“How is this possible?” said Kai Shek with a tone of voice that revealed concern.

“Why wouldn’t it be possible?” Dun Gar replied.

“No one has ridden it since the red devastation! We can’t allow it. It’s a risk we don’t have to take,” argued the rider.

Then I heard footsteps behind me, and a glow flickered in the darkness.

“Listening to other people’s conversations, An Long?”

Dien Phu approached me with a torch that illuminated the damp cave walls and the rotting wooden door in front of me. He patted me on the shoulder with his free hand and urged me to knock on the door. Which I did seconds later.

“Come on,” he encouraged me, smiling.

I went in. The room was lit by several oil lamps burning in wide nooks and crannies, as well as a chandelier hanging from the rocky ceiling. There was a small bureau filled with papers and parchments, an inkwell and several quills. The walls of the room, which were the same as those of the cave, were hidden behind bookshelves filled with books of all skins and sizes. I could read and write in Khaaz and Common, and there were hundreds of spines there whose inscriptions I couldn’t even remotely decipher.

“Come in, come in. Please” invited Dun Gar. “Please sit down.”

We settled into the two free chairs around a small table. There were several cups of steaming wine, some cinnamon sticks and a pot of honey. The master approached me with one of them with kindness. It was the first time the master had offered me wine, so I assumed something had changed, and I accepted, of course.

“It is the tradition,” Dien Phu clarified, “when an apprentice becomes a rider.”

“That’s right,” Dun Gar continued. “And this talk is as traditional as it needs to be. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I hesitated. “I’m a little dizzy...”

“It’s normal. I still remember the blow I took, and I didn’t even get through the clouds” commented the master. “Drink up, the honey will do you good, and the wine will cheer up your face. You’re already a rider, An Long, congratulations!”

I blushed. I knew that the impact had been with a dragon’s back and not with the ground. I knew I was already a rider. But I had not yet seen my dragon because I had been kept in bed in one of the rooms in Master Dun Gar’s cave.

“Thank you, master,” I turned to the other rider. “And thank you, Kai Shek.”

Dien Phu had confirmed to me that Dal Mah was well. He told me that Kai Shek, her tutor, had rushed for her on Darragor’s back as soon as he saw her fall. Only they were hidden further down, behind the clouds, in case one of us fell.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“There’s nothing to be thankful for, did you really think we were going to let you get crushed to death?” He seemed obfuscated by something.

Why save his life then to let him jump into the void a few days later, if no dragon had answered his call?

“But the apprentice’s well...”

“Oh, the well, how many apprentices will swim in its waters! Will there be water down there, indeed? I guess we’ll never know,” exclaimed the master with a laugh, downplaying the matter. “Or... maybe you can go for a ride down there later, on the back of your dragon. I trust you’ll keep it a secret, once you check out what’s down there.”

“I’m looking forward to flying,” I said, with the mug of mulled wine in my hand, somewhat embarrassedly waiting for the mulled wine to cool.

“First of all... Kai Shek and I were just talking about this matter. We think a little warning is in order,” Dun Gar put his cup to his mouth and grimaced desolately when he saw that there was not a drop left. “Anyway, An Long, listen. The rider must be aware of the power that rests in his hands from the first day he is chosen by a dragon. Every dragon has its power. Its nature is a reflection of that of the rider. The training of these years not only prepares you physically, but, above all, mentally. Your minds have to be healthy and balanced, otherwise... Well, horrors happen.”

“An Long, my position is that we should not let you ride your dragon. As you well know, you didn’t finish the balance test. You threw yourself into the void, hoping to save Dal Mah. You failed on both counts. You were lucky. A dragon saved you, yes, but remember, you didn’t pass the equilibrium test.”

‘It’s not fair,’ I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I was the only one who saw that we weren’t ready for the test. But if I had been angry it would have shown that I didn’t know how to control my emotions, and I would have proved Kai Shek right. I just wanted to get out of there and meet my dragon as soon as possible.

“I understand,” I lied.

And after a few lectures about responsibility, power, good and evil, they let me out of there, no longer as an apprentice, but as a rider.

Outside, the view of the Comb was overwhelming.

“And now?” I asked, noticing that there was no dragon there, waiting for me.

For some reason I had thought he would be there awaiting the arrival of his new rider, like the dog waiting outside his door for his master to return. Or like the carriage parked in the next street. But a dragon doesn’t park, and it’s not a dog either.

“Now? Let’s fly!”

Dien Phu whistled to the four winds and his dragon’s roar thundered into the sky. The rider jumped off the cliff without a hint of fear, and the dragon came swift as lightning to pick him up and settle him on himself.

I was stunned. Seen like that, it seemed so simple. But believe me, it is not. Nevertheless, I puffed out my chest and summoned all my strength and every last drop of courage. I tried whistling, just as my tutor had done.

And then I heard it. It startled me. It was a thunderous roar I already knew. The one I had heard before I jumped off the rope in the hope of saving Dal Mah. The roar of my dragon.

I saw it appear in the distance, behind a craggy peak. It was black as night, and in broad daylight it stood out like no other animal. I jumped, full of excitement and adrenaline, even though I knew that this time I was not in danger, because my dragon was there. Black. Matte. Unblemished. Without a speck of any other color.

I knew what that meant. There were only three known dragons of a single color, and the others were the result of the crossing of those three. The primordial dragons. And that could only mean one thing.

“Tiranior,” I pronounced, with the utmost respect.

And I settled on him and felt the secular beating of his two hearts. I felt the wind on my face, caressing it at full speed. I felt master of myself. Master of my destiny. Of the mountains. Of the world.

And I screamed, euphoric. And he roared, as he had not roared in centuries. We were flying.