Post by Devlin Oteno on Nov 18, 2024 6:12:48 GMT
some days when
i’m dreaming
i think of how far
i have come
all my life’s
led to this
THE BASICS
Name: Devlin Oteno
Gender: Male (he/him)
Age: approx. 1200 | winter
Current residence: Çerisun Hall, Quenyi
Occupation: Chancellor
Social standing: Count
Loyalty: Wulfric Rexanthe and Zephra above all else (his country a close second)
APPEARANCE
Face claim: Andrew Garfield
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 180 lbs
Description:
His deceptively youthful appearance and boyish smile create an air of easy charm about him. Devlin is on the taller side of the dragon riders, but his build doesn’t make him stand out. He has a lean frame with muscles developed from centuries of training, flying, and the occasional scuffle when he’s able to find anonymity in a relatively local tavern. He has chestnut brown hair that he desperately tries to keep styled, despite the unruly waves warring against him, and his jaw almost always sports a few days’ growth, as he simply cannot find enough desire to keep himself freshly shaven.
Only for official business will Devlin dress for his noble station and duties as Quenyi’s Chancellor. He much prefers casual attire, frequently with his sleeves messily shoved up to his elbows, revealing one of his most identifying features… Devlin’s left arm—from his hand all the way up to his shoulder and along his shoulder blades and upper half of his ribs—is covered in horrific scar tissue, as if his arm had been nearly shredded from his body. Thankfully, his right arm is dominant because the injury to the other one left him with limited mobility in his shoulder as well as occasional pain and weakness. The other trait that makes him immediately recognizable to those who know are his eyes. One look would bring an immediate assumption that he is Quenyese with his reflective silver dragon eyes, his pupils a unique vertical shape.
Dragon Description:
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A dragoness named Zephra. Though certainly not comparable to Solaris, the Mother of Dragons, she is an enormous creature, standing partway up the golden dragon’s neck. Her scales are the purest white, and while she is quite large due to her age, she has a petite and streamlined build, perfect for incredible speeds and precise maneuvers when they are called for. Her eyes are a pale sky blue, matching the fire she breathes, and thanks to her rider doting on her, she almost always has silver jewelry and stones adorning her. When she spreads her wings in the correct light or is flying under the sun, the thinner edges of her white wings act almost as prisms, turning the sunlight into rainbows as she soars. Similar to her rider, Zephra has immense scarring from a past battle. Her ribs, chest, and part of her bicep—all on the left side—have the same shredding that Devlin’s arm has, though there are much more distinct slashing and piercing scars on her body, whereas his arm is a chaotic mess of scars.
BEHAVIOR
Strengths:
loyal | patient | clever | ambitious | charming | intelligent | practical | honest
Weaknesses:
impulsive | disobedient | judgmental | obsessive | stubborn
loyal | patient | clever | ambitious | charming | intelligent | practical | honest
Weaknesses:
impulsive | disobedient | judgmental | obsessive | stubborn
Motivation:
Aid my king. As stated before, his loyalty is to his king above any other. Devlin is a loyal friend and an astute observer, knowing that his king would do anything for his country. He has made it his life’s purpose to lighten Wulfric’s load whenever possible and ensure, above all else, he isn’t alone.
Aid my king. As stated before, his loyalty is to his king above any other. Devlin is a loyal friend and an astute observer, knowing that his king would do anything for his country. He has made it his life’s purpose to lighten Wulfric’s load whenever possible and ensure, above all else, he isn’t alone.
Personality:
Love and freedom are the pillars by which Devlin has created his life. He is an ambitious man with a young soul, despite having over a thousand years of life behind him. His natural charisma and easy smile have taken him far in social circles, making friends and studying people in a way that gives him keen insight when it comes to negotiation and—when needed—manipulation. Though he is always the first one to reach a hand out to someone in need, he has learned to be cautious when welcoming new people into his life until he is sure of their intentions. While he enjoys the company of others, he has trouble making deep connections with them on account of the losses he suffered throughout the centuries.
Like a child with a shiny object, his attention is easily captured by over-the-top performances and rowdy brawls. Experiencing life to its fullest has always been his biggest drive in what he does, which usually takes the form of flying with Zephra. But most of all, he is a truly dedicated man. Devlin loves his dragon and he loves his friend, making the two of them—three, if you were to count Solaris with Wulfric—the center of his whole existence. He is very honest and does his best to serve his king and country, but he won’t hesitate to disobey if he believes an order is contrary to his friend’s wellbeing.
Dragon Personality:
Zephra is a sly, entitled creature. She moves with feline grace and a certain regality that only dragons are capable of, looking down on almost everyone—both literally and figuratively. Her regard for humans is quite low, concerning anyone other than her rider. Because Devlin has made it his purpose to care for his friend, she has made it hers to care for him. Of course, this is repaid with his practical worship of her simple existence.
With other dragons, however, she is quite the social butterfly. She adores Solaris and will often take younger dragons under her—metaphorical—wing, if they wish it. Like many dragons, Zephra has a love for things that sparkle and shine, and she makes it known, collecting jewelry and gems to adorn herself. She is shamelessly vain, sustaining herself off of compliments as much as food, though there is no telling if she was simply born that way or if it developed with Devlin’s dedication feeding a dragon’s ego.
HERITAGE
Birthplace:
Quenyi
Family:
None living.
Though he considers Wulfric to be his brother.
Quenyi
Family:
None living.
Though he considers Wulfric to be his brother.
History:
Anticipation grasps me so tightly that all of my limbs shake, my knobby knees barely able to keep me upright. My father stands next to me, a new count raised to nobility by an election in our small town, his weathered hand resting on my mother’s waist as she swayed with my infant sister and his other securely holding the nape of my neck. I know he’s trying to be silently reassuring, but there’s nothing that could ease my nerves today.
“I was nervous too, ya know,” Bren whispers from beside me.
My brother, seven years my senior, stands on my other side with his hands tucked behind his back. His olive-green dragon, Nyveth, flies high overhead, an occasionally passing shadow letting us know when he is close. I spared a glance up at Bren, at the green eyes I was almost so astonished matched his dragon so perfectly. I wonder if it will be the same for me.
I force my eyes front again, watching a mottled yellow and orange dragon lower for its rider to dismount. “How do you know?” I mutter, picking at my fingernails if only to give my body some way to release this energy. “You did this ten years ago.”
“Trust me, I know,” he says, smiling up at the shadow in the sky. “You’ll remember the moment you bond with your dragon for the rest of your life. There’s nothing like it. Not the best sweets, not getting drunk for the first time, not even the love of a woman. Well…that comes pretty close.”
“Gross,” I mumble. He snorts, and my mother looks at both of us with the sharp stare that always manages to silence us when we’re getting too rambunctious.
Bren had to do this alone. Neither of my parents bonded to a dragon, my mother too terrified of heights to even consider flying and my father dedicating every waking moment to the smithery our family has run for generations. When Bren got the opportunity to bond with a dragon, my mother had been pregnant with me, so my father couldn’t take the trip with him. Today, I’m lucky enough to have my big brother coming with me for this momentous occasion.
The unknown dragon and rider approach us with a few eggs. There are others gathered around, waiting to see which one I choose and waiting to see if they would get the honor. I run my hand on the shells, some rough like stone, others smooth like a chicken egg—though I can tell it would take far more than the edge of a bowl to crack its shell.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, and it feels like forever that I stare at the eggs. My hand remains on a stony one with the faintest jagged stripes, as I look back at my brother. My heart is racing, and I almost feel dizzy, but this isn’t what he described dragon bonding as. Is it different for everyone? I’m not even sure which egg I’m reacting to. Bren glances at our parents, then gives me a wink, and I swallow my nerves. That’s all this is. Nerves.
I still don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, but I pick up the egg that my hand was resting on. The dragon rider gives me a smile and a short nod, walking over to another family who patiently waited through my indecision. I go back to my family, hugging the egg to my chest, and my father squeezes my shoulder with a broad smile, Bren ruffling my hair with the same expression.
Nyveth lands in the field with all of us, lifting his head high. He’s positively massive for his age, and I wonder if he has the potential to grow as large as I’ve heard Solaris is. I’ve never had the chance to see the legendary Mother of Dragons, but Bren saw her once from a distance. He said she was the embodiment of the sun itself. I always wondered if he meant the devastating force of nature or the life-giving power.
Including myself, three kids claim eggs today. Bren graciously offers to escort all of us to Mountain End to complete the bonding process while the village prepares for a celebration upon our return, and after securing the eggs to Nyveth’s saddle, we all climb onto the dragon. It isn’t any of our first times on a dragon. Nyveth is the only dragon that consistently remains by our little village, as Bren hasn’t left home yet, and thankfully, the dragon’s heart matches my brother’s, loving and playing with all of the kids, including taking them for short flights. This is the first distance flight they’ll be going on, but I’m accustomed to the trips by now. Not to say they’re ever any less exhilarating!
We’ve been flying for a few hours by the time night falls. It’s a day and a half flight to Mountain End from my home, and we don’t even bother setting up camp. Nyveth lights a fire for us with his breath that always makes me think of the bright green of flower buds, and our companions are asleep almost as soon as they finish eating our rationed supper. But nearly an hour passes, leaving me still awake, simply gazing into the fire.
“What’s on your mind, frog?” Bren asks from where he lay. He started calling me that when I was little because I would always bounce up and down on my toes whenever I got excited. It’s an unconscious habit I’ve been unsuccessful at breaking.
I sigh, looking up at the stars. “I didn’t feel what you said,” I confess. “I just felt… I don’t know… Like when we ate Dad’s stew the week Mum went to visit Grandfather.”
Bren gags, choking a laugh. “Don’t remind me, I was sick for two days.”
Despite myself, I smirk at the memory. “Can you feel sick from a bond?”
My brother looks at Nyveth, who doesn’t move from where he’s curled, but those golden eyes are alert on Bren. “Sure, you can,” my brother says after a moment of what I’ve come to learn are silent discussions.
Nyveth puffs dark smoke, and I frown. “He disagrees.”
“Fine,” Bren grumbles, sitting up. “He doesn’t think so.” My frown deepens, and I look at the fire again, pulling my legs to my chest. “Hey, he doesn’t know everything, alright? The bond isn’t complete until you actually touch the dragon, anyway. Just trust your gut.”
I nod, laying down to try and sleep, but I don’t agree. My gut feels wrong.
Finally, the end of the following day rolls around, and with it, the final step…
Nyveth lands at the base of the mountain and lets everyone down. We collect our eggs and walk the last leg with Bren, the stone from the volcano already hot enough that I feel the warmth even through my shoes.
“Why couldn’t Nyveth fly us to the top?” I ask, finding it strange that we would fly the entire way here but stop just before the end.
“He’s made this journey before,” Bren says. “This path is for you and the little ones to walk.”
I look up at him. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Mum will kill me if she hears I let you out of my sight on the edge of a volcano.”
Everyone except my brother is huffing and sweating by the time we reach where we’re supposed to go, and he chuckles. I just know he’s going to put me to work at home after he sees my lack of stamina, and I’m already dreading it.
The others are sniffling and wiping their eyes, hot steam and fumes strong enough to reach us irritating their bodies. My nose burns when I breathe, and I have to wipe it on my sleeve a few times, but my eyes are fine. I had always been told I had the eyes of a dragon, so I wonder briefly if that helps me resist the volcano’s gasses more than the others.
But they don’t help with the heat. Quenyi’s desert summers are miserably hot, but they feel like a cool spring compared to staring down a volcano. There is another pair of kids nearby, and I watch them place their eggs on red-hot stones. My two companions follow suit, and I watch them too.
“Devlin?” Bren nudges, standing back to let us do this on our own.
“It’s not mine,” I say, stroking the egg. I’m trusting my gut.
“You don’t know that, just—”
“It’s not mine, Bren,” I repeat, my voice firmer. I can’t bring myself to hatch this dragon, knowing its parents relinquished it with a specific purpose. It deserves a rider, a partner. And that isn’t me, no matter how badly I want it.
He steps forward, petting my too-long hair, and the feeling is so much like Mum’s way of comforting me that I suddenly want to cry.
We hear the telltale cracking of eggshells, and both of my companions’ eggs begin cracking open, one birthing a silver dragon and one birthing a pink feathered dragon. The babies let out high pitched squawks and chitters, and my devastation is immediately replaced with awe. The other two kids’ eggs hatch as well, revealing a green dragon—a different green from Nyveth—and a white one. The green one is immediately lifted by the little girl, but the white one hisses at the boy reaching for it. It snaps at his hand and darts away like a viper.
“Shit!” I gasp, nearly dropping the egg in my arms as little needles dig into my leg, propelling her up until she reaches my shoulder.
Her.
Bren quickly takes the egg from me, and Zephra wraps her long tail around my neck, talons digging into my shoulder as she glares at the boy who hatched her, a throaty growl vibrating from her chest. My own chest seems to split open, gale-force winds practically sweeping the air from my lungs in a call to soar.
I look at the faint hints of rainbows through her thin wings as she stretches them. “Hi, gorgeous,” I whisper with an awestruck smile. Because that’s what this is… Awe in its purest form. If Bren said Solaris is the embodiment of the sun, I can only believe Zephra is the wind.
I don’t understand why you are so fascinated by these games.
They aren’t games, I tell Zephra for what must be the hundredth time. It’s a challenge. Teams come from all over for the chance to earn a quest and a boon from the king’s jewel, to prove they’re the best of the best. Doesn’t it sound like fun?
Her chest rumbles in a dismissal of my desires, but I can feel the enticement pulling her muscles taut at the idea of putting others to shame. A little past fifty years old, her ego is larger than she is and shows no sign of diminishing. From where we stand on the ground a short distance from the colosseum, we have first glimpse of the incoming dragons. I wait eagerly to see Nyveth’s olive green scales take the lead, but as the first few duos begin to arrive, I frown.
Seems your brother isn’t up to the challenge yet, Zephra says, her long tail thumping once on the ground.
I don’t respond, attentively watching for them. It doesn’t make sense. Bren had been so confident. This is his fourth year in the Solar Trials—never having won, but always one of the leaders—and he trained so vigorously for this. For him to not only be lagging, but to have fallen back so much… It’s unlikely.
Not a single word is exchanged between us, as Zephra lowers herself for me to climb on. She takes to the air with ease, and we reverse the path the Solar Trials were supposed to take yesterday. Finally, I see a green dragon walking the desert.
Zephra circles downward in a wide spiral until we land a short distance from my brother. “Bren!” I call, our dragons silently greeting each other when we approach. “What happened? Why aren’t you flying back?”
“Nyv hurt his wing with a maneuver we pulled yesterday,” he says. I can see the frustration written all over every muscle in the dragon’s body. “I think we pushed too hard in training, but I’m not pushing him any more until we can get it healed.”
Nyveth wants to fly, Zephra tells me.
I frown. “You can’t even fly back? It’s that bad?”
“We could if we needed to,” Bren says. He reaches out and touches Nyveth’s wing, which is tucked tightly against his body. The green dragon snarls a sudden warning, and Bren chuckles, glancing sidelong at me. “See? That’s why we’re not flying. Nothing’s worth your dragon, Dev. you know that.”
content warning: some gore/sibling death
“Damn it, Devlin!” Prulli snaps, slamming her fist into my arm. “Where’ve you been?”
“Hey!” I rub at my arm and frown, having not even walked through the door yet. “Went for a trip to Ocia for a few days. Since when do you care?” She glares at me, but I see in her glistening eyes that something more than my absence is upsetting her. My hands smooth down her arms. “Smidge, what’s wrong?”
She folds her arms and walks back into the house, allowing me to actually come inside. “Bren’s missing,” she finally says, walking into the living room and sitting on the sofa.
I follow, but stay standing. “What do you mean, ‘missing?’”
“I mean missing! How many meanings does that word have?”
“Okay, just breathe,” I say. “When was the last time you heard from him?”
She shakes her head. “Two days ago. He said he was just going to take Nyveth to stretch his wings, but he never came back.”
“No one went looking for him?”
“I wanted to, but Calar refuses to let me fly!”
I spare a glance at my younger sister’s very pregnant belly and immediately agree with her husband. She’s in no shape to be flying. She’s been told to stay on bedrest, but my sister inherited my father’s stubborn independence, so she compromised by simply taking it easy on herself. Very unwillingly.
Sighing lightly, I flash a light smirk. “I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about, but I’ll fly out with Zephra and see if I can find him. Will that settle your mind?”
She shoves her fingers through her dark hair. “Bring him back so I can throttle him.”
Zephra is already waiting when I come back outside, having sensed my disturbance. What is it? She asks, leaning down for me to haul myself onto her back.
I lied to my sister. With a short step and a strong beat of her wings, she leaps into the air.
My family has always been very close. Even after my parents died, after my sister got married, after I started traveling…nothing could drive a wedge between us. Bren and I go flying together at least every month, if not weekly, and he always tells me about the new places he finds. I’m grateful for it now, as I know where to look for him, rather than searching blindly.
It takes hours, my stomach in knots the whole time, but Zephra suddenly dives. I squint against the wind, until I see what grabbed her eye.
Her talons sink slightly into the dunes, and even my dismount has me just barely sliding. Devlin, she calls, but I’m not listening. Amid the white and tan expanse as far the eye can see, the crimson carnage stands out like…well, like blood on sand.
My breath chokes in my throat, heart thundering against my ribs as I skid down the tall dune. This can’t be happening. It can’t. And yet the olive green wing membrane screams to me otherwise.
“Bren!” I cry. My brother’s name falls from my lips over and over as my voice breaks, my ankle giving out in a deceptive pocket of sand. I trip down the rest of the dune, the sleeve of my shirt tearing slightly, until I reach the bottom. Scrambling to my feet, I cross the last bit of distance between myself and the stained sand. “Bren, no. No, no, no no no—”
Besides the huge wing membrane, the area is covered by pieces of meat, of flesh, of clothing and light armor. Of blood dried into the sand and rock. The smell is nearly overwhelming, and I can’t help but gag. Everything becomes blurry, and I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the hot tears down my cheek. A hand is the most intact body part, and I can see the tip of Bren’s sleeve tattoo on the wrist.
I can’t hold it back anymore, turning to the side and throwing up.
My hand lands in chunky blood, and I gasp, coughing and scraping my palm on the sand to get it off.
Devlin, we should go, Zephra says, coming up beside me.
I continue surveying the massacre, the horrific scene that has replaced the way my brother would smile at me, the fights at the dinner table, the wild laughter as we raced each other through the skies. Something gleams in the sunlight, and I jump up, grabbing the necklace Bren never took off. It’s a silver chain with five green scales from when Nyveth was little. Now, it’s covered in blood with one of the scales missing.
Devlin, she tries again.
“My brother’s dead,” I choke out, tucking the necklace in my satchel.
And what could have done this to his dragon?
“Who fucking cares?”
Her talons curl in the sand, tension radiating through her that I barely notice over my grief. I don’t like this. We’re leaving.
Not without him, I tell her. I’m bringing him home.
Devlin, get in the saddle now, damn you.
No, I—
I’m cut off suddenly as Zephra’s tail slams into my back, sending me flying. I barely manage to stop rolling, sand in my mouth and eyes, just in time to watch my dragon get sent tumbling in the opposite direction.
The dune explodes. Sand, rock, and dirt all go flying. Something erupts from the ground. A creature I’ve never seen, but heard about too many times. It was a bedtime story. A warning to anyone who traverses the dunes. I never imagined I’d come face-to-face with it.
The bullworm…
Its leathery hide is a chaotic blend of deep browns and sandy oranges, allowing it to blend with the environment, but fuck, time stands still as I see it surge from the tunnels it hides in. I heard about the size of it, about the circular rows of jagged teeth taller than a grown man, but how could I have believed it? I can’t see any eyes from where I am, but I can see too many muscular legs each tipped with three claws, running down its worm-like body. How many legs? Ten? Twelve? I can’t even see them all without it being fully erupted from the sands. But the most terrifying part has to be its size. Zephra’s a long dragon. She isn’t bulky, but she’s quite long and tall. This creature dwarfs her three times over, and it isn’t even fully out of its burrow.
“Zeph!” I cry, but I can barely hear myself, shielding my neck and face from raining debris. I can’t even tell if the horrible clicking, crackling sound is from the sand falling or if from its teeth rubbing against each other as its great maw opens.
The ground shakes as it crashes down. I flip to my back, chest heaving and eyes wide.
Tell me you’re okay, I plead to Zephra. She doesn’t answer.
I swipe the sand from my face, scrambling quickly to smear my brother’s coagulated and drying blood over my body. What was just my biggest source of pain is overridden by survival. I still can’t see its eyes, so maybe it hunts by smell? Maybe it won’t be interested if it doesn’t smell fresh meat?
I lay still, as it slowly crawls over the sand and turns away from me, its segmented body with the multiple browns make it look like the dunes themselves. Zephra, please! I get to my feet as soon as it fully turns away, but I don’t run. I don’t know how fast this thing is, and I doubt I can outrun it.
A glimmer of rainbow, and I lose my breath, seeing my dragon dive from the clouds. I don’t know when or how she’d taken flight, but I don’t care. She soars over the bullworm, and it twists itself to try to catch her, but she’s too quick at its bent angle. The impact of her grabbing me knocks the wind from my lungs, but I don’t even care, as we leave certain death in our dust.
We lost time last night.
Yesterday, Zephra and I surged forward, gaining a sizable lead against the other competitors, but we needed to stop for us both to rest. The last leg of the Solar Trials is a true race, not an obstacle course or something testing our intelligence. It’s a pure demonstration of control with a dragon flying as fast as it can.
And Zephra is built for speed, eating distance with her growing wings without sacrificing any of her agility. But last night, we lost valuable time, and it was my fault.
It’s the first time I’m competing again after Bren died nearly a decade ago, and I’m wearing the necklace with Nyveth’s green scales for luck. It must have snagged on something while I slept and broke, letting the scale fall from the chain. Winning is important, it’s everything this year. But it’s not worth that loss. By the time I’d collected the last scale, we’d lost our lead.
But not anymore.
We hold pace above the others in the clouds, and I can feel Zephra’s irritation at being held back. She wants to show off, wants to humble the rest of the dragons that dared compete against her. In the near distance, I see a billowing pillar of white fire—Solaris’ flames—as a beacon in the quickly lightening dawn, and I finally give her the permission she so desperately seeks.
She tucks her wings, diving downward and surprising the leading pair enough that the dragon screeches, its rhythm thrown irrecoverably off. I smile, and Zeph whips her wings out again, perfectly catching her air current and surging forward with enough of a lead that this last stretch won’t even be a competition.
My white dragon roars her own triumph, as we soar over the filled colosseum, Solaris returning the call and Zeph turning to the side to circle it as the rising sun casts rainbows through her wings. I tuck myself tightly to the saddle to keep from lurching to the side, or even falling, as I let her have her moment of gloating. I direct her to land in the middle of the arena, cheers of the spectators bringing a smile to my face, as I leap down with her assistance. My brow presses to her leg, as she lets out a low purr. “Thanks, gorgeous,” I mutter breathlessly.
“What are you called, rider and dragon?” The voice of the king cuts through the applause. My eyes shoot open, and I turn to see him approaching us. “I don’t recognize you from my Ascendants.”
I dip into a well-formed bow, something my mother made me and siblings practice relentlessly when we were elevated into the nobility. “Devlin Oteno, your majesty,” I say, straightening without my smile dampening, though I can feel tension radiating through my partner. “This is Zephra.”
She glances around the arena, as the other competitors start landing near us and on the perches around the colosseum. As King Wulfric approaches us, her eyes lock on him, head lowering with narrowed eyes. Behave, Zeph, I warn, putting my hand out and stepping forward to try and put some distance between us when I meet the king. You so much as look at him wrong and you’ll have Solaris to deal with.
Though I know she would never dare harm him—or even act against him—her temper isn’t one easily settled, so it’s better to nip it in the bud before it’s an issue. “Not Ascendants by any measure, your majesty. I’m a new Count from down south. Just came here for a little fun. Well, I did. She came to—”
The entire colosseum shakes, as Solaris lands between King Wulfric and myself and Zephra. Her shining wings flare, dark smoke pouring from her nostrils as she lowers her head. I dart to the side with a cringe, not wanting to give Zephra any reason to act against Solaris in believing she needs to protect me. The crowd around us is gasping, crying out, many fleeing in fear of a dragon fight. I hold my ground off to the side, watching intently.
I’m not afraid, even as Solaris snaps at Zephra’s tail with white-hot sparks between her teeth. Zephra spins out of the way, her head low and angled with her teeth bared, but she remains low to the ground with her wings tucked. There’s clear submission in her body language, though I’m not privy to what’s being said between them. Her pride is clearly injured, but she’s not stupid enough to make a move against the Mother of Dragons.
King Wulfric steps between his dragon’s legs and comes up to me with a look of vague exasperation. “You’ll have to forgive Solaris, for she doesn’t easily forgive a slight, no matter how small or inconsequential.” She growls, as he looks at her over his shoulder, but then he turns to address the crowd. “All is well! We have our victors today!” I look around to see the heralds passing the word through the crowds, who begin settling again. “And that will be celebrated! Tonight, you’ll both be honored with a feast, and you will be allowed to rest and recover before you begin your quest.”
A smile splits my face at the mention of the quest. That’s what I’m really looking forward to.
Neither dragon has moved a muscle this whole time, and I keep my attentive position as well, one eye on Zephra and the other on King Wulfric as he approaches again. “Young dragons and riders have begun to vanish from all over the continent,” he says, genuine concern in his voice. “Your quest is to find them. Bring them home.” For the first time, my smile falters, and the scales on my necklace feel so much heavier. His voice is lower, almost hushed, as he says, “Or their bodies, if nothing else. Do you accept, Count Devlin Oteno?” He flashes me a crooked smile with the challenge.
The image of what was left of my brother flashes before my eyes. Young riders disappearing. I hate this. Of anything he could have selected for me…
“I accept, your majesty,” I say, doing my best to return his smile. “I believe I know just where to begin.”
More to come!
“I was nervous too, ya know,” Bren whispers from beside me.
My brother, seven years my senior, stands on my other side with his hands tucked behind his back. His olive-green dragon, Nyveth, flies high overhead, an occasionally passing shadow letting us know when he is close. I spared a glance up at Bren, at the green eyes I was almost so astonished matched his dragon so perfectly. I wonder if it will be the same for me.
I force my eyes front again, watching a mottled yellow and orange dragon lower for its rider to dismount. “How do you know?” I mutter, picking at my fingernails if only to give my body some way to release this energy. “You did this ten years ago.”
“Trust me, I know,” he says, smiling up at the shadow in the sky. “You’ll remember the moment you bond with your dragon for the rest of your life. There’s nothing like it. Not the best sweets, not getting drunk for the first time, not even the love of a woman. Well…that comes pretty close.”
“Gross,” I mumble. He snorts, and my mother looks at both of us with the sharp stare that always manages to silence us when we’re getting too rambunctious.
Bren had to do this alone. Neither of my parents bonded to a dragon, my mother too terrified of heights to even consider flying and my father dedicating every waking moment to the smithery our family has run for generations. When Bren got the opportunity to bond with a dragon, my mother had been pregnant with me, so my father couldn’t take the trip with him. Today, I’m lucky enough to have my big brother coming with me for this momentous occasion.
The unknown dragon and rider approach us with a few eggs. There are others gathered around, waiting to see which one I choose and waiting to see if they would get the honor. I run my hand on the shells, some rough like stone, others smooth like a chicken egg—though I can tell it would take far more than the edge of a bowl to crack its shell.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, and it feels like forever that I stare at the eggs. My hand remains on a stony one with the faintest jagged stripes, as I look back at my brother. My heart is racing, and I almost feel dizzy, but this isn’t what he described dragon bonding as. Is it different for everyone? I’m not even sure which egg I’m reacting to. Bren glances at our parents, then gives me a wink, and I swallow my nerves. That’s all this is. Nerves.
I still don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, but I pick up the egg that my hand was resting on. The dragon rider gives me a smile and a short nod, walking over to another family who patiently waited through my indecision. I go back to my family, hugging the egg to my chest, and my father squeezes my shoulder with a broad smile, Bren ruffling my hair with the same expression.
Nyveth lands in the field with all of us, lifting his head high. He’s positively massive for his age, and I wonder if he has the potential to grow as large as I’ve heard Solaris is. I’ve never had the chance to see the legendary Mother of Dragons, but Bren saw her once from a distance. He said she was the embodiment of the sun itself. I always wondered if he meant the devastating force of nature or the life-giving power.
Including myself, three kids claim eggs today. Bren graciously offers to escort all of us to Mountain End to complete the bonding process while the village prepares for a celebration upon our return, and after securing the eggs to Nyveth’s saddle, we all climb onto the dragon. It isn’t any of our first times on a dragon. Nyveth is the only dragon that consistently remains by our little village, as Bren hasn’t left home yet, and thankfully, the dragon’s heart matches my brother’s, loving and playing with all of the kids, including taking them for short flights. This is the first distance flight they’ll be going on, but I’m accustomed to the trips by now. Not to say they’re ever any less exhilarating!
We’ve been flying for a few hours by the time night falls. It’s a day and a half flight to Mountain End from my home, and we don’t even bother setting up camp. Nyveth lights a fire for us with his breath that always makes me think of the bright green of flower buds, and our companions are asleep almost as soon as they finish eating our rationed supper. But nearly an hour passes, leaving me still awake, simply gazing into the fire.
“What’s on your mind, frog?” Bren asks from where he lay. He started calling me that when I was little because I would always bounce up and down on my toes whenever I got excited. It’s an unconscious habit I’ve been unsuccessful at breaking.
I sigh, looking up at the stars. “I didn’t feel what you said,” I confess. “I just felt… I don’t know… Like when we ate Dad’s stew the week Mum went to visit Grandfather.”
Bren gags, choking a laugh. “Don’t remind me, I was sick for two days.”
Despite myself, I smirk at the memory. “Can you feel sick from a bond?”
My brother looks at Nyveth, who doesn’t move from where he’s curled, but those golden eyes are alert on Bren. “Sure, you can,” my brother says after a moment of what I’ve come to learn are silent discussions.
Nyveth puffs dark smoke, and I frown. “He disagrees.”
“Fine,” Bren grumbles, sitting up. “He doesn’t think so.” My frown deepens, and I look at the fire again, pulling my legs to my chest. “Hey, he doesn’t know everything, alright? The bond isn’t complete until you actually touch the dragon, anyway. Just trust your gut.”
I nod, laying down to try and sleep, but I don’t agree. My gut feels wrong.
Finally, the end of the following day rolls around, and with it, the final step…
Nyveth lands at the base of the mountain and lets everyone down. We collect our eggs and walk the last leg with Bren, the stone from the volcano already hot enough that I feel the warmth even through my shoes.
“Why couldn’t Nyveth fly us to the top?” I ask, finding it strange that we would fly the entire way here but stop just before the end.
“He’s made this journey before,” Bren says. “This path is for you and the little ones to walk.”
I look up at him. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Mum will kill me if she hears I let you out of my sight on the edge of a volcano.”
Everyone except my brother is huffing and sweating by the time we reach where we’re supposed to go, and he chuckles. I just know he’s going to put me to work at home after he sees my lack of stamina, and I’m already dreading it.
The others are sniffling and wiping their eyes, hot steam and fumes strong enough to reach us irritating their bodies. My nose burns when I breathe, and I have to wipe it on my sleeve a few times, but my eyes are fine. I had always been told I had the eyes of a dragon, so I wonder briefly if that helps me resist the volcano’s gasses more than the others.
But they don’t help with the heat. Quenyi’s desert summers are miserably hot, but they feel like a cool spring compared to staring down a volcano. There is another pair of kids nearby, and I watch them place their eggs on red-hot stones. My two companions follow suit, and I watch them too.
“Devlin?” Bren nudges, standing back to let us do this on our own.
“It’s not mine,” I say, stroking the egg. I’m trusting my gut.
“You don’t know that, just—”
“It’s not mine, Bren,” I repeat, my voice firmer. I can’t bring myself to hatch this dragon, knowing its parents relinquished it with a specific purpose. It deserves a rider, a partner. And that isn’t me, no matter how badly I want it.
He steps forward, petting my too-long hair, and the feeling is so much like Mum’s way of comforting me that I suddenly want to cry.
We hear the telltale cracking of eggshells, and both of my companions’ eggs begin cracking open, one birthing a silver dragon and one birthing a pink feathered dragon. The babies let out high pitched squawks and chitters, and my devastation is immediately replaced with awe. The other two kids’ eggs hatch as well, revealing a green dragon—a different green from Nyveth—and a white one. The green one is immediately lifted by the little girl, but the white one hisses at the boy reaching for it. It snaps at his hand and darts away like a viper.
“Shit!” I gasp, nearly dropping the egg in my arms as little needles dig into my leg, propelling her up until she reaches my shoulder.
Her.
Bren quickly takes the egg from me, and Zephra wraps her long tail around my neck, talons digging into my shoulder as she glares at the boy who hatched her, a throaty growl vibrating from her chest. My own chest seems to split open, gale-force winds practically sweeping the air from my lungs in a call to soar.
I look at the faint hints of rainbows through her thin wings as she stretches them. “Hi, gorgeous,” I whisper with an awestruck smile. Because that’s what this is… Awe in its purest form. If Bren said Solaris is the embodiment of the sun, I can only believe Zephra is the wind.
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I don’t understand why you are so fascinated by these games.
They aren’t games, I tell Zephra for what must be the hundredth time. It’s a challenge. Teams come from all over for the chance to earn a quest and a boon from the king’s jewel, to prove they’re the best of the best. Doesn’t it sound like fun?
Her chest rumbles in a dismissal of my desires, but I can feel the enticement pulling her muscles taut at the idea of putting others to shame. A little past fifty years old, her ego is larger than she is and shows no sign of diminishing. From where we stand on the ground a short distance from the colosseum, we have first glimpse of the incoming dragons. I wait eagerly to see Nyveth’s olive green scales take the lead, but as the first few duos begin to arrive, I frown.
Seems your brother isn’t up to the challenge yet, Zephra says, her long tail thumping once on the ground.
I don’t respond, attentively watching for them. It doesn’t make sense. Bren had been so confident. This is his fourth year in the Solar Trials—never having won, but always one of the leaders—and he trained so vigorously for this. For him to not only be lagging, but to have fallen back so much… It’s unlikely.
Not a single word is exchanged between us, as Zephra lowers herself for me to climb on. She takes to the air with ease, and we reverse the path the Solar Trials were supposed to take yesterday. Finally, I see a green dragon walking the desert.
Zephra circles downward in a wide spiral until we land a short distance from my brother. “Bren!” I call, our dragons silently greeting each other when we approach. “What happened? Why aren’t you flying back?”
“Nyv hurt his wing with a maneuver we pulled yesterday,” he says. I can see the frustration written all over every muscle in the dragon’s body. “I think we pushed too hard in training, but I’m not pushing him any more until we can get it healed.”
Nyveth wants to fly, Zephra tells me.
I frown. “You can’t even fly back? It’s that bad?”
“We could if we needed to,” Bren says. He reaches out and touches Nyveth’s wing, which is tucked tightly against his body. The green dragon snarls a sudden warning, and Bren chuckles, glancing sidelong at me. “See? That’s why we’re not flying. Nothing’s worth your dragon, Dev. you know that.”
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content warning: some gore/sibling death
“Damn it, Devlin!” Prulli snaps, slamming her fist into my arm. “Where’ve you been?”
“Hey!” I rub at my arm and frown, having not even walked through the door yet. “Went for a trip to Ocia for a few days. Since when do you care?” She glares at me, but I see in her glistening eyes that something more than my absence is upsetting her. My hands smooth down her arms. “Smidge, what’s wrong?”
She folds her arms and walks back into the house, allowing me to actually come inside. “Bren’s missing,” she finally says, walking into the living room and sitting on the sofa.
I follow, but stay standing. “What do you mean, ‘missing?’”
“I mean missing! How many meanings does that word have?”
“Okay, just breathe,” I say. “When was the last time you heard from him?”
She shakes her head. “Two days ago. He said he was just going to take Nyveth to stretch his wings, but he never came back.”
“No one went looking for him?”
“I wanted to, but Calar refuses to let me fly!”
I spare a glance at my younger sister’s very pregnant belly and immediately agree with her husband. She’s in no shape to be flying. She’s been told to stay on bedrest, but my sister inherited my father’s stubborn independence, so she compromised by simply taking it easy on herself. Very unwillingly.
Sighing lightly, I flash a light smirk. “I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about, but I’ll fly out with Zephra and see if I can find him. Will that settle your mind?”
She shoves her fingers through her dark hair. “Bring him back so I can throttle him.”
Zephra is already waiting when I come back outside, having sensed my disturbance. What is it? She asks, leaning down for me to haul myself onto her back.
I lied to my sister. With a short step and a strong beat of her wings, she leaps into the air.
My family has always been very close. Even after my parents died, after my sister got married, after I started traveling…nothing could drive a wedge between us. Bren and I go flying together at least every month, if not weekly, and he always tells me about the new places he finds. I’m grateful for it now, as I know where to look for him, rather than searching blindly.
It takes hours, my stomach in knots the whole time, but Zephra suddenly dives. I squint against the wind, until I see what grabbed her eye.
Her talons sink slightly into the dunes, and even my dismount has me just barely sliding. Devlin, she calls, but I’m not listening. Amid the white and tan expanse as far the eye can see, the crimson carnage stands out like…well, like blood on sand.
My breath chokes in my throat, heart thundering against my ribs as I skid down the tall dune. This can’t be happening. It can’t. And yet the olive green wing membrane screams to me otherwise.
“Bren!” I cry. My brother’s name falls from my lips over and over as my voice breaks, my ankle giving out in a deceptive pocket of sand. I trip down the rest of the dune, the sleeve of my shirt tearing slightly, until I reach the bottom. Scrambling to my feet, I cross the last bit of distance between myself and the stained sand. “Bren, no. No, no, no no no—”
Besides the huge wing membrane, the area is covered by pieces of meat, of flesh, of clothing and light armor. Of blood dried into the sand and rock. The smell is nearly overwhelming, and I can’t help but gag. Everything becomes blurry, and I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the hot tears down my cheek. A hand is the most intact body part, and I can see the tip of Bren’s sleeve tattoo on the wrist.
I can’t hold it back anymore, turning to the side and throwing up.
My hand lands in chunky blood, and I gasp, coughing and scraping my palm on the sand to get it off.
Devlin, we should go, Zephra says, coming up beside me.
I continue surveying the massacre, the horrific scene that has replaced the way my brother would smile at me, the fights at the dinner table, the wild laughter as we raced each other through the skies. Something gleams in the sunlight, and I jump up, grabbing the necklace Bren never took off. It’s a silver chain with five green scales from when Nyveth was little. Now, it’s covered in blood with one of the scales missing.
Devlin, she tries again.
“My brother’s dead,” I choke out, tucking the necklace in my satchel.
And what could have done this to his dragon?
“Who fucking cares?”
Her talons curl in the sand, tension radiating through her that I barely notice over my grief. I don’t like this. We’re leaving.
Not without him, I tell her. I’m bringing him home.
Devlin, get in the saddle now, damn you.
No, I—
I’m cut off suddenly as Zephra’s tail slams into my back, sending me flying. I barely manage to stop rolling, sand in my mouth and eyes, just in time to watch my dragon get sent tumbling in the opposite direction.
The dune explodes. Sand, rock, and dirt all go flying. Something erupts from the ground. A creature I’ve never seen, but heard about too many times. It was a bedtime story. A warning to anyone who traverses the dunes. I never imagined I’d come face-to-face with it.
The bullworm…
Its leathery hide is a chaotic blend of deep browns and sandy oranges, allowing it to blend with the environment, but fuck, time stands still as I see it surge from the tunnels it hides in. I heard about the size of it, about the circular rows of jagged teeth taller than a grown man, but how could I have believed it? I can’t see any eyes from where I am, but I can see too many muscular legs each tipped with three claws, running down its worm-like body. How many legs? Ten? Twelve? I can’t even see them all without it being fully erupted from the sands. But the most terrifying part has to be its size. Zephra’s a long dragon. She isn’t bulky, but she’s quite long and tall. This creature dwarfs her three times over, and it isn’t even fully out of its burrow.
“Zeph!” I cry, but I can barely hear myself, shielding my neck and face from raining debris. I can’t even tell if the horrible clicking, crackling sound is from the sand falling or if from its teeth rubbing against each other as its great maw opens.
The ground shakes as it crashes down. I flip to my back, chest heaving and eyes wide.
Tell me you’re okay, I plead to Zephra. She doesn’t answer.
I swipe the sand from my face, scrambling quickly to smear my brother’s coagulated and drying blood over my body. What was just my biggest source of pain is overridden by survival. I still can’t see its eyes, so maybe it hunts by smell? Maybe it won’t be interested if it doesn’t smell fresh meat?
I lay still, as it slowly crawls over the sand and turns away from me, its segmented body with the multiple browns make it look like the dunes themselves. Zephra, please! I get to my feet as soon as it fully turns away, but I don’t run. I don’t know how fast this thing is, and I doubt I can outrun it.
A glimmer of rainbow, and I lose my breath, seeing my dragon dive from the clouds. I don’t know when or how she’d taken flight, but I don’t care. She soars over the bullworm, and it twists itself to try to catch her, but she’s too quick at its bent angle. The impact of her grabbing me knocks the wind from my lungs, but I don’t even care, as we leave certain death in our dust.
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We lost time last night.
Yesterday, Zephra and I surged forward, gaining a sizable lead against the other competitors, but we needed to stop for us both to rest. The last leg of the Solar Trials is a true race, not an obstacle course or something testing our intelligence. It’s a pure demonstration of control with a dragon flying as fast as it can.
And Zephra is built for speed, eating distance with her growing wings without sacrificing any of her agility. But last night, we lost valuable time, and it was my fault.
It’s the first time I’m competing again after Bren died nearly a decade ago, and I’m wearing the necklace with Nyveth’s green scales for luck. It must have snagged on something while I slept and broke, letting the scale fall from the chain. Winning is important, it’s everything this year. But it’s not worth that loss. By the time I’d collected the last scale, we’d lost our lead.
But not anymore.
We hold pace above the others in the clouds, and I can feel Zephra’s irritation at being held back. She wants to show off, wants to humble the rest of the dragons that dared compete against her. In the near distance, I see a billowing pillar of white fire—Solaris’ flames—as a beacon in the quickly lightening dawn, and I finally give her the permission she so desperately seeks.
She tucks her wings, diving downward and surprising the leading pair enough that the dragon screeches, its rhythm thrown irrecoverably off. I smile, and Zeph whips her wings out again, perfectly catching her air current and surging forward with enough of a lead that this last stretch won’t even be a competition.
My white dragon roars her own triumph, as we soar over the filled colosseum, Solaris returning the call and Zeph turning to the side to circle it as the rising sun casts rainbows through her wings. I tuck myself tightly to the saddle to keep from lurching to the side, or even falling, as I let her have her moment of gloating. I direct her to land in the middle of the arena, cheers of the spectators bringing a smile to my face, as I leap down with her assistance. My brow presses to her leg, as she lets out a low purr. “Thanks, gorgeous,” I mutter breathlessly.
“What are you called, rider and dragon?” The voice of the king cuts through the applause. My eyes shoot open, and I turn to see him approaching us. “I don’t recognize you from my Ascendants.”
I dip into a well-formed bow, something my mother made me and siblings practice relentlessly when we were elevated into the nobility. “Devlin Oteno, your majesty,” I say, straightening without my smile dampening, though I can feel tension radiating through my partner. “This is Zephra.”
She glances around the arena, as the other competitors start landing near us and on the perches around the colosseum. As King Wulfric approaches us, her eyes lock on him, head lowering with narrowed eyes. Behave, Zeph, I warn, putting my hand out and stepping forward to try and put some distance between us when I meet the king. You so much as look at him wrong and you’ll have Solaris to deal with.
Though I know she would never dare harm him—or even act against him—her temper isn’t one easily settled, so it’s better to nip it in the bud before it’s an issue. “Not Ascendants by any measure, your majesty. I’m a new Count from down south. Just came here for a little fun. Well, I did. She came to—”
The entire colosseum shakes, as Solaris lands between King Wulfric and myself and Zephra. Her shining wings flare, dark smoke pouring from her nostrils as she lowers her head. I dart to the side with a cringe, not wanting to give Zephra any reason to act against Solaris in believing she needs to protect me. The crowd around us is gasping, crying out, many fleeing in fear of a dragon fight. I hold my ground off to the side, watching intently.
I’m not afraid, even as Solaris snaps at Zephra’s tail with white-hot sparks between her teeth. Zephra spins out of the way, her head low and angled with her teeth bared, but she remains low to the ground with her wings tucked. There’s clear submission in her body language, though I’m not privy to what’s being said between them. Her pride is clearly injured, but she’s not stupid enough to make a move against the Mother of Dragons.
King Wulfric steps between his dragon’s legs and comes up to me with a look of vague exasperation. “You’ll have to forgive Solaris, for she doesn’t easily forgive a slight, no matter how small or inconsequential.” She growls, as he looks at her over his shoulder, but then he turns to address the crowd. “All is well! We have our victors today!” I look around to see the heralds passing the word through the crowds, who begin settling again. “And that will be celebrated! Tonight, you’ll both be honored with a feast, and you will be allowed to rest and recover before you begin your quest.”
A smile splits my face at the mention of the quest. That’s what I’m really looking forward to.
Neither dragon has moved a muscle this whole time, and I keep my attentive position as well, one eye on Zephra and the other on King Wulfric as he approaches again. “Young dragons and riders have begun to vanish from all over the continent,” he says, genuine concern in his voice. “Your quest is to find them. Bring them home.” For the first time, my smile falters, and the scales on my necklace feel so much heavier. His voice is lower, almost hushed, as he says, “Or their bodies, if nothing else. Do you accept, Count Devlin Oteno?” He flashes me a crooked smile with the challenge.
The image of what was left of my brother flashes before my eyes. Young riders disappearing. I hate this. Of anything he could have selected for me…
“I accept, your majesty,” I say, doing my best to return his smile. “I believe I know just where to begin.”
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More to come!
PLAYER INFO
Name: Sage
Pronouns: she/her/they/them
Contact: discord is best!
DEVLIN OTENO
children of the sky
flying up so high
children of the sky
guided by the light
let me reach new heights
stars amongst the night
Last Edit: Nov 27, 2024 2:16:04 GMT by Devlin Oteno
