The air in the grotto was the scent of sulfur and something else—a musky odor that made Pryce’s nostrils flare. The enormous dragon, strained against his chains, the metal scraping against the volcanic rock as the beast let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the stone floor.
He hates it here, Pryce thought, looking at the massive creature. He felt a strange kinship with the beast.
“Impressive, isn’t he?” Master Kestrel’s voice came from behind, making Pryce jump.
Pryce turned to face Kestrel, who had entered the grotto without a sound.
Kestrel kept a respectful distance from dragon, his gray eyes studying Pryce’s interaction with the beast.
“What is he?” Pryce asked, his gaze returning to the chained dragon. “Why is he chained up like this?”
“This,” Kestrel said, “is Ragnarok. A rare and powerful specimen.” He gave an almost apologetic shrug. “He requires a . . . certain level of restraint, for everyone’s safety.” He paused, letting the words settle. “Ragnarok seems to have a particular dislike for Dragonkin. It’s why we have struggled so much.”
“Restraint?” Pryce asked. “He looks tortured.”
Kestrel’s face hardened for just a moment, then shifted back to its practiced calm, like a mask that slipped and then settled back into place. “He is . . . spirited. He needs proper guidance, someone who understands dragons as you do, Pryce. Most of us here have been trained, but you . . . you seem to have a natural bond, a gift. A gift that is rare.” He paused, his eyes locking with Pryce’s. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Pryce looked over at Ragnarok, the beast watching him intently, its gaze filled with distrust, not just anger. “And the other dragons?” Pryce asked. “Why are they so hurt?”
“Training accidents, mostly,” Kestrel said, his tone dismissive as he gestured with a gloved hand. “We push our riders, and sometimes their dragons, to their limits. It is the only way to become stronger.” He walked closer to Pryce, and placed his hand on Pryce’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, his eyes locking with Pryce’s. “You will understand soon enough. You need to be strong, both of body and mind.”
Pryce was not satisfied, but he knew that pressing the issue would get him nowhere. Kestrel didn’t seem like someone who liked to be questioned, and Pryce knew it was best not to provoke him just yet. “Right,” Pryce said, letting the matter go for now, “then let’s get started.”
***
The first rays of dawn barely pierced the volcanic haze of Dragon’s Fang Island as Pryce found himself on the training grounds. It was still early, the sky a dull gray, the air heavy with the smell of sulfur. This was Ryxe, a day that was typically devoted to study, but here, it was a day of battle.
The ground vibrated with the constant roar of dragons taking to the sky, and his muscles ached from yesterday’s training. He was still wearing the Dragonkin training leathers that had been placed in his room for him, the leather stiff and uncomfortable, like a cage. They want me to be like them, he thought. His personal belongings and his own clothes were tucked away in the corner of the small space. His room, located at the far end of a large hall where the other trainees stayed, was small, private and functional, but it felt like a prison.
“You’re late.” Kestrel’s voice was sharp as he approached. “Discipline is key to becoming a dragon rider.” Kestrel stepped in front of Pryce.
Pryce felt his jaw tighten, but he did not say anything as he watched Kestrel begin. He is not just a trainer, Pryce thought, focusing on the way Kestrel held the sword. He is a sculptor, molding me, and I am but a piece of clay. Kestrel did not care about the individual, he was only concerned about the end result, and the idea made Pryce uneasy. It was as if Kestrel was working on Pryce to make a masterpiece, a weapon, and he wouldn’t stop until the job was finished, and there wasn’t anything Pryce could do to stop it.
“Today, we focus on mounted combat,” Kestrel said as he gestured to the training area. “A dragon rider is not a mere passenger. You must become one with your dragon, anticipating its movements and controlling your environment.” He gestured to a training area filled with obstacles, fire pits, and moving targets, all designed to test their agility and balance. They were expected to maneuver their dragons through tight spaces, execute rapid attacks, and to avoid the simulated debris fields that could cause them to fall from the sky, all while keeping their focus and composure.
A young Dragonkin, with scales of a deep, earthy brown, led Stormwing towards him. Jorr, Pryce remembered the young man’s name from the previous day, handed Stormwing’s reins to Pryce. He wore a mix of leathers and hides as he checked Stormwing’s tack. He patted Stormwing’s muzzle, a strange contrast to the harsh ways of the other Dragonkin.
“She’s been fed and watered, young master,” Jorr said respectfully. “She has a good heart.” Then he returned to the other dragons.
Pryce mounted Stormwing, feeling uneasy. He knew Stormwing, her quirks, her needs, but she was changing. Here, she was just another dragon, a weapon in the making. He wanted to take her away from this place, to protect her from the Dragonkin and all of their madness, but he had to complete the training, if only to keep his family safe. “Just a little while longer,” he whispered to Stormwing.
The drills were relentless, designed to push him beyond his limits. Kestrel’s words, though seemingly focused on training, were laced with subtle jabs at Pryce’s background.
“Focus, Shorling,” Kestrel said as he corrected Pryce’s posture for what felt like the tenth time, the tip of the practice sword sharp against his ribs. He was strong and agile, but he wasn’t the same as the others, and Kestrel made sure he knew that he was different. He was something different, something Kestrel kept telling him was special, but he only felt isolated and alone.
“Your form is sloppy. You must control your movements,” Kestrel said as he circled Pryce and Stormwing. “Dragons respond to strength, not hesitation.”
He is trying to break me, Pryce realized. He wants to mold me, make me one of them. And that’s when he understood, Kestrel didn’t really care about dragons, he only cared about their power, how he could control them, how he could use them. He was a tool, that’s what Kestrel wanted him to be. And he would never be a tool.
He pushed through the drills, each swing of his sword, each flight maneuver, a battle against exhaustion. He moved like Kestrel wanted him to, with precision and power, but he knew that it was a performance, something that he had to do to survive.
During a short break, Pryce was heading for a water skin when he saw Thane watching him from the edge of the training grounds. He was no longer openly ridiculing Pryce, but had a look of cold fury that made the fine hairs on his arms rise. Pryce could feel that Thane’s resentment was growing, feeding on Pryce’s success as it became more apparent that Pryce was a threat, and that his natural talent would make Thane seem less special.
“Impressive progress,” Thane said with a harsh undertone. He stopped a few feet away, arms crossed as he watched Pryce. “For a Shorling.”
Pryce bristled, his fists clenching. “I’m learning.”
Thane chuckled, making the other trainees glance over. “Learning quickly, it seems. But natural talent can only take you so far, can’t it? There’s no substitute for real training.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve heard tales of your father, Harper-Green. He brought shame to my house, and now his son is here, showing us up.” Thane paused. “Perhaps, you should honor his memory by staying on the ground.” Thane glared at him.
Pryce felt a tremor of fear, knowing how much Thane hated him. He is just trying to provoke me, Pryce thought, trying to stay calm.
“My father was a hero to his people,” Pryce said, meeting Thane’s gaze. “And I will honor his name.”
Thane laughed again. He had succeeded in his goal, he had gotten under Pryce’s skin, and Pryce knew he couldn’t let him win.
Thane focused on something behind Pryce before he turned abruptly and left, leaving Pryce staring at his retreating back.
That afternoon, Pryce was led back to the cave where Ragnarok. The other trainees, and Kestrel, followed closely behind.
“We have all tried to tame Ragnarok, Pryce,” Kestrel said, his voice echoing in the large space. “None of us have succeeded. Now it is your turn. Perhaps, you will finally be able to break him.”
Pryce’s attention was drawn toward the giant dragon. He could see Ragnarok straining against its chains. It was clear the Dragonkin were trying to control the beast by force, trying to break him with fear and pain.
He stood before Ragnarok, and this time it didn’t snarl or roar, it just watched him. He hesitated, then slowly, cautiously approached the beast.
