The morning light rising directly behind the spire traveled well before it reached the little hovel. First it bounced off the white cloud floor that covers the world below, all the way the eyes can see, on all sides of the Seventh Spire. To the general population of the Seventh, who lived on the better established and polished streets of the upper city, the clouds were little more than a puffy background image. When you went down as low as the opening where the hovel stands, where the clouds almost touch the floor on the nights of a full moon, the sunlight bounces off and passes through the salt formations on the ceiling to create a most peculiar view.
All kinds of colors painted the walls of the hovel. It was Dahlia’s favorite sight in the whole world. No morning was the same as the one before. The stone bench she was sitting on was carved in the shape of a large tree, decorated with little butterflies made from gemstones. The tree’s shape resembled the golden oak from one of Dahlia’s and her sister’s favorite storybooks. Sitting on it reminded Dahlia of the times they spent on it together. All the days they bickered and fought and made up over what flowers to grow in the garden they planted around the bench. The colors of the light playing on the wall of the large opening and the myriad of flowers on the ground created something beautiful. Something that came from the shared loneliness of two siblings who shared little else.
Dahlia didn’t mind, not anymore. She even preferred the peace and quiet of the lower layers to the cacophony of the citadel that crowned the spire. It had been years since she went up there of her own volition. The citadel’s people irked her with their pristine clothes and convoluted hairstyles.
Dahlia liked working with her hands. All her family did. Her mother was a miner and a painter, her father a tailor and groundskeeper. From a young age, Dahlia was raised to gauge the value of a person by the things they created. It seemed to her no one up in the citadel ever created anything.
Dahlia closed her eyes and leaned back on the polished marble lining. Today was the day she spent all year dreading. In her room upstairs, inside the hovel was sitting a chest in the corner, in which she used to store the stuff she never used, like the set of fine clothes that sat burried under dozens of old sketchbooks.It was made from the finest looms of Eighth. It initially belonged to her mother, then it was passed down to Dahlia's sister, who left it to her, when she joined the army. Dahlia hated every inch of that damned dress.
It was white, with a long skirt that had no slits on the sides, which made moving in it pure torture. The waist was lined with gold, made according to the measurements of a younger version of her mother, who was more graceful than Dahlia, even with the thirty-year age difference. Dahlia hated white.
Clacking footsteps broke the silence of the opening. The unmistakable sound of iron heels on rough stone. It echoed, eerily backed by the howling of the gentle morning wind. Dahlia didn’t have to open her eyes to know her sister was at the end of the path that came down the cliff.
She felt something small jumping up and down in excitement inside her chest. She would have ran to embrace her sister if it were six months ago. Oh how she longed to see her again... For two years after Cartha left, Dahlia watched every cloudship that arrived at the Seventh Spire for a sign of her sister’s coal-colored locks that mirrored hers. She waited and hoped, both she and her mother did. Now that she arrived, three years gone, it was too late.
“I thought I would find you here, little flower.” Cartha said, her voice making a little jolt of sadness travel through Dahlia’s body. Her footsteps approached closer and closer, now muffled by the soft dirt that surrounded their bench. She approached in silence until Dahlia felt her presence on the bench next to her. “The flowers look good, been taking care of ‘em I see. I would have preferred a little more red in the middle though.”
Dahlia finally opened her eyes. Even then, it was to convey her disbelief at her sister’s audacity. Coming here after three years of absence, critiquing her garden. The aggression in her eyes made Cartha lean away from where she sat.
It was like looking at a funhouse mirror. The girls shared a lot of physical attributes on the surface level. Coal black hair framed their faces in locks, broken in places by white lines that marked their bloodline impure. It created a harmony with even blacker eyes and olive skin. Both had strong builds, wide shoulders and muscular legs.
However, where Dahlia’s features were subtle and round, her sister’s were blocky and hard. Her already tall frame and sharp lines were amplified even further by years of rigorous physical training. Where Cartha’s face was smooth chiseled perfection, broken only by a long scar on her cheek, Dahlia’s was a cacophony of freckles and smile lines, long unused.
Dahlia wore simple work clothes, dirt spattered around the legs from working on the garden all morning. Cartha wore an indigo frockcoat, an officer’s pin decorating her chest. A thin sword and an iron buckler hung on the left side of her leg, two wheellock pistols crossed on the small of her back. A proper soldier she was, more so than the sister she was now.
Cartha cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with the unexpected hostility from her younger sister. “So, where is mom?” she asked glancing at the hovel behind them.
“Dead.” Dahlia spat, keeping her voice from trembling with difficulty. “She waited for you till the end.”
Cartha’s face betrayed no emotion. Only her eyes glazed over to the hovel for a second, which Dahlia read as easily as an open book. Sadness overwhelmed her, together with a sour tinge of regret. It disappeared as fast as it came. Her sharp chin raised in a proud lack of emotion.
“I am sorry I wasn’t there for you.” She said simply. The soft howling of the wind filled the uncomfortable silence that lasted minutes. “Have you been practicing?” she asked after what seemed like forever.
Dahlia glanced at her sister once again, her eyes pausing on Cartha’s hands fidgeting with a gemstone embedded in the hilt of her sword.
“Yes.” She lied, silently cursing herself for still wanting recognition from her sister.
Cartha nodded, still playing with the ornate blade. “What about your father?” she asked, as if going through an imaginary list of things to talk about. It was clear she had caught up by now: This wouldn’t be the heartwarming reunion that she thought it would be.
“Down at the yard.” Dahlia answered, softly nodding towards the road that led even lower than where the hovel stood; the great graveyard of the Seventh Spire where the man that raised them both, worked as the groundskeeper. “He doesn’t come back most days since…” She stopped as her sister nodded at her, understanding.
The sun rose slowly, making the rainbow of light on the wall slowly disappear into a more homogenous glow. Soon the great bell would chime, calling all age-appropriate youths of the spire to the summit for the ceremony.
“Why are you here Cartha?” Dahlia asked, finally raising her eyes to make contact. “Why today of all days?”
“To get you out, little flower.” The taller girl smiled. “Today is your last one, isn’t it?”
It was. Dahlia would turn 19 next month, which meant she would be too old to bond a dragon next year. The age any child of the Spires becomes free of the expectation of serving the riders corps. It was the age Cartha left the hovel and Seventh Spire without much more than an empty promise to come back for her sister as soon as she could.
“You will love the Iron Spire.” Cartha continued, relieved she can finally give Dahlia the pitch she came here for. “It is not at all like I thought it would be. There are actually a lot of civilians working there. And the best part is; no dragons, none at all.”
She stared at Dahlia expectantly, who glared back at her sister with clear mistrust.
“Come on, Dahl, I did it for both of us. You don’t have to be imprisoned here anymore.” She pleaded. “Mom’s gone; this man”, she made a gesture in the direction of the yard, “isn’t even your real father.”
“I like it here.” Dahlia whispered. Four words she could never dream of daring to voice as a child. She always encouraged her big sister’s dream of leaving the Seventh. Her enthusiasm was one of the most important things that kept the girl living through their youth, so Dahlia humored her. They would sit in their room talking late into the night, making up stories about people who lived in the other Spires, the people they would become after they were free of the weight of being that convict’s daughters who were then taken in by the weird grave keeper.
She never really wanted to leave herself. It was just fun to play pretend with Cartha. Unlike her sister, Dahlia actually liked her home. The hovel had everything she ever wanted; peace, beauty, inspiration, work, and enough time to paint. Even the thought of not being the daughter of that criminal now felt like a disrespect to the memory of a loving mother taken from her too soon.
“You can’t stay here sister.” Cartha’s voice was filled to the brim with sadness.
Even through the mist of rage that welled up inside Dahlia’s chest, she recognized the sincerity in her sister’s voice. Taken aback by the sudden shift in tone, she felt like the little girl she was back when Cartha first left. Tears welled up in her eyes, hurting like a thousand pinpricks.
“They will come for you. They would have come for me if I hadn’t left.” Cartha said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “Right now you are protected by the dragon’s decree. Tomorrow, this won’t be the case.” She gave a long glance at the ceiling. “There are a lot of people that hate us up there.” She said, meaning the citadel. “If mother is gone, then… You can’t stay here anymore.”
“And it will all be sunshine if I come with you, I suppose?” Dahlia jabbed. “Leave dad alone, leave my home behind? A great solution.”
“Nobody in Iron Spire cares about our past Dahlia. Nobody cares about anything but your deeds.”
The first bell rang, its sound echoing in the endless caves of the spire of gems. Thankful for the save, Dahlia jumped to her feet. “I need to go.”
“I will be back tonight sister. I hope you will have changed your mind by then.”
Dahlia didn’t answer. It was all she could do to keep the tears from falling. She briskly walked across the garden towards the hovel, keeping the emotions at bay until she climbed the narrow stairs and closed the door of her room behind her.
When the second bell rang half an hour later, Dahlia was already halfway up the path that led up to the citadel. She walked as fast as she could in the long dress made for sitting pretty, not scaling the trek up the colossal mountain that was the Seventh.
Cartha had already gone when she left the house. The only sign that her sister had been there was a sword left on the bench next to a butterfly carving Dahlia hadn’t seen before. It was made from blackened scrap metal, beautifully macabre. The shadow of a bitter smile passed through Dahlia’s face when she found it.
The sword itself was even prettier. A long, thin blade resting in a bronze sheath decorated with sheets of silver resembling flower leaves. It rested on her waist now as she made her way to the summit. Despite her anger, she couldn’t bring herself to leave such a beautiful blade lying there. Instead, she took her own old sword out of her belt and left it on the bench. It was an old blade, built for simplicity. If not for the state of disrepair Dahlia left it in, in previous years, it was a fine weapon.
The closer she got to the citadel, the more people there were, the more people stared at her. Dahlia hated the attention. She hated forcing her back straight and her head high under the constant stare of strangers, gasps and murmurs that made the hairs on her neck stand with disgust.
They stared out from the windows of their expertly built houses, some resembling mansions carved from the stone that made up the Spire itself. The streets were decorated with colorful paintings and sculptures all showing different versions of the Nine, the saviors of civilization and architects of heaven.
Even Dahlia knew each of them by name, even though the history of the spires was never one of her favorite subjects. All of them were different colors, different builds, with different numbers of limbs. It sometimes seemed to her like the only requirement for something to be counted as a dragon was to be scaly and disgusting.
Streets up in the citadel were already filled with throngs of people and the bustle of festivities. Shops and businesses were closed, instead street carts and vendors lined the sides of the main street that led to the Cathedral of Wings. People watched, cheered, even offered food and refreshments to the potential dragon riders walking in the middle of the street, Dahlia among them.
Each of them wore the best clothes their families could afford, the most beautiful sets of jewels and weapons they could get their hands on. Dahlia knew most of their faces from previous years. She was very good with faces. Those that she didn’t see at the ceremonies were the smaller children who just turned fifteen this year, thereby gaining the privilege, and responsibility, to participate in the choosing ceremony.
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The main road of the citadel was wide, lined with cobblestones and surrounded by sprawling labyrinthian streets. It looked like a staircase that was built for giants, every step was twenty feet long and one feet high. It crossed the only place on the Seventh where the ground was somewhat flat, allowing the construction of buildings where the majority of the populace lived. It was an unnatural sight, as if some god came down from the stars and cleaved the top of the spire off. For all Dahlia knew, some god might’ve done exactly that.
The stairs to the summit started at the end of the street, leading up to a colossal structure that belonged to the rider corps. Civilians weren’t allowed to climb them unless it was the day of the choosing ceremony, and even then, only those of eligible age were allowed to do so.
This would be the fourth and final time Dahlia would climb those gods-awful stairs. And all of it, in the most uncomfortable dress imaginable, after a two-hour trek up the spire itself.
Dahlia kept her head down, scoffing at the others who reveled in the attention given by standers-by. It was the same every year. She just wanted to be done with the ceremonial portion of the day and go back home. Maybe she could paint her frustration on a canvas that stood across the fireplace or read a good book about the times before the spires and dragons.
She felt relieved when she arrived at the top of the stairs. She picked up her pace to get away from the crowded street as fast as possible. The stairs were narrow, worn by years of wind, but unbroken until one arrived at the cathedral that stood apart from crevices that sometimes went yards into the rock. On the other side of the stairs was a dreadful fall, with nothing to hold onto. She slowed down after a while, walking up with her right hand on the wall to stabilize herself against the whistling wind.
It was an art she perfected in her second year of doing this, timing her climb with a perfect pace so she didn’t need to meet any others till she was at the summit. Otherwise, it would be just malicious stares at best and physical altercations at worst. The latter was why she kept a weapon on her after her first year at the summit.
While passing by an abnormally large crevice, she heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing coming from inside, carried to her by the wind. Looking inside, she saw a windswept head of cherry blonde hair. It belonged to a girl sitting in the deepest corner of the room hugging her knees. She was sobbing something awful, clearly scared off her mind.
“Hey there.” Dahlia approached with the best impression of her mother she could manage, who was the kindest woman she knew. “Are you okay?”
The girl swallowed audibly, clearly trying to push down her sobs. She raised her head just enough for Dahlia to see her bloodshot eyes, with irises the color of summer skies.
“I-I’m…” she stuttered. “I’m afraid of heights.”
Dahlia would have chuckled if her heart didn’t shatter at the sight in front of her. She never imagined someone who was born above clouds to be afraid of heights. It would be like someone born under the the shadow of dragon wings, to be afraid of dragons.
Dahlia knew all too well how that felt like, painfully so.
She pulled her skirt up to her knees and sat next to the crying girl. She tucked her own black and white hair behind her ears and spoke in the softest voice she could produce.
“My name is Dahlia. And yours?”
The girl swallowed again, then sniffed. “Li-Lilia” she stuttered again.
“What a nice name. Nice to meet you Lilia.” Dahlia said. The faintest smile appeared on the girl’s face, only for a second before disappearing. Dahlia continued, “You know, I am afraid of many things too.”
The girl shyly raised her eyes. “You are?” she asked.
“Of course, I am. Everybody is.” She poked Lilia’s shoulder. “Anyone that says otherwise is lying their asses off.”
“People usually make fun of me.” The girl said, looking significantly calmer than before. She was still crying but at least the sobs had stopped.
“People are cruel like that.” Dahlia sighed, ignoring the footsteps and side glances from a trio that passed by them. She took her time to examine the girl next to her as a comfortable silence formed between them.
Lilia looked much younger than fifteen. Her light hair and large eyes amplified the childish look created by her round face and frilly yellow dress. A crown made of dandelions decorated her temples.
“Would you like to climb the rest of the way together?" Dahlia asked, causing the girl’s face to light up a little.
Lilia nodded, wiping the remaining tears from her face. She fixed her collar and straightened her dress as she got up. Dahlia moved first, placing the girl between herself and the wall.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, holding each other’s hands. Before long, the thin stairs opened up to a flat granite landing, surrounded by ever burning torches that housed flames inexplicably unaffected by wind or time.
The cathedral loomed over them. A grotesque mass rising from the summit like dead fingers sticking out from a grave. Its gates were bronze, three times taller than Dahlia and thirty feet wide. Statues of dragons were carved all over the stone, the riders’ addition to the dragon-made structure.
The congregation could be seen through the open gates,. Roughly a hundred kids, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the one that would do the choosing. The midday sun shone brightly, raining through the open ceiling of the cathedral.
Dahlia paused before the gates, letting Lilia’s hand go before they joined the others inside. Lilia looked up at her in surprise.
“Go ahead.” Dahlia said to the girl with a bittersweet smile. “You don’t want to be seen with me inside.”
The girl looked confused and was just about to protest when they heard the loud cracking of wings all around them. The stone under their feet rumbled. From below, cheers rose, drowned by a monstrous roar that chilled Dahlia to the bone. She rushed through the gates, pulling Lilia with her. The two riders standing on either side closed the gates right as they stepped in.
While the dragons circled the summit for the sake of the gathered population, Dahlia examined the potential recruits. They were clustered in groups. The eldest ones in the front, surrounded by the second and third years on either side. The youngest stood closer to the gates.
Most of the younger children looked almost as afraid as Lilia was just before. They clumped together in groups they knew from their neighborhoods or schools, for safety. Lilia gave Dahlia’s hand a squeeze and looked up at her with a thankful expression before saying something that disappeared in the constant roar and flapping of wings. She then rushed to join a group of kids with similarly childish dresses, who Dahlia supposed were her friends.
Dahlia made her own way down the hall to join her own group. The eldest kids were the smallest group, fifteen in total. They looked generally unfazed by the chaotic energy that surrounded them. Dahlia pushed to the front, she wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. She was already on edge with anticipation of the imminent meeting with the monsters. Her breathing was labored and shallow. She ignored the angry glances thrown at her, as she passed others and stood at the frontline next to a familiar girl with midnight blue hair and a matching dress of the finest quality.
She was tall and regal, with skin like marble and a stance like the second coming of the war goddess herself. Two short blades decorated her waist, crossed at the small of her back. Both blades had onyx handles, one red and the other green. Two blades that would fetch a price so handsome they could buy the hovel Dahlia grew up in.
“Hello, cousin.” Dahlia said, the pointed tone clear even through the noise.
Helen flinched slightly, but otherwise made no sign that she heard her. In the limited number of times they interacted through Dahlia’s childhood, the daughter of the citadel never acknowledged her existence except for some mean comments here and there.
Her father was the baron of the Seventh, the most powerful man on the spire. He was also the brother to Dahlia and Cartha’s birth father.
The roaring stopped and the flapping of wings slowed down, signaling the final ascent of the dragons to the summit.
“No child of a murderer is a cousin of mine, unclean one.” Helen whispered taking advantage of the fleeting moment of calm.
Dahlia rolled her eyes in response, her body tensed up in anticipation of what was to come. She could taste blood in her mouth from biting the inside of her cheeks. It took all of her focus to keep a still exterior.
The first one to appear was a green one. One of the serpentlike dragons, long bodied and legless. Four wide wings carried its slithering scaled body through the air like a ribbon in wind. Its head was as big as Dahlia’s upper body. It coiled lazily around one of the towers of the cathedral, hugging the granite with its wings. A leather saddle was wrapped around its neck, where its rider sat looking bored, glancing at the gathered children with an uninterested look on his face.
Dahlia forced herself to look at the dragon directly, fully knowing it will be with her in her nightmares for the months to come. To say Dahlia was afraid of dragons would be an understatement. Fear of dragons is a natural response to the most dangerous predator known to the spires. Dahlia’s fear was not because of the danger they posed but rather of their existence itself. Their scales, serpent-like eyes, fleshy wings and bony faces disgusted her beyond measure. That’s why she always made a point of staring directly at one every time she could. She was hoping that one day, she would be able to see one and not want to scratch her eyes out.
The second one to arrive was a red one. It had two legs and two wings that ended in long claws. It used those claws to grab the tower across from the green one and stand there holding it in an almost human-like posture. Its rider didn’t sit on a saddle but rather stood on its back, her feet stabilized by a long piece of rope bound around the creature’s chest. She held on to the dragon’s bony horns with one hand, the other dangling down as she examined the congregation with a predatory smile.
The final dragon to arrive was the largest of them all. A golden one with four legs and two unfathomably large wings. It was barely small enough to land inside the cathedral and was definitely large enough to eat an adult human in one bite. It landed right in front of them, hardly twenty feet away. It held its head high, not acknowledging the existence of any of the children. The man riding it looked almost like a dragon himself. He wore armor made from dragon scales of every color. His long hair was slicked back to resemble horns. He had a wild aura about him, contrasted sharply by his regal demeanor.
A blade almost as tall as he and as wide as Dahlia’s arm, rested on his back. Impossible to wield for any human not granted the strength of the dragons.
In their youth, Cartha talked about him all the time. The leader of Vanguard, frontline force of the rider corps. The battle beast, the great Skybreaker himself. Dahlia was surprised he would come all the way out to the Seventh for the ceremony. A sudden silence filled the hall when he jumped off his dragon and landed on the floor with a perfect flourish.
He stood on an altar overlooking everyone in the hall. When he spoke, he spoke in a powerful voice, trained through years of combat, shouting orders over the roaring of dragons and flapping of wings. It made Dahlia’s bones shake.
He gave them the standard speech that the head of ceremony gave every year. They were lucky to have the divine opportunity to join the corps, to take to the skies next to the best of the best. To cross blades with the vilest villains. Be the light that shines in starless winter nights.
It was all propaganda. Nothing Dahlia hadn’t heard a dozen times before. Fight giants, slay starbeasts, protect humanity and the knowledge of the dragons. They would live on the Dragon Spire, even higher than the highest spire, the crown jewel of the heavens, the crystal castle. A place that is supposedly straight out of a fairy tale. It was said to be surrounded by forests, with real trees of green and gold.
The speech went on and on. Skybreaker talked for half an hour, his two colleagues on either side. The red one was looking restless and the green one bored. They all wore the mark of the rider on the left half of their necks. A marking shaped like a dragon’s head, in the color of their bonded dragons. It resembled a tattoo, only brighter than any tattoo could ever be. It burned with the magic infused into them.
“And now we begin.” Skybreaker finished his grandiose speech. His dragon raised its head and bellowed with a force that rivals the greatest meteor showers. Skybreaker extended his left arm towards the crowd where Dahlia and Helen stood side by side in front. His right hand rested on the lowered, monstrous neck of his dragon.
Nobody moved for a second, everything in the hall was perfectly still save for the uncomfortable shifting of first years. Now came the arduous process of approaching the rider one by one, let the dragon make the decision who among them were worthy to join the corps.
A tall, broad boy on the far left side of Helen left the crowd. Dahlia smirked in spite of the trembling muscles all over her body. There was always some too ambitious folks who rushed forward with a swan-like strut, sure that they would be recruited. They never did. They would all stand in the corner after that, trying to keep themselves from crying in disappointment and shame.
The boy knelt on one knee in front of Skybreaker. He carried no weapons unlike every other one of Dahlia’s age. It was customary for potential recruits to show weapons they are proficient in on ceremony days.
The dragon’s eyes started glowing like two golden stars, overshadowing even the midday sun’s brightness. One second later light flowed out of the dragon’s body and through the man’s arm, Skybreaker’s eyes glowed with the same light. It was Dahlia’s first time seeing this happen with a gold dragon. The previous years it was red, blue and platinum respectively. Compared to those, this dragon wasn’t too large, or nearly as wild looking. But the golden sheen of this glow made all those others fade in comparison. It felt like the gods’ own judgement rained over her in that golden light.
The glow disappeared much faster than it appeared. Near a hundred potential recruits let out their breaths at the same time. There was no mark on the boy’s neck. He wasn’t chosen, as could be easily foreseen.
What was surprising was, the boy’s spirit wasn’t crushed at all. He smiled big.
“Thank you, my lord.” He said, his voice was almost as impressive as Skybreaker’s.
The story was the same for everyone after that. Nobody left the altar disappointed. Nobody was angry they weren’t chosen. It was all the same, at least for the first dozen or so, until Helen stepped forward from her place beside Dahlia.
She walked towards Skybreaker with the calculated steps of a trained killer. This didn’t surprise Dahlia. Her cousin trained with the best of the best on the spire. The side of a coin which had Dahlia’s sister on the other. Helen and Cartha were more alike than two sisters could ever be. She was sure Helen would move to the Iron Spire if today didn’t work out.
Skybreaker took her hand graciously. He was like a statue, unmoving through the potential recruits that passed through, his glow never wavering.
The dragon’s eyes started glowing once again. The bioluminescence flowing from it to its rider was significantly quicker than the previous ones. And then, it just kept going, through the rider’s left arm right into hers. Helen was blanketed in cold light. It swirled around her like a moths around a flickering flame. Dahlia heard a snicker from her left side, the rider of the red drake looked entertained. She looked at Helen like an animal looking at a juicy slab of meat, a crooked smile on her serpent-like face. Even the green rider didn’t look bored now.
The light slowed its swirling, and a bright blue-green dragon rider’s mark appeared on Helen’s neck and exposed shoulders.
Dahlia scoffed, pushing down the bile that climbed its way to her throat with anger. Of course, she would be chosen. Dahlia never wanted to be a dragon rider, so it wasn’t jealousy exactly. She was just resentful that her cousin had everything in life. Everything she ever wanted, even if Dahlia didn’t want those same things.
Helen, as the first of the year’s chosen, took her place behind Skybreaker. Looking down on the others from the elevation of the altar.
Dahlia was the next to step up. She pushed through her entire being and sense of self-preservation and took the five steps to where the great golden beast was standing and extended her hand to the mountainous rider that stood before her. Looking at him up close, it made sense that nobody was angry when they walked away.
He radiated an aura of safety around him. Even Dahlia’s overwhelming fear disappeared in his proximity. She just knew she was safe there. The golden luminescence flowed from the dragon to the rider and down his left arm…
Suddenly alarm bells started to ring, and the entire spire quaked so hard Dahlia found herself on the floor lying flat on her back. Screams rose from below, shrieks of starbeasts threw the entire populace into chaos.
Then Skybreaker’s voice pushed through the commotion.
“Riders on dragons, we are under attack!”