, as he found himself lifting a paw and setting it down on the bottommost step. All at once the eight different wounds¡ªand one other, somewhere else he could not see¡ªscreamed with a new, longing pain. His paw buckled, but he steeled himself and pushed on.


    The way up was slow and torturous, unspeakably so for such a short climb. Each step brought a new wave of melancholy, but he pushed on, and eventually his paws found the top of the stairway and the blinding white flatness of the structure. It hurt to look. He blinked, again and again, and then some more.


    It took his eyes a good while to get their bearings, and when they did he cast a look around the structure. To the sides the rows of columns were simple things, with minimal carvings at the base and top¡ªvines and trees and small wingless dragons in various poses, long, jagged crests running along their backs and tails. He frowned. He remembered little, but he knew he had wings himself¡ªcut and torn and hurting as they were¡ªand he knew that having them felt right.


    He stepped farther in. The pads of his paws squelched against the stone, glaringly loud in the tranquil temple. He grimaced at the sound and turned back to see a trail of watery pawprints in his wake.


    He hoped whoever saw after this place would not mind. If anyone did at all.


    Step after torturous step he approached the radiant thing. Set upon a pedestal of, if possible, even whiter stone, was brilliance hewn into a solid form¡ªa gem, colourless and neatly cut, about as large as his own head, pulsing with some alien strength. His heart beat faster as he stared at it, unable to move.


    A voice called from behind.


    He whipped around, panicked, and where before there was nothing but his briny trail, now stood a dragon¡ªbrown and big and bulky. He could not discern their scent nor voice¡ªcould barely make out the nondescript brown of their scales and a flattened white crest. No, not a crest¡ªwhat he¡¯d taken for one on the carvings was fur. It ran from the top of their head, along their neck, back and tail, culminating at the tuft at the tip. The stranger wore scant adornments, most notable of which was a metal band set against his brow, studded with three white gems.


    And, like the dragons on the carvings, the stranger had no wings.


    The two dragons regarded each other in silence, the storm now but a quiet thrum in the distance. The newcomer lifted their gaze at him, and around the black pupil, their irises were white. They spoke once more, but the confusion of sounds meant nothing.


    They stepped forward then, a frown on their snout, and, grabbing him by the shoulder (pain seared across it; he tried to break the hold, but it only hurt more), their eyes flashed with a whitish glow, and they said, ¡®Who are you?¡¯


    He blinked, too stunned to speak. Then he opened his maw, tried to speak, but words kept eluding him, lost somewhere between his tired mind and parched tongue. Finally, under the wingless dragon¡¯s relentless, shining gaze, he managed, ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯ And then, ¡®I don¡¯t remember.¡¯


    They frowned, clicked their foreclaws against the stone, then said, ¡®Come,¡¯ and released their grip. He barely caught the dimming of the glow in the stranger¡¯s eyes as they made their way to the gem, and he followed.


    They looked at him pointedly, seemingly unsure, then pointed to the gem, laying their paw against it. There came an audible whoosh and he took a step back, but after a few more frantic heartbeats nothing more seemed to be happening. Gingerly he padded back to the shining gem, all too aware of its hidden strength. (How?) But if the stranger could touch it, why could not he? As though for emphasis, they sent him an impatient look.


    He huffed and let his paw rest against the gem, and a roar loud enough to set the distant storm atremble ripped from his throat as the world exploded into shining whiteness.


    Remade.

 Prologue: Hatchlings [507-512 A.U.C.]

    507 A. U. C.


    Rubin tucked his paws close to his body as Melodia drenched their egg in white fire.


    It was a thing as customary as it was necessary. As the only dragons blessed with fire, the Ablyns needed heat to hatch, and with their turquoise egg nearing hatching-time it was imperative the parents stay at its side, warming it with their flames.


    From time to time Rubin added his, the reddish-orange glow complimenting the white of his mate, deepening the shadows that flickered against the cavern¡¯s walls and accentuating the deep black and crimson of his own scales. It was, though, only a symbolic gesture¡ªhe could never hope to produce flames as hot as Melodia¡¯s. Still, leaving her alone in the work was out of the question.


    ¡®Now, of all times,¡¯ he said wistfully. ¡®What kind of world will they hatch into?¡¯


    The stream of white fire broke. ¡®We¡¯ve talked about this, love.¡¯ There was no reprimand in her voice, though Rubin could still sense her impatience with the topic. ¡®By the time they grow up¡ª¡¯


    ¡®I know, I know,¡¯ he acquiesced. ¡®Still, in, what, a year? Two? Jagrav will want us back. How can we hope to raise a dragonet with that over our heads?¡¯


    ¡®We¡¯ll manage,¡¯ Melodia said with unwavering resolve, sending a particularly strong breath of fire for emphasis. Rubin admired her confidence, as much¡ªif not more¡ªas when they had met. The glow of her flames reflected off of her swirly patterns in varying shades of blue, danced in her turquoise eyes. ¡®Besides,¡¯ she added, ¡®if not now, when? Do you think the war will end in just a few years? As it is, our child may not hatch into peace, but could live long enough to see it. Perhaps even help bring it.¡¯


    ¡®I know.¡¯ He sighed, and then, quieter, added, ¡®I know.¡¯


    She bumped his snout with hers. ¡®I don¡¯t like it either. But it¡¯s not like our parents wanted this for us either.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re right, mine would¡¯ve given me over to the Cavrians even if it did nothing to stop this.¡¯ Rubin couldn''t quite stop this slight outpouring of bitterness, but regretted it as soon as it left his maw. He preferred not to think about it.


    ¡®Rubin dear. Stop giving them as much thought. Past¡¯s past. This¡ª¡¯ she sent another short stream of fire¡ª ¡®is now.¡¯


    He added his own orange flames in silent agreement.


    The egg began to rock.


    Rubin inhaled sharply and looked to Melodia, who looked back and beamed. She turned back to the egg ready to redo its white-hot coat.


    They continued their silent watch, adding occasional fresh flames, until, at last, a crack marred the otherwise perfect shell.


    Rubin shuffled forward, Melodia at his side. Her turquoise eyes, matching near-perfectly with the egg, shone with joy. His heart beat faster and faster as the fracture lengthened, widened, until finally, with a gentle crack that echoed weakly through the cavern, the egg split and a little dragon came awkwardly tumbling down.


    ¡®Hello, little one,¡¯ said Melodia, her snout a picture of adoration. ¡®Oh, how gorgeous you are.¡¯


    The dragonet wehed, squeaked, and lifted her head to peer at them, wide-eyed. Melodia¡¯s blues and Rubin¡¯s blacks blended across her scales, and her paws boasted dull silvery-grey claws, all shiny with the wetness of the newly hatched. A deep blue crest ran proudly along the back of her neck, and the twin pairs of her would-be horns were tiny whitish nubs, and her wings beat awkwardly as she struggled to stand up.


    Rubin thought his spirit might leave his scales to sing all through the sky as he looked down at his daughter.


    He tossed her bits of softened meat and chuckled proudly when their little hunter leaped and tripped and began vigorously gnawing at the things. When she was done, punctuated by a squeaky-hiccupy sound, Rubin scooped her up in his paws and held her close to his chest. He turned to his mate. ¡®Cynobria, then?¡¯


    Melodia nodded and scooted closer to look at their newhatched daughter. Cynobria peered back at her curiously.


    ¡®Welcome to the world, Cynobria. We promise we¡¯ll make it as good as we can, for you.¡¯


    ¡®Squeak,¡¯ chirped Cynobria by way of a response.


    511 A. U. C.


    It was a stormy night and Kyr was growing restless. The howling wind rid her of any ideas of sleep and she moved from window to window, looking out to see if any dragon found themselves fighting the merciless gale.


    Kyr didn¡¯t fear storms¡ªnot most of them at least, but this time it seemed strong enough to toss a dragon down from the sky. She was safe here, within the walls of their tree, but just thinking of anyone stuck out there was making her uneasy, and the creaking-straining sound of their home and the violent howl outside hardly eased the anxious knot in her gut.


    ¡®A tin for your thoughts?¡¯


    She nearly jumped at the sound. Hryns could pad as soundlessly as a lynx if he wanted to. She should really get used to that.


    ¡®You need not spend tins, silly.¡¯ She turned and, sure enough, standing in the wide entryway with a satisfied grin splitting his snout, was her sneaky mate in all his orange-green-grey glory. ¡®Though I might take some other things.¡¯


    He laughed at that, and she grinned, and for a moment she forgot her worry. She wondered when would come the time they no longer got drunk on each other¡¯s smiles and laughs, and hoped it would never come.


    ¡®Weather¡¯s rough tonight, huh?¡¯ he said, coming to stand next to her. ¡®I don¡¯t envy anyone who¡¯d have to fly through this.¡¯


    ¡®Where¡¯s Nythr?¡¯ she asked, if only to take her mind away from the storm. Outside the trees bowed low against the might of the wind, bending so hard she feared they might snap.


    ¡®Where do you think he is?¡¯ Hryns snorted. ¡®That dragon would sleep through the end of the world, and then some.¡¯


    ¡®At least one of us will be alive tomorrow.¡¯


    Hryns looked at her pointedly. ¡®It¡¯s an off-day. You¡¯ve got any plans?¡¯


    ¡®That¡ª¡¯ Kyr nodded at the window, at the storm¡ª ¡®will need some helping paws when it¡¯s over.¡¯


    ¡®Ah, my sweet.¡¯ Hryns extended his ash-grey wing over her and pulled her tight against his flank. ¡®Ykyrsh the Great, saviour of all!¡¯ he jeered and she looked at him sharply, and he relented with a gentle smile. ¡®Of course we¡¯ll help too, Nythr and I. Wouldn¡¯t think of anything else.¡¯


    A shape, some green-and-yellow blur, flitted across her vision.


    ¡®What was that?¡¯


    ¡®Hm?¡¯ asked Hryns, confused. Kyr shifted under his wing and rested her paws against the window, leaning closer to investigate the scene outside.


    ¡®I think I saw something fly by.¡¯


    He moved closer to the window. ¡®What kind of something?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not sure.¡¯ She continued to stare outside, but the night and the storm worked together to render the scene unreadable. ¡®It was too fast to make anything out.¡¯


    ¡®Are you sure?¡¯ Hryns withdrew a little. ¡®Because if you ask me, it¡¯s hard to see shit out there.¡¯


    Kyr sighed. ¡®I know. Still¡­¡¯ She let the word hang between them and didn¡¯t move away from the grown-in glass. Hryns was right, should have been right, and yet she was almost sure she¡¯d seen something.


    She fruitlessly scrutinised every bit within her line of sight, then sighed once more and moved away to join Hryns, who started making his way back across the room.


    ¡®I¡¯ll try for at least a little shut-eye. You in?¡¯


    Feeling resigned, Kyr nodded absentmindedly, coming to join him, but as she passed by another window, she caught some movement in the corner of her eye. ¡®What was that?¡¯


    ¡®Kyr.¡¯ Hryns sighed, turning to her. ¡®You¡¯re tired. You¡¯re just seeing things now.¡¯ But she was already looking out the window, searching.


    ¡®Hryns,¡¯ she said, urgency rising in her voice. ¡®Come look at this.¡¯


    He must have picked up on her tone, because in moments he was next to her, looking out.


    His ears went flat. ¡®Is that¡­?¡¯


    ¡®I think it¡¯s an egg.¡¯


    It was a guess¡ªit was hard to see anything in this kind of weather, rain and wind and flying leaves¡ªbut the bounding shape looked very egglike, a greenish, greyish, yellowish thing of just about the size and shape. It was currently trapped in tangled vines, but the heavy wind jostled it to the sides with such force it could get dislodged at any moment.


    ¡®How could¡­¡¯ He seemed to be at a loss for words. ¡®How.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m going out,¡¯ said Kyr and, without waiting for his reply, headed for the mudroom.


    ¡®Woah, woah, wait! You can¡¯t be serious!¡¯ Hryns called and she heard pawsteps against wood, following her.


    She was already by the door, searching for a wingstrap, when he caught up. The room was little more than a bare live-tree tunnel, three boxes and two doors and a single window its only features. ¡®Of course I¡¯m serious,¡¯ she said, finding the strap and turning to him. ¡®How could I not be? It¡¯s a fucking egg! It will get crushed in this storm! Here¡ª¡¯ she handed him the wingstrap¡ª ¡®help me with this.¡¯


    He accepted the strap, shocked at her outburst. ¡®We¡¯re not sure it¡¯s an egg. You want to risk yourself for a guess?¡¯ But even as he was saying it, he was helping her put on the strap, and then tightening it against her body.


    ¡®Wish me luck,¡¯ she said, noting that a touch of nervousness slipped into her voice.


    ¡®You don¡¯t need luck.¡¯ He smiled, almost encouragingly, but with too much uncertainty to truly lift her spirits. He gave her snout an affectionate nuzzle. ¡®Go get it, love.¡¯


    Her stomach tightened into a knot, but she nodded, and as Hryns withdrew deeper into the house and closed the door to the porch, she braced herself and opened the door outside.


    The gale nearly swept her off her paws, and the rain drenched each scale in seconds. She pushed a little forward, dug her claws into the ground and somehow managed to pull the door closed with her tail. The wind tugged at her wings, but the strap held them firmly against her body¡ªhad she not put it on she¡¯d have joined the hurricane of leaves in but a blink. She looked around, but didn¡¯t see anyone out there, just her against the storm, everyone else tucked safe inside their homes.


    Thunder roared while she trudged onward in the direction she saw the supposed egg. It was on the other side of their home, and with its cover the wind there should be less violent. Kyr made slow progress, but progress she did, and after a small eternity of tiny uncertain steps along the bark of their home-tree the wind lessened and she saw the window from which she¡¯d spotted the egg¡ªbehind it she could now see a dragon¡¯s shape. And then there it was¡ªthe tangle of vines that held the small round shape.


    There came a cracking then, amid the ceaseless howl, and then a groaning and a rustle, and a tree came toppling onto her.


    Heart in her throat, she moved before she could think, jumping to the side of the falling tree. She avoided the brunt of it, but a heavy branch broke off and, carried by the wind, it slammed against her.


    The impact sent her careening upwards with the storm, the air pushed out of her lungs in a single terrible moment. Vertigo dulled each sense as she spun head-over-tail and slammed into another tree, the bark scraping at her scales as she slid down. She struggled to turn around and to find her grip, and halfway down her claws found purchase in the rainsoaked bark, allowing her to slowly clamber down the rest of the way. Her back and chest ached terribly, and she was short on breath, but she got her footing once more. She looked around and was surprised to see she had landed not too far from the little egg. She allowed herself a small smile as she crept to it on careful paws.


    Up close she had no doubts¡ªit was an egg. Its surface was smooth, but marred with weirdly regular cracks.


    Her ears flattened, claws flexed. Was it already hatching? Or had the storm damaged the shell?


    She reached to pick it up and at that moment, weakened from the scraping of the bark, her strap gave way.


    She scrambled to clutch the egg to her chest as she struggled to not unfurl her wings despite the relentless gale. She looked up to the window, but it was empty now, no one left to see. She gritted her teeth, growled low. Had Hryns left?


    Holding the egg close, she hobbled back on three paws. It was treacherous, walking like this in a storm as strong as this one, and one misstep could cause her to be swept again, and the egg to be crushed to bits. She nearly crawled and tried for cover all she could, but even so the wind was doing its worst to spread her wings, to goad her into a final flight.


    And that it did.


    In a heartbeat¡¯s span her wings went wide and the wind rushed eagerly to fill them, and it was all she could do to hold the egg tight as she was flung skyward. She watched the ground recede in a muddy blur.


    Is this how I end?


    Another log slammed into her from above, pinning her to the ground. Her heart hammered faster than it ever had and she wasn¡¯t sure if it was luck or misfortune until she realised the thing that hit her wasn¡¯t a log¡ªit was not a thing at all.


    ¡®I¡¯ll hold them closed!¡¯ Hryns roared, barely audible in the storm. ¡®Inside, quick!¡¯


    Despite his urgent tone it took all too long for Kyr to see the door, and then several more painfully slow moments to crawl back with Hryns on top of her. They managed to scramble inside, falling to the floor in a wet heap of wings and scales, and Hryns rushed to close the door. Kyr surveyed the mudroom only to see the other door open too, and the house farther in was in a state she had not expected to see until they had hatchlings.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡®Did you get it?¡¯


    The question roused her from her thoughts. The egg!


    Her paws shook as she withdrew the egg from against her aching chest and set it gently on the floor. It was perfectly round, a dull yellowy green. As she examined it more closely, what she had taken for cracks turned out to be letters, scribbled clumsily in washed black lines.


    Zhyr.


    ¡®So you were right,¡¯ Hryns said unsteadily. ¡®It really is an egg.¡¯


    ¡®I wonder how it got here.¡¯ Kyr mused aloud. ¡®Where are its parents?¡¯ She lifted her head to look out the small mudroom window, suppressing a wince of pain. A puddle of rainwater gathered on the floor under her. All she could see through the rain-battered glass was the frenzied dancing of the leaves.


    A soft tapping came from the direction of the hall and in a few moments the bright green-and-blue form of Nythr stood in the round doorless doorway.


    ¡®What is this mess?¡¯ their mate asked sleepily as Kyr and Hryns collapsed onto the floor.


    They couldn''t find the egg¡¯s parents when the next day the skies cleared and the storm died down. They asked around the village, and in others close by, but no one claimed to have lost an egg. Unsure of what to do, they decided to keep it and waited for someone to come asking, all the while taking care of the little treasure.


    No one came.


    And when, in around two months, the egg hatched, revealing a scrawny light-and-dark green hatchling with grey-brown stripes and ecru socks, they decided to name him Zhyr.


    512 A. U. C.


    Ruari sat guard in the Royal Hatchery, looking after two beige eggs.


    The opulence of the place had never ceased to rouse her awe, even as she was no longer new to the line of Lasth¨²ir. She had traded sturdy valley manors for the mountain-set Lightbringers¡¯ palace, the seat of queens and kings. The gilded walls and ornaments, and softest silks she¡¯d ever touched were middling compensation for the scrutiny that came from being the wife of a possible future king.


    Aodhan wasn¡¯t with her, and he rarely ever was when she looked after their clutch. He was a busy dragon, he would say, and he¡¯d been right, but, in Ruari¡¯s mind, even the Prince Lightbringer could spare a moment to join his wife in looking after their brood.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ said On¨®ri, ¡®then tell him that.¡¯


    ¡®Do you think I have not tried?¡¯ Ruari shook her head in exasperation, ruffled her wings to get them more comfortably against her sides. ¡®He always says the same one thing. That he needs to study under the Queen¡¯s wing, be ready to take the rule when it is his due, and these are just eggs, and until they hatch they are not of his concern. Sometimes I almost wonder if he will keep this attitude when they do hatch¡ªif he notices, of course.¡¯ She could not stop a bitter note from slipping out.


    ¡®You are being a little harsh on him, don¡¯t you think?¡¯ On¨®ri patted Ruari¡¯s paw with her own. ¡®King or not, he would not leave his own children out of his life.¡¯


    ¡®C¨¢ondai did.¡¯


    On¨®ri sighed and withdrew her paw. Ruari regretted her comment at once, wanted back her sister¡¯s comforting touch. ¡®She did,¡¯ On¨®ri said. ¡®But he is not the Conqueror Come Again, despite what she might be claiming. Did you not tell me that yourself, back when you two were courting?¡¯


    ¡®I did,¡¯ Ruari admitted. She was glad to have On¨®ri here with her. From anyone else these words might have been empty things, but the two sisters would always manage to find a way to lift each others¡¯ spirits. She suspected Unity might have blessed them with some special bond of twins.


    Her husband could hardly claim such a connection with his own clutchmates.


    ¡®Ruari,¡¯ said On¨®ri suddenly, urgently. ¡®Ruari, look!¡¯


    Ruari frowned, unsure what her sister meant, until she spotted it too. One of the eggs was rocking gently. She watched with bated breath, and soon the other joined, and then small cracks were spiderwebbing along their surfaces.


    Breath hitched in Ruari¡¯s throat, and when she got her voice back, she called, ¡®Servant. Servant!¡¯ and when a dragoness came rushing to them Ruari said, ¡®Send for Aodhan. The eggs are hatching.¡¯


    The dragoness needed no further encouragement. She nodded and immediately set off, manoeuvring expertly out of the hatchery.


    ¡®Dear me,¡¯ On¨®ri said a little breathlessly, eyes sparkling with excitement. ¡®I am very glad I came with you today.¡¯


    She left unspoken the fact that she had accompanied Ruari on a near-daily basis, ever since the eggs were laid. She left unspoken who had not. The two dragonesses waited with their eyes set on the rocking-cracking eggs. A small crowd of hatchery workers in their distinct simple white vestments and higher nobles, scales adorned with gold and yellow gems¡ªworn as jewellery or, like the Conqueror Queen, embedded in their scales¡ªwas slowly gathering around them, but there was no sight of Aodhan. Ruari, despite the joyous moment, could not help a prickle of exasperation rising in her heart.


    Right as she saw a small snout trying to push its way out the cracking shell, murmurs came from outside, and the clanking of metal as the guards moved aside, and then, in all his white-and-gold radiance, entered Aodhan ¨¢l ¨¦oghan ith Lasth¨²ir, the Prince Lightbringer, grand and resplendent and almost late to the hatching of his own first clutch.


    The tiny crowd parted for him as he settled next to Ruari at the precise moment the first hatchling pushed her way out of the egg. He sent a mildly critical look towards On¨®ri, but said not a word, turning back to watch the hatchling and the egg, his snout curving in a gentle smile that looked honest to its core, from his posture to his mat gold eyes.


    A small stab of guilt at the earlier accusations pricked Ruari¡¯s heart, but it dissipated in a flash. He had not been there all those days she¡¯d been waiting, checking, looking after the eggs. She hoped after today he could spare more of his time for them.


    The second one was coming too¡ªa tiny paw already free of its confines, white-and-gold scales exactly as Aodhan¡¯s. It took a few more clumsy tries, but soon enough he was out of the shell, and the two hatchlings¡ªtheir daughter with Ruari¡¯s white and beige and specks of chestnut brown and her husband¡¯s minimal patterns, and their son with the white and gold of the prince, and Ruari¡¯s small spirals across his body, smoke-like patterns on the wings¡ªwere peering up at them with curious eyes, both the Lasth¨²ir colour of matted gold.


    The Naming Ceremony took place the next day.


    What scant preparations had not yet been made were completed with swift efficiency. The eggs had been expected to hatch soon, and most necessities had been arranged the past week. All that was left was to attend.


    ¡®Congratulations on the hatching.¡¯


    Ruari stilled, startled, and turned around to see the pearly-gold visage of her husband¡¯s sister.


    Iona ¨¢l ¨²na ith Lasth¨²ir was a startling presence, but ever since Ruari had started courting Aodhan, the dragoness had been making her uneasy. Under this dignified veneer was a mind Ruari dared not try to guess at.


    ¡®You are kind,¡¯ she said simply, dipping her head.


    Iona smiled pleasantly. ¡®No need to be as formal. We are family now, after all.¡¯ She tilted her head. ¡®Might we walk?¡¯


    ¡®Of course,¡¯ she said. Iona beckoned with her wing and Ruari followed.


    ¡®I must say, dear brother is in some haste. The first of us to court as seriously, and already with heirs. How does one manage to accommodate such responsibilities with the duty to the empire?¡¯


    He is twenty-eight, thought Ruari, but did not voice it. Of the royal triplets he was the only one with a partner¡ªassuming Lorcan¡¯s escapades were mere rumours¡ªand the other two seemed to be in no hurry to join him. Though with the current Queen Lightbringer having her first clutch at forty-four, when her iron grip on the empire was unbreakable and the conquests in full swing, Ruari saw where Iona might have been coming from.


    ¡®It is not an easy thing,¡¯ she ventured carefully. ¡®But I am certain my husband can manage.¡¯


    ¡®And what of you?¡¯


    Ruari stopped short for a moment, and had to rush a little to catch up to Iona. ¡®Pardon?¡¯


    The Princess Lightbringer sent her a pointed look, topped with a gentle smile that made Ruari want to cower, but she stood her ground. ¡®You are Aodhan¡¯s wife now. You have a rare privilege of joining the Lasth¨²ir ranks, albeit not by blood. You might have a say in the workings of the empire.¡¯


    Ruari shook her head. ¡®Not yet. I must admit, I have still not grown used to the goings-on of the court at this tier. One day, perhaps, but presently I want to make sure everything is handled properly with the hatchlings.¡¯


    ¡®Truly,¡¯ said Iona. Her tone gave Ruari an impression of a hidden snakepit. ¡®Thank you for your time. It was illuminating.¡¯


    ¡®Likewise,¡¯ lied Ruari and let herself drop back as Iona continued forward. She let loose a shaky breath. Every conversation with Iona felt like a test¡ªone she was never sure she had passed.


    If Ruari were to name one thing she did not like about the high court, it would be the endless tangled web of intrigues, dragons suddenly expecting her to know it all and bear herself properly, navigating through this twisted maze. It made her feel inadequate, thrust into a world she had not been ready for.


    ¡®My love? Here you are.¡¯


    She turned at the sound of this voice. The one in this palace that made her feel she belonged.


    ¡®The Naming Ceremony is going to start,¡¯ said Aodhan. ¡®Come.¡¯


    And so she came, and there proceeded the Naming Ceremony of the royal clutch, the first heralds of this new generation.


    Ruari stood there with Aodhan, the two hatchlings before them looking up curiously. It was a small event¡ªevery dragon present invited personally, from Aodhan¡¯s siblings, Iona and Lorcan, to his and Ruari¡¯s parents. On¨®ri was there too¡ªthe most deserving guest as far as Ruari was concerned¡ªtogether with her wife and their other two sisters (one hard look was argument enough to quell Aodhan¡¯s protest). The final guest, aside from temple staff, was N¨²allan, the King Consort, an empty place at his side. The Queen Lightbringer, C¨¢ondai ¨¢l Deal¨¢i ith Lasth¨²ir, called the Conqueror still in her life, did not come to witness the naming of the two new scions of Lasth¨²ir.


    The useless generation? Ruari held back a scoff at the thought. For all she cared the queen could eat her tail.


    The chapel was bathed in muted half-light¡ªenough it could not be called a darkness, but only so much that the inner glow of a diamond set on a low white marble platform was the brightest thing inside.


    As all the prayers had been said, and all the blessings bestowed, and all the other minute details taken care of, Ruari nudged her hatchlings forward and they came to a stop in front of the priest. He wore the ceremonial cloth of grey embroidered with arcs of white and black and darker grey, all outlined with golden thread. The symbol of Unity.


    He placed his paw against the diamond. The hatchlings peered at it curiously, little heads tilting, and then the little dragoness touched the gem. It blinked with a sudden white-light flash and the hatchling leaped back, startled. Ruari smiled and said, ¡®Taori.¡¯


    The priest nodded. For a moment that was it, until Aodhan nudged their little dragonar too. He gingerly rested his paw against the diamond, and a similar flash followed.


    ¡®F¨¢olan,¡¯ said Aodhan as the hatchling continued to stare into the brilliant shimmering interior of the ceremonial gem.


    ELSEWHERE, SAME YEAR


    Cynobria exhaled with as much fury as she could muster, but no fire came out.


    She huffed, irritated. Mum and Dad had said it would come, eventually, as it did to all the dragons of their kind. Except Cynobria was five already and she was yet to breathe her first plume of flame.


    She sighed.


    She turned her attention to the metal contraption she was playing with¡ªa tangle of bars and loops. She had seen it once at a market, at the stall with other such curious trinkets. She¡¯d asked what it was and was told it was a puzzle, one where she was supposed to separate the two pieces. The dragon selling the thing separated them under the counter, showed her the undid loops, joined them back and let her try to unhook them, and then Cynobria did try and couldn¡¯t, and tried again, and then the seller took it back and she¡¯d asked Dad enough times that he¡¯d got it for her.


    It had been over a week since then and she still couldn¡¯t do it. Maybe if she tried to loop this piece through that opening and twist it¡ª


    ¡®Bree, dinner¡¯s set up!¡¯


    Cynobria jumped at the sound and the thing tumbled to the floor. She huffed, annoyed, and tried to repeat what she¡¯d done, but the metal bar-loop-thing did not cooperate, so she threw it to the floor and scampered over to the kitchen where Dad was setting the table with a variety of meats and herbs. The whole kitchen was saturated in the smell of them, and her nostrils flared as it hit her.


    There was a commotion at the entrance, a thud, a bang, then rushing steps, and Cynobria only had time enough to look before Mum stood in the open doorway. ¡®Rubin!¡¯ she said, urgent and breathless. ¡®Have you heard?¡¯


    ¡®Hello to you too, dear,¡¯ said Dad, and it almost sounded as cheery as usual. ¡®Heard what?¡¯


    Mum grinned. ¡®The Conqueror is dead.¡¯


    He froze. ¡®Is she now?¡¯ He set a plate down, giving a short tap to the table before dropping to all fours. Cynobria wasn¡¯t sure who this Conqueror was¡ªshe had heard her mentioned here and there, but nothing much. She seemed important. ¡®Does Jagrav know?¡¯


    ¡®He brought the news,¡¯ said Mum. ¡®You know how he works, eyes and ears everywhere.¡¯


    Dad nodded. ¡®That he does. Do we know who takes the throne now?¡¯


    Cynobria looked between them. She hadn¡¯t been hungry before, but surrounded by the smells of herbs and meat her maw began to salivate. She padded to the basin to wash her paws, keeping a single ear on their parents, even if she understood little of what they were talking about.


    ¡®Not yet,¡¯ Mum was saying. ¡®My guess is on Iona or Aodhan, but I hope against hope they somehow choose Lorcan.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯d be for the best,¡¯ Dad chuckled. ¡®Still, any of these three is better than C¨¢ondai.¡¯ He grimaced at the name before smoothing his snout and clapping his paws. ¡®Well,¡¯ he said, ¡®that is that. Now, dinner.¡¯


    They washed their paws and took their places and Cynobria crawled-climbed-clambered onto her high stool. In front of each of them was a plate with the herbed slabs of meat Dad had prepared.


    ¡®May I, Bree?¡¯ he asked, reaching for her plate.


    ¡®I want Mum to do it!¡¯


    He hesitated as Mum failed to hide a snort. ¡®Look, Bree,¡¯ he said slowly. ¡®You know Mum¡¯s fire is¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ she said. ¡®I want it.¡¯


    ¡®Alright,¡¯ said Mum, chuckling softly. ¡®Pass it to me.¡¯


    Cynobria forced herself to stop bouncing on her stool as she slid the plate across the table. Mum took it in her paws and lifted it a little, then she opened her maw and breathed a thin stream of white-hot fire onto Cynobria¡¯s dinner and at once the kitchen was filled with a much stronger scent of burned herbs and charred meat. Cynobria looked in awe at the pouring whiteness, drooling at the tasty scent.


    When the flames abated, Cynobria blinked away the afterimage, took her now-ready (if a little scorched) dinner and said, ¡®Do you think I¡¯ll be a whitefire too?¡¯


    Mum smiled at that. ¡®We¡¯ll see, Bree.¡¯ And Cynobria grinned back.


    Whitefire. Breathing fire was a trait unique to Ablyns, and most of them could produce a reddish, yellowish flame, like Dad. Some, though, like Mum, could breathe white fire, much hotter than the regular one.


    And Cynobria really, really wanted it for herself.


    Mum and Dad leaned over their own plates and each breathed a little fire onto it. The beautiful scent only grew stronger and Cynobria drummed her claws on the table, waiting for her parents to start. Her tail was twitching impatiently, thumping against the legs of her stool, when she was struck by a thought.


    ¡®How do other dragons eat if they have no fire?¡¯


    Mum and Dad looked to each other, then both snorted a laugh, which Cynobria didn¡¯t understand. She had asked a serious question. None of the other dragons Cynobria knew could breathe fire, and though Cynobria herself couldn¡¯t do that either, she knew she would, eventually. But they lived in Tarange now, where the dragons¡¯ eyes were violet, not blue, and where they had no fire in their breath.


    ¡®Cooking meals with our own fire is an Ablyneese tradition,¡¯ said Dad. ¡®We could do it like it¡¯s done elsewhere¡ªwith hot coals, or a fire made a different way¡ªbut we are Ablyns and, even when we¡¯re far from home, it¡¯s important to keep living the Ablay way.¡¯


    ¡®But we live in Tarange. Aren¡¯t we Tarang¡­eese?


    ¡®Tarangean. And no,¡¯ said Mum, gently but sternly. ¡®We may have come here, but we were, all of us, hatched as Ablyns. That¡¯s who we are, and that¡¯s who we¡¯ll always be.¡¯


    ¡®Why did we move away?¡¯ asked Cynobria.


    Mum and Dad exchanged a weird look, and then Mum said, ¡®We had to do it for work.¡¯


    Cynobria tilted her head, frowning. ¡®There was no work back home?¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s¡­ a little complicated, Bree.¡¯


    ¡®Who is Jagrav?¡¯


    At that both of them went quiet, and Dad sent Mum a serious look. He said, ¡®Now, Bree, your dinner is cooling down. Eat up.¡¯


    Cynobria pouted, but obediently dug in, and so did Mum and Dad. If she had any qualms about her unanswered question, they were gone with the first bite of seasoned meat. Even if a little too scorched, Dad¡¯s mixture of herbs and spices gave it a tail-twitchingly good taste, and in some mysterious way Cynobria couldn¡¯t get out of him, he managed to make the meat so soft it came apart at the slightest tug of her teeth.


    ¡®He¡¯s a colleague from work,¡¯ said Mum. Cynobria looked up from the meal, confused. Mum added, ¡®Jagrav.¡¯


    Many other questions ignited in her head and almost forced themselves to spill from her maw, but Mum¡¯s tone held them back. Not now, Cynobria decided. She would ask them later.


    ¡®How was school?¡¯ asked Dad, in-between his sizable bites.


    ¡®Ermf¡­¡¯ mumbled Cynobria and dug into her dinner.


    ¡®Did something happen?¡¯ Mum asked, a touch worried.


    Cynobria swallowed a chunk of meat. ¡®No, no, just¡­¡¯ She sighed. ¡®Others are looking at me a little weird.¡¯


    ¡®Weird?¡¯


    ¡®Weird.¡¯ She nodded. ¡®Nothing much. Sometimes they say I look different. That my eyes are odd. They ask me to say things in Svarish. Some tell me to speak in ¡°Ablyneese¡±. And it¡¯s nothing mean and nothing much, but it feels odd.¡¯


    ¡®Bree,¡¯ said Mum, a little sadly. ¡®You are a Svar. You are an Ablyn. Even out here, you are fire. It¡¯s a reason for pride. Never forget that.¡¯


    ¡®But I don¡¯t want to be ¡°other¡±. I want to fit in with my friends!¡¯


    ¡®You can, still. We¡¯re all equally dragon. But you will always be an Ablyn, and you¡¯ll¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Then why did we have to MOVE?¡¯ she yelled, and flames poured from her maw.


    Mum and Dad looked at her, stunned, and Cynobria sat still, wide-eyed, then hiccuped, and another little plume of fire appeared in the air.


    It wasn¡¯t white though. But neither was it the orange-red of her dad.


    It was blue.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ said Dad, still not moving from where he sat. The remnants of his dinner were still on the table, though the spices¡¯ scent was covered by the new hot-metal smell of Cynobria¡¯s flames. ¡®It looks like you¡¯ve got your fire, Bree.¡¯

 Ch1: A Fire Stoked [521 A.U.C.]

    Cynobria jotted down the solution to the final problem and sighed. She breathed on the ink to let it dry, then closed the book and set it down.


    ¡®Done already?¡¯ asked Yselle.


    ¡®Done already,¡¯ Cynobria said, flexing her paw. She removed the ferrule she¡¯d been writing with from her claw and wiped it against a cloth. ¡®They¡¯re making them too easy.¡¯


    She set the ferrule neatly on the small table she shared with Yselle. They¡¯d rented this nook in the library for a little after-class study session. It was a small thing, walls lined with books Cynobria didn¡¯t care much about, a small table just enough for the two of them and a lit chandelier overhead¡ªtwo concentric wooden circles lined with candles¡ªwhich made the room feel somewhere between cosy and cramped.


    ¡®Maybe you¡¯re just too good.¡¯ Yselle shot her a grin. In the well-lit library there was a red-purple glint to her dark scales, her eyes a light violet, set against the frame of her slim dark snout and curved graphite horns.


    ¡®Flatterer,¡¯ Cynobria teased, though she was happy¡ªif a little disappointed¡ªto hear the praise. This book was only one of many of the sort she¡¯d got¡ªfilled with riddles, problems and convoluted conundrums. She¡¯d used to spend hours solving them, relishing each for the challenge it had brought. As of late, though, it had started to fade. They grew too easy, too quick to solve¡ªand even a few days¡¯ challenge hardly brought the desired thrill. The thing about artificial problems was that there were patterns to them, many locks yielding under the same key, and once she cracked those, any challenge they gave went up in flames like straw.


    ¡®Well, if you¡¯re done, could you have a look at this? For the life of me, I can¡¯t come to terms with your weird Ablyneese grammar.¡¯


    Cynobria smiled and leaned to look over Yselle¡¯s shoulder, at her notes from the class.


    It wasn¡¯t Svarish, but it was close enough¡ªthey were studying Krahan, which belonged to the same family as Cynobria¡¯s native tongue and, despite some differences, she found little issue with it, even if for most of her Tarangean classmates it proved a challenge.


    Cynobria glanced through the page, looking for what Yselle seemed to be struggling with.


    ¡®You have to use the locative case here,¡¯ she said, pointing. ¡®And it will add an ¡°-e¡± suffix. ¡°NE HVASE¡±. Here. See?¡¯


    Instead of looking, Yselle¡¯s head fell against the table with a soft thunk. ¡®Why would anyone need seven grammar cases?¡¯ she groaned. ¡®It¡¯s like they asked themselves ¡°Hey, how can we complicate this to be as inconvenient for everyone as possible?¡± and someone was feeling particularly inspired.¡¯


    ¡®Hayar has seventeen.¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯ Yselle lifted a claw to silence her, head still flat against the table. ¡®No no no no no. Don¡¯t make it any worse.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s not that hard, really,¡¯ said Cynobria, sliding the notes over to Yselle. ¡®You use locative when talking about where something is located, like¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Why do I add the ¡°-e¡±?¡¯


    Cynobria¡¯s wings twitched in a shrug. ¡®It would sound weird otherwise.¡¯


    Yselle groaned.


    ¡®It might seem,¡¯ Cynobria went on, leaning in, ¡®that there are more exceptions than rules here, but really, it all comes together quite nicely, if I may say so.¡¯


    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Yselle, sounding entirely not convinced. ¡®You know, if you complain about all your riddles being too easy, maybe you should try learning Hayar¡¯s seventeen cases instead. See how easy that is.¡¯


    Cynobria smiled, a reply ready on her tongue when she stopped, considering. She had never tried learning from scratch something as expansive as a language¡ªSvarish and Tarangean she had learned in her first years after hatching, and the Krahan classes provided hardly any challenge, so similar to Svarish at times she thought she had a better grasp on it than learn¨¦d Noteuf. Hayar in the other paw¡­


    ¡®You¡¯re considering it.¡¯ Yselle lifted her head, looking at Cynobria a little hollowly. Her frills quivered. ¡®You are really considering it.¡¯


    Cynobria grinned. ¡®You always have such wonderful ideas.¡¯


    ¡®I was joking.¡¯


    ¡®Well,¡¯ said Cynobria, tilting her head, flicking an ear, ¡®I¡¯m not.¡¯ Her tail-tip twitched excitedly. ¡®Oh, this could be interesting.¡¯


    ¡®It is official,¡¯ said Yselle, addressing the empty space of the nook around them, the shelves crammed with dusty books silent witnesses to her claim. ¡®My girlfriend is crazy.¡¯


    ¡®Oh, please.¡¯ Cynobria bumped her snout against Yselle¡¯s cheek, ¡®What¡¯s new?¡¯


    Hayar was hard.


    Some part of Cynobria knew it to be a good thing, and it relished the challenge the language had posed. It was unlike anything she had studied before¡ªit shared hardly any common ground with either Tarangean or any of the Ablyneese tongues. She could deal with vocabulary¡ªit was simple memorisation, which, though not much enjoyable, she prided herself on being good at (and the word formation, the turning of a noun to a verb to a participle clause, had patterns to it, ones she could look for, crack, understand), but the grammar¡­


    Was this how everyone else felt in the Krahan classes?


    Cynobria gritted her teeth, pondering an exercise, and jotted down an answer. She sighed, took up her book and flipped to see the correct declination of ¡°see¡±.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Her answer was wrong.


    Slow breath in. Slow breath out. No fire, not even smoke. She wouldn¡¯t want to damage the lovely Hayar book, would she?


    A few calming breaths later she was back at the exercise, trying to crack the next answer. It seemed¡­ oddly similar to her native¡¯s instrumental case. She frowned and then, not entirely sure, wrote her answer down. She read it aloud. It¡­ didn¡¯t sound too bad, hopefully? She leafed to the end of the book for the answer.


    Wrong.


    Again.


    She squeezed her eyes and slammed her paw into the table, and a metallic crack accompanied the impact. She winced and, with deliberate slowness, lifted her paw to an expected sight¡ªshe hadn¡¯t removed the ferrule she¡¯d been writing with. The thing lodged onto her claw and, on impact, broke, spilling dark blue ink across her black pad and the desk.


    She breathed in, barely managing to stop herself from clawing at the table once more. She moved to take the ferrule off, if only to continue her venting without making everything worse.


    It wouldn¡¯t come off.


    The impact must have dislocated parts of it, and now it was stuck on her claw, dirty and broken, taunting her like only an inanimate object could. She tugged harder, but to little avail. And then more. And more, and more and more andmore andmoreandmoreandmoreand¡ª


    The ferrule at last gave way under Cynobria¡¯s furious assault, but it didn¡¯t go out without a fight¡ªit relented by breaking further apart, an explosion of ink all across Cynobria¡¯s paws and desk and practice book.


    ¡®Flame-blasted¡ªURGHHH!¡¯ Cynobria roared, smashing her paw into the table again, strong enough to flare a fresh wave of pain. Cynobria hissed. She dimly realised she could damage her books even more, and a distant part of her knew she would be regretting this later, but at this moment she couldn¡¯t care. Because this blasted ferrule¡ª


    ¡®What is going on here?¡¯


    And of course Mum was here now because why not.


    ¡®Nothing,¡¯ Cynobria said flatly.


    ¡®Bree,¡¯ said Mum, with the barest hint of a growl, and Cynobria focused everything she had on biting back the anger that was forcing itself to spill.


    ¡®The ferrule broke,¡¯ she managed.


    ¡®Is that it?¡¯ Mum still stood in the doorway; she wasn¡¯t entering Cynobria¡¯s room, and though it was a little thing, it felt absurd just how grateful for it she was.


    Cynobria breathed for a time, Mum¡¯s presence at the door forcing the anger to withdraw. She wasn¡¯t turning to her, not yet¡ªshe needed to calm a little more.


    At length she said, ¡®I can¡¯t get Hayar grammar right.¡¯


    ¡®Bree, dear.¡¯ The impossible calm in her voice only fanned the slowly dying embers of Cynobria¡¯s ire. ¡®You can¡¯t expect to be able to do everything immediately.¡¯


    ¡®But it¡¯s been three months!¡¯ Cynobria whirled where she stood, finally looking at her mother. Melodia stood there, framed by the grey stone doorway, her mosaic of blue scales almost uniform in the shadow. A picture-perfect Ablyn¡ªa strong build, though without the bulkiness of Cavrians, and a nimble step, without the Taragneans¡¯ dancelike quality. Her crest stood proudly along the back of her neck, light blue wings folded neatly against her sides. Two pairs of curved white horns adorned the back of her head. ¡®Why can¡¯t I get it still?¡¯


    Mum looked at her for a few moments, considering. Right as Cynobria readied herself to speak further, Mum asked, ¡®How long, do you think, it took me to learn to speak as well as this?¡¯


    Cynobria frowned, only then realising the last sentence was spoken in Tarangean. ¡®Six months?¡¯ she ventured.


    ¡®A year,¡¯ said Mum, and before Cynobria could react, added, ¡®And even then it wasn¡¯t like this. I could talk without tripping on my own words. For the fluency I currently have it took another year of living here, and even after that I was¡ªstill am¡ªlearning.¡¯


    ¡®A year?¡¯ Cynobria groaned. ¡®That¡¯s too much!¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯


    Cynobria stared at her, stumped. Why? It was obvious, wasn¡¯t it? Clear as day. And yet, as Cynobria thought how to reply, she could find no words to say, no proper reason as to why.


    ¡®I¡­ uh, that¡¯s too slow,¡¯ she said lamely. Was that really the best she could muster?


    ¡®Who are you racing, Bree?¡¯ Cynobria said nothing. ¡®You took up Hayar yourself, didn¡¯t you? It should be fun. If it¡¯s not¡ªwhy force yourself?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ Cynobria said with sudden defiance. ¡®I can¡¯t stop. I can¡¯t give up like this. That¡ª¡¯ she pointed to the miserable mess on her desk¡ª ¡®is my only ¡°fun¡± right now.¡¯ She realised how utterly ludicrous that sounded as soon as it left her maw, and Mum¡¯s expression was a silent mirror of that thought. There was a stinging in her eyes, and Cynobria grit her teeth, bracing for the inevitable comment that would crush her flimsy illusion of calm.


    ¡®Alright.¡¯


    Her head snapped up with a sharp and shaky breath.


    ¡®I can¡¯t stop you from learning Hayar,¡¯ said Mum. Calmly. Matter-of-factly. Sincerely. ¡®Nor should I. But mind, Bree¡ªno one gets it right the first time. And it might take a fair bit to hone your skill to a point you¡¯re pleased with it. You¡¯re a smart dragon, smarter than me, I¡¯d say, so you might take less than a full year. Or more¡ªHayar is much harder than Tarangean after all. But even smart dragons need rest. Take a break, for now, and come back to it later. Don¡¯t beat yourself up for failures. Failing is how you learn. Can you promise me that?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Mum,¡¯ Cynobria said unconvincingly.


    A bit of hesitation. ¡®It¡¯s the war too, isn¡¯t it?¡¯


    Cynobria averted her gaze, jaws tense, and swallowed. ¡®It¡¯s far away from us.¡¯


    ¡®It is.¡¯


    Her paws flexed against the floor. Damn her. She was making her talk.


    Cynobria didn¡¯t know her homeland¡ªfourteen years, and all of them spent living not among her kin. They rarely visited, with her parents¡¯ busy schedule and the fractured relationship Dad had with his own, but most of all because it wasn''t safe. Vyl had fallen years ago. Recently, some Albyneese lands too, though with those the Cavrians¡¯ progress was much slower, especially after the Conqueror¡¯s death¡ªthank the spirits. Slower, but progress it was. If they sat by, would Cynobria ever see her homeland? Or should she not be learning Hayar, but Cavrian instead? Her parents kept telling her to be proud of being a Svar, and yet all Cynobria saw of their own love for the country was running away.


    Cynobria stilled her tongue. They¡¯d had this talk too many times before.


    When it was clear she wouldn''t speak, Mum exhaled slowly, lingered a little more in the doorway, then said, ¡®If you want to talk, I¡¯ll be in the kitchen with dad.¡¯


    ¡®Alright,¡¯ said Cynobria.


    She turned to the ruin of her desk¡ªthe blue ink splotches marring both the book and the desk itself, the broken ferrule sitting in the centre like a proud king.


    Anger stirred inside her again, but Cynobria only closed her eyes and breathed. Mum was right. She needed a break.


    When the tears eventually came they brought relief and cleansing, and she welcomed them with open paws.

 Ch2: The Useless Generation [522 A.U.C.]

    F¨¢olan sat alone in the vast palace gardens of Lascridh. The air was crisp here, and sweet, and all the carefully cropped hedges and vibrant flowers were but a distant din of colour as he looked up at a giant statue of a dragoness, all dignity and detail befitting a true ruler. It was almost lifelike, save for its immobility and a vacant, frozen gaze. Each scale was carved individually, and eight yellow gems of four different shades dotted the marble dragoness¡¯s white sides. The inscription on the pedestal read:


    IN MEMORY OF THE QUEEN LIGHTBRINGER


    C¨¢ONDAI ¨¢L DEAL¨¢I, THE CONQUEROR


    MAY UNITY¡¯S LIGHT GUIDE HER ETERNAL PASSAGE


    417¡ª512 A. U. C.


    C¨¢ondai the Conqueror. F¨¢olan¡¯s great-grandmother. The dragon who had forsaken him.


    ¡°The useless generation¡±, she had called them. The late Queen Lightbringer had not been aiming the jab thinking of her yet-unhatched great-grandhatchlings, but the weight of it fell upon F¨¢olan¡¯s and Taori¡¯s wings regardless.


    She had deemed her mother, Deal¨¢i, the queen before her, a disgrace for adorning her own hide with gems while Cavria was content with what it was, a united but withering empire. Then came her reign, and her iron claw, bringing new highs of prosperity, and with it an expansion, annexing a large part of the forests of Vyl. This was Unity¡¯s way, she¡¯d claimed. To grow, to conquer, to claim the weak by the paw of the strong¡ªsuch was a dragon¡¯s nature.


    She had deemed her only son, ¨¦oghan, a soft buffoon, and refused to acknowledge him as heir. She had pushed him into a swift courtship, and his son¡ªF¨¢olan¡¯s father¡ªwas taken under C¨¢ondai¡¯s wing, and prepared to one day take the throne after her.


    So it came to be that every second generation of the Lasth¨²ir would bear the mark of ¡°useless¡±, and when F¨¢olan and Taori hatched, the Conqueror Queen refused to even attend their Naming. She had died that same year, and father had risen to succeed her.


    F¨¢olan did not like to think of himself as ¡°useless¡±¡ªeverything determined before he had left the egg¡ªbut he and his sister were two little whelps of a new useless generation against the claims of the most revered ruler in Cavria¡¯s recent history, eclipsed only by the old founder-king of legend, D¨²lam¨¢n.


    ¡®What are you doing out here by yourself, F¨¢olan?¡¯


    He turned his head, more politeness than surprise. There, behind him, stood his mother, her beige scales as always pristine. She wore a set of bands on her forelegs¡ªsilver studded with topazes and heliodors, her accessing gems¡ªand a mirrored pair of hornbands with fine engravings, denoting her status as Queen Consort. White and chestnut swirls spread across her body, similar to F¨¢olan¡¯s gold ones, but larger, broader, set in different patterns than his own.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ he said at length, then turned away from her to look up at the statue again.


    Mother came to stand next to him, and he leaned into her warm, comforting presence, and it was like all those times before¡ªpeaceful, right. She kept quiet for a time, let him bask in the small tranquility, then said, ¡®You are thinking about it again. What she said.¡¯ It hovered somewhere between a statement and a question.


    F¨¢olan breathed out, tapped a claw on the stone walkway, then he looked up and was met by the soft gaze of the dragoness standing next to him, and in that moment there was no Queen Consort of Cavria, no Ruari ¨¢l Asari di Lasth¨²ir, only the dragoness he could call ¡°Mother¡±, one who seemed to possess some power beyond accessing that always allowed her to know what was troubling him or his sister.


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to be useless,¡¯ he said.


    She shifted, tensed; he felt it where their bodies touched. Her eyes grew focused, sharper. ¡®Of course you are not, F¨¢olan,¡¯ she said. ¡®Aodhan did not try to make you think so, did he?¡¯


    A subtle growl tinged her words, and F¨¢olan was quick to reply, ¡®No. Not at all. But¡­¡¯


    But what? He was not sure, and the sentence hung between them, unfinished.


    ¡®C¨¢ondai is dead,¡¯ she said so sharply F¨¢olan whipped his head to look up at her again. ¡®And she was a strong queen, yes, but that does not make her infallible. She did not know you, and even then, how could she judge you so harshly? She deemed her own son ¡°useless¡±. Why?¡¯


    It was known. Still, F¨¢olan found himself saying, instead of an answer, ¡®I like grandfather ¨¦oghan.¡¯


    Mother smiled down at him. ¡®So do I.¡¯ She went silent for a few heartbeats, then added, ¡®Truth be told, had she paid more attention to me, the Conqueror would possibly call me ¡°useless¡± as well.¡¯


    F¨¢olan¡¯s wings flared in indignation, almost hitting his mother. ¡®You are not useless!¡¯


    ¡®Oh, but I would be to her, would you not agree? A mere double accessor? And a Brightsinger, not a Sundancer? That is not a suitable match for her grandson!¡¯


    F¨¢olan considered this. He had never thought of the well-loved Queen Ruari as ¡°useless¡±. Would his great-grandmother have considered the current Queen Consort the same as her own son?


    And if she would have, did F¨¢olan want to be anything else?


    She spread a wing over him, and he closed his eyes, breathed, and then they both made their way back inside, leaving the marble statue of C¨¢ondai behind.


    ¡®One between the two of you will be chosen to inherit the throne after me.¡¯


    F¨¢olan shifted uncomfortably under Father¡¯s gaze. The king¡¯s white-and-gold form towered over F¨¢olan in all its vast mountainous glory¡ªtheir kind tended towards stronger builds than most other dragons, but himself being only ten he found most adults imposing, if not outright intimidating, and his father most of all. A crown sat proud atop his head, bearing down on F¨¢olan with its even golden teeth, and yellow gems blinked across the King Lightbringer¡¯s body, embedded between his scales. A lot of them¡ªtoo many to easily count. F¨¢olan did not shudder at it now¡ªhad not for a long time¡ªbut he still did not enjoy the fashion of Cavrian nobility started by the Conqueror Queen, of wearing accessing gems not with jewellery, but in this more direct and raw way.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The King Lightbringer had summoned them to one of the spacious guest chambers of the castle. Its part-gilded sandstone walls boasted arrases of white and silver and gold, radiant suns and depictions of dragons raising their wings to light. The chandeliers burning steadily overhead and the red plush sitting mats around the ornate table did little, somehow, to give the space a feeling of comfort.


    F¨¢olan looked sideways to Taori; her eyes were fixed on the dragonar before them. Her beige-and-white scales with flecks of brown were almost as scantily patterned as Father¡¯s, but had more flair than his. Feeling, perhaps, his eyes settling on her, Taori¡¯s gaze skittered over to F¨¢olan for a brief moment, only to immediately return to the king. F¨¢olan followed suit.


    Even as a ¡°useless generation¡± they were, at the moment, the only heirs to the throne, but even so, F¨¢olan could not help a heavy unease settling in his stomach, confirmed as the King Lightbringer said, ¡®You are not whelps anymore. Turning ten you¡¯re shaking off your second shell. With that your assessment begins.¡¯


    F¨¢olan knew it was coming, yet the news almost made his neck-scales flare. (He glanced at his sister; hers were steadily low.) He focused to keep his ground.


    ¡®Now,¡¯ the king continued; if he saw F¨¢olan¡¯s reaction he made no note of it, ¡®the trials will be spread over the years, until I declare my heir apparent after your Accessing Ceremony.¡¯ He smiled then, warmly enough. ¡®The late Queen Conqueror claimed that only one in two generations produces dragons fit for the Cavrian throne. I reject that. One of you will rule after me.¡¯


    After their Accessing Ceremony. Ten years of tests.


    Neither of them said anything, and as the king finished his speech a heavy silence settled over them. What he had said was not unlike what Mother had told him in the garden earlier that day, but he found Father¡¯s words augmented his worry, rather than diminishing it.


    ¡®What would you say,¡¯ said the King Lightbringer when neither F¨¢olan nor Taori spoke, ¡®are the most important qualities for a ruler?¡¯


    Here it was¡ªthe first test. All at once F¨¢olan felt exposed, woefully unprepared. His nostrils flared. (What was this smell? Incense and flowers and some other note he could not tell.) Right. Think. One question asked to a pair of ten-year-olds would hardly determine the whole of the ordeal, but even so he found his heart beating faster as he considered his reply, his tailtip¡¯s movements betraying his anxiety.


    ¡®Strength,¡¯ said Taori before F¨¢olan could form anything of his own. ¡®Not physical, but of the mind. A strong will, certainty in leading Cavria on its brightest path.¡¯


    F¨¢olan¡¯s claws twitched against his sitting mat, his tail swishing back and forth despite his utmost efforts to stop it. Taori¡¯s answer was very C¨¢ondaiesque, and the force behind it startled him. It might have been the correct one, too, and now F¨¢olan had to give a different one, and as the king¡¯s expectant gaze settled heavily on him, he found it hard to think.


    So he said his truth. ¡®Compassion.¡¯


    One word, and the room plunged back into silence, thick and choking like wet-wood smoke. F¨¢olan looked uneasily at the King Lightbringer¡¯s snout, but found no reprimand there, only the same expectant look as before.


    ¡®Is this¡­ correct?¡¯ he dared ask and ignored a little scoff from Taori.


    ¡®Oh, son,¡¯ said the king, almost amused, ¡®do not look at this question in the means of right or wrong. I want to gauge your mind on this matter. So, if you could, do elaborate.¡¯


    F¨¢olan swallowed. ¡®The king or queen watches over dragons. Is responsible for them. And has to make sure they live as best they could.¡¯ He took a breath, looked between the other two dragons in the room, and continued. ¡®A ruler should then have their dragons¡¯ best interest in mind. They should lead the realm to prosperity, but¡­ we should all prosper. And so the dragoness or dragonar who sits on the throne should think of them. Be kind. Compassionate.¡¯


    He finished, and when it was certain F¨¢olan would not say more, Father nodded, and F¨¢olan sighed with relief. From the corner of his eye he saw Taori looking a little unsure.


    ¡®Very well,¡¯ said the king. ¡®From today I will start your introduction to the art of rule. It will not be much, at first, for you are still young, but I want both of you to be prepared by the time your ceremony comes.¡¯


    ¡®But only one of us will succeed you?¡¯ asked Taori.


    Father almost smiled. ¡®Yes. One of you will be chosen at the end, by me. Today¡¯s test was introductory, but over the years I will watch you, and test you. In the end, one between the two of you will prove to be the better fit and will be named the Crown Prince or Princess.¡¯


    What of the other one? F¨¢olan dared not ask. His mind was heavy with the question, but a fear gripped his heart and stilled his tongue¡ªthat if he were the one to ask, it would be him to suffer whatever fate the loser was condemned to.


    ¡®Now,¡¯ said Father lightly, ¡®today¡¯s test is concluded, and I have matters I need to attend.¡¯ He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. ¡®Be ready. There will be much more to come. I will call for you two soon.¡¯


    And with that he left his two dragonets in the chamber, now two rivals for the throne. The carved wooden door slammed shut behind him with grim finality.


    F¨¢olan and Taori looked to each other.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ she sighed as though a great weight fell from her wings. ¡®I was not expecting this to come so soon.¡¯


    F¨¢olan hesitated. He looked back at the gold-and-silver arrases on the walls, at the room¡¯s lavish decor, but, finding no guidance there, he turned back to his sister. ¡®Is that the most important thing? What you answered.¡¯


    He was awarded a rare look of Taori searching for words, then a minute drop of her head. She looked around as well, ruffled her wings, then said, slowly, ¡®I¡­ don¡¯t know. I may have overthought this.¡¯ She was quiet for a time, and as F¨¢olan said nothing in reply, she resumed to fill the silence between them. ¡®I gave the answer I thought would be correct. One that Father would like. I tried to be like C¨¢ondai. But then¡­ I don¡¯t know. You said yours, and it did not seem to be wrong.¡¯ She lifted her head back up, met his eyes, gold to gold. ¡®I agree with you, you know? To some extent. I think both our answers are the way. Even if I still think Father wants us to be closer to C¨¢ondai. She is considered the strongest of our line.¡¯


    ¡®We will see,¡¯ he said, and then, again, unsure if he was going anywhere with it, ¡®We will see.¡¯


    ¡®I will win, though,¡¯ said Taori suddenly. Her eyes bore the vicious sparks of tryhard confidence. ¡®Even if I agree with you, I have no intention of going easy with you.¡¯


    A memory came¡ªa garden, a statue, a conversation¡ªand he was not sure where the words had come from, but they were out before he knew it. ¡®You are not C¨¢ondai, Taori.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ She frowned, indignant, lashed her tail, stomped forward half a step. Candlelight from above glinted across her scales. ¡®What is that supposed to mean?¡¯ There was a flash of fierceness in her voice, an almost-growl, and for a moment F¨¢olan wondered what he was doing.


    ¡®You are not C¨¢ondai,¡¯ he repeated. He did not back away at her advance, stood his ground. ¡®But that is good. Neither am I. You are¡­ you. You are Taori. So¡­ be Taori.¡¯


    She frowned again, but less accusation now, and more reflection, then closed her eyes and sighed. ¡®You¡¯re right. It is just¡­ Father set all this¡ª¡¯ she gestured vaguely with her wing¡ª ¡®today, and it got to me.¡¯She drummed her claw against the table, looked around the room, then to him. ¡®Thank you.¡¯


    It might have got to F¨¢olan too, were it not for the talk in the garden with Mother.


    ¡®We are not useless,¡¯ he said, and the look Taori gave him laid bare the truth that surprised F¨¢olan, even though it shouldn¡¯t have. He said again, ¡®We are not useless. And we will prove C¨¢ondai wrong.¡¯


    A stunned expression passed over Taori¡¯s snout, but then it smoothed, and with new resolve she said, ¡®We will. Both of us. Together.¡¯

 Ch3: Forward Steps [521 A.U.C.]

    Cynobria¡¯s eyes flitted over the pages of her Hayar grammar book.


    Yselle had been sick lately, which left Cynobria alone at her desk. She¡¯d brought the book with her to leaf through during some of the classes that, she judged, wouldn¡¯t teach her anything new. The small pang of guilt this had caused¡ªmost dragons could scarcely afford education, immigrants even less so, and it was only because of her parents¡¯ position as ambassadors she could be here¡ªwas swallowed by her rising excitement.


    In spite of her early frustrations she seemed to be making progress, though its slowness was excruciating. It had been over half a year since she had started studying Hayar, and some of the more complex structures kept eluding her mind¡¯s grasp.


    ¡®What would be the adjective and the noun derived from the word maintain?¡¯ learn¨¦d Noteuf was saying in the background. She felt his eyes settle on her a split second before he said, ¡®Cynobria?¡¯


    ¡®Maintained and maintenance¡¯, she said without lifting her head from above the book.


    A brief silence that followed told her something was wrong. She lifted her head to learn¨¦d Noteuf looking at her critically, the rest of the class either staring at her¡ªsome confused, some amused¡ªor ignoring the situation entirely. She tilted her head quizzically at learn¨¦d Noteuf. Surely, she¡¯d made no mistake.


    ¡®It would appear,¡¯ he said, ¡®you forgot what class you are in.¡¯


    ¡­oh.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry, learn¨¦d Noteuf,¡¯ she said, now careful to speak fluent Krahan. She was mildly proud of herself for knowing the Hayar equivalents of what the rest of the class was learning in Krahan, but any warmth that could have bloomed inside her chest took more the spread-out shape of shame more than pride. ¡®I was a little distracted. It will not happen again.¡¯


    He nodded. ¡®It better not. Such errors will not be tolerated.¡¯


    Bold words from a dragon whose Krahan was worse than Cynobria¡¯s. She bit back the reply before it could form and contented herself with digging her claws into the hard wooden desk instead.


    For the remainder of the class she refused to look at the Hayar book, instead focusing all attention on learn¨¦d Noteuf droning about things she had long known.


    He had, of course, not asked her any more questions that day.


    ¡®Hey, Cynne,¡¯ said Jartain on the way to the next class, ¡®is being the best at Krahan not enough now? Did you need to hammer in how well you know¡­ what was it again?¡¯


    ¡®Oh shut it,¡¯ Cynobria said. Then, after a pause, ¡®It¡¯s Hayar. And I didn¡¯t mean to use it.¡¯


    They passed a bend in the grey-stone corridor. The trio of Tarangeans appeared as lanky shadows walking through the half-light. ¡®Of course. Wouldn¡¯t want to show off new shiny scales.¡¯ Jartain grinned.


    Cynobria blew hard through her nostrils, a bit of smoke rising up. ¡®I¡¯m not¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Easy, Cynne,¡¯ Gevine cut in and bumped Cynobria lightly with her wing. ¡®Tain¡¯s just pulling your tail.¡¯


    ¡®Me?¡¯ He raised a talon to his chestplate in mock-incredulousness, then grinned again. ¡®Always. You should know better by now, Cynne, than to get so¡­ fired up by it.¡¯ He laughed at his own joke, dark scales flashing with a midnight blue hue as they passed a torch, and was met with reactions varying from Oileau responding in kind to Gevine sighing tiredly. Cynobria shook her head, but could not help a small smile herself. ¡®Hey!¡¯ Jartain perked up. ¡®Is that a smile I see? Cynne? Are you ill?¡¯


    Cynobria frowned. ¡®Why?¡¯


    ¡®Oh, you know,¡¯ said Jartain. ¡®It¡¯s a rare sight without one of your riddly books.¡¯


    ¡®I haven¡¯t been doing them for half a year now.¡¯


    Jartain looked at her, eyeridges raised. ¡®That is a lot of time without a smile,¡¯ he said gravely.


    Was it? But¡­


    She was ready to argue when she looked at him, at Gevine, at Oileau. She relaxed somewhat, the jest clear in their eyes, only then realising how tense she had been. She smiled a tad herself and said, ¡®Maybe you haven¡¯t said anything funny enough.¡¯


    Jartain just about choked on his breath, while Gevine and Oileau broke into laughter.


    ¡®You came,¡¯ Yselle said and smiled, frills twitching excitedly, and punctuated the sentence with a sneeze.


    ¡®Did you doubt me?¡¯ Cynobria mirrored her girlfriend¡¯s expression as she unbuckled her tailbag and set it on the floor.


    Yselle¡¯s room wasn¡¯t large, but it felt spacious¡ªa common trait in Tarangean architecture and interior design. Out of the four walls, half of one was taken by a window, black curtains neatly tied at its sides, a matching desk underneath, and another boasted Yselle¡¯s works¡ªshe was a decent painter, and, as she claimed, that wall was the only canvas big enough to her liking that she could use. Currently it displayed an open sky, a mosaic of colourful abstract birds soaring through it, some of them unfinished. The remaining two were more mundane¡ªa nest and an assortment of chests and pillows, and the mandatory mirror.


    ¡®Anything interesting today?¡¯ Yselle huddled under her blanket, and shuffled in the nest to make more space. Cynobria hopped in and settled next to her, nuzzling her cheek. ¡®Not afraid you¡¯ll catch something?¡¯ Yselle teased.


    ¡®I¡¯m already lovesick, it doesn¡¯t get worse than that,¡¯ Cynobria said the line she had prepared during classes when she got bored with Hayar for a time. She hoped it came off naturally. Yselle liked when she was being witty. ¡®Classes went as you¡¯d expect. Noteuf was as useful as ever. He even quizzed me!¡¯


    ¡®Poor you,¡¯ said Yselle.


    Cynobria cringed. ¡®Worse, he did it when I was practising Hayar, the bastard, and instead of Krahan I used that.¡¯


    Yselle chuckled, then coughed. ¡®You¡¯re so good, you went beyond correct, and failed.¡¯


    ¡®It almost sounds good when you put it like this.¡¯


    Yselle smiled, but soon it was replaced with a more serious look, an odd glint in her light purple eyes. She tilted her head. ¡®You do this a lot, you know? Find something, and then all the world doesn¡¯t exist except for that one thing.¡¯


    Cynobria frowned. ¡®Is it bad?¡¯ She placed a wing over Yselle, and her girlfriend¡¯s blanket-covered wiry frame rested against it gently. ¡®It¡¯s how I work. I need something to keep myself going.¡¯ She looked up and gestured to the opposite wall with her snout. ¡®You have your paintings, don¡¯t you?¡¯


    ¡®I do, but¡­¡¯ She sighed. ¡®Never mind. Do you have the¡ª¡¯ she sneezed¡ª ¡®notes from today?¡¯


    ¡®Ah, of course.¡¯ A shadow of a smile crept over Cynobria¡¯s snout. ¡®But perhaps¡­ I could deal with something more important than notes first. More important, even, than Hayar!¡¯


    Yselle lifted an eyeridge, flicked her ear curiously. ¡®And what might that be?¡¯


    ¡®You,¡¯ Cynobria said, and tackled the blanket-wrapped Yselle onto the nest.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Hayar was hard.


    It was, indeed.


    And Cynobria would crack it.


    She could feel herself getting closer. The more she read on it, the more its bizarre cases and syntax seemed to almost make sense. What had felt like randomness before, clarified into rules and patterns. It could hardly be called easy¡ªCynobria still often found herself lost in the subtle changes in the word order¡ªbut with time spent poring over tomes and evenings practising with Dad the improvement was clear.


    The latter had been a surprise to her, though it really shouldn¡¯t have. Svars and Hayars had shared a lot of history¡ªat a point having a common ruler¡ªand the camaraderie between the two ran long and deep. ¡°Svar and Hayar, claw for claw, food and drink and helping paw¡± claimed the old adage. As it was, Dad had spent two years in Hayarosz¨¢g prior to his meeting with Mum and had picked up some of the language.


    ¡®I¡¯m much out of practice,¡¯ he had said with a sheepish smile, ¡®but I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡¯


    ¡°What he could do¡± turned out to be more than he had let on.


    That had been the day of what she referred to as ¡°the ferrule incident¡±. Ever since then, every evening before bed Dad would come to her room and talk to her in simple, uncertain Hayar that grew more confident the longer they practised, and she would ask him about this thing or that, and then, with time, challenge herself to decipher his words on her own.


    ¡®W¨¢sz nar r?m¨¢s a nehveim,¡¯ he said one evening. His accent was entirely different when he spoke Hayar than either Svarish or Tarangean, and for all his supposed rustiness, he was a better teacher than Noteuf.


    ¡®I can¡¯t find my books anywhere,¡¯ she translated, though literally it would have been closer to Nowhere I can¡¯t find my books. Hayar was, she discovered, similar in some ways to her native tongue. Tarangean, for instance, didn¡¯t use double negatives, and some of her classmates struggled with this part of Krahan. ¡®And it should be ¡°nehveimet¡±.¡¯


    ¡®Good catch.¡¯ Dad smiled in a way that told her he had set it up on purpose. She found it difficult, at times, to read other dragons, but she had spent enough time around her parents to be able to pick up on subtle cues. And now she could also see his pride for her, in the way his eyes lit up, the lifting of his posture, the slight puffing of his chest and perked-up ears. ¡®Since when are you correcting me?¡¯


    They practised a little more, and as Dad was leaving, Cynobria realised with a start that it was almost pitch-black outside, the sky swollen with dark clouds. Even though she lived in Tarange¡ªa country of violet accessors, of air and darkness¡ªthe sight made her uneasy. Most of her classmates would have marvelled at it, but her elements were water and fire, and the coming storm brought a pressure to her chest, even in the closed-off safety of her home. She could scarcely fathom that some dragons would still prefer the old ways of living inside caves. Cynobria was perfectly content to let the cavernous dwellings be a relic of the past.


    She washed herself and lumbered onto her nest, twisting herself in a neat circle. She loved the way she could sink into it, deep enough to be enveloped in softness.


    She muttered overlong Hayar words, trying to imitate Dad¡¯s rolling accent, but before she could quite succeed, the repetition lulled her to sleep.


    That night there was a thunderstorm.


    Perhaps that was why she woke up.


    Even through her closed window she could hear the howling winds, and intermittent bursts of light, followed closely by thunder loud as the sky splitting in half, flashed through the curtains, briefly illuminating the fire-and-smoke patterns on the fabric.


    Cynobria sighed and tried to fall asleep again, but the raging thunderstorm outside made reentering her slumber an arduous task, and several sleepless minutes later she gave up. She groaned and stretched, letting her paws sink into the softness of her pillow, her back arching with a satisfying crack. She went to check the time when, above the dying echo of thunder, over the howling wind, she heard something else. It was a murmur, at first, and she was ready to dismiss it, but as she focused on it a little more, Cynobria realised she knew what¡ªwho¡ªit was.


    Mum and Dad were talking.


    Cynobria frowned. It was well past midnight, but far from sunrise too. Why were they up?


    It mattered not. Their talk was none of her concern. She headed back to bed, embarrassed by the mere thought that¡ª


    ¡®Jagrav wo¡­¡¯ she heard Mum say before the sentence was cut off by thunder.


    Cynobria stilled, and her heart thudded louder than the wind¡¯s howl.


    Not even two words.


    But it was enough.


    Jagrav.


    She had heard that name before.


    Twice¡ªthe first one she remembered vaguely, the day the news of the blasted Cavrian queen¡¯s death had reached them, and then once more, when she was around ten, Dad had mentioned him, but when Cynobria asked he went abruptly silent, and refused to say anything beyond the fact that he¡¯d been a colleague from work, though the way he¡¯d said it made Cynobria certain he was anything but.


    Eavesdropping was bad, yes. But with the raging storm outside to cover her approach and her parents thinking her asleep¡ªwhen would she get another chance like that?


    Cynobria turned away from her bed and approached the doorway. She placed a paw against the door, smooth against her pads, and waited. Waited for¡­


    At the next flash of light her paw tensed, and when thunder boomed she pushed the door just enough to be able to slip out. Any sound it had made was drowned out by the thunderclap, but even without it she suspected her parents wouldn¡¯t have heard. The booms came and went, but the whistling gale was a ceaseless backdrop to this night. In its cover, Cynobria poked her head out the door. The corridor was empty, and the only light in the house, alongside the faint sound of conversation, was coming from the kitchen. She left her room, placing her paws gently on the stone floor as she crept forward.


    As she closed the distance, scraps of conversation began to drift to her ears over the din of the wind. There came, ¡®...tell her about¡­¡¯ from Dad, Mum¡¯s vague ¡®...yet. Let¡¯s¡­¡¯, the rest of her response lost. Were they talking about her? She strained to listen more keenly, drawing ever closer, until she reached a corner where she could hear most of what they said, but would still be hard to spot. The puddle of light spilling from the kitchen almost reached her claws.


    ¡®Tell that to¡­¡¯ said Dad, and mentioned a name, or a few, though Cynobria couldn¡¯t quite make it out. ¡®...and Orielle are only two, and she¡¯s...¡¯ He sighed.


    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Mum. She sounded tired. They both did. ¡®This is way too early, even with what she wants. Especially with what she wants.¡¯


    ¡®She¡¯s the one making decisions,¡¯ said Dad, resigned. ¡®Why is she there again?¡¯


    ¡®Stop it, or we are going to have problems. Jagrav is keeping her in check, for the most part.¡¯


    ¡®For the most part is a nice way of saying she¡¯s controlling him.¡¯


    A pause. Then, ¡®You know as well as I do that she is not. Even if she¡­ does hold more sway than I would like, we¡¯re still working under Jagrav and¡ª¡¯


    This, Cynobria decided, felt like a good moment.


    ¡®Who is Jagrav?¡¯ she asked, coming into the kitchen¡¯s light.


    Dad almost jumped when she emerged from the shadows, while Mum stilled and, slowly, turned to Cynobria.


    ¡®Shouldn¡¯t you be in bed?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m fourteen!¡¯ She flared her wings, and immediately regretted it as Mum''s baleful stare caught her. Her eyes¡ªusually a warm turquoise¡ªhad not a hint of their kind understanding, and were a touch red-rimmed. Her posture was tense, like a predator ready to leap. Cynobria folded her wings back carefully, looking to Dad for support, and finding little. After a moment¡¯s thinking she added, ¡®The storm woke me up and I was hungry, so I came here.¡¯ The look on their snouts told her they both knew it was a lie, and they knew Cynobria knew.


    Her and Mum¡¯s eyes locked again, as though their snouts were held by taut wire, and Cynobria nervously rubbed one paw against another.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ said Dad, fatigue in his voice stronger than before, ¡®take what you want and scram.¡¯


    She broke eye contact and went to get something to eat, playing along with this shared charade. She didn¡¯t care what she took. She wasn¡¯t hungry. She forced her paws to stop shaking.


    ¡®You keep mentioning him,¡¯ she tried again. ¡®And he seems to be more than a ¡°colleague from work¡±. You¡¯re working under him? Is he your boss?¡¯


    ¡®Cynobria,¡¯ Mum warned, traces of a growl building in her throat. Even more than that, the word itself chilled her. She rarely called Cynobria by her full name.


    She steeled herself. ¡®I won¡¯t tell anyone, I promise. I¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Bree, stop,¡¯ Dad cut in, sternly.


    ¡®Why? Why are you being so secretive about it? If you¡ª¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯


    The reply died on Cynobria¡¯s tongue. Mum¡¯s tone was cold, and too calm, and Cynobria knew it was the end. She could try to reason with rejection, or argue against anger, but when Melodia used that voice, there was nothing left to do. ¡®You will go back to bed, now. And you will not listen in on us again.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Mum,¡¯ Cynobria said and, after brief deliberation, headed back the way she¡¯d come.


    From the corner of her eye she saw Mum hesitate, as though she wanted to say something more. Cynobria slowed her step, but when it was clear Mum would not say anything more, she picked up her pace again.


    For the rest of the night she lay, sleepless, on her cushion, the storm outside slowly dying down. Her parents seemed to have gone to sleep, or at least put out the light, and if they were talking, it was quiet enough that Cynobria couldn¡¯t hear.


    Two new figures had joined the mysterious ranks. A dragon whose name Cynobria hadn¡¯t caught, and Orielle, a hatchling of two. They were connected to Jagrav, somehow, and he connected to her parents¡ªthey were working for him, it seemed. They served as war-time ambassadors to Tarange, but she doubted that was the correct trail. What was at play here? What were they hiding? She had to find out.


    If only she knew how.

 Ch4: Treasured Things [522 A.U.C.]

    F¨¢olan cheered as the scene below exploded with brilliant radiance.


    He watched from the lounge reserved for the Lightbringers and their chosen guests. It was dark, so much so he could scarcely see the dragons around him. Only the glinting shadow of Monny at F¨¢olan¡¯s side was discernible in the darkness. (¡®You¡¯ve a truly great view from up here,¡¯ whispered Monny, and F¨¢olan shhhed him.) Below them the stage was alight with the glory of Unity¡¯s gifts, its wide white-marble expanse polished flat, and standing upon it were eight dragons. The Accessing Fest was in full swing¡ªa celebration of newly found accessors right after the Ceremony¡¯s conclusion, finished with the show of the dragons who had discovered their gifts in the previous year¡¯s festivities.


    The crowd cheered and stomped as the performers unleashed their show. It had started small¡ªa flicker as the first dragon accessed, and a globule of light came to life above the stage. Then another, and the next and next until the white illumination coalesced into a formless shape. Another twinkle blinked on the stage, and the amorphous glow buckled, heaved, shifted into colour and shape. It took the form of a dragon, scales of white and eyes of gold, a luminous behemoth towering over the stage. In a few more blinks another rose to meet it¡ªa bear with coarse-looking brown fur. It looked remarkably heavy, lumbering on six short paws, even if F¨¢olan knew it was little more than shifted light. The bear crouched, and the dragon poised, and as one the shapes jumped at each other, and into a dance of death.


    Accessing was a rare gift for dragonkind, and the Cavrians cultivated it across the generations, risen to nobility as dictated by Unity¡¯s will, whose blessings allowed dragons to hold dominion over the elements of the world. Their kind¡¯s yellow eyes spoke of control over two forces. Light¡ª


    The luminous dragon dissipated into white mist a moment before the collision, forming again on the other side. From an extended paw an electric bolt shot out, and it arced across the air in a momentary flash, connecting with the bear¡¯s form. The animal flickered and fell in a puff of white mist, and the crowd cheered once more.


    ¡ªand lightning.


    A dragon¡¯s accessing prowess was determined at hatching, though it would not be known until their twentieth year. Only then did they attend their Accessing Ceremony, unlocked their magic with a diamond¡¯s touch, and were tested for their ability to harness Unity¡¯s gifts.


    At another blink from the stage F¨¢olan wondered at the tiny thing that granted them their skills¡ªeach colour corresponded to two elements, which, in turn, broke into four powers, and each of those had an assigned gem. A dragon could have an aptitude for one, two, three, four¡ªor, in most cases, none¡ªand with the correct gem the power was at their beck and call.


    The bear stood up, baring its toothy maw in a vicious snarl. The dragon reared back, seemed to glow brighter with an internal light, and leapt with blazing eyes over the illusory foe. All at once glinting shapes swarmed the stage, flew across it like drunk beetles. Before F¨¢olan could guess at what they were, once again lightning arced below, but this time it was no momentary flash¡ªit caught on the glinting things, bent and swerved in their net, and faster than F¨¢olan could blink the bear was encased in a cage of writhing, buzzing lightning. The luminous dragon landed gracefully on top, unharmed by the running current, and bowed.


    The crowd rose into a crescendo of excited roars as the dragon and the bear dissipated one last time into glowing mist, and once again the exhibition hall grew dark, and in this sightless world the sound of cheers and stomps was just short of deafening.


    Something touched F¨¢olan¡¯s back and he almost jumped before realising it was Monny¡¯s wing, draped over him. ¡®Can you imagine? Us standing down there, this power at our claws¡­ In ten years it¡¯s going to be accessing to my heart¡¯s content. And tell you, F¨¢ol¡ª¡¯ he pulled F¨¢olan tight against his flank¡ª ¡®my heart is BIG.¡¯


    F¨¢olan almost smiled at his friend¡¯s declaration, but Father¡¯s warnings rang inside his head¡ªof accessing¡¯s darker side, the pull for more and more and always more. He dismissed it from his mind. They would learn it in time, surely, and it was the Accessing Fest now, hardly the time for a gloomy snout. An idea came to him. ¡®It is still long until then,¡¯ he said. ¡®But there is something I think I could show you now.¡¯


    It was a custom among the nobles of Cavria to collect accessing gems. Cultivated across generations, expanded by each dragon and split as heritage, every proper noble could boast a hoard, usually made of the type of gems they could use. And no hoard in Cavria was as large as the one of the King or Queen Lightbringer.


    F¨¢olan wound around passages in the palace, Monny close at his tail. His closest friend since hatchling years, Eamon ¨¢l Korith Griansair had come to the capital from northern Cavria, and though of the same build as his southern kin, his scales were a monochrome black, with a slight golden sheen when they caught the light just right. Alabastrine horns jutted straight from his head. The dark yellow of his merry eyes was the only distinct splash of colour on him.


    F¨¢olan was not sure they would be allowed inside the treasury. He might have been the Prince Lightbringer, but he had not yet reached his twentieth year, and thus accessing was off-limits.


    But he would not access¡ªcould not access, not until his Accessing Ceremony¡ªso he harboured some hope they would be let in.


    ¡®Are you sure this is the right way?¡¯ asked Monny. ¡®It feels like we¡¯re going in circles.¡¯


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ F¨¢olan lied. ¡®It will take a bit still, but¡ª¡¯


    As though Unity were trying to spite him, they turned a corner to see the doors to his father¡¯s treasury.


    ¡®Yes, well,¡¯ said F¨¢olan. ¡®This is it.¡¯


    Monny came to stand beside him, looking up at the doors with awe. They were made of shining, polished bronze, and etched into them were elaborate reliefs, patterns resembling the sun and lightning bolts, and amidst them dragons, walking or flying, looking up at the glory of light. It was flanked by two guards, armoured and looking bored. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡®Come,¡¯ said Monny, and slunk from behind the corner, approaching the doors. The guards stood at attention immediately and eyed him sceptically.


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯ said one of them. ¡®State your business here.¡¯


    ¡®He is with me.¡¯ F¨¢olan moved to join Monny in the open, met the guards¡¯ eyes. He did not recognise them, but he hoped they recognised him. ¡®I am F¨¢olan ¨¢l Aodhan Lasth¨²ir and the dragon here is my friend, Eamon ¨¢l Korith Griansair. We ask for entry to the treasury.¡¯


    The guard on the left shifted from paw to paw, stealing a glance at his companion, but she merely frowned. Her scales were of a dull yellow colour with bits of gold and silver and she seemed the older of the two, though even she hesitated at F¨¢olan¡¯s request.


    ¡®Does the king know of this?¡¯ asked the guard on the left. Under the armour his scales looked to be plain brown, dark with lighter patterns.


    F¨¢olan hesitated. He had wanted to ask Father for permission, had tried to find him amidst the celebrations, but the King Lightbringer was not a dragon easily reached.


    His silence seemed to have been an answer of its own, because the younger guard groaned.


    ¡®It is the Accessing Fest now,¡¯ said Monny suddenly, and all three dragons looked to him. ¡®And he¡ª¡¯ he indicated F¨¢olan with his wing¡ª ¡®is the king¡¯s son. Can he not, on this special day, show his dearest friend the treasures of our grand empire?¡¯


    The guards looked to each other for a moment, and then the dragoness sighed. She lifted a claw and pointed between the two of them. ¡®Take a look, and then you are out.¡¯


    Monny grinned. ¡®Thank you,¡¯ he said, and in moments the great bronze doors were closing behind the pair of them, and F¨¢olan smiled seeing his friend look in awe at the contents of the room.


    To say the king¡¯s hoard was big was to say nothing at all; the spacious room was filled with mounds of gems, all sorted by their kind and size. As F¨¢olan made for the centre of the chamber, Monny close behind, other things came into view¡ªpedestals of carved white stone, and placed upon them were especially large gemstones, cut or uncut, exquisite specimens usually seen only in temples, used by priests for various ceremonies in Unity¡¯s name.


    ¡®Woah,¡¯ breathed Monny. ¡®This all belongs to the king?¡¯


    F¨¢olan nodded. ¡®Father says a lot of it he got from the Conqueror after her passing, being her heir instead of Grandfather. And he added some of his own, too.¡¯


    ¡®So many¡­¡¯ marvelled Monny again. ¡®Look at this,¡¯ he said, pointing to one of the gems on the plinths. ¡®I¡¯ve never seen one this big!¡¯


    ¡®It might be the largest here,¡¯ said F¨¢olan. It was, best he could tell, a topaz, and if F¨¢olan and Monny curled against one another, the gemstone may have been larger still. ¡®This one, I think, was brought here by Queen Deal¨¢i. She had a liking for large gems.¡¯


    ¡®What¡¯s this?¡¯ asked Monny, attention elsewhere already, making for the back of the room.


    F¨¢olan frowned, but followed close at his tail, and they came to a stop at a lump covered by white cloth. It looked odd here, out of place¡ªthe shape below the covering was distinctly not gemlike. F¨¢olan tipped his head to the side. ¡®I¡­ do not know, actually. Father never showed us this.¡¯


    Monny looked at him expectantly.


    ¡®No,¡¯ F¨¢olan objected immediately. ¡®We were only to take a look and go.¡¯


    ¡®Come now,¡¯ Monny said. ¡®We wouldn¡¯t be taking it, or using it, or moving it. We would just do that¡ªlook.¡¯


    F¨¢olan considered it. He could not argue with this logic¡ªor did not want to, he was not sure which¡ªand soon they were gingerly removing the white cloth.


    It revealed a painting. Three, to be exact.


    It was an odd thing to find in the treasury. Paintings belonged on walls, proudly displayed, not gathering dust in a closed-off room. They were skillfully made, depicting dragons in regal attire and poise.


    ¡®Who are those?¡¯ Monny asked, head tilted, eyeridges furrowed.


    ¡®This¡ª¡¯ F¨¢olan pointed at the largest piece¡ª ¡®is Father, though younger, and behind him is Queen C¨¢ondai.¡¯ The two dragons were easily recognisable¡ªthe former Queen Lightbringer was the subject of many paintings across the castle. Her large form, white and gold and beige, scales studded with far too many gems, was impossible to confuse. ¡®But the two next to Father I do not recognise. And they seem to be on the other two paintings as well.¡¯


    There was a pair of dragons flanking Father in the larger piece, and both of the smaller paintings looked to be presenting each of them individually. They both held themselves high and their scales were embedded with gems, similar to Father¡¯s. One of them boasted pristine white scales with a pearly golden sheen, and the other was white-and-beige with bits of silver.


    And both shared the matted gold eyecolour of the Lightbringer line.


    F¨¢olan blinked, breathed, blinked again. His tail gave a twitch, neck-scales almost flared. He took a step towards the paintings to look at them more closely. ¡®They¡ª¡¯


    The doors to the treasury opened with a dull, echoing clang.


    Neck-scales fully flared now, F¨¢olan and Monny whirled in place to see, standing in the entryway, an imposing form of a dragonar. He entered with a brisk step and before F¨¢olan could grasp what was happening there stood Father, looming over the two of them like a swelling storm.


    ¡®Would you two explain what you are doing here?¡¯ the King Lightbringer boomed.


    F¨¢olan could not force himself to speak. At length, heart hammering, he managed, ¡®We¡­ wanted to take a look. You were nowhere to be found and I thought¡­ Well, that as the prince I could come and see. So I did.¡¯


    The ensuing silence was the longest in F¨¢olan¡¯s life. The king¡¯s shadowed eyes bore into his, a picture of silent judgement, before he broke his gaze, sighed deeply. ¡®Do not come here without telling me. Though you are not forbidden to, I should like to know when you do.¡¯


    F¨¢olan nodded stiffly. ¡®Understood.¡¯


    ¡®Now,¡¯ said Father, ¡®if you may, out.¡¯


    Wordlessly the two made for the exit, but after a few steps F¨¢olan looked back. ¡®Who are those dragons in the paintings?¡¯


    Father did not reply, at first, and F¨¢olan wondered if he might have not heard the question. F¨¢olan almost turned back to the door when the king said, ¡®These were my brother and sister.¡¯ A pause. Then, ¡®The year you were hatched, two weeks after C¨¢ondai¡¯s passing, they both disappeared. Lorcan first, then, a few days later, Iona. They have not been seen since.¡¯


    As he and Monny hurried to leave the treasury, F¨¢olan¡¯s head spun. Why had he not heard of this before? Father had siblings!


    Going out the door he allowed himself one final backwards glance. Amidst the mounds of gems Father¡¯s eyes were glued to the uncovered paintings of his lost brother and sister.


    And then the doors were closed again, the two guards¡¯ postures stiff, and he and Monny made their way back into the palace proper.

 Ch5: Fang and Claw [522 A.U.C.]

    It happened when she tried to read a Hayar book. Not the one on grammar, nor her book of exercises, but an old novel her dad had found when looking through his old chests.


    Cynobria¡¯s skills seemed to progress with all the haste of a glacier. Her study of Hayar was approaching its first anniversary, and she was still so far away.


    She opened the book¡ªwhose title she translated as Coals and Roses¡ªand as her eyes found the first words of the prologue, she gasped.


    It was not the words themselves, but how they flowed into Cynobria¡¯s head. A story that took second place to a realisation that sparked inside her.


    She got it.


    It was then¡ªby herself in her room, cracking open the book her dad had found¡ªthat a cog slid into place in Cynobria¡¯s head and everything clicked.


    Perhaps it had happened before. Perhaps she had had enough understanding while doing an exercise or reading up on the emphatic role of the syntax, but at this moment, seeing the raw Hayar prose without a comment or task, it hit her that she knew. She understood.


    She could scarcely focus on the words she read, only vaguely noting their meaning¡ªof a young dragon, an outcast in his town, and the solace he found in the surrounding woods¡ªbut the rest of her was jumping with glee. The words swam and mixed into a blur before she could finish the first chapter, and then she heard the door open, and the distinct clink-thump of Dad¡¯s talons, and she rushed out to greet him in Hayar.


    If this was what learning a language felt like¡ªprior frustrations notwithstanding¡ªHayar would only be the first of a long list she would conquer.


    ¡®And they don¡¯t have ¡°have¡±, at all. Never use it,¡¯ Cynobria said. She was walking alongside Yselle, Jartiain, Oileau and Gevine to their next class. The bare grey-stone corridor was narrow enough Cynobria and Yselle had to fall back a few times to let other students pass. ¡®Which seems really inconvenient, doesn¡¯t it? It¡¯s one of the most basic verbs. And yet.¡¯ She looked at the others, waiting to see if they asked for an explanation, but nothing came¡ªthus far most she¡¯d got were nods of acknowledgement, but now even that was lacking. ¡®Let¡¯s assume,¡¯ she went on, regardless, ¡®that you want to say ¡°I have a book¡±. But there is no ¡°have¡± in Hayar, right? So what they¡¯ll do is add a possessive suffix to the object. There exists bookmy.¡¯


    ¡®Cynne.¡¯ Gevine spun on her, on her snout an expression Cynobria didn¡¯t like. It was somewhere between annoyance and regret, though it was hard to tell to which side it leaned. ¡®It¡¯s great you found something you enjoy so much. And you know a lot about it. We don¡¯t¡ªI didn¡¯t get half the things you said.¡¯


    Cynobria blinked, tail twitching, ears flat against her head. ¡®I¡­ Sorry.¡¯ She wasn¡¯t sure what more to say, and neither did the other four. At length she managed, ¡®I just wanted to share it with you.¡¯


    ¡®And that¡¯s alright,¡¯ Gevine said softly, but something in her tone made Cynobria prepare for a blow. She¡¯d been getting better at reading them. ¡®But you haven¡¯t been shutting up about it for a second day! We¡¯ve got enough confusion in Krahan classes as it is.¡¯


    Because you¡¯re weak, was what Cynobria might have said, but stopped herself, despite the words¡ªburning hot¡ªtrying to force their way. She clenched her jaw, forcing the anger back. The last thing she wanted was to fire off at her friends.


    ¡®Jartain? Oileau?¡¯


    Oileau smiled tightly, without mirth. ¡®You do ramble quite a bit.¡¯


    ¡®Being honest with you Cynne,¡¯ said Jartain, ¡®I drifted off after some time.¡¯


    What.


    ¡®Don¡¯t get me wrong,¡¯ he went on; they passed a fork in the tunnel, turned left. ¡®I¡¯m not ignoring you. But it gets a little much at times.¡¯


    ¡®Oh come on,¡¯ she argued, though already it felt like a losing battle. ¡®It¡¯s not like I¡¯m the only one who talks about their interests!¡¯


    ¡®Of course,¡¯ said Gevine. ¡®And that is great. We share what we like. But¡ª¡¯ Cynobria couldn¡¯t suppress a hiss at that word, earning herself a frown¡ª ¡®there are moments when there is too much. Like now.¡¯


    ¡®How is that too much? It¡¯s¡ª¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s another day of the same,¡¯ cut in Yselle, and Cynobria stopped short. If it was anyone else she might have argued back, but... ¡®You learned Hayar¡ªwhich I prompted you to do as a joke¡ªso good for you. But now you try to make us understand it, and we¡¯re not going to.¡¯


    Cynobria stared at her. ¡®I am not.¡¯


    ¡®Then what is this? Are you trying to prove something? You¡¯re already the best in class, you don¡¯t need to show off among us.¡¯


    ¡®Wha¡ª Is this how you see it?¡¯ She swept her gaze through the others.


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t put it in these exact words,¡¯ said Jartain, ¡®but yes.¡¯


    ¡®It sometimes feels like you¡¯re trying to be better than us,¡¯ added Yselle, and Oileau reluctantly nodded. Gevine shifted uncomfortably, but neither she nor Jartain disagreed.


    Cynobria¡¯s mind was a swirling mess, unsure what to feel¡ªanger, guilt, hurt? She hadn¡¯t meant to do it, but what had she done wrong? Got excited? Talked about it? Tried to share her joy? Her steps grew stiff, paws clenching and claws scratching the hard rock of the passage floor with each footfall. Were it not for the heavy coating of shock, she might have done something she would regret.


    Instead she said, voice tight as a string pulled taut, ¡®History should be beginning soon. Let¡¯s go.¡¯


    ¡®I think we should take a break.¡¯


    They were in Yselle¡¯s room, the two of them, idly enjoying each other¡¯s company¡ªor trying to, anyhow. There had been a distance between them since the argument earlier that day, and even though the worst of it had passed, a few final embers of that fight still burned. A small bowl of salty crackers lay untouched between them.


    ¡®Take a break?¡¯ Cynobria sat up from where she lay. ¡®What? Why?¡¯


    ¡®Between us,¡¯ Yselle said, still down next to Cynobria among the cushions. She wasn¡¯t meeting her eyes. ¡®I think it would be for the best.¡¯


    Cynobria blinked. Was she hearing right? Sheopened her maw, closed it, then tried again. At length she managed. ¡®Is it still about Hayar?¡¯


    Yselle sighed. Her frills twitched now and then. She shifted her head to look at Cynobria. ¡®Yes. No. I just¡­ What I said, about you trying to prove you are better? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that, but¡­ I sometimes feel like you''re up there with the best of the best, and I¡¯m¡­¡¯ She stopped, sighed, shifted away. Cynobria itched to shuffle closer, embrace her, but she gave her space. ¡®I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m good enough for you.¡¯


    ¡®Yselle¡­¡¯ Cynobria¡¯s throat went tight, but she had to say something¡ªanything. Her mind scrambled to find any soothing words. ¡®I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean for it to look like this.¡¯ She craned her head and stroked Yselle¡¯s snout with her own.


    ¡®I know.¡¯ Yselle leaned into Cynobria¡¯s touch, a tad hesitantly, and that caution rent her heart. ¡®And I don¡¯t mean to break up with you. But I need a little space, for now. To think.¡¯


    Cynobria withdrew. ¡®Don¡¯t you ever think you don¡¯t deserve me,¡¯ she said fiercely. Still, after what Yselle had said¡ªand the argument before¡ªCynobria was in no position to dissuade her. ¡®So, what will it be now?¡¯Stolen story; please report.


    ¡®I¡¯ll tell you when I¡¯m ready,¡¯ said Yselle, and despite her calm voice and a small smile Cynobria felt the heavy finality of the decision. ¡®Until then¡­¡¯


    ¡®...we should split up for a while.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s what she said?¡¯


    ¡®Word for word.¡¯


    Fey had visited, and now she and Cynobria were in the latter¡¯s room, playing a game of Fang and Claw. Each held her five chosen dice behind a makeshift screen¡ªthe proper ones were either damaged or lost, Cynobria wasn¡¯t sure¡ªtrying to predict what the other would play.


    ¡®You should ask yourself if you want to continue that,¡¯ said Fey. ¡®You both need to be happy for it to work.¡¯


    Feyjountairoux was two years Cynobria¡¯s senior, and a common friend of her and Yselle. Though latest to join the trio, Cynobria soared with Fey at first wind, and with time the meetings of just the two of them were becoming more frequent.


    Despite a minor difference in age, the one in size was substantial. Fey was big¡ªbigger than any Tarangean teen Cynobria had seen. She kept her black scales polished and shiny, and scant jewellery of green stones in silver fit the grey-and-green patterns across her snout and back. Her eyes were a merry lilac shade.


    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Cynobria. ¡®But I am happy. Was, anyhow. I didn¡¯t try to be better than her. I just did what I liked.¡¯


    ¡®You did get pretty deep into Hayar, didn¡¯t you?¡¯ asked Fey and she hovered a claw over her set of dice. ¡®She might have thought it was more important to you than she was.¡¯ She tapped a claw against the table, looked at something on her screen, and grabbed a die. ¡®Mine¡¯s ready.¡¯


    Cynobria shook her head. ¡®Of course it wasn¡¯t more important than her. And that¡¯s not what she said.¡¯


    ¡®Ah, but she might have thought it, no? Didn¡¯t say, because it could hit a nerve.¡¯ She clicked her tongue, waved a claw. ¡®Pick.¡¯


    Cynobria puffed a bit of smoke. ¡®She said what she said. It¡¯s not about this.¡¯ She considered the sheet in front of her, then chose a die.


    ¡®Alright, alright. Ready?¡¯


    Fang and Claw was a curious game. Fey¡¯s set was old¡ªthus the missing screens¡ªbut even so its painted wooden dice were a thing of beauty. The game involved a set of ¡°fang¡± cards each player was given at the start, and ¡°claw¡± dice that were drafted from the common pool. One had to take the dice that best fit the cards they had, and play them together, meeting the cards¡¯ objectives. At first glance it seemed based on luck only, but with experience Cynobria noticed possible strategies and counters. The game allowed up to four players, but anything more than two became too chaotic for her liking¡ªplaying as she was now, she could try to guess at Fey¡¯s cards from the dice she drafted, and play her cards and dice accordingly.


    That was¡ªshe could¡¯ve, were she not more absorbed by her conversation with Yselle two days prior.


    ¡®Ready,¡¯ she said, placing the card in front of her as Fey did the same.


    Already Cyobria knew she¡¯d played it wrong. Fey¡¯s card was a hard counter to hers, and even as the dice roll favoured Cynobria a little more, only Fey scored in this round. She huffed; she could¡¯ve chosen better.


    ¡®Yselle should decide,¡¯ said Fey, placing another card into play, face-down. ¡®I get why she¡¯d be reluctant to sever the tie, but keeping you on hold like this sits wrong with me.¡¯


    Cynobria sighed, considering her options now. With a glance at her dice and Fey¡¯s paw kept on her chosen card¡ªthe Tarangean¡¯s claws were painted an interchanging mint and silver¡ªCynobria picked her card. ¡®I don¡¯t want to rush her. I¡¯d rather she took a break and came back than break up forever.¡¯


    ¡®If you say so.¡¯ Fey fluttered her wings. ¡®Now?¡¯


    They both revealed their cards, and this time the matchup was more even. Cynobria predicted what Fey would use, even if she didn¡¯t have a card that was particularly useful against it, so she picked one that, at least, would not be countered by Fey¡¯s. They took their dice and rolled.


    As they stopped Cynobria hit the table hard enough that one of the dice almost fell. Fey sent her a critical glance. ¡®Hey,¡¯ she said. ¡®I know losing isn¡¯t fun, but it¡¯s just a game.¡¯


    Despite the cards being mostly neutral to each other, Cynobria¡¯s roll was nothing short of pathetic, while Fey¡¯s was moderately good. She sighed.What was she doing?


    ¡®I know, I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s just¡­¡¯ Cynobria¡¯s paw clenched tighter, heedless of her attempts to stay calm. ¡®First the dismissal, then the argument, then Yselle wants to take a break, and now I can¡¯t even score a single fucking point.¡¯ She loosed another shaky sigh, though it did little to dissipate her anger. ¡®It feels like everyone and everything set out to piss me off recently.¡¯


    Fey frowned. ¡®We don¡¯t have to play if¡ª¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ Cynobria growled. She scrunched her snout and let her head fall against the table, composed herself, as best she could. ¡®No,¡¯ she said more calmly, lifting her head. ¡®Sorry. Let¡¯s finish the game, then we¡¯ll do something else.¡¯


    Fey looked uncertain, but nodded. In the tight silence they both picked their cards and played them.


    Fey¡¯s card made it so all green dice aligned with Cynobria¡¯s goals would not be counted.


    Cynobria¡¯s revealed card only scored the green ones, doubling it at the end.


    Zero points again, no matter what she rolled.


    ¡®Oh, for¡ªARGHHH!¡¯ she roared as the room lit up with blue.


    Dimly, she noticed Fey jumping back, shock plain on her snout. Cynobria saw her vaguely through the cerulean curtain and shimmering-hot air. It took her a moment to register Fey¡¯s ¡®WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?¡¯, and another to notice the growing hotness. Her eyes grew wide as she realised what had happened.


    She had blown fire across the game table.


    All at once she shook off her stupor and scrambled to salvage what remained of the game, her own fire hot against her scales. To little avail¡ªthe cards were made from thick paper and the dice were painted wood, and any bits that she¡¯d managed to save were charred beyond recognition. Then, water splashed over her¡ªFey had left to fetch a bucket to put the fire out. By then the table was little more than a smoking ruin, Fang and Claw gone up in flames.


    ¡®What the fuck was that?!¡¯


    ¡®I¡­¡¯ Cynobria swallowed. There were no words that felt right.


    After a moment Fey shook her head, frills pinned flat against her head. ¡®I should leave.¡¯ Cynobria hung her head and made no move to stop Fey as she headed out the room and out the house.


    The following weekend Cynobria spent in her room. Upon Mum¡¯s suggestion¡ªwho found Cynobria in her sorry state and talked with her for a good portion of the evening¡ªshe bought a new copy of Fang and Claw, complete with screens and a few more dice than Fey¡¯s game, and resolved to give it to her friend at school.


    She found Fey before her first class, and gingerly approached the older dragon. Her stomach twisted into a tight curl, each step more painful than the one previously. Fey looked at her critically but didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry,¡¯ said Cynobria as she reached the other dragon, opening one of her side bags. From it she produced the new box of Fang and Claw and gave it to Fey, who, after brief hesitation, took it.


    ¡®You know it¡¯s not the same, right?¡¯ said Fey. ¡®The one I had, my mother played while still in her fledgeling years.¡¯


    ¡®I know,¡¯ Cynobria said. The knot in her stomach pulsed. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯


    Fey sent her a long look, then sighed and shook her head. ¡®What came over you? You¡¯re not an emotionally unstable whelp, Cyn. You can be impulsive at times, but never¡­¡¯


    Cynobria knew what she meant, and yet could not quite agree. She¡¯d broken the ferrule when she couldn¡¯t get the Hayar grammar right. She¡¯d once burned a cutting board when she cut into her scales. She was no stranger to outbursts of rage, but thus far had managed to contain them when she was not alone. Hot and fresh dread gripped her then¡ªof this part of her being seen, known. She couldn¡¯t¡­ She wouldn¡¯t¡­


    Hiding the revulsion she felt at herself, she shook her head. ¡®I don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t mean to do it.¡¯


    Fey¡¯s snout softented from the hard mask she had worn, and she put a wing over Cynobria¡¯s back, enveloping her, gently, in an almost translucent violet-grey. ¡®It¡¯s alright.¡¯


    But Cynobria knew it wasn¡¯t.


    ¡®You can¡¯t stand being worse than anyone that badly?¡¯ Yselle roared, flaring her dark red wings wide enough to almost touch both walls of the grey-stone corridor, her frills mirroring the movement.


    Cynobria blinked¡ªonce, twice. ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®I talked to Fey. She told me about Fang and Claw.¡¯


    Cynobria grimaced, and the knot in her stomach returned with empowered force. Her forepaws flexed; her eyes were trained on Yselle, though not quite meeting her eyes. ¡®It was an accident. I¡ª¡¯


    ¡®You accidentally blasted it with fire?¡¯ She sat back, pressed a claw against her temple, closed her eyes. ¡®Have you gone mad?¡¯


    ¡®Yselle¡ª¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ she cut in. Her frills were fully pinned back now. A bad sign. ¡®Perhaps I was right that you¡¯re so above everyone you need to always be the best. You say you didn¡¯t mean to make us feel like we were not good enough, but here we are.¡¯ She sent Cynobria a pointed look. ¡®I said we should take a break, but scratch that. If you¡¯re going to act like this, I don¡¯t think we¡¯re meant to be, after all. That¡¯s the end of us, Cynobria.¡¯


    No.


    She wanted to say something, defend herself, ask Yselle to give her a chance, but then she looked into her eyes at last, her expression, her pose, and in the worried tension Yselle seemed to be evaluating whether Cynobria would erupt again, breathe her fire, but instead of at the game, at Yselle herself. Her defiance hid an almost step-back.


    Fear.


    And it was, instead, Cynobria¡¯s heart that was reduced to cinders inside her chest, and through it all she couldn¡¯t bring herself to say a word.


    Yselle huffed, then turned around, walked away, leaving Cynobria standing numbly in the middle of a school corridor.

 Ch6: Older Brother [523 A.U.C.]

    The woods were a special place to Zhyr. He liked the village, of course, tucked amid the trees as was near-everything in Vyl, and his home was a comfort little could compare to. Still, the forests of Vyl were the only place he could forget the Cavrians¡¯ grip. They took their lands and they took their freedom, but they would not take these woodland paths and shadowed nooks, the sounds of birdsong and wind-tossed leaves. And as long as that was theirs, so was the hope for a better tomorrow.


    ¡®Got you!¡¯ cried a voice from somewhere behind and he ducked to the side as a green-grey blur whooshed past him and with a sound of snapping wood crashed into a bush. A tiny flock chirped their alarm and fled from a nearby tree.


    Zhyr laughed, tilting his head as he padded towards the crushed plant. ¡®Are you sure?¡¯


    ¡®Not fair!¡¯ said the bush, who was not a bush at all. He waited as his sister clambered out of it clumsily, shaking off loose leaves and twigs. Her green-grey-brown scales would have blended perfectly with the foliage were it not for the telltale black socks of the Vyl. ¡®Why do you always dodge so fast?¡¯


    He gave her a sideways look. ¡®Hmm, I wonder¡­¡¯


    ¡®Hey!¡¯ Pwynd frowned at him, shook the last leaf from her tail, then puffed her chest. ¡®I told you. That¡¯s my war cry!¡¯


    ¡®Loser¡¯s cry.¡¯


    ¡®Shut up.¡¯


    Zhyr laughed again, and it was almost enough for him to miss a rustling from behind.


    And enough to catch him blind.


    He whirled as another shape, green and white and orange-blue, barrelled into him from up in the canopy with enough force to send them both tumbling tails-over-heads into the bushes that grew just off the trodden path. ¡®Ow,¡¯ they said in unison as they settled in the thorny bowels of the nefarious plant.


    ¡®Ha!¡¯ cried Pwynd. ¡®Got you!¡¯


    ¡®Ow,¡¯ repeated Zhyr.


    The two left the thorny bush-hug¡ªZhyr had to help his little brother whose wing got stuck between the branches¡ªand were met with a grinning Pwynd. Her tail swishes to and fro across the forest floor. ¡®Loser¡¯s cry? No. Winner¡¯s distraction!¡¯


    ¡®Two on one?¡¯ asked Zhyr. ¡®Now that isn¡¯t very nice.¡¯


    ¡®You are bigger though,¡¯ argued Pwynd.


    ¡®And faster,¡¯ pointed out Qvyll, looking himself over for any stray leaves.


    ¡®And older,¡¯ added Pwynd.


    Zhyr could only shake his head and smile. Such was the life of an older brother. Though not by blood, he could not see himself as anything but. Speaking of which¡­


    ¡®Where¡¯s Dysh?¡¯


    Pwynd and Qvyll exchanged a glance.


    ¡®Wasn¡¯t she with you?¡¯ asked Qvyll.


    Pwynd baulked at that. ¡®I was out here, busy distracting Zhyr.¡¯


    ¡®Well, I was busy hunting him!¡¯


    ¡®You should have kept an eye on her.¡¯


    ¡®Why is it always me?¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s not always you!¡¯


    ¡®Yes it is!¡¯


    ¡®No it isn¡¯t!¡¯


    ''You''re stupid!''


    ''No, you are stupid!''


    ¡®Hey, hey, easy,¡¯ said Zhyr, cutting into his siblings¡¯ quarrel. ¡®We¡¯ll all go look for her.¡¯


    The arguing pair exchanged one last begrudging look and said, in unison, ¡®Fine.¡¯


    The woods were cool even at noon¡¯s height. Through the dense canopy overhead rays of light fell in intermittent swoops, shifting with each tousle of the leaves by the wind¡¯s invisible paws. Zhyr walked down on the forest floor, the packed ground a steady comfort underneath, the trees and bushes and ferns around him a peaceful normalcy. The sounds of birds and other forest life were now and then broken by the calls of ¡®Dysh!¡¯ from Qvyll and Pwynd as they flew overhead, checking every hidden nook. He didn¡¯t worry much about her¡ªnine springs old, she knew the woods here well enough. It was hardly the first time she had wandered off.


    So, while keeping his eyes open, he let himself enjoy the walk, the smell of sap and earth and life.


    But Dysh was nowhere to be seen, and his peace spoiled into a sour worry which settled heavy in the pit of his stomach. His tail twitched nervously as he advanced along the path. Pwynd and Qvyll must have shared the feeling, because their calls were getting more urgent, less sure.


    ¡®Maybe she went back home?¡¯ Qvyll suggested uncertainly, swooping down next to Zhyr.


    He frowned, considering. ¡®Go check,¡¯ he said. ¡®If she¡¯s back, come back and tell us. If not, come back and tell us too. We¡¯ll keep looking.¡¯ Qvyll nodded and in a moment was off in the direction of the village. Pwynd had flown a little lower to listen, and now looked in the direction Qvyll had left, then to Zhyr, and then, worriedly, wordlessly, flew back up and resumed her search.


    It was the start of summer, the woods a vivid near-uniform green, so when Pwynd said, ¡®What¡¯s this?¡¯ and Zhyr looked up to see hints of yellow and red amid the treetops, he stopped and peered at the discolouration. He slowly approached and his suspicions were confirmed when Pwynd added, ¡®I think it¡¯s a dragon!¡¯


    ¡®How very observant of you!¡¯ called back the stranger. She moved, and Zhyr could see the shifting outline of her shape.


    The dragon¡¯s scales were the colour of early autumn leaves. Mostly a vivid green, they were dotted with what looked like random splotches of red and yellow. Like with leaves, there was no clear line between the colours, but rather a gradual, gradient change. She lounged on a tall branch, blending in almost seamlessly into the surrounding canopy. Had it been but two months later she might have been outright invisible.


    Zhyr was rather sure he had never seen her before.


    He took off and flew up to her, settling on a branch next to hers. ¡®Hello,¡¯ he said. ¡®We¡¯re looking for our sister. Blue-green. A little grey. About this big.¡¯ He indicated Dysh¡¯s size, smaller than his own. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pwynd landing on another tree close by. ¡®Have you seen her?¡¯


    The autumn-leaf stranger considered him. Up close he could see that what at first looked to be random, had some order to it¡ªthe yellows and reds made a pattern of sorts, all across her otherwise green scales. She was young, too. He¡¯d guess not much older than he was, if at all. She tilted her head and said, ¡®You look dull.¡¯


    Zhyr frowned, reared back a tad. ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®Dull,¡¯ she repeated. She was a Vyl, no doubt, her eyes a telltale vivid green, and she spoke their tongue with ease, even if her accent and vocabulary belied a different dialect.


    Zhyr flicked an ear and scoffed. ¡®I¡¯m not dull.¡¯


    ¡®Right,¡¯ she said, amused.


    His tail lashed against the branch. He wasn¡¯t the most vibrant of dragons, especially among the Vyl¡ªall his parents and siblings boasted brighter shades to complement the greys and blacks, and he was nowhere near as colourful as the early-autumn stranger. His own greens, pale and dark, and his brown and grey, topped with ecru socks, had no shade among them that could be described as bright. ¡®My sister,¡¯ he repeated, claws digging into the thick hornbeam branch. ¡®Have you seen her?¡¯


    ¡®Hmm,¡¯ wondered the colourful stranger. ¡®No.¡¯


    Zhyr shook his head. ¡®Come, Pwynd, let¡¯s¡ª¡¯


    ¡®But there are Cavrians here.¡¯


    Zhyr stilled as he was trying to take off and almost fell from the branch. He steadied himself and looked back to the other dragon. ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®Ca-vrians,¡¯ she said too slowly as though he hadn¡¯t caught the word. ¡®Here.¡¯


    Zhyr stood there, dumbfounded. One tree away, Pwynd shared his hesitation, while the forest life around them¡ªthe wind, the birds, the little scuttles down below¡ªpaid no heed to the revelation. At length he managed, ¡®What are they doing here?¡¯


    ¡®No idea,¡¯ said the autumnal stranger. ¡®But they seem shifty. I don¡¯t like them.¡¯


    ¡®Well, uh, thanks,¡¯ said Zhyr. Then, turning to Pwynd, he added. ¡®Let¡¯s go look further.¡¯


    They both took off, Zhyr flying back down to the forest floor, Pwynd keeping in midair, to resume their search. No sooner had he landed that he heard another wingbeat behind him¡ªhe turned to see the vibrant stranger swooping down from her perch to land next to him with a gentle thump. ¡®So,¡¯ she said. ¡®Where do we begin?¡¯


    Zhyr blinked. ¡®What are you doing?¡¯


    ¡®Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡¯ She tilted her head. ¡®Helping you find your sister. It¡¯s no fun, lost sisters.¡¯ And she started down the path, without waiting for him.


    ¡®Hey,¡¯ said Zhyr as he ran to catch up. ¡®Thank you, but¡­ Who are you? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen you before.¡¯


    ¡®There¡¯s a village rather close, right?¡¯


    ¡®...yes,¡¯ he said hesitantly.


    ¡®Right. I¡¯ll be moving in with my da soon.¡¯


    ¡®Oh,¡¯ he said. He¡¯d heard rumours of new dragons coming soon, but he had paid them little mind.


    ¡®Name¡¯s Vyrsy.¡¯


    He crossed his paws and inclined his head. ¡®Zhyr.¡¯


    She returned the greeting. ¡®Blue, green, grey, smaller than us. Got that right?¡¯


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Zhyr. Despite himself he was getting used to this strange dragon. Unlike Pwynd, who, he noticed, perched on another branch and was watching them from afar.


    ¡®Alright,¡¯ said Vyrsy. ¡®Off we go!¡¯ And strode into the dense undergrowth forcing Zhyr to catch up once more.


    It didn¡¯t take them long to find the Cavrians.


    They weren¡¯t looking for them¡ªDysh was still nowhere to be seen, yet the woods seemed all too eager to throw into Zhyr¡¯s path every dragon that wasn¡¯t his sister.


    There were three of them, standing in the middle of a small glade, and they contrasted with the surrounding green like a moldy growth¡ªone mostly white with golden swirls in neat symmetries over his body, and golden smoke-like patterns on his wings. His horns were almost straight and ivory-coloured, as was the spike on his nose. He was young¡ªroughly Zhyr¡¯s age¡ªand another of the three was too, his scales a uniform black. The third dragon was the only adult there, bearing strong resemblance to the monocoloured one. Zhyr had never liked how Cavrians looked¡ªtheir simple bulky forms seemed to him ungraceful, yellow eyes set into their blocky heads.Stolen novel; please report.


    But maybe they had seen his sister.


    ¡®Are those the ones you saw?¡¯ asked Zhyr and Vyrsy nodded, so, with some apprehension, he added, ¡®Could you keep an eye on Pwynd for a bit?¡¯ (Vyrsy nodded. Pwynd frowned and scoffed indignantly. Neither said a word.) And then he left the safe shadows of the trees and made his way over to the trio.


    They were talking in Cavrian¡ªa weird language with sounds he still hadn¡¯t quite learned to pronounce, but he caught a few words here and there: some ¡°you¡±s, a ¡°where¡±, then ¡°catch¡± and ¡°yet¡±. He didn¡¯t much trust his language skills. He trusted those three even less.


    The smaller of the black ones saw Zhyr approach and pointed him out to the white-and-gold. They halted their conversation. Up close he noticed they each wore gold or silver hornbands¡ªnobles?!¡ªbut it was too late to turn back now.


    ¡®Uh, hello,¡¯ said Zhyr, and then, remembering himself, repeated the word in his best approximation of Cavrian¡ªall Vyl were made to learn it, but their village wasn¡¯t big, and Zhyr himself had little skill for language. Still, he tried and managed something like, ¡®I look I¡¯s sister. Saw she?¡¯ (It was a small wonder he remembered how the Cavrian past tense worked.) His heart beat fast as he waited for their reaction, and he suddenly regretted coming out to them at all.


    The adult one started talking. Zhyr gave it his all to listen, but the Cavrian spoke too fast and his accent was too strong, so much so he could barely grasp a single word.


    The others must have noticed, because one said something to his guardian and the dragon stopped. He seemed to think a bit, and at last said, ¡®We saw no one other.¡¯


    Zhyr fought not to cringe. The dragon spoke well enough to be understood, but his absolute butchering of the tongue was an almost physical pain. It wasn¡¯t like with Vyrsy¡ªshe spoke the tongue of Vyl with ease, even if a different variant of it, and she still sounded how one should. The Cavrian¡¯s speech, his accent, his pronunciation were just deeply wrong. Though, he supposed, he was the one to talk, with how he¡¯d managed his own Cavrian.


    ¡®Alright,¡¯ he said in proper Vyly. ¡®Sorry to have bothered you.¡¯ And rapidly he withdrew, leaving the trio to their discussion.


    ¡®And?¡¯ asked Vyrsy, and then, looking him over, ¡®Oh, that bad?¡¯


    Belatedly, Zhyr realised he was shaking. He forced his body to still. ¡®They say they didn¡¯t see anyone out here.¡¯


    ¡®Damn Cavrians,¡¯ said Vyrsy with sudden venom. Pwynd was uncharacteristically quiet. ¡®What¡¯re they doing here?¡¯


    Zhyr exhaled a shaky breath. ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯ He shook his head. ¡®Let¡¯s go.¡¯


    They moved around the glade, then veered deeper into the forest, but even after leaving the three intruders far behind Zhyr couldn¡¯t shake a vague feeling of unease. He¡¯d seen Cavrians before¡ªvisiting the village, talking to the chieftain¡ªbut never before had he seen them this deep into the woods. The forests here were a domain of the Vyl, and the invaders did not fit.


    ¡®Hey,¡¯ whispered Vyrsy. ¡®You hear that?¡¯


    Zhyr¡¯s ears perked up. They had made sizable progress by now¡ªQvyll had either not returned yet, or he couldn¡¯t find them¡ªturning a wide arc through the denser part of the woodland. Shadows grew denser, and the air was permeated with the chirping-rustling sounds of wildlife. Zhyr was about to ask what it was he was supposed to hear when he caught it. Very faint and far away, but it was there regardless.


    A cracking, and a snarling, and weaved between them a quiet sound of a dragon¡¯s voice. He couldn¡¯t make out any words, but their emotion came across.


    Distress.


    There was no time to spare. Before he knew what he was doing, Zhyr leapt across a patch of nettles, ignoring the sting, and bolted in the direction of the voice.


    ¡®Hey!¡¯ called Vyrsy. ¡®Wait up!¡¯


    ¡®Zhyr!¡¯ cried Pwynd.


    He paid them no mind. Only one thing mattered now. It could be Dysh there, in trouble, and he could not afford to wait.


    Dimly, he registered a sound behind him, dragons rushing through the undergrowth, but he had started running first, and was older than Pwynd, and stronger, and he knew these woods better than Vyrsy could, so he shot ahead, the voices at his back dimming as the ones in front grew more distinct.


    He could now make out the growling and thrashing of some large animal, and the dragon¡¯s voice resolved into a panicked cry for help.


    His SISTER¡¯S cry for help.


    Not sure how, he managed to put on a new burst of speed.


    He was getting closer, no doubt, but even so, looking around frantically, he couldn¡¯t see either her or the beast. He weaved around trees, here and now scratching his scales against rough bark, startling flocks of birds, jumped over jutting rocks and narrowly avoided tripping on hidden twisted roots. The calls seemed to be coming from just around there, but somehow below¡ª


    He barely managed to stop himself from falling into a pit.


    Zhyr stood at the edge, panting heavily. Weird. He didn¡¯t remember¡ª


    ¡®Help!¡¯ came a voice from below, now almost resigned and choked with tears. An angry snarl followed. ¡®Someone. Please.¡¯


    He looked down into the pit and his heart sank inside his chest.


    The hole looked dragon-made. The bottom was strewn with branches and leaves, and sharp thin spikes jutted from it. Weaving here and there was a spiky metal wire, and trapped in its coils was a wolf¡ªbloodied black-grey fur, three of its six legs caught in the wire¡¯s grasp as it thrashed and tossed viciously¡ªand a dragon, green and blue and grey, panicked and calling for help. Her wing and three legs were pierced and bleeding, caught in place by the wire.


    ¡®DYSH!¡¯


    She stilled, then looked up in disbelief. ¡®Zhyr?¡¯


    He looked back, but Pwynd and Vyrsy were still far behind, struggling to catch up. His heart beat fast¡ªtoo fast. What even was this?


    The wolf was hurt, badly, made worse by its constant struggling, But its fight was not in vain, as it seemed to be slowly freeing itself from the wire.


    He knew, then. That was his sister down there.


    And so he jumped from the edge and soared down into the pit.


    He took care to avoid the spikes and the wire, which made his descent infuriatingly slow. He kept glancing at the wolf which, noticing him, increased its efforts.


    ¡®Easy, Dysh,¡¯ he said as she watched him anxiously. ¡®It¡¯ll be okay.¡¯


    ¡®It hurts,¡¯ she said, glancing unsurely between him and the wolf.


    A painful pang shot through his chest. He flexed his claws and steeled himself. ¡®I¡¯m here,¡¯ he said as reassuringly as he could. Up close he noted that her wing was tangled in the wire, and any move could hurt her badly. One strong wingbeat might tear the membrane off.


    He landed, wincing slightly as the wire on the ground dug into the pad of his left hindpaw. He repositioned himself carefully and examined the wire on Dysh¡¯s wing. His paws were shaking and they felt weak, and he was barely able to stand. Perhaps he could¡ª


    ¡®What are you doing?!¡¯


    The voice came from above, and he looked up briefly to see the early-autumn scales of Vyrsy, and next to her the greens and browns of Pwynd. ¡®Saving my sister, is what!¡¯ he meant to call out, but his voice came out all choked. (¡®You¡¯re crazy!¡¯ yelled Vyrsy, but he ignored her.) Focus. He willed his tail to still lest it caught in the wire itself. He grabbed the binds and started pulling, twisting, trying to weave it out of Dysh¡¯s wing. Second after painful second passed, the wire slowly getting pulled away. Just a moment and¡­ done!


    Dysh eeped, shuddered, and moved her wing slightly. She winced, but was able to fold it and tuck it close to her body. She looked down at her paws.


    Zhyr got back to work. The wire wound more tightly here, and every time he tried to unloop it she jerked and cried in pain. It was made harder with Zhyr¡¯s own paws shaking, red with his sister¡¯s blood.


    ¡®Zhyr?¡¯ Vyrsy said above. ¡®ZHYR! LOOK OUT!¡¯


    He looked around just as the wolf, now free, leapt.


    Zhyr had no time to think. He grabbed Dysh and barrelled to the side, barely avoiding the beast. The wire at her paws pulled taut, and she shrieked, and on the other end it was wrenched free from the ground. Before the wolf could compose itself, Zhyr beat his wings and took into the air, but Dysh¡¯s own wing was still hurt, and she seemed too scared to move, so he stopped to grab onto her, hefting her airborne with him. She was heavier than he¡¯d thought, and their ascent was slow.


    Too slow.


    ¡®No! Zhyr! Run!¡¯ cried Dysh, but he didn¡¯t listen, instead beating his wings all the harder, putting in it all his strength. The edge of the pit was closer, closer¡­


    The wolf leapt for them, and sharp pain erupted in Zhyr¡¯s thigh as the beast¡¯s teeth sank in, and they were pulled back to the ground.


    No!


    Dysh swiped at the wolf¡¯s snout, but was still too weak, and it only snarled in fury.


    He could let go. He could release his sister and try to fight himself. But then the wolf might get to her¡­


    There was a blur¡ªvivid green and yellow-red, and then Vyrsy was next to him, in the pit, slashing with all her might at the giant wolf.


    It wasn¡¯t enough to hurt it badly. But just enough to confuse it, and it roared, opening its jaws and letting go of Zhyr.


    With a strength he hadn¡¯t known he had, Zhyr shot up to the hole¡¯s edge, and landed, bloodied and hurt, but safe, settling Dysh down carefully even as his paws threatened to buckle under his own weight. Pwynd was next to them in seconds, and then Vyrsy, unharmed, fell onto the grass close by.


    ¡®What were you thinking?¡¯ she demanded as all three of them worked at gently removing the wire from around Dysh¡¯s paws. ¡®You could have died!¡¯ Down below the wolf tried¡ªand failed¡ªto get out of the hole.


    In truth, thinking was not one of the things he¡¯d done. But with Dysh there, hurt, what else was he to do? He looked up at Vyrsy, and said, simply, ¡®That¡¯s what older brothers do.¡¯


    It took some time, but at last they managed to untangle the wires from Dysh¡¯s limbs, and she immediately flopped onto the undergrowth, unable to stand up. The scales around her paws looked shredded.


    ¡®We should get going,¡¯ said Vyrsy. ¡®These wounds look ugly. Come. My da could help.¡¯


    ¡®Dysh?¡¯ said Pwynd, crouching down. ¡®Can you walk?¡¯ Dysh groaned.


    ¡®I can carry you,¡¯ Zhyr offered. ¡®On my back.¡¯


    They helped Dysh settle snugly on Zhyr¡¯s back, and she held on weakly with her bloodied paws. Zhyr¡¯s thigh throbbed with its own wound, but he carried on.


    ¡®What was this?¡¯ he asked no one in particular as they made their way back.


    ¡®A trap.¡¯


    Zhyr looked up. It was Vyrsy, and she looked ahead as she spat the words.


    ¡®These Cavrians must¡¯ve set it up for some easy catch.¡¯


    Zhyr felt as though he were struck. It made sense¡ªit made too much sense, and his tail lashed against the grass. The woods were the last place he¡¯d see claimed by that scum.


    ¡®Da, I¡¯m back!¡¯


    Back at the village they entered a house-tree Zhyr had thought was unused. And indeed, it seemed as though dragons were in the process of moving in, its interior in disarray.


    ¡®Oh, Yls, I was wondering¡ª¡¯ A dragon came into view from a bend in the natural-grown corridor and stopped short when he saw them. He was a Vyl, eyes and scales a matching dark green with flourishes of orange, brown and red. ¡®Who is that?¡¯


    ¡®Zhyr, Dysh and Pwynd. I met them in the forest.¡¯ Vyrsy grew serious. ¡®We need help.¡¯


    Zhyr came forward and lowered Dysh to the bare floor so that the dragon could see her. He inhaled sharply. ¡®What happened?¡¯


    ¡®She fell into a Cavrian hunting trap,¡¯ said Vyrsy. ¡®With a wolf.¡¯


    His eyes went wide as he looked between the gathered four. His claws twitched against the floor. ¡®Yls, I can¡¯t do this every time.¡¯


    ¡®This isn¡¯t every time!¡¯ She flared her wings, rearing her head at him. ¡®This is serious.¡¯


    He hesitated, as though at war with himself, then sighed. ¡®Alright. Come.¡¯ Zhyr followed the dragon deeper into the house-tree, Pwynd and Vyrsy at his tail. The new room presented an even bigger mess¡ªhalf-unpacked boxes and their many contents in uneven piles between them. Vyrsy¡¯s father searched for something in one of the chests, pulling out a small pouch. ¡®Now,¡¯ he said, addressing Zhyr and his sisters. ¡®You will not speak of this to anyone, understood?¡¯


    Zhyr wasn¡¯t sure what was going on, but he nodded. If this could help Dysh¡­


    The dragon shook the pouch and out of it slipped a tiny green thing, sharp and shining in the scant light. He sat back, closed it in his paw, and put the other one on Dysh¡¯s wounds.


    She yelped and Zhyr was about to move away with her, but then the dragon¡¯s eyes glowed with some internal light and Dysh gasped. She squirmed on top of him, tail wiggling to and fro, paws clenching and unclenching, but it seemed more restlessness than pain. After a while Vyrsy¡¯s father withdrew his paw and moved on to the other wounds. Zhyr watched, stunned, as one after another they seemed to close.


    ¡®Try it now.¡¯


    Zhyr helped Dysh slide onto the floor. She wobbled a little, and he readied to catch her, but she righted herself and stood, speechless.


    ¡®You¡¯re hurt too, lad?¡¯ Zhyr turned round, hesitated, but then thought better of false bravado and exposed his injured thigh. Vyrsy¡¯s father tutted, shook his head, then placed his paw on the wound. Zhyr hissed, then gasped as a tingling warmth spread along his leg. He almost jerked at the sensation¡ªall the world was put into sharper focus, his senses keener than they¡¯d ever been, but more peace than panic. In moments the dim pain left, and as the paw withdrew, so did the wonderful feeling. Zhyr stretched his hindleg. It was a little numb, but the bite wound was gone.


    Did this dragon¡­ access?


    It was one of the things the Cavrians had taken from them. Accessors of Vyl were almost exclusively recruited for the invaders¡¯ army, with only a scant number who were allowed to stay in their homes. Was he like that?


    No. He¡¯d told them to keep this a secret.


    ¡®Anyone else?¡¯ he asked. ¡®No? Good. Now, remember, not a word.¡¯


    The three siblings nodded and the accessor visibly relaxed. Vyrsy grinned at them. ¡®Come, let¡¯s not bother da too much.¡¯ And with that they all left the room, and then the house-tree.


    Zhyr looked up at the enormous living structure¡ªsimilar to any other tree in shape, though not in size, impossibly wide and hollow within, walls grown, not built. It was a small wonder their conquerors had allowed those to stay, though larger settlements were gradually transitioning to stone and dead-wood houses. The upkeep of house-trees was not an easy thing, made harder with most Gardeners recruited for the army. A portion of them was reassigned to this task, a small guild of accessors who travelled across Vyl and repaired the living homes or, in increasingly rare cases, helped grow new ones.


    ¡®Well,¡¯ said Vyrsy, ruffling her wings and grinning. ¡®That¡¯s one way to get to know your new neighbours.¡¯


    Zhyr tilted his head at her, remembering her father¡¯s greeting. ¡®Yls?¡¯


    She grimaced, ears flat. ¡®Don¡¯t ask.¡¯ Dappled half-shadows danced across her scales below the swaying boughs of the house-tree. The look she sent him was hard. He smiled.


    ¡®And if I do?¡¯


    ¡®I won¡¯t tell you.¡¯


    ¡®Alright. Yls.¡¯


    She swatted at him, but he managed to dodge with little to no issue. ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ she warned.


    ¡®I¡¯ll think about it,¡¯ said Zhyr, tilting his head¡ªa little right, a little up. ¡®See you, then. And¡­ Vyrsy?¡¯


    ¡®Hm?¡¯


    He sobered. ¡®Thank you. For saving us back there.¡¯


    She smiled, then, bright and true. ¡®Don¡¯t mention it. Or, you know, do mention it. It makes me sound like a hero.¡¯ She puffed her chest proudly.


    He laughed at that and then, with Pwynd and Dysh already moving ahead, made his way back home.

 Ch4: Tç…¤irengair [524 A.U.C.]

    The royal twins sat with heads held high on plush white cushions, listening to the king¡¯s lecture. The queen was in the chamber too, a comforting presence during the class. It had not always been so¡ªMother watching over them, listening to every lesson, overseeing every ordeal. There was one day when it had changed.


    It had been half a year since Father had started tutoring them. F¨¢olan was not sure why he had gone to his parents¡¯ chamber that day. The thing that had happened at its doorway took priority in his memories.


    It was an argument.


    ¡®What do you think you are doing with them?¡¯ It was the Queen Consort, the seething in her voice restrained, but barely.


    ¡®I am teaching them,¡¯ the King Lightbringer replied curtly.


    ¡®Aodhan, they are ten. What do you think will become of them if you force them into rivalry?¡¯


    ¡®They will get better,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Look, love, C¨¢ondai took us under her wing around the same age.¡¯


    ¡®And where did that lead,¡¯ Mother said flatly.


    ¡®Not this tone, please¡­¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯ The flatness was gone now, and Mother¡¯s voice took back its irritated edge. ¡®Where did it lead to, really? How did it weigh on you? And Iona, and Lorcan? You cannot tell me it was always this bad between you three.¡¯


    ¡®They are not here,¡¯ said the king, a tone of firm finality, but what might have worked to stop F¨¢olan from arguing further, did little to deter Mother.


    ¡®You speak of C¨¢ondai, of what she did. And you want to do the same when she had all but forsaken her own son?¡¯


    ¡®And I am not doing that, if you might notice. F¨¢olan and Taori have potential, but that has to be honed and shaped as early¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Aodhan, stop. Please.¡¯


    ¡®This is what is necessary,¡¯ said the King Lightbringer. F¨¢olan took a quarter of a step back, but found himself otherwise moored to the polished marble floor, and could do little more than shrink into himself, and listen on. ¡®You say you do not want me to be C¨¢ondai. Then I am not her. I do not call my brood useless. I believe they can be great. But in one thing my grandmother proved to be right. She trained me, and Iona and Lorcan too, since our early years. Now we can reap the crops she had sown. I am the King Lightbringer that Cavria needs. But we will need more after me. This is the way C¨¢ondai showed me to ensure that our line stays strong. This is the way I was made.¡¯


    Silence. Then, so quiet F¨¢olan barely heard it, but bearing its own finality, ¡®I will be there.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯


    And Mother said, louder now, ¡®I will accompany you to all your lectures and trials with Taori and F¨¢olan.¡¯


    ¡®That will not be necessary.¡¯


    A huff. ¡®Oh, but it will. I will make sure you treat them like you should.¡¯


    ¡®What do you think of me?¡¯ said Father, and now his voice was tinged with annoyance, but also hurt. F¨¢olan, more and more with each moment, got the sense he should not be here, and once again started backing away into the corridor. ¡®Do you really¡ª¡¯


    ¡®C¨¢ondai made a mistake. And I do not want you to follow in her steps.¡¯


    ¡®Ruari¡ª¡¯


    F¨¢olan heard movement then, and the scales on his neck rose as pawsteps approached. He made to hasten his retreat, but the door was already opening and Mother was coming out. F¨¢olan darted around the corner, heart hammering so loud half the palace must have heard it. She rounded the corner then, and he saw her, and she saw him, and his heart leaped to his throat, neck-scales standing full on end. But then¡ªshe smiled, sad and knowing, and F¨¢olan knew she knew he knew. She said not a thing though, only continued to walk down the corridor, eventually disappearing behind another bend.


    It had been over a year since then. Mother had not talked to him about that day, and neither had Father, but since then she had been present every time the King Lightbeinger educated or tested his heirs.


    ¡®...and they will be the dragons closest to you during your reign,¡¯ Father was saying. Today¡¯s lesson had no test, and it was, for the most part, a lecture on the structure of the court¡ªthe noble tiers, of which they knew, and then about specific roles of Royal Advisor and Captain of Guard which were appointed by the current King or Queen Lightbringer. ¡®It might be a friend, or it might be your spouse¡ªindeed, I have chosen your mother to serve as my advisor¡ªbut whoever you choose, you must be sure you can put unending trust in them.¡¯


    Behind him Mother continued to stand as a quiet sentry, watching.


    Father looked back to her, as though to reaffirm that she was still present, and said, turning back to F¨¢olan and Taori, ¡®That should conclude today¡¯s class. You are free to go.¡¯


    ¡®I have hit an absolute dead end.¡¯


    ¡®And the king doesn¡¯t want to tell you anything?¡¯ asked Monny. They were heading for the palace, back from the library in the western wing of the Academy General of Lascridh. The corridor was empty aside from the two of them, but well-lit, even this deep in the twisting mountain pathways. Braziers were set at regular intervals against the polished-stone walls. Eamon¡¯s black scales shone with faint traces of gold in the firelight.


    ¡®Not a thing.¡¯ F¨¢olan huffed. ¡®What he did say¡ªthat Lorcan disappeared two weeks after the death of Queen C¨¢ondai and then, a few days later, so did Iona¡ªI did manage to confirm in the chronicles. He said nothing more, though, and I found nothing else in the archives too.¡¯


    ¡®Maybe that is that,¡¯ said Monny. ¡®It could be that no one knows what became of them, not even the king.¡¯


    ¡®I suppose¡­¡¯ said F¨¢olan unsurely. ¡®But it nags at me. Three Lasth¨²irs gone so fast? There must be a connection.¡¯


    ¡®Afraid you will be next?¡¯ Monny teased, bumping F¨¢olan with a wing.


    F¨¢olan laughed, gently shoving back. ¡®They could try!¡¯ Though under this dismissive veneer, a chill ran down his spine. He had always been thinking of the case as a matter closed, but what if¡ª


    Faint laughter echoed ahead of them, deeper in the maze of caverns.


    ¡®Did you hear that?¡¯ asked F¨¢olan.


    ¡®That I did¡­ Come, let¡¯s see.¡¯


    They wound around in the corridors, led by the intermittent sound of dragons laughing. Best F¨¢olan could tell they were heading some ways away from the main compound of the Academy and into its part he was less familiar with¡ªassigned to the lower nobles if memory served him right.


    It did not take long before the laughter could be heard from just around the corner, coming from a narrow hallway. F¨¢olan edged closer to look. It was bare and sparsely lit, but he could make out a group of three dragons, their tails to Monny and him. They were more or less his age, or slightly older, standing in a semicircle, blocking the whole width of the hallway. Further down was another one, larger, spreading his wings and standing up on rear paws in a display of dominance. As though to hammer in that point, the dragonar beat his wings forcefully, and with their shifting F¨¢olan saw one more dragon there, crouched and cowering under the large dragonar¡¯s looming form.


    ¡®You do not belong with us,¡¯ he sneered.


    The smaller dragon mumbled something in response, too quiet for F¨¢olan to hear. The other four laughed again.


    That was all F¨¢olan needed to see.


    ¡®Hey!¡¯ he called out, coming into the hallway. All the dragons went quiet in an instant. The four closest turned, looking him over, then relaxed somewhat, but the feeling did not last long as one of them squinted at him, and then her eyes went wide and she whispered something to the other three.


    The reaction was immediate¡ªfrom scepticism to recognition, finally settling on uncertainty.


    They knew who he was. Good.


    The largest dragonar stepped to the front. ¡®Ah, er, well. What brings you here, pri¡ª¡¯


    ¡®What are you doing to my friend?¡¯ F¨¢olan cut in.


    It was a gamble¡ªhe did not know the dragon at the hallway¡¯s end, but he was the Prince Lightbringer and outranked all the gathered dragons, no matter their tier.


    They hesitated, caught off-guard. Monny had stayed back; out of the corner of his eye F¨¢olan saw him watching at the entrance of the hallway as though he were but his shadow.


    ¡®Are you certain, Highness?¡¯ asked the dragoness who had recognised him. ¡®It is dark here, and you may have mistaken him for someone else. He¡ª¡¯If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡®I am certain,¡¯ said F¨¢olan, unwavering. He ruffled his wings and readjusted them against his flanks. ¡®Does there appear to be an issue?¡¯


    The dragoness¡¯s words stuck in her throat, and the rest of the group¡¯s resolve was crumbling into a fine dust of doubt. At length their apparent leader said, ¡®We are sorry to have been an inconvenience. We will, er, leave you to your friend.¡¯


    F¨¢olan said nothing to that, only continued to stare cooly at the dragonar. Though he was larger than F¨¢olan, he appeared to shrink under the prince''s mat-gold gaze. Following this silent exchange the group passed F¨¢olan and, without another word, made their way out of the hallway. F¨¢olan¡¯s gaze followed them, noting Monny¡¯s bemused expression, watching the whole thing unfold from the entryway. When the four dragons left and rushed down the corridor, Monny, at last, strode into the hallway himself, coming to stand next to F¨¢olan.


    ¡®Now that was¡­ something,¡¯ he said.


    F¨¢olan turned his attention to the remaining dragon¡ªdragonar. In the dim light he looked to be a greyish brown¡ªlighter at the bottom and darker near his back, the two shades meeting at his flanks in interlocking patterns. He had slightly curved dark horns adorned with a silver band, and as he was standing up on shaky paws F¨¢olan caught the look he sent them. His light yellow eyes betrayed a swirling mass of emotions¡ªgratitude, but also uncertainty, and a residue of fear from moments prior. The scales on his neck were raised, slowly settling down.


    ¡®Thank you, Lord,¡¯ he said, bowing slightly, ¡®but you must be mistaken. I am not the friend you are looking for.¡¯ There was a tightness to his voice, a note of regret. The stranger pawed the stone floor anxiously, and his tail twitched.


    ¡°Lord¡±. He did not recognise F¨¢olan.


    Nobility in Cavria was recognisable by hornbands¡ªworn on a dragon''s left horn, usually silver, finely engraved with patterns and symbols that differentiated dragons by their noble tier. The exception was the main Lasth¨²ir line, whose bands were gold, though in the scant light the stranger must have missed the colour of F¨¢olan¡¯s.


    ¡®I know,¡¯ said F¨¢olan in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.


    The strange dragonar looked at him with an expression of great confusion.


    ¡®I was not looking for a friend,¡¯ F¨¢olan added. ¡®I wanted to make them leave.¡¯


    The dragonar blinked, then inclined his head again. ¡®You are kind, Lord. But there was¡­ no need to trouble yourself.¡¯


    ¡®What did they want with you, anyhow?¡¯ asked Monny. The dragonar¡¯s head whipped to look at him. ¡®And who are you? I don¡¯t think I have seen you around.¡¯


    ¡®My, em¡­¡¯ He swallowed. Then he planted his paws more firmly on the hallway floor. ¡®I have only recently moved to the capital, Lords, to live with my uncle. My parents wanted me to take up study in the Academy in Lascridh. My name is Veolar,¡¯ he said, and then after a pause, as though remembering himself, ¡®¨¢l Thiamar. T¨²irengair.¡¯


    ¡®Eamon ¨¢l Korith Griansair,¡¯ Monny offered.


    ¡®F¨¢olan ¨¢l Aodhan Lasth¨²ir,¡¯ said F¨¢olan.


    If Veolar¡¯s uncertainty was augmented by Monny introducing himself as a Lord Sundancer, his whole bearing crumbled when he heard F¨¢olan¡¯s name. His eyes widened, and he looked as though he were struck. F¨¢olan got the impression Veolar would have backed away, were he not standing with his tail almost touching the dead-end wall of the hallway.


    ¡®Come with us, Veolar,¡¯ said F¨¢olan amiably. ¡®Let us not stay here. We can talk in my chamber at the palace.¡¯


    He moved out of the hallway, Monny close at his tail. Veolar hesitated a moment, but he could not disobey the words of a Prince Lightbringer, were it an order or an invitation, and soon he was trailing behind the two of them.


    No dragons disturbed them as they made their way outside the Academy, and into the palace of Lascridh.


    ¡®So,¡¯ said F¨¢olan as he settled on the cushions set against the wall in his chamber, ¡®what did those dragons want with you?¡¯


    Monny lay sprawled to the side of him, and Veolar sat back across from them, wings tucked tight, his tail curled neatly around his paws as though he was trying to appear as small as he could, and he was already a little smaller than F¨¢olan and Monny. In the light of the palace chambers his scales no longer looked greyish, but a calm composition of lighter and darker browns.


    Veolar did not speak for a time, looking vastly uncomfortable. Then, ¡®I shouldn¡¯t be a noble.¡¯


    ¡®Come again?¡¯ asked Monny, sitting up on the cushions.


    ¡®That¡­ What these dragons did, in the hallway. It was hardly the first time. I told you, Prince, Lord¡ª¡¯ he nodded at each of them in turn¡ª ¡®I am a Sparkcaller and that may be true, but barely. My¡­¡¯ He exhaled a shaky breath. F¨¢olan gave him time to gather himself. ¡®My family line did not produce an accessor in three generations. And I am an only dragonling.¡¯


    ¡®You could lose your rank,¡¯ Monny stated the obvious.


    F¨¢olan flexed his claws, resettling himself on the cushions. Cavrian customs were unrelenting when it came to cultivating strong accessing bloodlines. Divided into three tiers of Sundancers, Brightsingers and Sparkcallers¡ªwith the Lightbringers a special class of the royal family¡ªCavrian nobility had strict rules of advancing or falling down in rank. At least once, every four generations, a Sparkcaller line had to produce an accessor, Brightsingers had to be, all of them, accessors of at least one gem, and every four generations they had to have at least one double, and the same applied to Sundancers: each at least a double and some triform. Two generations in a row of a higher accessing prowess¡ªdoubles for a Sparkcaller and triforms for a Brightsinger¡ªwarranted a rising of rank, to Brightsinger and Sundancer respectively.


    Though rises were rare and fallings more common, F¨¢olan had not known any dragon affected by either. Until now.


    Veolar lowered his head. ¡®It is not much different than back home. I had hoped, when I moved here, I could start anew, but one of the Ladies Brightsinger here knows my father, and news spreads fast.¡¯


    ¡®A falling line or not,¡¯ said F¨¢olan, ¡®it is no reason to attack a dragon.¡¯


    ¡®You are kind, Prince F¨¢¡ªLightbringer,¡¯ said Veolar, a touch awkwardly.


    ¡®This should not be taking place. Not within the Academy¡¯s halls, and not anywhere else.¡¯


    Veolar curled his tail tighter around himself. ¡®Not all dragons share this sentiment, my prince.¡¯


    F¨¢olan met his eyes; the dragonar averted his, fidgeting nervously with his claws. F¨¢olan drummed his own against the velvet padding. ¡®I will talk to my father about it.¡¯


    Veolar and Monny both snapped up. ¡®F¨¢ol?¡¯ asked Monny. Veolar seemed taken aback by the casual apostrophe, but not more than by F¨¢olan¡¯s declaration.


    ¡®M-my Prince, that should not be necessary. The king should not be bothered by such¡­ inconsequential matters.¡¯


    F¨¢olan was not deterred. ¡®A king should care for his subjects,¡¯ he said. ¡®Though I do not want to ask him to intervene with how they treated you. I would like you to study in the other part of the Academy.¡¯


    What followed was an even more stunned silence. ¡®My prince¡­¡¯ said Veolar. ¡®I¡­ do not believe it would be possible, let alone proper. For me to come study in the halls dedicated for the Lords and Ladies Sundancer¡­ That would be...¡¯ He shook his head.


    ¡®That is a possible solution, but not the only one.¡¯ F¨¢olan stood up from his cushions, his tail lashing behind him as he looked Veolar in the eye. ¡®One way or another, I, F¨¢olan of the Lasth¨²irs, pledge to help you as my future subject. Heed my words.¡¯


    ¡®Why?¡¯


    It had not been much longer before Veolar left, bidding a stiff farewell. With the two alone in the room, the black-scaled dragonar made no secret of his confusion.


    ¡®Why?¡¯ said F¨¢olan. ¡®Would you rather this continued?¡¯


    ¡®No, and I understand wanting to help. But inviting him to study in the Sundancer Wing? Don¡¯t you think this is a little much?¡¯


    F¨¢olan sighed, plopping back down on the cushions. ¡®Maybe. I don¡¯t know. This was the first thing that came to mind.¡¯


    ¡®Strength is one of the Twelve Virtues,¡¯ said Monny. ¡®Even if he could not beat them, he should stand up to those who show ill will. Not cower.¡¯


    ¡®This was not the first time,¡¯ argued F¨¢olan.


    ¡®So? Unity¡¯s teachings do not change a second, third or a hundredth time. Strength. Steadfastness. They remain constant. A guide for every dragon.¡¯


    F¨¢olan clenched his muzzle tight. Monny was right.


    Tell me, F¨¢ol,¡¯ he said when F¨¢olan was still searching for a response, and failing. ¡®Is it an act of kindness, a prince for his subject? Is it a sense of duty? Or are you doing this out of pity for him?¡¯


    F¨¢olan blinked, caught off-guard by the question¡ªwhich seemed to him a veiled accusation. Why was he helping this dragonar? He was not sure himself.


    ¡®It will not matter for him,¡¯ he said at length.


    Monny considered him, and nodded, once. ¡®I guess it won¡¯t.¡¯


    ¡®Absolutely not.¡¯


    F¨¢olan nodded curtly. He was not expecting much else.


    ¡®I have heard of his line,¡¯ continued the King Lightbringer; even as they had met in oe of the less opulent palace chambers, numerous arrases stared down at them, gleaming with gold and silver thread under the light of three ornate chandeliers, ¡®and knew one branch lived in Lascridh, though I was not aware the young scion has moved here. And you say this dragonar might be the last Sparkcaller in their line?¡¯ He tapped a claw against the floor contemplatively. ¡®I will have to keep an eye on him. A family leaving the noble ranks is a rare, if sad, occurrence.¡¯


    ¡®Is there nothing to be done about how he is treated?¡¯


    The king regarded F¨¢olan, eyes hard. ¡®He should handle these matters himself, son.¡¯


    ¡®Is it not our duty to help?¡¯


    ¡®Our duty is to Cavria,¡¯ said the king. He stood up, paced around, before stopping at a depiction of some-or-other ancestor on the background of green thread, looking up. ¡®We must tend to our empire, take care that it flourishes under our rule. I respect you wanting to make it the best place for everyone, but we cannot possibly watch over every dragon. There are matters one must take care of oneself, as guided by Unity¡¯s will.¡¯


    Though gentle, the king¡¯s words carried a reprimand that did not escape F¨¢olan¡¯s notice. He said, ¡®Eamon said the same thing.¡¯


    ¡®Your friend knows well. And if the young Lord Sparkcaller cannot abide by the virtues of Unity, it might be for the best that he leaves the Cavrian court.¡¯ Father looked back to F¨¢olan, calm and impassive as mountains¡¯ sheer cliffs, and seeming just as approachable. ¡®There is no place for weak links amongst our ranks.¡¯


    F¨¢olan willed his claws not to squeeze the soft carpet underneath. He knew these were the rules¡ªhad lived with them all his life. And yet, now, with Veolar¡ªa dragonar who did not fit, who should be cut from the shining web of Cavria¡¯s elite¡ªhe found himself doubting it. It did not feel right to look upon a dragon such as he, and instead of reaching out a paw to help, discard him into a margin and deny him the life he should have. With a wave of newfound resolve that surprised F¨¢olan with its intensity, he set his eyes on a goal: he would help Veolar, at least until their Accessing Ceremony. After that¡ªwere Unity to decide his noble line should end, that would be Unity¡¯s will, and with that F¨¢olan could argue not. But should Veolar possess accessing prowess, he would make sure everyone knew Veolar ¨¢l Thiamar T¨²irengair had a place amongst the nobles of Cavria.


    Keeping the scales on his neck from rising¡ªit would hardly be proper in front of the king¡ªF¨¢olan bowed and said, ¡®I understand.¡¯ And he turned to leave.


    ¡®F¨¢olan?¡¯ the king called. F¨¢olan stilled, unsure what to expect. He turned his head, meeting Father¡¯s gaze again. ¡®I can tell you do not plan to leave this matter be.¡¯ F¨¢olan¡¯s claws twitched. ¡®Do mind, son, ones such as him are those who could benefit most from a friendship with a prince. Be careful of giving out kindness, or else dragons might exploit it.¡¯


    F¨¢olan stood still for a moment, then nodded. ¡®Yes, Father.¡¯


    Leaving the chamber, he could not stop his mess of jumbled thoughts. He had met many dragons who had tried to worm their way into a friendship with him to come into the grace of a potential future king. Monny seemed to be the only one who wanted to get to know F¨¢olan, not simply build connections with the Prince Lightbringer.


    Where did Veolar fly in all this? F¨¢olan was not sure, though he had sensed no deceit from the dragonar. Still, only time could tell. If Veolar proved to only want to exploit F¨¢olan, he would be more than ready to cut the ties, but if he truly was who he had claimed to be, then he needed help.


    And that was left for F¨¢olan to give.